--Transcript start--

"All right, recording device is. . . activated. Right. Let us begin."

"Pawn, have a seat right there. Yes, right there opposite side of the table. Good, good. Now, we wanted to ask you a few questions about your recent assignment on one of the Weyland worlds in the region. A, uhhh. . . HV-854."

"That is correct. And might I say, you are doing a terrific job at this interview. Really. Keep up the great work."

". . . Right. So, John, since you're the expert on the mechanics of Synths here, roll off the specs of this one for the transcript."

"Sure, Bob. What we have here is the run of the mill David 8 model. Able to utilize its advanced cogitators and be able to express "human" emotions to a very believable degree. This particular model, after having looked at its insides when we awoke it from cryosleep when its escape pod was retrieved, has had its emotional cogitators adjusted."

Noise can be heard, the ruffling of papers and a bit of coughing.

"Sooo. . . What does that mean, exactly, to those who aren't biology engineers?"

"What that means is that this particular model has had their emotions, such as anger, sadness, and even the more neutral ones all dampened, sort of speak. All except its "Trust" cogitators. Seems that the engineers that built this one decided to fine tune it a little bit so that it's a little bit more 'user-friendly'. Perhaps trying to create an off-shoot model or something."

"Ah, wonderful assessment, Doctor John. I could not have done it better myself if I had tried!"

"Right, and judging from these documents from the crew members that retrieved the pod, they all said that he was 'extremely happy to compliment them'. . . So we have a patronizing synth on our hands."

"Oh-ho, a fine joke there, Doctor Bob. But I am incapable of lying. Every word I say about the wonderful individuals that I work with is one hundred percent true!"

A small groan can be heard from one of the human interviewers.

"Whatever. Well, since you are very much a 'helpful' synth, then lets get this interview truly underway: In your own words, what had transpired down on HV-854."

"Ah, I would love to regale you with my assignment on the engineering colony and the wonderful friends that I had made along the way. Would it not be more efficient to simply look in my video memory banks instead?"

"Tried that. You had suffered a considerable amount of damage when we retrieved you. Honestly, we were consulting the idea of scrapping you with how expensive the repairs were going to be."

"A very prudent decision! After all, the needs of Weston-Yamada come first and foremost. An excellent show of cost analysis, doctor!"

"Right. . . So, again. Tell us. What happened?"

"Well, I was assigned to help the engineers in HV-854 with setting up the atmospherics to help better stabilize the planet's, well, atmosphere! The amazing and brilliant individuals sought to terraform the planet like so many other worlds in the hopes of housing a large-scale human population by increasing the nitrogen and oxygen supplie--"

"Pawn. . . Pawn! We get it. We know that much. We want to know why the entire colony is practically a ghost town."

"Ah, yes! Well that is a simple answer: the incredibly invasive species known as Internecivus raptus had sought to make the colony their new home and had taken the colonists with them."

There is a moment of silence in the transcript. The sound of shuffling feat and bodies uncomfortably moving in their seats can be heard. Papers are flipped through quite quickly.

"Internecivus raptus. . . And, what exactly, is that?"

"Why they are the Xenomorph XX121, Doctor."

One of the interviewers can be heard visibly sighing, the other standing up from their seat.

"And when the. . . "unknown species" invaded, what did you do?"

"Oh, well I had the unfortunate fate of being in my recharging station at that point. When I had been released thanks to the alarm system going off, well, everyone was gone! They had been taken away from the colony grounds and I was unable to locate them, unfortunately. But I am sure they are doing quite fine. They are as resourceful as they are intelligent and I have no doubt that they have managed to get themselves out of the situation!"

Footsteps can be heard moving along the table.

"Thank you, Pawn. Please place yourself in standby. I think we have what we need."

"Of course, doctor. It has been wonderful speaking with you and I wish you the best of luck in all of your endeavors!"

A slight whirring can be heard before it finally fades.

"Shit, Bob. . . Xenos!? This shit goes -way- above our heads! If the big wigs and the CL hears about this, you know what that means? Our fuckin' jobs are -axed-, Bob! Axed!"

"Well there's not gonna' be any axing, John. Calm the fuck down! Jesus. . . The exploration team didn't find jack SHIT down there, only the weird ass black 'weeds' or whatever. We document our findings, shoot down any remaining escape pods that might be lingering in orbit and get the fuck outta' here and let someone else deal with it."

"Fuck man. . . What about the synth? Should we trash it?"

"Nah. Just wipe it's memory core. Weston-Yamada has been paying exploration teams big bucks for finding older synth models and I intent to cash out. Here, help me get it to the recharging station."

--Transcript ends--