Date Unknown, Location Unknown
With a grunt of effort, he sat up quickly, awakening from what could only be described as his slumber. “Sergeant Major, Serial Number: 48789-20114-AJ” He furrowed his brows and chewed furiously on his… nothing. “Grah, Where the hell am I?” He looked around, forerunner doo-dads and sh-
“Reclaimer! You’re awake! Welcome to installation-”
“I don’t wanna hear it tinkerbell…” He growled menacingly and turned to the ‘monitor of whatever the hell installation this was’. “Because quite frankly… I don’t give a damn.” Once the monitor entered his vision all he saw was a yellow-glowing ball with a different design than… the one he hated. He hated all these floating things, all about protocol, ‘design’ and data.
“But Reclaimer-”
“Cut the ‘reclaimer’ crap and don’t even bother asking me to destroy all life in the galaxy… What would I be reclaiming?” The Sergeant spat at the monitor, “A whole bunch of guilt and the blood of possibly trillions on my hands?! Whoever your designer was… is an idiot!”
“Guilt?” The Monitor’s glow grew more intense, one might even say it was god-given curiosity.
“It’s a living organism thing.” He grunted and rose from the medical bed.
“Ah… so then… reclaimer. I took the liberty of preparing an adequate suit of armor, taking into consideration the primitive ‘equipment’ you were dressed in when I recovered you.”
“Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then frowned again. “What was wrong with my- nevermind.”
“The Metallic substance you used was primitively put together and not constructed optimally atomically.”
“So what you’re saying is that it wasn’t good because of how it was made?”
“Precisely! I thought I’d still be using too big of words considering how I accessed some of your memories through the curious device installed in your nervous system.”
He coughed as though he’d choked on cigar-smoke again. “Say what?!”
“Of course… I could always just delete these memories and… resume following the rules.”
The Sergeant Major watched as the monitor turned around and started floating in a different direction, “So if I said I wanted to destroy this installation…” The Monitor stopped at the entrance to a lengthy looking corridor and turned to him.
“I would allow you to do so… because unlike my colleague ‘343 Guilty Spark’ I believe that instead of destroying all life in the galaxy we should preserve it… because if we kill the flood… by killing everything else… then who wins… perhaps I inherited these ideals from The Librarian… or they just came from your memories… but they are simply to understand and they feel… right.”
The Sergeant smirked, “Sounds like you know what’s what.” He walked towards the ball and patted it’s hardened forerunner-metal shell. “Instead of calling me Reclaimer all the -Yoink!- time… how 'bout you call me Sergeant… Sergeant Johnson.” He stated with a grin, but still no cigar.
“Very well Sergeant…” The monitor pulsed with life, was it happiness? Or just content?