The Human Technological Wonder Chronicles
Excerpts by the SpecOps Sangheili Chief
Transcribed and Translated by Dominus Princeps
Day Seven: A Research Expedition to More Recently Established York
Honored Prophets. My studies have taken me to a more extreme measure of research. I have decided to infiltrate a Human city known as More Recently Established York. This city is bustling with activity, and is apparently a hub of commerce and social interactions. I shall bring Orna'Fulsamee and his mate, Shelley, with me. Do not worry for my safety; I shall be fine...I hope. We shall be taking a Human aerial transport to arrive there, called by the Humans a "Fair-stain."
XXXEnd Written SectionXXX
XXXBegin Audio-VisualXXX
Fssshhhh...
"Hello, are we on?" Kiya'Gradolee's voice cut through the static. He, the Arbiter, and Shelley stood at Gate B 7.
"This is the Fair-Wort where the fair-stains take off. It is most primitive, and the places where one can relieve one's bodily urges smell very bad. Anyway, our fair-stain should be leaving in a couple minutes. We should get in line," he commented. They were all dressed in trenchcoats so as to not reveal the fact that they were aliens bent on crushing the Human race.
"Now boarding Flight 343 to New York from New Mombasa," a nasal voice said over the intercom.
"Who said that!" the white Elite whirled.
"Perhaps it is an intercom system," Shelley suggested.
"No. It is obviously a spirit from beyond the grave! Necromantic heretics!" Gradolee roared.
"Um...right. Where has Orna gone?" Shelley blinked at him.
"He is over at...'Kun-sezz-shuns'. Odd name for a snack bar," the SpecOps Leader noted. The Arbiter returned with a Snickers bar.
"What do you think you're doing? You've jeopardized the entire mission! It could be a poisonous substance!" Gradolee screamed for the second time.
"It appears to be a sugary treat, Kiya. Calm your nerves," the Arbiter sighed through a mouthful of caramel and chocolate.
"Keyword: 'Appears'", Gradolee bit back.
"We should get in line for our Fair-stain," Shelley growled. They agreed and headed for the door to the long tunnel that led to the plane.
"Boarding passes please," said the kindly old man at the gate.
"Excuse me?" the white Elite asked.
"Boarding passes, please," the old man repeated slowly.
"One more time?" Gradolee said.
"I said, boarding passes, PLEASE!" the geezer yelled.
"You will not speak to me in such a tone!" Kiya'Gradolee bellowed, leveling a Carbine with the man's forehead.
"Terrorist!" the poor old man yelled, running around in small circles. Gradolee shoved the Carbine into the man's arms as the security closed in.
"He did it," the white Elite pointed.
"What? You saw that guy hand me that gun!" the old man cried.
"That's what they all say, shitface," the security guard growled.
"Hey! I know my rights!"
"Save it for Guantanamo, commie scum," the guard snarled. The SpecOps Leader grabbed the Arbiter and Shelley and the three of them rushed down onto the airplane.
Break In Film...Fssshhhh...Signal Regained...
"Ah, here at last!" Arbiter stretched as he walked outside of the airport. Shelley and Kiya'Gradolee yawned after the long flight.
"I believed that Human 'Bin-fright' motionie to be extremely poor in accuracy. Who ever heard of a non-Human race wanting to 'fohn-hoam'?" Gradolee mused. Shelley shrugged. The trio walked down the street. Suddenly, Shelley was yanked backwards into a dark alley.
"Hey, gimme all your money or the punk gets it," a growl came.
"What is this 'punk'?" Arbiter questioned.
"I am not sure," Kiya'Gradolee responded.
"I said, gimme all your money!" the voice insisted.
"Be wary! He has a primitive cutting implement!" Shelley said.
"'Be wary'? What is this you say?" the silver-armored Elite mocked.
"I forgot to charge my shield," the pink Elite sighed.
"Now gimme all your money!" the voice was suddenly revealed as a streetlamp fizzled to life, showing a burly man holding a knife to Shelley's throat. Then, the Arbiter and Kiya'Gradolee burst into raucous laughter.
"You, a mere Human, think to harm a sacred warrior? Your species is more devolved and deranged than we previously speculated!" Gradolee laughed.
"And, minus a primitive projectile weapon," Arbiter continued. The knife tightened against Shelley's throat.
"That does it! She's gonna-Aaah!" whatever was going to happen to her was never expressed as Shelley broke the man's wrist with a simple clenching of her fingers. The knife clattered to the ground. Shelley snatched the knife from the ground and broke it in her mandibles before flat-palming the man in the chest, knocking the wind from him and sending him rocketing back into a wall. The Arbiter activated his Energy Sword and the white Elite pulled out dual Plasma Rifles. The silver-armored Elite slashed the man in half, and Kiya cooked him like a traditional Grunt methane-burger just to be sure. They left his body, heading out into the night.
"Look! An evening-members-only area! Or is that 'nightclub'? Cursed beast," the SpecOps Leader grumbled, tapping his translator in an annoyed fashion.
"We must investigate this 'nocturnal primitive beating weapon'!" Shelley said eagerly.
"Agreed! To the Beating Weapon!" the Arbiter bellowed. They ran inside.
Fshhh...Signal Regained...
The Arbiter and Shelley walked around uncomfortably, jostled by people dancing to a low, pulsing beat.
"What in the name of the Sacred Rings is going on here?" Shelley asked Kiya'Gradolee when she saw him shoving his way over to the Arbiter and his girlfriend.
"I am unsure. These Humans appear to be moving around in a strange fashion to incredibly awful music. This music doesn't even have regular, soulful notes; what makes it worse is that it isn't plainchant!" the white Elite growled.
"I kind of like it," the Arbiter remarked, tapping his hoof.
"You always were a little strange..." Shelley teased, stroking his neck with her mandibles. The Arbiter twitched his mandibles in a grin and proceeded to begin stroking her face with his mandibles. She returned the gesture and threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, get a room!" Gradolee grumbled. He motioned for the camera to follow and wandered over to the bar.
"What can I get for ya?" the bartender asked, walking over the Elite.
"Beg pardon?" Gradolee asked, inclining his head.
"You wanna drink, buddy?" the man repeated.
"Sure. What do you have?" the white Elite inquired.
"Well...scotch, beer, whiskey...you name it, we got it," the bartender replied.
"Hmm...I'll try some of this whiskey," Kiya shrugged. The man nodded and poured the Elite a shot glass of it. Kiya'Gradolee frowned at such a small amount and downed it in one gulp and blinked.
"This is rather mild. Do you have anything stronger?" the SpecOps leader inquired. The bartender chuckled and said, "Let me fix you the special."
"Alright," the white Elite shrugged. The bartender ducked below the bar and set a tall glass, a bottle of scotch, and a bottle of beer on the bar. He rummaged around and placed a can of gasoline on the bar, too. Then, he went into the back room and came out with a blowtorch and a blender, along with a lime. He emptied the beer bottle and put half the bottle of scotch into the blender, then poured a solid amount of gasoline into the blender.
"How very intriguing," Gradolee noted to the camera, "Are you getting this?"
"Hang on to your hat!" the bartender grinned, spraying fire into the blender. A gout of flame leaped out of the blender. The bartender quickly poured it into the tall glass and slid it to Gradolee.
"Drink up before it burns," he grinned. The Elite nodded and chugged it.
"How amazing! Fix me another!" the white Elite gasped. He turned to the camera.
"Go film the Arbiter, would you? We need some hands-on footage," the SpecOps leader remarked, shooing the camera. It clicked and turned around, buzzing towards where the Arbiter and Shelley were. The two Elites were now dancing to the music, eyes closed.
"This music is scintillating," Shelley murmured.
"Quite," the Arbiter replied, running a hand down her face. Suddenly, the music changed, and the beat was quick and pulsing. The Arbiter and Shelley danced so close to each other that their bodies nudged and rubbed against each other.
"How interesting...I have never danced in such a manner," the Arbiter remarked.
"Indeed. Such a dance is almost like two stones grinding together. We should call it such," Shelley agreed.
"Yes. Gradolee will be pleased that we discovered a new way to dance: Stoning," the Arbiter said. He took Shelley's hand and led her through the crowd to the bar. They found the SpecOps Elite at the bar, face-down. Twelve empty glasses surrounded his head.
"This your pal?" the bartender asked, motioning toward the white Elite.
"Yes. What has happened to him?" the Arbiter asked worriedly.
"He's dead drunk. You should take him home," the bartender shrugged.
"'Dead drunk'? I am not sure I understand? Someone drank his spirit, and now he's dead?" Shelley asked, scratching her head.
"No, he's drunk! You know...intoxicated, wasted, smashed, pissed!" the bartender rolled his eyes.
"Right...of course he is. ...We'll be leaving now," the Arbiter let go of Shelley's hand and hoisted the SpecOps leader over his shoulder.
"Mmm...rainbow Grunts with Fuel Rod Cannons doing a party...plainchant guitar solos...flashing purple ships in the blue sky..." Gradolee muttered, giggling. The Arbiter and Shelley looked at each other, mandibles twitching. Their laughter was barely restrained. The two of them stepped into a cab and laid Gradolee between them.
"Where to, you guys?" the driver asked.
"This is a public transportation vehicle, correct?" the Arbiter asked. The cabbie nodded.
"You got it. I'll go anywhere in the Big Apple if you got the cash. Where to?" he replied.
"Umm...I read about something called 'Idea that a Clock represents Equilateral and Equiangular Quadrilateral'...it's supposed to be extremely magnificent," Shelley whispered.
"'Idea that a Clock Represents Equilateral and Equiangular Quadrilateral'? Don't you mean Time Square?" the confused cab driver asked.
"Yes, that's it! Let's go there!" Shelley smiled. The cabbie shook his head and drove.
Temporary Lapse in Film...Signal Regained...
"By the Prophets...look at this place..." the Arbiter gasped, stepping out of the cab with Gradolee over his shoulder.
"Hey! You gotta pay, buddy!" the cabbie yelled. Shelley flipped his car over and linked her arm with the Arbiter's. They walked out into Times Square and gazed around at the activity and neon lights.
"This is amazing...I can't believe the Humans have such complex centers..." Shelley whispered, leaning her head on the Arbiter's shoulder. The white Elite rested on the Arbiter's other shoulder stirred.
"Ugh...where are we?" he groaned. The Arbiter set him down and sighed as he looked around the populous, media-filled center of activity. Kiya'Gradolee shuddered as he gazed upon the multitudes of Humans.
"By the Prophets! This place is filthier than that room where the Grunts jammed a Jackal into a Fuel Rod Gun!" the SpecOps Leader shivered.
"Isn't it magnificent?" Shelley sighed. Gradolee gaped at her.
"You must be joking! This place is horrid! I demand we leave at once!" he growled. The Arbiter rolled his eyes.
"Can you tolerate it for a little longer?" he grumbled. The white Elite shuddered and put on a brave face.
"I shall. We must be strong in such turbulent times," he said. A Human brushed his shoulder.
"Daaah! I am unpure! Arbiter, hurry, we must return to the Phantom so that I can undergo the proper cleansing rituals, or else my soul will be weighted when the Great Journey begins and I will be left behind!" Kiya'Gradolee screamed, stumbling backwards. People had begun to stare at the trio of Elites.
"Hush! You're ruining our cover!" the Arbiter hissed.
"This is no time for 'cover', Arbiter, I can feel my soul rotting and eroding as we speak! Oh, the agony! Wooooort wort wort!" the SpecOps Leader moaned mournfully. He fell to his knees.
"Oh, holy Forerunners, please have mercy upon my unclean soul! I know I have touched the infidel, but-" Kiya'Gradolee began.
"Oh my Jesus! It's a suicide bomber!" someone screamed, pointing at Gradolee.
"I think we should be leaving," the Arbiter said hurriedly, taking the white Elite's arm and pulling him along with the Arbiter and Shelley. Gunshots rang out, and two bullets stopped on the Arbiter's shields. They sprinted for the nearest taxi stop and dove into a taxi.
"The fairwort. Now!" the Arbiter growled.
"Wha?" the sleepy taxi driver began.
"I said, take us to the fairwort! By the Prophets, DO IT!" the silver-armored Elite snarled.
"Fairwort? Airport?"
"Yes, Airport! GO!" Shelley said as bullets peppered the back of the taxi.
"Oh, shit!" the taxi driver hissed as a bullet fractured his back window. He floored it, and twenty minutes later they were away from the raging mob that had suddenly started.
"That was close," Shelley sighed. The Arbiter nodded.
"If you hadn't been so foolish, Gradolee, that wouldn't have happened," the silver-armored Elite growled. The white Elite was too deep in prayer-trance to hear the Arbiter, however.
Break in Film...Fshhhhh...Signal Regained.
The Arbiter and Shelley were asleep on the plane. Gradolee was still praying devoutly. The Arbiter reached up and grabbed the camera, then turned it off.
End Audio-Visual Recording
End Week One
A.N., Sorry about the loooong update! More chaps coming soon!