The suit itched. The Forsaken despised being inside the Human Male Multipurpose Suit (HuMMS) but it was a necessary evil. Unknowingly, he scratched at the suit. The thing itched something fierce. The translator box worked entirely too well, he thought to himself. Every word that he spoke was twisted into that droning human voice and every word spoken to him came to his ears in that same droning voice. It seemed that every human sounded the same. At least the women sounded interested. The human female voice was much more inviting than the sound of brass bolts being tossed onto gravel that the Forsaken women usually sounded like.