[i](The transmission begins with the whirring sound of a Ghost's inner mechanisms)[/i] "...So here I am, on Earth's moon. A highly advanced, highly badass, sentient death-machine with the ability to manipulate reality itself through [b]SCIENCE MAGIC[/b]." [i](There is a brief sound of conflict; two rifle shots and a Hive gurgling)[/i] "And what does the Vanguard have me doing? Gathering Husk Flakes. HUSK FLAKES. As in, the smoldering bits of flesh that fly from a freshly vaporized Hive. THIS is what they have me doing on my downtime; scraping up husk flakes is no job for a Warlock. A Titan maybe, but not a Warlock. And what do I get for all of my hard work? Another job immediately afterwards telling me to scan a Fallen glyph that I've [b]personally[/b] scanned a dozen times whenever the Fallen decide to put a new coat of paint on it. I guess I just feel under appreciated, you know? I'm out here, head to toe in so much purple and gold swag it would make Prince himself cry tears of joy. If he was still around, and not a 10,000 year old reference, that is. [i]sigh[/i]...Dinklebot, hand me my dustpan." [i](The transmission ends with the soft sound of a broom sweeping)[/i]