Black.. The darkness was still.. Absolute. No light existed, nore was any needed. Thier patience, eternal they waited.

SYSTEM ONLINE: Loading.

CONNECTED.

NEGOTIATING WITH HOST.

INITIALIZING GPS.

AWAITING ORDERS.

Gyroscopes began to shift, subtle vibrations rumbled softly through the black voice. A Sound like the waitling whine of the garbage truck on Wednesday morning. Then, just as abruptly the vibrations stopped with a jolt.

SYSTEM STATUS: OK.

LOADING PROTOCOLS: Complete.

WEAPONS: OK.

STABILIZERS: OK.

With the force of a thunderclap the darkness resounded with a resounding boom. Soon, light tore through the void. Searing the shadow as the digial image of the loading dock came into view. The HUD became littered with endless streams of numeric information flashing on and off superimposed upon the sterile concrete of the transport facility.

INERTIAL DAMPENER: Active.

HYDRAULIC PRESSURE: Optimal.

DOCKING CLAMPS: Off.

The dull steel gray locking devices broke away with a clatter as powerful pistons began to exert pressure. Lifting the veiw of the camera slightly and tilting it to the left. This was followed by the thud of metal, buffered only by galvanized rubber grafted to the base the mechanical limb touched down and the process was reversed Over and over this juggernaut lumbered down the gangplank.

"Number one is free. Servo actuators are operating perfectly." the wiry man in the white labcoat smiled proudly. He stepped towards the machine as it loomed towards him. "Vocal command, access code 29." the technician held his hand out to the machine. Immediately it stopped. Sinking down onto the casings og the servo motors. A hiss erupted as the hydraulics bled off remaining pressure. He stood there and marveled at a device that was not supposed to exist outside of the imagination of Hollywood. Yet here it was.

He walked around the unit, inspecting it's every detail. Just under nine feet tall the formidable assembly stood. The exterior hull was polished blue black with a deep grey undercarriage emblazoned with white lettering indicating it's call number: G.R.U.N.T 01-110. Looking very much out of place did this construct appear. It's body slim and sleek, protruding main fuselage was sloped like the hood of a cobra stretched atop the legless body of a frog. A single red lens, like a stoplight, lay behind an armored titanium alloy grill. The legs it did have were reversed at the knee like an ostritch but by no means did these bundles of hoses and pistons appear so frail. Covered by armor plating consistiant with the M1-A1 Abhrams the hulking mechanism stood before the more than impressed look of the man in the labcoat. He was then distracted by a voice from behind him.

A man in a jet black suit and sunglasses spoke to the technician. "They're late." he frowns.

The tech shrugs. "I don't handle transport. Just operations." he smirks. Clearly not letting one of the drones to get his goat. "Belive me." the technician smiled. "She's worth the wait." he softly pats the arms of the device. Hung wide from the main torso they seemed more like the landing bays of the Battlestar Galactica than they did appendages. Front and rear the pylon like arms rotated their drums. "The very latest in quantum search software. The very best in continual information uplinks."

The agent cuts him off. "Yeah I can see the thing it built like a firehydrant. But will it do the job?" he asks.

The technician smirked. "Vocal command, access code 29. Initate offensive protocol 117." The grunt beeped and instantly rose up on the reversed leds. The agent was surprised at the speed of a contraption the size of a minivan with legs. But not nearly as surprised when it spun towards him like an Asp discharging rounds from it's concealed torso gattling guns. After several seconds the tech grins at the splatter against the wall that was once a field operative.

"I think she'll do fine."