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cyberformed2018-09-21 05:23 pm
cyberformedmods) wrote in cyberformed2018-09-21 05:23 pm
Entry tags:
The Memory Event
Alpha Trion’s book is... rather dry reading. It’s generally informative about the past state of affairs on Cybertron - things like how the Functionists came to power in this universe, why the Decepticons rose up against them, and so on. The section on the 13 Primes, their battle against Unicron and their exploits after, may be less common knowledge, but it is less plainly written and takes some puzzling to work through. One such section of the Covenant of Primus is about Vector Prime.
Vector Prime was the keeper of the Blades of Time. A slightly misleadingly named artifact, the Blades of Time are a set of three key like objects that let Vector travel through the past, the future, and space in the present. Alpha Trion wrote that much like the other Primes, Vector’s artifacts were each granted a fragment of the All Spark. He took the Blades of Time with him when he left Cybertron, looking for new worlds to help Cybertronians flourish. Alpha Trion speculates that perhaps Vector could see the destruction in Cybertron’s future and wished to find a way to change fate. But unfortunately, he passed away before that could happen, a possible lesson on attempting to change fate. The coordinates of his last known location are listed.
Vector died on a planet named Xiich. Frankly there’s not much on Xiich. It’s rolling sand dunes as far as the eye can see. The sand being a dark charcoal color makes it a bit more interesting, but there’s no plants or animals of any kind to spot. Just a ton of sand. With enough wandering, a gleaming, white Cybertronian building will come into view. It’s surprisingly small for a Cybertronian structure, only slightly taller than the doorway it houses, the rest of it receding into the sand. A plaque on the front of the structure reads:
"Here lies Vector Prime,
His future ended, yours before you.
Let the daring continue forth and challenge fate as he did.
Live in the past and languish,
Or find reward in the present."
A hand shaped indent under the words has to be pressed to open the door to Vector’s tomb. From there, a hallway made of the same eerily white material leads down under the sands. Judging by how long the walk takes, the room that the path finally opens up to is pretty deep underground. Once everyone makes it into the room a door will shut behind them.
That’s when things get weird.
Blinding white light fills the room. Once everyone can see again, they’ll find they have all been separated, now either alone or with a few others, but regardless they are no longer in the large white room. They are now in the living, breathing, interactive reproduction of one of the crew's memories. Everything about it feels perfectly realistic. And when the characters try to talk to someone in the memory? That person will actually reply. The owner of the memory is present too, as their past self, and as such won’t remember anything beyond the current memory they are in. The memory will play out as it did in the past, unless the visiting characters do something extreme to change things. (That's dangerous, see more on that below!)
To escape, visiting characters will have to convince the owner of the memory that it isn’t real. When they do, a white door will appear that will lead them into the next memory they must navigate. But despite walking through the same door, groups and individuals can suddenly shuffle, ending up in different memories. A single memory can be experienced by multiple people (time loops happen okay?), the memory starting at the beginning for each one.
Now... what happens if someone can’t be convinced they are just reliving their memories? Or if you end up stuck in a room with an angry Deadlock and he shoots and kills a character? Vector’s maze considers this a failure and will perform a "reset", sending that person or group back to the start, rattled but uninjured. For some, this could mean just restarting that same memory they were trapped in to try again, for others they could end up in a whole new memory. It’s also considered a failure if an attempt to significantly alter the memory in an extreme way is made. If a character is watching someone die in their memories? That person cannot be saved. Small and moderate changes are fine, the memory will find its way back on course via a different route. But for extreme cases that would change history, this will either reset the memory, or in rare cases, lock the visitor into the memory and they too, need to be convinced that it is not real by a third character.
Only after escaping a few sets of memories characters will find themselves back in the pristine white tomb. Vector Prime’s body lays in a casket, on a simple white pedestal, with the Blades of Time inlaid on top. Take them and two doors will open - one leading out, and one leading to a rather large Energon cache. Thankfully this isn’t a trap. But since the tomb produces too much interference for comms to reach the ship from, it will have to be hauled out to the surface before it can be bridged to the R1. Additionally, any characters who are still trapped in the maze will be freed once the Blades of Time are removed from the tomb.
Vector Prime was the keeper of the Blades of Time. A slightly misleadingly named artifact, the Blades of Time are a set of three key like objects that let Vector travel through the past, the future, and space in the present. Alpha Trion wrote that much like the other Primes, Vector’s artifacts were each granted a fragment of the All Spark. He took the Blades of Time with him when he left Cybertron, looking for new worlds to help Cybertronians flourish. Alpha Trion speculates that perhaps Vector could see the destruction in Cybertron’s future and wished to find a way to change fate. But unfortunately, he passed away before that could happen, a possible lesson on attempting to change fate. The coordinates of his last known location are listed.
Vector died on a planet named Xiich. Frankly there’s not much on Xiich. It’s rolling sand dunes as far as the eye can see. The sand being a dark charcoal color makes it a bit more interesting, but there’s no plants or animals of any kind to spot. Just a ton of sand. With enough wandering, a gleaming, white Cybertronian building will come into view. It’s surprisingly small for a Cybertronian structure, only slightly taller than the doorway it houses, the rest of it receding into the sand. A plaque on the front of the structure reads:
"Here lies Vector Prime,
His future ended, yours before you.
Let the daring continue forth and challenge fate as he did.
Live in the past and languish,
Or find reward in the present."
A hand shaped indent under the words has to be pressed to open the door to Vector’s tomb. From there, a hallway made of the same eerily white material leads down under the sands. Judging by how long the walk takes, the room that the path finally opens up to is pretty deep underground. Once everyone makes it into the room a door will shut behind them.
That’s when things get weird.
Blinding white light fills the room. Once everyone can see again, they’ll find they have all been separated, now either alone or with a few others, but regardless they are no longer in the large white room. They are now in the living, breathing, interactive reproduction of one of the crew's memories. Everything about it feels perfectly realistic. And when the characters try to talk to someone in the memory? That person will actually reply. The owner of the memory is present too, as their past self, and as such won’t remember anything beyond the current memory they are in. The memory will play out as it did in the past, unless the visiting characters do something extreme to change things. (That's dangerous, see more on that below!)
To escape, visiting characters will have to convince the owner of the memory that it isn’t real. When they do, a white door will appear that will lead them into the next memory they must navigate. But despite walking through the same door, groups and individuals can suddenly shuffle, ending up in different memories. A single memory can be experienced by multiple people (time loops happen okay?), the memory starting at the beginning for each one.
Now... what happens if someone can’t be convinced they are just reliving their memories? Or if you end up stuck in a room with an angry Deadlock and he shoots and kills a character? Vector’s maze considers this a failure and will perform a "reset", sending that person or group back to the start, rattled but uninjured. For some, this could mean just restarting that same memory they were trapped in to try again, for others they could end up in a whole new memory. It’s also considered a failure if an attempt to significantly alter the memory in an extreme way is made. If a character is watching someone die in their memories? That person cannot be saved. Small and moderate changes are fine, the memory will find its way back on course via a different route. But for extreme cases that would change history, this will either reset the memory, or in rare cases, lock the visitor into the memory and they too, need to be convinced that it is not real by a third character.
Only after escaping a few sets of memories characters will find themselves back in the pristine white tomb. Vector Prime’s body lays in a casket, on a simple white pedestal, with the Blades of Time inlaid on top. Take them and two doors will open - one leading out, and one leading to a rather large Energon cache. Thankfully this isn’t a trap. But since the tomb produces too much interference for comms to reach the ship from, it will have to be hauled out to the surface before it can be bridged to the R1. Additionally, any characters who are still trapped in the maze will be freed once the Blades of Time are removed from the tomb.
Pre-Maze
In The Memory Maze
TFP Soundwave
There was only one place the Cybertronians were actually stopping to mingle. In the distance there was round structure, shorter than everything else around it, with no roof. Cybertronians were milling about the building, watching something on the large screens that were mounted on the walls. Occasionally the dull roar of a crowd could be heard coming from the same direction.
Closer by, a large truck skids off the main road, t-cog whirring to life as the bot transforms. He’s taller than average, but what really makes the bot stick out is the bright red, blue, and silver plates on him. "Just in time..." He murmurs to himself. The voice is probably familiar. A deep, rich tone, but less weary than normal. Orion Pax’s blue optics fix on the colosseum ahead, vents panting a little as he starts towards it at a brisk pace.
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His attention is quickly captured by the dull roar of of cheering coming from a nearby building. It seems to be where most of the citizens are heading to.
Having been to more than one of Megatron's pit fights, Damus knows a Colosseum when he sees one. Curiously, he approaches the arena, startled as a mech transforms next to him. He's familiar, but Damus can't quite place him until he speaks. Optimus Prime. His fist clench at his sides, but he doesn't pursue him. There is no point. The most he does is follow him into the arena, eager to determine who's memory this is, so that he can attempt to leave.
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yet it would appear that the Colosseum in the distance tells another story. such things are legal here, whereas Megatron had been fighting illegally in the past. and oh... oh how interesting it is to see someone who is so obviously Orion Pax heading towards it. this is what causes Megatron to follow, though at a reasonable distance. ]
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IT'S A BEE
Fighting is where it starts. Though everything seems to start with that where Cybertronians, isn't it? Yet it's Bee that's grabbing one of the silver clad warriors - despite his size - and telling everyone that they need to stop fighting. One look should tell anyone that they are on a different planet. Even though two of the warriors don't look it, they are organic. Bee has just had it.
Bumblebee is visibly irritated, telling these people - Stardrive and her non-Cybertronian "friends" - that he isn't going to let them throw away Ultra Magnus' sacrifice. Dire wraiths. Decepticons. Those are the priority. They need to stop them. Not fight each other.
Everyone seems surprised that Ultra Magnus would do that. For them, specifically. It seems enough get everyone to cooperate. This pleases Bee. He even looks happier, especially when he turns towards the setting star and sees a familiar big frame walking their way...
( It's a Star Screamer )
A hallway is a familiar enough scene. There are even people milling about in the empty space. Save one. Bee leans against the wall right next to a door. A door that everyone's favorite jet seems to be walking out of. That's when Bee hooks his cane over his hand. Says something along the lines of sarcastically telling Starscream what a stellar job he's doing as a leader. This, of course, only makes Starscream snap at the little Autobot. It doesn't really deter or surprise Bee at all.
They're taking off down the hall. Starscream continues his rant. He's not the one making himself out to be some kind of saint. That's everyone else's doing. Grumbling about where Windblade and her morals got here. Bee, naturally, replies in kind. Asking Starscream why he keeps bringing it all up if Starscream isn't bothered by it. While Starscream seems annoyed, Bee finally snaps. Tells Starscream off, pointing a finger at the jet, literally forcing him back against that wall. Lecturing him about how Starscream isn't just some schemer. He's something more and its something to be proud of - not something to destroy.
The bickering might continue for a bit longer. It's not as if Bee believes anyone can see him, after all.
1 Screamy Bee pls
you got it
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yelling at starscream is ratchet's favorite spectator sport
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Kaon
Inside is much more organized. A bored looking mech that can be identified as Flywheels works processing, sitting at a desk with a box full of strange spiked disks on one side and paperwork on the other. The cells are further in, utilitarian and bare of even recharge slabs, with only a small window for staff to peer into to check on their prisoners. It's not uncommon to pass by a guard amusing himself by beating a prisoner. An Autobot lays in the hallway, seizing as a guard laughs.
Today is an important day. Music plays over the prison speakers, which can be identified by some as the Empyrean Suite. Deep inside the prison there's a sort of anxious energy, and clustered at a table outside the execution chamber are three nearly identical cybertronians, differentiated only by the color of their paint scheme and optic color. They all sport generators seated in their chassis, and tesla coils on their shoulders.
A deep blue one with yellow optics stands at a window facing the hallway, and he breaks away from it after a moment, joining his three other brothers at the table. To a keen, trained nose they all smell new, barely two to three weeks old.
"Did you hear? They started clearing out cells for the new groups the hygiene team brought in. The Commandant should be here soon."
----
There's no colors, only darkness with the outline of objects, looking strangely both 2D and 3D at the same time. The outlines flicker, a bright pulse in a quick rhythm, in time with the hum of Kaon's generator. This memory is presenting in the way Kaon sees the world-- a dark place, devoid of color and definition or light.
Like the Peaceful Tyranny itself, the DJD's base on Clemency also sports a shrine to Megatron. Two towering statues of the warlord frame the center section of a hallway, looking out instead of down upon the passerby. It's not this shrine that's the central location of the memory though; the sharpest outlines of this memory are in Kaon's lab.
One one slab lays the broken and bloody shell of the former Vos. The chest is completely pried open, layer by layer, but it's empty and devoid of organs inside. Instead, it looks more like a cocoon. On another slab, diminutive, damaged, and restrained, lies Dominus Ambus.
Kaon's already opened a portion of his skull, exposing his brain to his hands, and while the executioner is usually quite collected his frame shakes with his emotional distress. His sobs are stifled but oil rolls freely from one of his optics, a shiny outline in white against the black of this memory.
Grindcore
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Grindcore
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oh look. It's the new vos same as the old vos.
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Megatron
Until someone comes behind him with a volt gun. That's when everything goes black. When Megatron comes to? What greets him is a grinning face with those damn needles protruding from the guy's fingertips. Already he is trying to say something. To struggle. Unfortunately for Megatron he is strapped down securely. All he can do is stare in horror as Trepan speaks to him in a disgustingly sweet tone - how he will be gentle. Don't resist.
As if Megatron could do anything but resist. He struggles and fights the only way he can right now. Trepan tells him that he could have done this while Megatron had been offline, but being online makes the whole process easier. Goads Megatron even as those needles shove their way into his brain with a sickening snnnnk.
Not that Trepan seems to mind, as he rambles. He's here to cure the miner.
yeeeeaaahh he's probs gonna reset at least once oops
awww poor Drift
Re: awww poor Drift
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RE! SET! RE! SET! RE! SET!
Ratchet you're terrifying
HES MAD OKAY
MAD DAD
the maddest of dads
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Damus
[Damus’ plating is clattering as he fiddles with his claws, still unused to the clumsy way that they operate.
Two weeks ago the unthinkable happened. He should have known better than to speak against the senate. He should have known that they would look into him. Resisting arrest didn’t win him any points, but he knew what they were going to do to him. Empurata was no secret, but the physical and emotional pain upon waking up after the procedure was unlike anything that he could have prepared for. Forever labeled a pariah, Damus was sure his life was over. Surely there is nothing for a little glitch with no face, hands, or future, who breaks everything he touches.
But, it’s his curse that is exactly the thing that brings him here today, waiting for something in a dimly lit back alley in central Iacon, shuffling uneasily in the shadows as if he’s waiting for something to come and swallow him up. His dusty orange plating, dulled by lack of proper care, and small stature make it easy for him to shrink back behind some pipes as he hears someone approach. Senator Shockwave had planned a meeting once hearing about his curse, making grand promises of safety and acceptance, but so far the senate has done little but destroy him. He isn’t quick to trust.]
We Suck Young Blood
[It was almost too easy. There isn’t much sport in decimating a ship of Autobots when you are invited on board. True— Brainstorm had asked that they only take Overlord’s life, but surely the Decepticon double agent didn’t truly think that the Decepticon Justice Division would simply let all of those Autobots go just because he had an unfinished pet project. No— not when Deadlock was also on board. After one kill, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. The nuke coursing through them made his team unstoppable, fueled by unparalleled blood lust.
They move easily through the ship, screams echoing paired with the sharp snap of Kaon’s coils. Tarn’s optics are bright as he stands in a doorway, watching silently as Helex extracts Ratchet’s brain module— field full of satisfaction as he slides it into the Autobot Medic’s mouth, still agape in a silent scream. He’s arranged beside Deadlock and Hound, completing an setup, completely at odds with the acute brutality of their murder. The thick scent of spilled vital energon has a shudder running down Tarn’s frame. It smells like a job well done. ]
We should move on. We have not completed our sweep of the ship— there will be time for you to play when the mission is complete
yeah 'sucks' is the right word
:')
Re: :')
Re: :')
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Give me the cheeto baby
Re: Give me the cheeto baby
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hello cheryl
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its baby damus time
:')
huehuehue
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HHHHYYYYYSTERIAAAA
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the wee bab
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Driiiiift-lock! Prose/action welcome.
Cybertron, early war, Decepticon territory. Deadlock's new upgrades make his frame more robust, armor shining as he steps off the shuttle with another victory under his belt, red optics gleaming with pride. That's still a new feeling for Deadlock, that flush of pride, of success and worthiness. He struts from the field towards the base, weapon shouldered and aware of the eyes on him--awe, envy, desire--all aware that he's moving through the ranks faster than any new recruit of his time. He gets claps on the back and kudos for his high kill counts, various offers both wholesome and not. Deadlock grins smugly all the while, sharp incisors flashing, consider some offers but accepting none. Instead, Deadlock waves off the group, ready to scrub the energon spray and blast char off his armor, making his way into the base.
"Mission debriefing in two hours, Megatron's orders!" Calls his CO after him, the mech who's likely to be replaced by Deadlock within a matter of weeks. "Don't be late."
Snickers erupt from the gaggle of bystanders, crudely whispered and heckled implications that Deadlock might have a special debriefing ahead of him. Deadlock simply grins again and flashes his teeth at them, then trots off towards his quarters, lips twisting at some inner amusement. Let them think what they want.
When Deadlock arrives at his room, he slips inside and closes it behind him, turning to place a hand to the door and resting his forecrest against it, like one would touch helms with a favored friend. Thank you for this. he whispers, the novelty of having a home, a secure place to sleep, something he's still grateful for every day.
He racks his weapon for later cleaning, hands almost reverent, and then spots a package in the mail chute. He takes one look at the attached note and snorts.
"Tch, too many aftkissers around here, weak." Deadlock says, dumping the whole of it into the refuse bin. The sudden puff of spicy-sweet scent as it lands gives him pause though, and then he's snatching the box from the trash and opening it reveal a host of different energon confections, the likes of which were very rare in these hard times. He crumples the note and drops it into the trash, utterly forgotten, cramming one of the confections into his mouth as he pulls up his new comm messages. Megatron's likeness appears on the screen in a very short message.
"I expect you to be prepared for our session following the debriefing. And because you've made such progress, I expect two chapters this time, not one."
"T-two!?" Deadlock sputters, nearly choking on the energon jelly as he remembers his other assignment, "Frag! Okay. No. I can do this. Two hours." He tells himself, staving off panic. He hastily wipes some of the mess from his armor with one hand while fishing for a datapad with the other. Once acquired, he plops down on his berth and pulls up the lesson, beginning to read aloud from a passage within Towards Peace, his voice halting and uncertain, sounding out the difficult words multiple times as he tries to practice his fledgling reading skill.
(Deadlocked) --responses may come from my Deadlock journal
(ooc: This memory covers the first few pages of the Drift mini. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. There's a few scene changes in there, so feel free to come in whenever you want.)
Dabola. The battlefield screams with gunfire and groans as the dying pass. Deadlock had seen an opening, calculated the risks (roughly speaking) and pressed the advantage. When they were victorious, the brave celebrated and the cowardly--who feared Turmoil than they feared Deadlock--complained. There were more of the latter than Deadlock anticipated, so when he calls for the brave to mutiny with him against Turmoil's too-conservative war efforts, they turn on him instead. After a tremendous scuffle in which no one pulled punches, he ended up a prisoner aboard Turmoil's ship. There was no love lost between commander and his second, so rather than turn Deadlock over to the Justice Division, Turmoil moved to execute him on the spot. Deadlock's cunning proved the better, and he escaped in a pod which later crashed on the desert planet of Theophany.
He walks the sands now, the biting wind against his armor as twin suns rise to bake the sand. Stranded, injured, without supplies and alone. The Decepticons had been his home, his passion, his purpose, for close to 4 million years. Now he's alone again, soon to be starving, with enemies on all sides. It's too much like the gutters of Rodion, like the Dead End, and he scowls against more than just the sand stinging his optics.
"Fraggin' cowards!" he spits, disgust and frustration warring for dominance over his fear which lurks deep below it all. Deadlock seeks shelter under a rock outcropping when the winds pick up. He glances at his wounds, his shoulder armor had deflected the brunt of one shot but his side, more lightly armored, stings and slowly seeps pink fluid from the cracked plates. With no supplies, he simply tucks a hand over it to keep the sand out, growling balefully as he looks up at the moons resting in the sky. "I have to get back up there. I have to win the war."
(other?)
Want something else? Maybe one of the memories I mentioned here? Let me know!
reading rainbow
the gayest reading
Re: the gayest reading
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this is a bit of a stretch but who cares
well you know how much I like a good stretch ;3
;D
Re: ;D
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Deadlocked
Re: Deadlocked
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Nickel
Everything here is... small. Very small. At first glance one might even assume it's some kind of organic world. But then you notice the clearly Cybertronian looking inhabitants. Minicons, all of them. Some might find this just kinda weird. Some might recognize this for the dead colony of Prion. Just... decidedly bustling with life somehow.
Life that might be side eyeing any particularly TALL new visitors suspiciously.
The dominating feature of this particular area seems to be the large and modern looking medical center. Prion is a peaceful place, but that doesn't mean accidents don't happen and people are never idiots. And it's as busy inside as one might expect of a metropolitan medical facility.
Nickel's there too amidst the organized chaos, talking to someone over a comm, and notably sans any sort of brand on her chassis. There's a yellow and orange minicon hovering beside her, clearly trying to pester her. Trying to figure out who she's talking to and if it's that cute police officer again. You know the tall one? Nickel seems to be indicating that this is purely a business call checking up on the scene of an accident and Pipette don't you have some medical slabs to sterilize and prepare?
Later
Later something draws Nickel away from another, purely business, conversation with her police officer. A booming sound in the distance. She looks curiously towards the window.
"Huh... thought the demolition on that old building wasn't supposed to start until next week..."
The Peaceful Tyranny
The Peaceful Tyranny is sleek, state of the art. No matter what faction you hail from there's definitely something impressive about walking through it. Unless you happen to walk into one of Tarn's... tastefully decorated rooms. Down one particular hall a pair of voices can be heard. One is Nickel's, the other normally deeper and louder but for now reduced to a harsh whisper, is the DJD member known as Helex.
"Well I'm going to have to tell Tarn about this," Nickel huffed, hands on her hips.
"You can't!" the enormous decepticon replied, an actual edge of fear in his voice.
"You think I just have replacements for that hanging around? I'm going to have to order parts. PARTS HELEX," she sounded absolutely incredulous, "Tarn's going to want to know why I need things out of the ordinary and you know I won't lie. And I mean I'm definitely not trying to inflate your ego but it can't exactly be small."
Helex had the audacity to snicker immaturely and hold his larger hands a good distance apart from one another. Though after a glare from the tiny medic he cleared his vocalizer awkwardly and shortened the distance considerably.
"I don't even want to know how you managed to get so overcharged you somehow managed to loose the thing AND can't remember where it's gone off to. I should just ask Kaon to go through surveillance."
"NO."
"HELEX YOU GIANT IDIOT HE'S BLIND IT'S NOT LIKE HE'S GOING ACTUALLY SEE YOUR DUMB GIANT DONG LYING AROUND HE'LL JUST RETRACE YOUR STEPS FROM LAST NIGHT!"
"I told you not to actually say it!"
tiny land
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Ratchet | action or prose welcome
Rodion
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SONIA | action or prose
01. the start of the war
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02. under the influence
03. all arise!
Flashpoint | prose or brackets
1 - Hello Stranger (pre-war)
Hello Stranger
Hello Stranger indeed
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2 - Cripsy Critter (cw: robogore)
PHARMA | action or prose
01. on messatine
02. prewar cybertron
WHIRL
The door opens with a complex chime, parts and gears whirring against each other, making sharp tinging sounds in the air, pleasant and complex. The shop is small. It's barely large enough for someone Whirl's size to move with any ease, but he can and does. The windows are high and inset with different sized bits and colors of glass, like someone took what was once broken and fused new parts to it until it made one whole again.
The back room is half visible, and the watchmaker clearly lives there, the signs of a recharge slab and bits and trinkets are easy to see even from the door. It's not large, and it is not remotely the size someone would hope to live and work in, but it is clearly loved, clean and well lit. There is an organized chaos to the instruments and parts out on the work counter. There are what looks like spirals of lenses that can be folded down into place for the more intricate work, and rows of tiny, well used instruments.
But however interesting the space, the true treasures are the chronometers. They're all individual, some made to stand free, others made to be inset into systems, and all intricate and unique. Some have exposed fixtures, others have inset crystals, others made from cobbled bits that started as something thrown away and became something beautiful. All running in perfect sync.
The watchmaker sits in the middle, able to see the door, and clearly at home. He's humming to himself, as he often does, but there's a tonality to it that has been lost, and a smile on his lips that hasn't been seen in ages. Blue fingers slide over tools until he picks the one he wants and yellow optics light again as he sets back into work.
There is a serenity here, that is near perfect.
Except the door.
That back door, there.
Back, in Polyhex, before the dawn of the war, the Watchmaker's shop never had a back door.
But there is one now.
And from it, if one listens, very carefully, there are screams.
But the Watchmaker doesn't hear, and he continues working, utterly unaware of the hidden horror in the shop, or how short this peace would last.
:)
and hearts are gonna breeeeaaak
SO MUCH HEARTBREAK
SOB
gimme them tears
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Getaway
Getaway himself was standing in front of the screen, his smug delight oozing out from under his plating and filling the room. Getaway had won. This entire ship was a trophy to his success.
Rodimus' face on the viewscreen was grim and resigned.
"Did you arrange for us to be attacked too? Were you that worried about us coming back?"
Getaway responded with a dramatic flourish of the hand.
"Let me answer your questions with one of my own. By what tortured logic did high command conclude that letting an unrepentant mass murdered off the hook represented anything other than an insult to the memory of the billions he killed?"
He paused for half a second before continuing. "Seriously- can someone explain to me how the war can end with the instigator being allowed to go about his business as if nothing happened? The death camps! The massacres! The cities razed to the ground! Apparently all of them were just missteps- painful, but necessary- on Megatron's path to self-discovery!"
The rest came as it had done, with Getaway rejecting Rodimus' attempts to placate him. He was so clearly in the right that there was no way anyone could try to tell him otherwise.
"You're a bad captain." He says finally to Rodimus, and the glee momentarily recedes to absolute, genuine disgust as he regards the former captain of the Lost Light. "I realized that the moment I saw your ridiculous "Ropdpod". The thing is..."
The thing was: Rodimus was selfish and self-serving. Anyone could see that. He was a failure and it was time for someone else to take the reigns. Getaway told him as much.
Eventually, Rodimus looks up at him with an intense, energon-curdling hatred.
"We're coming after you. Count on it. We'll find a way, trust me."
But it was time for this to end.
"You're about to have visitors. Just do as they say and no one will get hurt. Well, that's a lie one of you will probably get hurt."
And that was that.
He ended the transmission and stood there, basking in the radiation of his victory.
What a good memory this is.
shows up a million years late w no starbux, end me
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Misfire
Flyhigh
PARTY TIME
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wow I def posted this in the wrong place at first /facepalm
Grimlock
VOS
The room is dark. The only light comes from outside, from neon lights through the windows,
and from a small lamp over a mirror. The room was probably beautiful, even earlier today. Lavish and covered in fabrics and glass which easily shows what level the Cybertronian who owned the home was at. But those fabrics have been shredded, torn from all of their fixings, and the glass shattered.
A fountain that seems to be an homage to Primus spits and gutters as the lack of liquid causes the pumps to stutter. It's easy to see what clogs it's ability to run, as the helm of a large mech has been shoved into it. The body is still attached. Somewhat. Spitting sparks and leaking energon out of it's lines, but still mostly attached. Whoever the mech was, they were clearly well kept. Clean. Their plating flawless until whatever caused his demise. The energon from the mech and the liquid from the fountain pool around the grotesque mess, leaking out across the floor in a pink haze, stopping only where it reaches the swaths of fabric torn from the walls.
Whatever happened here, the energon is still warm, and the culprit is still in the room.
Sitting in front of the mirror, in the only lit space of the room, is a very small mech. Lithe and grey and black. He's faced towards the room, trying to use the mirror to look over his shoulder.
Forestock is babbling, at the moment, in pain and terrified, energon floods down his neck from where he seems to be taking a laser scalpel to his own intake. Upon closer inspection, it's clear that he's not trying to harm himself, he's trying to remove something. It's fairly easy to recognize, if one lived through the years of mechs controlling those in lower classes. Forestock's intake is capped. Locked in place, and as a gun with very few primary lines, he has no other way to take in energon properly.
"Who decides on tha--That order." As Forestock works, he recites, trying to remember why he's doing what he's doing even when the pain becomes near unfathomable. "And then: why should there be an order? And that is the question the-"
Forestock pauses, venting hard. His frame does not vent easily and never has, something in his gears sounds off, probably from the tension he's holding as he works.
"That is the question that the Senate and the fu-funct-"
Forestock halts, as the words trip over his vocorder, language processor tripping horribly as he tries to speak words he wasn't made for. His hands shake as he holds himself still and tries to keep from failing, from cutting too deep and making his attempts useless, from screaming and letting someone hear, from taking too long until someone attempts to retrieve his ma- Throttle. Before someone attempts to retrieve Throttle.
Forestock's hands cover his optics, his frame hunching over on itself as he tries to figure out what to do.
"P-Primus, please-"
-------------
Before the nightmare
When there are not many Decepticon medics, as it turns out, anyone with even a little use is brought it. Which is precisely why Forestock was stolen from his work to help try and repair the collection of genericons that managed to get their afts handed to them by some back water patrol of Prime's.
He's left alone, for the most part. Which suits him, most of the time. They give him left over parts to work with, and before Shockwave went even madder it meant that they would allow him to contact the old mech or any of those who worked for him, and get access to whatever strange data he'd come up with. But, alas, there was less focus for the more science minded decepticons since his latest insanity.
Forestock ignores the strange look he gets as he works, testing lines and reassessing joints until it's back into place and the fellow Con can move his elbow again.
The mech goes to jump off the table and shouts over to another mech in the lab.
"Hey, tell freaky he did a good job." The con waved and headed out, leaving Vos sitting there, staring at where he'd gone.
"I can understand you perfectly well." He said into the room, to no one.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked over, staring up at the mech who had interrupted. It was one of the medics, one who seemed to realize he actually understood when spoken to.
"Uh. Forestock? There's someone here for you."
Forestock tipped his head, and then waved them off, trying to ignore them. If it was someone who wanted to speak with him they would have pinged.
For once, his attempt to be left alone was ignored.
"No, Forestock. Trust me. You gotta answer." The medic mech looked terrified, Forestock only just realized that. Why were they scared?
"It's- Forestock, the DJD are here. And they want to talk to you."
Forestock's lines went cold. Why, in the pit and well, would the DJD want to speak to him. Forestock pulled his field in before terror could eclipse his calm.
He nodded and got up.
As he left the room, the rest of the mechs looked at him like he was going to an execution.
If he was, he was going to go with his helm high. No mech who had been loyal to the cause had anything to fear, and Forestock was loyal. He had been for years. He had been fired by Megatron himself. He was a decepticon through and through. And he was proud.
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the beginning
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FIRST AID
1. a date on Kimia
I told you I would.
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...robots have proctologists.
seems legit
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Rodimus
Matrixing
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Nyon
WEH
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bad
[riptide is standing on a table. if you know riptide well enough, you'll know that's not actually too much of an odd thing for him to do.]
Attention grieving masses! [the boat shouts. it's no less embarrassing than the first time it happens. even pipes looks a little weirded out.] The massive spaceship with the spikes-- someone tell the owner we've got an equally massive amount of money and we want to do a swap!
[he hops off the table, looking pleased with himself.]
That'll work.
spooky scary skeletons (cw gore)
[the halls of the lost light have been dark before. a dark hallway isn't always a bad omen, sometimes it just means the lights have been turned off! someone forgot to pay the bill, or-- hit the switch as a joke. it's likely not the darkness that's the bad omen-- anyone wandering through this memory will see... crew members of the lost light. dead. dead and mutilated in the way that only the DJD could kill en masse.
riptide's standing in a doorway that's open to a bigger room, with even more corpses. most in alt modes, people that had tried to run and hadn't got very far before they'd been caught up with. someone's asked him a question, though it's not clear. the answer comes shakily, as he hugs his own chest in fear. it's very likely that if anyone who's experiencing the memory with him is from the lost light, they'll recognise most of if not all the bodies.]
Yes. Very much so.
[the broken ship groans. someone's energon drip-drops. it's a silent, terrible memory that riptide had been keen to repress.]
spooky scary
daniel powter playing softly in distance
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Breaking Out Of The Maze and Post-Maze
DRINK THE SARCOPHAGUS JUICE
While everyone else is busy either returning to the R-1 or checking out the cache, Kaon is more interested in Vector's casket itself. It's stupid, really. If Vector was any sort of of god, then why would he be dead? Obviously he wouldn't.
It doesn't take long to crack the casket open, and Kaon sits on the side of it, looking down over Vector's greyed corpse. His coils snap rapidly, ensuring he has a good picture of the corpse as he reaches down, feeling inside the casket to see if there was anything special buried with him, coming up with nothing.
With his inhibitor he can't transform a drill out, which makes this next part... messier. Lucky for Vector he's already dead as Kaon digs his fingers into the corpse's stomach and start to peel his armor open.
WATCHING FROM AFAR
TOO LITTLE TOO LATE
BAD CHOICES WERE MADE
winky kiss face
I am lame and did not track this. B|
that ride is not OSHA compliant
It was the last big bit of disorientation, and then they were all there together, in the central tomb, the prize having been claimed by the first to exit the maze. He'd been surprised to see Sonia--and was that the barkeep with her?--but Drift kept his distance. As interested as he was in the artifacts, the coffin and the tomb itself and its writings, he was not up to talking just now. He made a show of walking the circumference of the room, presumably reading inscriptions or looking for clues and generally exploring as so many other as, but in reality Drift is seeking some solitude in which to process the numerous emotions--both dredged up and newly created--resulting from the memory maze.
When the secret chamber with the energon and other treasure is found, he meanders that way but does not enter. Instead, he puts his back to the wall near the opening, sinking into a crouch, thumbs pressed to either side of his nasal ridge with optics dark. Drift's vents rattle softly as he ex-vents deeply, sighing out the tension. He murmurs softly, thinking himself alone.
"Oooh, Primus, you do enjoy challenging me..."
[b. after kaon's death ]
As if the day hadn't already been deeply 'interesting', Kaon had decided to relieve Vector Prime's corpse of its innermost and then made a snack out of it, which promptly overwhelmed Kaon's systems. The religious devotee in Drift still cringes at the thought, but managing a distraught Vos and the failed attempts to resuscitate had set that mostly aside. Drift had curtly ordered the nearest capable individual to assist Vos in carrying the body back to the ship, and then he took it upon himself to clean up the mess.
"And this is why we don't drink ancient innermost from higher religious figures," Drift says in the form of a public service announcement, the lines of his face deep and even the shadows hanging there looking weary as he wipes up the innermost-laced vomit from the floor. There's plenty of work ahead of him though, he has Vector's body to restore as best possible and the huge top slab to put back in place, though given its mass that may be a trick for a solo individual.
[c. wildcard - want a different time/setting? add your own! ]
b
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a
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