(untitled)

This has to be the most irreverent drawing I have ever made. It pokes fun (or is supposed to) at the world of sci-fi art, and to a degree the genre in general. Strangely enough though, I found myself making a reason for everything in it, a little back-story in my head. So there we have it, in all its glory. Somebody help me.

The raptors, including Kai’li, were created a few decades ago by some scientist in California. He’d made them with foolish visions of some grand zoo exhibit, or maybe even lovable pets. His work, however, had been done to well, and the alterations he’d made to the genostructure to ensure their survival in modern times ended up birthing a very intelligent, sentient, feeling being. Humans, especially the religious reformists, could not justify locking them in cages, let alone killing them, though some did, of course, lobby for both options. In the end they (the raptors) formed a city in the mid-west, called Rhapsody. It went shakily from there, but when the alien invasion occurred, they joined forces with the humans, because though there were bad race relations, it was their home too, vivid in some ancestral, territorial memory. Both of us are equipped with the most advanced technology of today, for our mission is a grave one. My force fields are of the new type, with the controls located on the arms and legs, making them, among other things, harder to hit. The armor is to protect the delicate mechanisms, not me. That’s what the field is for, right? Of course, where we are, the rainforest jungles of South America, even that much is too hot for any sort of comfort. Since the fields keep away the insects, I can get away with wearing, other than that, as little as possible. I lost most my other clothes in the crash landing, anyway. Algernon, the mouse, is being rear spotter right now. He, too is unusual fare, having been bioengineered by the government to be extremely intelligent, as a spy tool of sorts I suppose (he doesn’t like to talk about it), except he had his own agenda, and craftily escaped their clutches. I found him stowed away in storage halfway through the flight here. I took pity on him, and hid him away. I have been thankful ever since for my silence. He wields a laser knife like a sword, a veritable samurai, as of course he could not hold a laser gun. He desires so greatly to be of use…His little helmet translates his mousey squeaks, which is just as well, since I have trouble enough understanding Kai’li’s thick accent. We have, together, made our way to the alien base, the sole survivors of the mission, equipped only with our hand arms and one Weapon o' Mass Destruction. We have one shot to save the world, wish us luck.
-Excerpt from the diary of Mika Michaels

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