Search the Community
Showing results for tags 'drill'.
There's a terror in the body, a hunter where Makuta fell. I present Vakhaiv: the remainder, the scourge within the shell. Click the poster, or here, to see the gallery. Name: VakhaivGender: MaleElement: IronSpecies: MatoranRace: Fe-Toa HordikaTitles: "scourge of the shell"Kanohi: Inaccesible HunaWeapons: Protosteel Drill "Grey Vandal"Alignment: Chaotic NeutralAffiliation: NonePersonality: Usually savage, angry, and very impulsive. Sometimes extremely intelligent and cunning.Vakhaiv was a Fe-Matoran from Stelt long ago, but eventually became a Toa of Iron. (Nothing of note happened to him before that time.)Soon after transforming, he was placed in stasis by the OOMN. The goal of this action was to prevent the Brotherhood from discovering Vakhaiv's existence during the purge (killing off Toa of Iron, Magnetism, Plasma, etc.). However, the location of this stasis center was overrun by Visorak. Unaware due to his slumber, Vakhaiv was mutated while still in stasis. At this point, the stasis tube was broken, and slowly began to malfunction and wear out. Those maintaining that facility on behalf of the OOMN were killed or mutated irreversibly by the Visorak horde; Vakhaiv was left on his own.Some time after that, when the Great Spirit Robot was ultimately finished off by Mata Nui and the Prototype Robot, most of the inhabitants were evacuated. Unbeknownst to them, Vakhaiv remained within the dead robot. Within a very short time, his stasis tube shattered completely and he escaped from it, disoriented and angry.Everyone had left him, forgotten about him, and he was a Hordika, a monster. The stasis tube had prevented his complete transformation, so Vakhaiv wasn't fully mindless. And so now, Vakhaiv roams the empty lands within the Great Spirit Robot, picking off the other remainders, simply surviving.At some point Vakhaiv killed an Onu-Matoran who had been using a patched-up mining drill in an attempt to escape the robot. Vakhaiv took the drill but was unable to escape, instead repurposing it for tearing apart his enemies (the list of which included everyone).Vakhaiv's current status is unknown, though he's probably standing an a corpse. He's in there. He's angry. Reviews on the MOC are greatly appreciated! Edit: Please use spoiler tags for spoilers only. -Wind- Sorry, Windy.
Flight The metal tube vibrated to the steady hum as the propellers outside tugged the airplane forward. It was claustrophobic for all the people inside, with dark confines rendered even shadowier than normal on account of the night, but while each one of them was sick of the movement and the snake’s abdomen they were in they all equally dreaded their freedom from their prison. Only the ruby light from a bulb that would signal their doom lit their tunnel, and it sickened them. “T-minus two minutes,” the squad leader announced. The private didn’t even nod -- none of the men did. It was understood already simply by the further paling of the faces. The sergeant simply stood by the door, watching the red light by it, waiting for the emerald spark he eagerly expected. He was the only one who wanted to get outside into the bustling wind and darkness, the only one who seemed bred for this very moment. “Up!” he commanded, and the soldiers unclipped their belts and rose to the order, standing in a jagged line. “Equipment check!” They all searched each other’s gear, a simple double tap on the other’s back the only sign of approval. Still no words were said. “One minute!” The door was opened up and the men shivered as the sudden gust of frigid air spilled into the cabin. Far below, only the glow of moonlight on the snowy banks of the Alps could be seen, making the landscape seem like a haunted floor of scattered white puzzle pieces on a dark abyss. The attack came suddenly and without notice. The plane flanking at the right of the squadron simply vanished in a wash of sparks and black smoke as it abruptly spun away to the distant ground. The men in the plane could not see it, but soon another plane was destroyed by a flak gun. Puffs of smoke filled the airspace as the land cannons fired their shells into the air to disrupt the march of the flight. The sergeant glared angrily at the red light, waiting for it to glow green to dispense of the troops. Impatiently, he gave the order. “Ready!” he barked for final preparation but obediently remained strict to protocol, not giving the go-ahead with a red light. Boom. The fuselage split in two, spilling the soldiers out like crumbs from a canister. They fluttered away, some of them pulling their tabs and releasing their parachutes. They disappeared from view, but the sergeant could hear the drone of another plane, a fighter. Someone was cleaning the mess up already. Blast it, he thought. He still clutched onto the handlebar, vaguely safe in the front cone of the plane as it tumbled down. He would die there. His men already did. He waited for the ground to slay him. The light never turned green, but all of the men in that plane flew that night.