Updated my idea with a slightly better, more coherent version.
They're running on false intel based upon myths and legends. Trying to convince I'm not actually a Demon Lord analogue will have to wait when they're not trying to melt my face with their bloody Friendship beam! And even then, they're still not likely to listen. Because trying to convince someone to let go of nearly five thousand years worth of tradition and societal bias is not flipping easy.
Still...that moment of realisation....
of thinking that, "if this enemy wasnt actually an enemy in the first place......how many others were like them?
how many of the myths were biased?
were they the bad guys all along"
that would be good to see...
Still...that moment of realisation....
of thinking that, "if this enemy wasnt actually an enemy in the first place......how many others were like them?
how many of the myths were biased?
were they the bad guys all along"
that would be good to see...
It brings up a lot of questions, but most of the content will still be missed for you, since you literally have no information and because I'm still working on worldbuilding so I can have a coherent setting for my story. Hold off on the speculation for now, until I at least am ready and able to really post a chapter in.
The author wakes up as Emperor Palpatine sometime during the Original Trilogy (Star Wars)
The author wakes up as a tactical droid during the invasion of Naboo. (Star Wars)
The author wakes up as Hitler during or right before WWII (Alt-history)
The author wakes up as a Varren. I've seen one with this premise and it was great but so far as I know it is completed. (Mass Effect)
The author wakes up as a Krogan during the Krogan rebellions, before the genophage (Mass Effect)
The author wakes up as a Primarch (which is very overdone but always an enjoyable read when done well) (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as an Old One or ancient (aka not dick-bag) Eldar in the 40th millennium. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a the C'tan on Mars very shortly (2-5 years) before the Horus Heresy. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a uncorrupted Horus Leprical after he has betrayed the Emperor. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a leader of a small race of xenos just before the great crusades reach you. (less than 100 years before) (Warhammer 40k)
These are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. I constantly have ideas floating around, but never any time to write them. I'm so glad I saw this thread and I hope I can see some people writing these.
The author wakes up as Emperor Palpatine sometime during the Original Trilogy (Star Wars)
The author wakes up as a tactical droid during the invasion of Naboo. (Star Wars)
The author wakes up as Hitler during or right before WWII (Alt-history)
The author wakes up as a Varren. I've seen one with this premise and it was great but so far as I know it is completed. (Mass Effect)
The author wakes up as a Krogan during the Krogan rebellions, before the genophage (Mass Effect)
The author wakes up as a Primarch (which is very overdone but always an enjoyable read when done well) (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as an Old One or ancient (aka not dick-bag) Eldar in the 40th millennium. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a the C'tan on Mars very shortly (2-5 years) before the Horus Heresy. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a uncorrupted Horus Leprical after he has betrayed the Emperor. (Warhammer 40k)
The author wakes up as a leader of a small race of xenos just before the great crusades reach you. (less than 100 years before) (Warhammer 40k)
These are the ones I can think of right off the top of my head. I constantly have ideas floating around, but never any time to write them. I'm so glad I saw this thread and I hope I can see some people writing these.
I'm not really a fan of the "wake up as" mechanic unless the MC's body was physically transformed, whether by tech or magic, and they wake up into the new body. I read a particularly good "woke up as a transformer" fic once. Waking up as a baby reincarnated into a new world or even in the past is also a version I like. But I'm not a big fan of the quantum leap style "wake up possessing someone's body".
I'm not really a fan of the "wake up as" mechanic unless the MC's body was physically transformed, whether by tech or magic, and they wake up into the new body. I read a particularly good "woke up as a transformer" fic once. Waking up as a baby reincarnated into a new world or even in the past is also a version I like. But I'm not a big fan of the quantum leap style "wake up possessing someone's body".
Well, I like characters who start from the bottom rather than trying to use someone else's already developed array of abilities. The ethics of possessing someone are also questionable - if they are a powerful villain, how and why did you manage to take over their body, and if they aren't a villain, what gives you the right to take over their body? I don't think it's a bad thing to write though, just not something I personally am fond of.
You turn up in the Netherworld of Disgaea. Through a combination of interdimensional shenanigans, bureaucratic laziness and, in general, demons being demons, you end up being turned into a prinny and forced into slavery. Theoretically, this means working your ass off for little pay for years on end in hope of redemption, dull but safe but, well, this is Disgaea. Good luck surviving.
You wake up as the budding Overlord of another Netherworld conveniently just prior to your predecessor's death, with all that implies, starting with demon politics...
sunandshadow said:
Well, I like characters who start from the bottom rather than trying to use someone else's already developed array of abilities. The ethics of possessing someone are also questionable - if they are a powerful villain, how and why did you manage to take over their body, and if they aren't a villain, what gives you the right to take over their body? I don't think it's a bad thing to write though, just not something I personally am fond of.
This reminds me: I once had this idea where the SI wakes up as Issei Hyoudou. Except instead of at the beginning of the plot, I was thinking it could be well into the middle somewhere, AFTER all the girls have fallen in love with him. Why DxD? Cause ROB figures the threat of going mad as a Stray Devil will keep you from running off before the girls inevitably find out and trying to murder you.
Has anyone ever attempted tp write a ROB with an actual agenda? That is, beyond "entertain me?"
I suddenly have a rather disturbing plot-bunny in the works: an established Commander SI decides to return to Earth (Prime) and perform mass abductions, dropping the SIs on a random inhabited planet with whatever starting gifts they deem to grant.
The catch? 99 different clones from their genetic material, all with the same circumstances and on 99 different instances of the same planet. May be physical planets, or full-on Matrix engram simulations.
The experiment? What does it mean to have a soul?
Bonus points for the "SI" not actually being the original.
However many have done so, it certainly isn't enough. Ideally if your story exists because a godlike entity made it so, that should be part of the plot. A good how-to, IMO, would be the Exiles comics. The Timebroker puts the team together, gives them objectives, and that whole thing is an immense overplot as a result. No wham, bam, and now for the actual plot, and no random giggling or whatever as 'motivation'. Timebroker wants things to happen, and is working to make that so.
If the ROB has characterization, then it's no longer a random omnipotent being. If it has to put effort into doing something, then it's not longer a random omnipotent being.
You should write a Specific Powerful Being instead. Call it an SPB, or (better yet) by its name and/or epithets.
Has anyone ever attempted tp write a ROB with an actual agenda? That is, beyond "entertain me?"
I suddenly have a rather disturbing plot-bunny in the works: an established Commander SI decides to return to Earth (Prime) and perform mass abductions, dropping the SIs on a random inhabited planet with whatever starting gifts they deem to grant.
The catch? 99 different clones from their genetic material, all with the same circumstances and on 99 different instances of the same planet. May be physical planets, or full-on Matrix engram simulations.
The experiment? What does it mean to have a soul?
Bonus points for the "SI" not actually being the original.
A few, but more often than not, such beings tend to be of the benevolent kind, which doesn't interest me. I do recall a Minecraft SI where it was implied that the ROB would be trying to kill the fleeing insert, but it didn't go anywhere. SV needs more cosmic horror.
I posted an idea back in SB where the MacGuffin that started the SI's misadventure exists in some kind of temporal paradox. The SI bought the item from a weird shop and got Isekai'd. She thinks the MacGuffin was from a ROB, but it's actually from her distant future self, who was closing the loop so to speak.
It's not exactly a ROB with an agenda, but someone tying up loose ends and making sure the situation doesn't end up in a timey-wimey clusterfuck.
I'd get involved in the main plot by abusing Zetsu hax and just casually busting open a big keg o' secrets. Like hiding in Danzo's desk in the council chamber/in ROOT to pop out and rip off his bandages in view of a bunch of people, and work to dragging Jaraiya off to Rain to meet Nagato.
Or just be the mayfly in the wall to learn as many bullshit tricks as possible to assist the creation of stuff that utterly destroys the ability to hold a monopoly of power. Like making power armor that levels the playing field massively, or having fun with my alien anatomy and understanding of chemistry to abuse nerve agents like sarin gas and semi-safely producing fluorine dioxide, also known as FOOF.
Or just make storage seals filled with flouroantimonic acid to melt everything's face off. Acid release? No, just a very scary mundane acid. And yes, Madara, this means your non-senjutsu Chakra immunity doesn't apply.
Be a venus flytrap man and do venus flytrap things.
The possibilities are endless!
Joking aside, kick Danzo's ass and see how that unfolds. I wanna see the other Zetsus and other people scramble to alter their plans and schemes. I sort of feel like going Littlefinger about things might be a good route.
Crossposting some worldbuilding that I decided to share. Since I did posted my ideas here, I can do that, right? It expands more on the world and all of its nation-states more like it, as well as some hints at its histories, as well as future plot bunnies.
Oh, by the way, do anyone have any ideas on how to modify a map? I have a picture of the world for my Original Dark Fantasy, but I can't figure out how I can change/scrawl all over it to put in national boundaries and what-not, as well as zoom in. It'll make my life so much easier in trying to find out who's where, and so on.
Here, I'll show you the map of the World of Taii'lor:
How about some worldbuilding as well?
The Continents' names are, as follow:
MORBIN: see that giant landmass on right, right above the little island continent? That's Morbin, birthplace of Humanity and home of the fabled magocractic Five Sovereign Kingdoms. They are the current descendant of the global-spanning superpower that was the Sovereign Empire, before its Great Collapse nearly three thousand years ago. Although the magic of the ruling elites has slowly been fading for the past generations, the Kingdoms are still by far the most powerful actors on the world.... if they weren't busy feuding with each other.
KEREN: the little continent right in middle between the two giant continents, near the top. That's Keren, once a former colony-continent of the Sovereign Kingdoms nearly three hundred years ago, now free and host to a land riffed with proud native kingdoms, free city-states, nomadic beastmen clans, and a powerful, if dysfunctional empire that is nearly the equal to one of the lesser Sovereign Kingdom, assuming it can stand being united. Its name is the Holy Kerenian Empire, and it is currently lead by its seventh Dynasty, the Weinsreich Dynasty. It is here on the northern frontiers of this empire where the SI found himself in.
ILLENOR: the continent on the left, right next to Illenor. Not much is known about this continent, to the civilized people of Keren and Morbin. The closest Illenorian neighbors to the Kingdoms of Keren from across the Onyx Sea are the Grand Confederation, an alliance of numerous city-states who banded together as a means for mutual protection against a common foe. But now the Confederation is but a mockery of its intended purpose, as its member city-states vie and jockey for influence and prestige with a web of treaties, politics, and intrigue that can be both beneficial, yet detrimental to one's health. But... there are rumors spreading from the Confederation, of a rising power, deep within Illenor... a power ruled by ancient lords who have claimed to have once been powerful lords of Sovereign Empire before its Collapse and harbor its many lost secrets, and have managed to keep themselves alive through the millennia through the consumption of blood, and now is intent on restoring the ancient glories of that long lost empire of yore, whether through diplomacy, or the sword...
WU: the island-continent beneath Morbin. This is the land of not!East Asia, currently a colonial territory divided between the Five Sovereign Kingdoms. Once upon a time, its people was united under an empire that has thrived far longer than the current incarnation of the Sovereign Kingdoms. But those days are now long gone, and now the memories of the Celestial Emperor and his grand Empire are now no more than a faded dream, washed away under centuries of occupation and forced integration. But there are some who still harbor those memories of their ancient birthright, and do their best to flame the dying embers of an ancient culture under the most direst circumstances, and remember....
VINDUL: the northernmost continent, the Arctic Circle of Taii'lor. A cold, forbidden land, riffed with creatures that makes the Beastmen Tribes of today look like starving puppies, and worse. Much, much worse. Long ago, the First Sovereign Emperor, Aleksai the Voidborn, and his Heirs Warded the northern land off, so that His people can live in peace and tranquility. Since then, the Wards have remained strong for nearly five thousand years, able to keep the worst of the Children of Vindul from rampaging through the lands of Man; but, every so often, a warband of the lesser Children manages to slip through, chase off its former inhabitants, and settle down in the fertile lands of Man. Such is the origins of the Beastmen Tribes. There's been rumors of a great migration of the Beastmen Tribes coming down south, in a wave that hasn't been seen for centuries. What possibly could send such mighty Tribes packing, and in such numbers....?
HELIND: the southernmost continent, the Antarctica of Taii'lor. A fairly isolated continent, home to a series of mercantile Tribes who build sky-ships and ply the intercontinental trade lanes. Nobody in their right mind would charter a seaworthy ship across the ocean. Well, not unless you want to get eaten by a sea monster.
Author's Note: I... I really have no explanation for why I thought this was a good idea. Dammit, muse.
============================
"Braaaace!"
A messy choir of "Hey!"s wafted up from the crew as my feet slammed back into the surf, spinning tracks churning apart the dunes as I powered through the uneven desert terrain. Sand stuck in my eyes, my hair and various nooks and crannies in my unusual new "biology", but I had better things to worry about right the crap now.
"HEY! Hey hey heyheyhey, hey-heyhey!" <SHIT! We've got incoming, 5 o'clock!> Commander yelled, the little bobblehead person gesturing behind me as it hung in front of my face, using the locks on my fringe as a makeshift rappel. "Hey hey heyhey!" <It's a big one!>
Turning to look over my shoulder (doing my best to ignore the little fellow swinging to and fro as it crawled back up my head, goggles in hand), I took one look at the direction Commander had indicated and promptly blanched. And put aaaaall power into the engines because what the frak.
What could only be described as the mutant lovechild of a mutilated box-truck and a wheat thresher exploded out of the sands behind us, the angry spiky (of course it had to have spikes) rolling deathmachine taking position behind me to the cheers of the bunch of lunatic bikers boxing me in. Pale, gangly-looking men were clambering over every inch of the rolling Macguyver-mobile and brandishing the makeshift kamikaze sticks these guys seem to love using, and as it closed in I became acutely aware of the spinning thresher prow coming ever so closer to my squishy behind.
Yeah, no. "Load HE!" Twisting round to bring my main gun to bear, I lined the barrel of the turret-bracer mounted on my right arm with the front of the vehicle. It's going to be an awkward shot, what with me half-hunched over and all the goddamn bouncing (in more ways than one) from the choppy terrain, but-
"HEY!" <Watch out!>
SHIT!
I let out an undignified squawk as a burning missile missed my head by bare inches, an instinctive swerve ruining any hope I had for a good shot. The bikers around me had gotten their guts back with the arrival of the DoomTruck, the maniacs were now going back on the attack. Scrap-metal motorcycles kicked up blinding sprays of desert sand as the hostile chasers weaved crisscrossing patterns in front of my path, forcing me to duck as they started lobbing incendiaries at my hull. Using my armoured right arm to swat away a firebomb headed directly for my face, I scowled and brought the bulky piece to bear.
I have had it with your collective bullshit today. Gunner, get 'em!
"Hey hey!" The stubby little turret encasing my right shoulder opened up in a chittering rattle, the bobblehead person emitting enthusiatic cries as it walked .50 caliber bullets all across the biker formation. The rapid thumping of the mounted gun rang loud in my ears as the first few bikers all but evaporated; a slew of armor-piercing rounds chewing into the scrap-metal machines and turning them into roiling fireballs. The surviving bikers attempted to juke out of the angry stream of tracers in the wake of their comrades' fiery deaths, the violent maneuvers helping them little as Gunner simply ran them down with the Browning.
In fact, some of the riders actually toppled and crashed as their vehicles skidded on the soft sand, plunging into the sand as if kicked from a bucking stallion. That's got to hurt-
One of the bikers, a sickly-looking man with a pasty complexion and wearing nothing but a pair of ratty jeans, screamed as his bike slid out from under him. Tumbling to the ground in front of me, his face hit the front of my tracks at about eighty kilometers per hour-
CRUNCH
The fabric of my top was considerably more sticky now as it clinged to my chest, and I could feel something trickling down my face.
...
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried very hard not to gag.
==========================
As the scattered survivors of the biker squad peeled off, I turned back to deal with the DoomTruck. A hasty swerve to dodge a hurled kamikaze stick and I was intimately aware of how deep a mess I was now in.
Under the cover of the earlier "festivities" the war-truck had managed to close in unnoticed, the whirling shears of the wheat-thresher mounted on its front bumper was practically nipping at the backs of my ankles already. At this range my main cannon was useless, the long barrel would just get chewed up by the blender-prow at the front of the truck; thrown kamikaze sticks from the lunatics hanging off of the sides of the machine were keeping me busy dodging and prevented me from building up speed to gain distance from the thing.
Sporadic bursts from Gunner in my shoulder-turret clipped a few, the bullets tearing throught the scantily-clad men and sending them spinning off the sides of the truck; but the majority of the throwers had chosen to hang onto the left side of the machine and out of the Browning's firing arc.
These guys weren't amateurs like the rest of the bikers, these folks meant business.
That's.... not good.
Kamikaze sticks exploded all around me as I did my best skiier impression, slaloming in and out of plumes of smoke and sand. Two more cars had shown up while I had been dealing with the motorcycles, the two lesser warbuggies had taken position on both sides of us and were now boxing me in. Resembling a stripped-out Volkswagen Beetle with extra pointy bits and monster truck wheels, the lunatics manning the SkeleBeetles were catching me in a crossfire of sorts. Crude crossbows chucked glorified BBQ skewers in my direction even as bomblets from the truck exploded near my flanks, a spear of pain lanced through my body as one of the damn things found their mark.
Did I mention I have pretty much no armour? I have pretty much no armour. God-damn open-top design.
"ENOUGH!" The eyes of the driver of the left SkeleBeetle practically bugged out as I bore down on the bastard like an angry bull, crimson mane flipping in the wind and lashing across my face only serving to drive me into greater steam-pissed heights. Seizing the roof of the bastard vehicle I caught it in a violent body-check, crossbow-wielding lunatics spilling from its sides as my eighteen-tonne backside bullied the midget car off course like a rowboat in a hurricane.
Eat this, you bloody f***s!
Leaning back and yanking, I wrestled the offending vehicle into the path of the DoomTruck, my fingers digging into the roof and tearing off a handful of rusted aluminium as the lesser vehicle was sent spinning right into the waiting jaws of the thresher-mobile. A tremendous detonation ruffled the locks of my hair as the two vehicles collided, the SkeleBeetle all but disintegrating as cheap sheetmetal met harvesting equipment and committed murder-suicide; both the car and the truck bucking forwards/backwards and "clapping" together like a pair of cymbals as Sir Newton took his due.
Grinding steel met grinding steel as the machines wrapped around each other like a pair of lovers, the cab of the DoomTruck caving in as what remained of the SkeleBeetle's ruined chassis did its level best to fuse with the other vehicle; spear-wielding lunatics screamed and were ground to fine paste as their vehicles did their best Katamari impression. The twisted wrecks wrapped around each other into a crude ball-shaped lump of scrap metal as the rolling testament to safe driving bounced one, twice, three times on the sandy dunes before the fuel tanks finally ignited-
THOOM
There we go. Good riddance.
While I had been busy ogling the scrapmetal ballet occuring behind us the lone surviving SkeleBeetle's crew had been up to something, one of the crewmen had tied themselves to the tip of a laundry pole hanging off the top of the car like a demented acrobat. I'll... admit, I'd been rather mystified at their antics as the gangly man hung upside-down on top of the shaft as his buddies began rocking it back and forth like some very strange battleflag, I and my crew just stared blankly as the tip of the pole arched over in front of me and the pole-man grinned in my face, still upside down.
"H-hi...?" I stumbled, still reeling from the sheer outlandishness of the situation. The strange man merely grinned wider in response, exposing rotted, blackened teeth.
And then he shoved a bloody kamikaze stick in my face.
Remember what I said about "god-damn open-top design"?
God-damn open-top design!!
=========================
The scattered shouts of my crew were barely audible over the sound of my own screaming as I did my level best to pat out the fires merrily burning across my hair, bursts of searing agony ripping my skull raw as the flames found my ears.
The fluffy, triangle-shaped kitty ears some f***er decided this body of mine just needed to have.
My soft, fluffy, useless, highly flammable kitty ears on the top of my head.
GEDDITOFFGEDDITOFFGEFFITOFFAH-
"Heeeey!" Blessed coolness fell across my scalp as Loader took care of the flames, the bobblehead hanging precariously off the back of my head as it let loose with shivering blasts of fire retardant from the handheld extinguisher stowed onboard. Giving the crewman a strained smile as Loader saluted and disappeared back "inside", I slewed my head over to the offending SkeleBeetle in a manner akin to the turrets mounted atop the class of machines I ostensibly belonged to, fixing the driver with a murderous glare. I had not appreciated that one bit, and I planned to make my... displeasure, well-known.
"Hey-hey HEY!" <Hi-Ex UP!>
At this range, I could not miss.
76 millimeters of high-velocity explosives slammed into the bonnet of the damnable warbuggy as I all but hipfired my main gun at the bastards, the sheer kinetic energy of the tank-killer shell tearing apart the Beetle-lookalike's engine compartment like so much confetti. A planar disc of concussive force creased the sands beneath the vehicle as it spun violently off course, wheels digging furrows in the sands as the SkeleBeetle's sudden lateral motion ripped them right out of their sockets and sent them frisbeeing off into the wastes. As the kitbashed minicar began to pitch up and rise into the air, 400 grams worth of TNT nestled in its wounded gut triggered a hearbeat later.
A flash, a bang, and the entire region where the SkeleBeetle once stood had been replaced with a searing hellscape of fire and ash. Of the vehicle or its riders, no traces of either could be found within the obliterating fireball.
Silence returned to the wastelands.
==========================
Screeching to a stop, I took in the sights of my handiwork: three large plumes of smoke rising into the horizon in the distance, flanked by tinny trails of smoke from the lunatics' kamikaze sticks and the merrily burning pyres of the fallen bikers. In the clear desert air the smoke stood out like a sore thumb, anyone would be able to see the wrecks from kilometers out and come to investigate.
I'd best get out of here, quick.
Wincing, I began the long and arduous process of pulling bloodied skewers out of my arms and chest, the metal spikes came out slick with oilblood as I unceremoniously dropped them on the hot sands. Thin as my hull was the skewers had gone right through, I now sported a bunch of new holes bleeding precious fuel all over my uniform and staining the cloth. With the chase and all my reserves were dangerously low, one look from Driver and I knew we weren't going to be getting anywhere in a hurry.
Cursing under my breath, I hurled the last of the bloody skewers at a far-off dune, the crest of the sand formation exploding as the bolt struck the top with the force of an arrow. Looks like I'm going to have to walk.
"Hey, heyheyhey."
"Eyup, this is going to take a while. You guys know any songs or something to pass the time?"
It seems that it's a Kancolle-based anthropomorphic car SI. But as a catgirl, rather than human. And in Mad Max.
Important fortunate detail: Kancolle shipgirls don't need normal ship supplies. They can run on nothing but normal human food. Obscene quantities, mind, but replacing fuel intake with food intake is a huge advantage in Mad Max.
Edit: It's not just fuel, by the way. It's everything. They can recover from hull damage the same way a human recovers from injuries, have ammo(useful for car in Mad Max) and aircraft compliment(fucking godsend for logistics) replenish with food intake and can just flat out eat hull materials to self-repair/recover from injury faster.
It seems that it's a Kancolle-based anthropomorphic cartank SI. But as a catgirl, rather than human. And in Mad Max.
Important fortunate detail: Kancolle shipgirls don't need normal ship supplies. They can run on nothing but normal human food. Obscene quantities, mind, but replacing fuel intake with food intake is a huge advantage in Mad Max.
Edit: It's not just fuel, by the way. It's everything. They can recover from hull damage the same way a human recovers from injuries, have ammo(useful for car in Mad Max) and aircraft compliment(fucking godsend for logistics) replenish with food intake and can just flat out eat hull materials to self-repair/recover from injury faster.
Points of note. In the wasteland, everything is in short supply.
Plus, compared to infantry attacks on regular shipgirls, these crappy weapons actually hurt now. Rolfstomp balancing has been accounted for in choosing the SI's specific "hull", and also to account for the frankly insane speeds car battles in the show travel at. The clues are in the text! Lookit, lookit!
(P.S. No love for the crash scenes? Aww, I put a lot of love into them...)
Safe food, as in "won't be run down over it", is easier to come by than the replacement amount of fuel, though I do understand that food is rarer than fuel. It's that fuel is a force projection commodity that makes safe fuel rarer than safe food. And not needing manual repair work or actual ammo is a godsend because you don't need to deal with a lot of the higher-end supply chains. And actually will probably have a hefty advantage in offense thanks to proper military grade ammo.
Rolfstomp balancing has been accounted for in choosing the SI's specific "hull", and also to account for the frankly insane speeds car battles in the show travel at.
Some sort of transport car, the sort typically used to drag mortars and supplies all over the place. Troops, too, early on, before dedicated troop transports started being a thing. The things are armored, yes, but often open-topped because they are never meant to face serious combat. The machine gun is basically just to be able to say it's not defenseless, the things are infamous for being unsteady to the point where aiming that gun on the move is a joke and it moves fast enough that the anti-infantry weapon shouldn't see need.
Mad Max, admittedly, is covered in enough crazy and cool that a lot of considerations get weird. Like the anti-infantry machine gun being useful against some pretty heavy duty vehicles because enclosed gunning positions aren't really a thing. You don't even see much in the way of mounting shields to machine guns.
