by MacabreDerek » Sun Nov 27, 2016 7:12 pm
Vice
Allegiance: Autobot
Sub-group: Monsterbot
Function: Scrap Conversion
Alternate Modes: Spider-esque Creature
Weapons: Mandibles/Shredder
Special Abilities: Night Vision, Consuming Metals, Alt-Mode Bite, Alt-Mode Wall-Crawling
Height: 29.5ft/ 9m
Quote: “I am NOT a Monster!”
Strength: 5
Intelligence: 7
Dexterity: 7
Speed: 6
Endurance: 5
Courage: 5
Firepower: 3
Accuracy: 4
Melee: 5
Tech Skill: 5
Charisma: 8
Rank:
Profile:
When Vice was created, it was a simple matter of disposal of scrap. Designed to consume and convert metals, her Alt Mode was built to be a scavenger to continue recycling supplies. Failed creations be it bot or building would be destroyed, and it would be up to Vice to consume it and convert it back into raw materials.
There seemed to be no end to it, and Vice envied seeing those above her station living in luxury that was beyond her reach. Vice would constantly let her imagination carry her away, it became a form of escape, being in the high-rise, joining the social elite. Her station would never allow it, more so that her Alt mode made her into a creature that consumed all in it's path, something that scuttled in the dark pulling refuse into the dark. The monster in the dark that might snatch you up by mistake and reduce you to recycling.
Wanting more, she found herself keeping some of the more valuable scrap for herself, trying to trade for any sliver of the finer life. After all, her face and form were exquisite in her Robot mode, a sleek piece of design, she could certainly appear to be a social light. This was the turning point in Vice's life. It took some time before she started developing the wealth needed to begin climbing the social ladder, and even the smallest of creature-comforts became a precious commodity to her. She began to taste the life she imagined, where the energon flowed and the decor seemed to be made of platinum.
That came crumbling down when one evening the conversation turned to her, and some realised though she would look the part, few knew who she was. By happenstance, the conversation turned to 'The Thing in the gutters', how disgusting it was. The barbs became sharper, and more despairing, though none knew standing right beside them was the very individual they were discussing. The stress of maintaining the illusion pushed something in Vice, a t-cog 'glitch' perhaps, or a nervous tick, but at that moment she transformed into her monstrous figure in the middle of the social lights.
It wasn't long before before the authorities brought her for judgement. Out of her place, aspiring to be more, an unforgivable act, and her case showcasing the depravity those who push past their station will sink to in order to achieve their rebellious goals. Judgement was swift and vicious. Empurata.
Her beautiful face taken, her elegant hands removed, the stress became all the more as she found these moments of anxiety forced involuntary transformations. This spiral was still something she struggled with even now. The Autobot cause called to her, with the notion of 'taking back' that which was lost. To her, it was the chance to take back the life denied to her, the one she only had a taste of, and like an addict, she needed more.
There was always more.
She finds herself frequently associated with the Monsterbots, though she could often be called the 'black sheep' of the group, as they have accepted their monstrous forms, where she rejects them. They may even feel she is in denial of what she is, but their commonality being freaks and horrors brings about a kinship. She hopes to be accepted among the social elite, though they hope she will just embrace her alt mode and join the group full time. There is an attachment to them, but they have given her the space to come to terms with her conflicting form.
Abilities:
Horrific Form - Blame it on the idea of Organic Life Alt-Modes, or something universal in all sentient beings, but there is something in Vice's Alt-mode that pulls at a rudimentary instinct in all she meets with it. When in Alt-Form, many feel the need to get away, or feel something his disturbingly wrong with her.
Alt-Mode Bite - While Vice herself is not that strong, her Alt-Mode bite strength could arguably be where she gains her name. Once bitten down on something, their are very few things that could get out of her jaw-strength without either tearing what she's biting completely off, or ripping her mandibles out. Considering her design, it's more likely the former than the latter.
Social Light - Very well mannered and skilled in high-society, knowing many social etiquette that make her very well received among the social elite.
Consuming Metals - Vice's internal structure could briefly be described as a paper-shredder for high-density metals. In Alt-Mode she is capable of 'consuming' metals, in doing so sorting them down to base parts for later use.
Alt-Mode Wall-Crawling - For mobility in her function, Vice is capable on climbing most surfaces. This has the added benefit for her to get into unusual places to hide herself, sometimes for ambush purposes, but more likely to hide herself from the world after an embarrassing transformation.
Metallurgy By Taste - She is capable of understanding the general makeup of metallic compounds simply by tasting it.
Night Vision - Most of Vice's work would happen in the dark, not only hiding her unsightly alt-mode, but allowing her to work in darkened caves or decommissioned buildings.
Weaknesses:
Vice's T-Cog's natural 'rest' state is in her Alt mode, and when she is put into situations of stress, Vice is prone to involuntary transformations.
Vice's Alt-Mode however is what brings her the most grief, she tries not to allow it to define her, but her own doubts cause her to sometimes go to extremes to show she is more than the creature that gobbles up scrap of all kinds, and in doing so has her putting herself in positions of stress, which can spring embarrassing transformation moments, sometimes construe as she is about to attack.
Example Post:
Indiscretion. That's a polite way to put it. Having hosted the celebration of a new ship launching was suppose to be the highlight of the cycle! Instead, it turned into a personal nightmare for Vice. That's how it goes.
The Energon flowed, the laughs were genuine, the celebration underway. Vice had made sure everything was set, and the invitations came to the crew and engineers who made this all possible. Of course it was worth the celebration. This was one of the small things she could do for her fellow Autobots. A moment away from fighting and the horrors of war.
So how did it go so wrong?
A impromptu speech. A 'word from the hostess'. It was Rodimus himself who raised the glass and gave thanks to her, drawing attention and giving her the limelight. She could bask in it for hours, it was difficult not to. The intoxication of the moment was stronger than any of the energon she had partaken that evening, which may have been too much by her count.
When Vice began to speak however, she felt something at the back of her throat. Oh no! Not now! NOT NOW! The more she strained, the more the crowd grew concerned. The more they grew concerned, the harder it was to maintain that image, that need to be 'among' this social elite she had gathered in celebration.
The sound of gears and rotors inside started to shift as her T-Cog just 'gave out'. That's the best way to describe it, the strain of keeping it all together, the appearance of being one of the Autobots.
And in this game, it is all about appearances.
Then the strain finally gave way. Her parts moved back to their natural 'rest'. That state was however in the form of a multi-legged, massive maw with a mouth that spun dozens of cutters, grinders, and all manor of horrible ways to mangle metal. What made it worse was it was in front of her patrons. Some started to laugh as it happened, saying how Vice couldn't hold her energon.
But then they saw 'her'. Those faces with smiles died and were replaced by visions of disgust and dread. Many stepped back on reflex, but none were more ashamed than Vice. Standing among them all, in this monstrous form, she remained in shock for but a moment. A silent 'Excuse me.' left her voice as she skittered among the crowed, running out of the room. Surely someone in there thought of it more of a rampage as her bulk of leg and jaw pushed table and seat aside quickly in a panic.
So now here she 'sits'. Just under the lip of a roof, watching the party which had suddenly fallen to pieces. Those faces now were... different. Her processors made hundreds of scenarios, each worse than the last, until it spiraled almost out of control. She knew this though. This little moment of celebration just became ruined. She got the lime-light alright....