#[ -shrugs- TRYING SOMETHING NEW. ]

[gemsalive]

re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

[wispurring-moss]

...the jury's still out on deciding whether they Actually think they believe these words here or if they're just putting on just as big an act as Fizz & Ozzie, but either way i simply cannot deny that that scene is so Them-coded that i was Compelled to draw it finally x3c

maybe don't start up a makeout/bang session in a public area of the hotel if you don't want anyone to interrupt you or start asking questions, ya friggin' dweebs~ xD <3

[salamispots]

last fam gift wip :0

[puppyeared]

whenever someone asks me for help or advice i want to beam all my lived experience and advice that helped me through it directly into their mind to try and spare them as much pain and stress as possible, but because i cant actually do that what ends up happening is i dump everything i know related to that topic hoping something helps them like

[helianss]

have a lifesteal avatar au!clown(zy) i did while trying out procreate

[lilowoof]

ngl gamers, I think I'm gonna inevitably lose to the hormones and depression in the near future XD

Can't bring myself to be active cause I'm using a lot of energy to not vent post all the time. But fuck it, into the tags I go!

[honestlyvan]

👀👀love how you analyze the xc3 cast, any chance you want to talk about juniper and tau?👀👀

Yeah for sure, Tau is definitely the place in the plot where we start getting a sense of scale for the futility of the war, I think. They're sandwiched between a Silver Keves colony and the Castle, in terrain that pretty much nobody is gonna bother traversing unless they have to, and even though they are properly equipped to fight there, that's not gonna matter if no enemies show up to feed them. Their Flame Clock is a huge penalty on the colony, that otherwise has been finding ways to survive -- I wouldn't call it quite thriving, but we see significant development in their infrastructure the moment they stop needing to worry about meeting their hunting quota.

Tau is losing the war by winning at peace, essentially. They've got the potential for being self-sustainable, they've got more than enough work in their hands in Matktha as active parts of the ecosystem, they've even got an alliance with the Tirkins that could lead to a permanent peace treaty and even cooperation, but because the mechanics of the war don't care about that, they're starving to death. In what world does a war that punishes those fighting the least the harshest have any meaning to it? Tau's situation, especially when paired with Colony 5 in the same region later in the game, really reveals that win or lose, the purpose of the game is to die.

Juniper being handed a losing battle and being told in no uncertain terms that their duty is to just see it through to the end with grace really fucks up their ability to lead their colony from the start, y'know? The blithe way they initially dismiss the idea of being freed from the Flame Clock, the weight of the old ways being a shackle that stops a lot of progress in Tau being made, I really got the sense that Juniper was expecting to end up the last person standing at Tau, and that there was fundamentally nothing they could do but to prolong the suffering, because that's all anyone at Tau had ever really amounted to.

And it makes sense! Because under the Flame Clock -- under a system where nothing matters except how many bodies you put in the ground -- none of Tau's solutions were working, and without being able to imagine a world without the war, it was hard to judge whether that was because their novel solutions were bad. Juniper's temperament being of the watchful, patient sort only compounds the problem, they see that progress should be made but it isn't, so they're clearly doing something wrong. It's easier to go back to a former flawed method on the idea that someone somewhere must have just thought about it more. There's no way to build confidence under such circumstances.

I wish we had seen more of Juniper after their Ascension quest, because I think it's interesting how U plays to their fear of the novel, her clear condescension and treatment Juniper as if they're a helpless idiot child who can't think for themselves playing into Juniper's learned helplessness and lack of confidence. Juniper being given the opportunity to rebuff that was good, but I think the way the missions can come out in almost any order on the player end means that we kind of get stranded in the climax of Juniper's character arc without a denouement.

[twilightarcade]

what if I joined a game jam

[dadbots]

cold as shit & freezing my ass off in this winter (But at least we made it to December.)

[makerscockandballs]

my mother just told me its been 9 months since i came out to her and she celebrates that. like she didn't torment me for months after and said the most horrific shit to me and ruined my mental health so much i considered cutting her out of my life completely and cannot trust people anymore like i have before

[kayspaceprince]

.

[sunshine-in-a-bottle]

I'm really hoping this next surgery fixes me. My meds used to work so well and now one bad bleeding day absolutely tanks my emotional state

[elitaxne]

┊ ❛ BATTLECRY ❜

Skinny digits smeared the bright blue war paint over her fascia in thick yet precise globs despite the trembling. Lip plates, chaffed and worn, pressed together tightly in an attempt to steady the quivering, though it hardly made a difference. Every pulsation of her spark HAMMERED in her audials, its vibrations rippling violently from her core to the ends of her circuits; frame shaking from each and every heightened electric surge.

                                                 In for four, out for four...

Large cerulean hues glanced down, watching as digit tips dipped back into the paint jar then brought the new coat back to her faceplates; obscuring youthful features to the best of her ability. Ariel vented anemically. At least paint hid her blanched appearance... it was about what every member of her company were thinking if the rattling metal and trickling ex-vents filling the prep station were anything to go off of.

Their first deployment, right into the heat of a skirmish on Hyperion — nearly an entire solar system from Cybertron. This wasn’t even their war, and yet here they were, shipped off to the edges of their sister colonies without a secondary thought. It was almost as though the High Council WANTED them off-world. Less mouths to feed, less bodies that would likely return. Young as she was Ariel wasn’t naive, she had seen the reports in the news and overhead internal conversations among her superiors; Hyperion was a relative death sentence.

It was no coincidence either that they had filled the barracks with as many lower-caste mecha as they could draft. Ariel had joined the Sentinels WILLINGLY, volunteered of her own volition as a last resort to climb the ever-elusive caste ladder. The rest of this company, however, were here against their wills. Mandated with knocks on the door in the dead of night and brought to the Sentinel base from all over Cybertron.

This mission wasn’t WORTH the more advanced soldiers, at least, such was the impression. No. Those mecha, those who volunteered to maintain proud military lineage or simply to serve their planet remained in the outskirts of Iacon, Tarn and Altihex. Middle-caste mecha who considered service as more of a pastime if anything. To the lower-caste, with infinitely less training, time, and education, however, military service was the only option to avoid poverty. A roof over your helm, Energon in your tanks twice a day... it sounded better than the alternative of rotting in the gutters of Cybertron, or worse, being sold into servitude.

Still, the divide remained even within the Sentinels.

                                                             SENTINELS.

Primus, the name itself made her upper lip curl. Sentinel Prime’s own doing EONS ago and remained even after entering the Golden Age, after gaining a new Prime. During the Uprising, whatever fledgling Cybertronian military that had begun to form had named itself in the the Prime’s honour, once independent, operated underneath an all-encompassing banner. A singular faction without borders, acting on behalf of the High Council to maintain peace and order in their world, and in cases such as Hyperion, beyond.

More paint. More shakily glided digits over her fascia in the trained pattern: a thick band across her optics to the outer-most metal, two thinner lines trailing down from her optics over cheekplates to the edge of her bottom jawline, and a final line from her lower lip to her chin. Slowly, distinguishing features blended into the paint, losing her individuality to join that of the singular military entity. The design itself was reminiscent to the paint Sentinel Prime himself wore in battle against the Quintessons during the Uprising. However, facial war paint wasn’t the only means of disguise, or rather, sacrificed self-identity...

A paint droplet rolled from the bottom of her jawline and fell to her plating below, optics watched in the dingy mirror with a blink. Cerulean hues peered down, the bright Energon-like blue droplet marking her just above the Crest of Cybertron insignia emblazoned at the centre of the petite chassis; the Sentinel badge each member of the military wore, along with scarlet paint schemes from helm to pede. Cybertronians were made in the Primus own image, and the military in Sentinel Prime’s, she mused...

The pain scheme was mandated for all foot soldiers — another cog in the expansive machine. Superior Officers got to keep their original schemes, making them easier to distinguish from the general horde. Actually, Ariel didn’t mind the colour change so much. Her previous scheme had been a pale pink; nearly opalescent upon first glance. Nothing remarkable. Nothing particularly optic-catching. Bright, saturated colours were worn predominantly by middle and higher-caste mecha after all. Those below bore protoform-like silver or naturally muted hues blanched by sunlight and low-quality Energon.

Ariel reached to the side for a rag, wiping the paint from scarlet chestplates quickly, precisely. Every action pounded into her from the few months of training she had received, to a point it could nearly be considered instinctual. The timeframe was more than the others around her had been allotted, so she took solace in the fact. Still, she couldn’t shake the knowledge of being SEVERELY underprepared for the impending deployment. The basics nowhere near having been mastered and skills virtually non-existent.

As was the case with the rest of her company every superior made clear she didn’t belong, even among the other lower-caste drafts. Short. Skinny. Ariel had embarrassingly struggled with nearly every facet of basic training. As quick of a learner the femme was, she lacked the strength, sturdy frame, and height to be formidable. Ariel had SQUEAKED by on her speed, agility, and improving marksmanship alone, activated for deployment purely because they needed BODIES for Hyperion. She wasn’t a soldier, not really; she was a TARGET, a soon to be short-lived shield for other, stronger mecha.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The young femme vented then shuddered again, swallowing back the nerves despite the dry lump caught in her intake. Ridges furrowed and her jawline hardened. Digits finished painting the design on her fascia with a last swipe. Ariel stared back at her reflection, assuring all was even and to Sentinel standard. Perfect. Skinny servos wiped themselves off with a cleansing rag, leaving not a single bead of paint left to be seen in the crevices of her digits; a tedious task given how they continued to shake.

❝ Ya dun alred-eh there, lass? ❞ a voice quietly asked beside her, Tarnish tongue and thick accent unmistakeable.

Ariel looked over to her battle buddy, Cypher, still struggling to get the lines evenly painted over marred fascia. Cerulean hues darted about the multiple attempts left staining the horrifically scarred faceplates; acid burns mutilating the near entirety of his fascia from his chinplate to just above his optics.

It had been an unfortunate and agonizing factory accident. A vat overheated and splashed up into his fascia, corroding the metal down to its inner components. Fresh surface metal had been retrofitted to cover the wounds, but, the burns and welds keeping his fascia together were vast. Ariel, along with every other mecha he came across involuntarily GAWKED. At least with her the gaze hadn’t been in disgust, which Cypher appreciated. The both of them quickly befriended each other as the defective mecha they were in their company; him facially, and her vocally.

                 How he wished his defect was as simple as a stutter...

Despite Cypher’s current reflection, at one point, he had been considered an attractive mech — now, he wore a facial covering as much as possible to hide the monstrosity he’d become. Heading into battle, though, such was not permitted. It left Cypher feeling naked, wanting to lather on the paint to cover up his deformity as fast as possible, but the raised ridges and welts made the task near impossible. He’d never gotten the hang of it in the two weeks of basic training he’d received prior to being activated for departure.

❝ Aye, ❞ Ariel nodded, speaking in his native tongue, one of the few she actually knew besides common Cybex. ❝ Need s-s-some help? ❞ she asked, turning towards him pre-emptively.

Cypher nodded almost too eagerly and wiped off large digits on his sullied rag, the linen completely blue from his many, MANY failed attempts. The taller mech hunched over to grant her better reach. Ariel’s lips pursed in assessment, careful not to upset the still drying paint marking her features. He’d been able to get the thick band over his optics ( and above his disfigurement ) done properly, but the smaller lines in the design proved to be the source of setback.

Swiftly getting to work her digits coated themselves in Energon-blue paint, dragging over the uneven surface meticulously. The Tarnish mech momentarily flinched upon feeling her cold touch, then settled. He’d only known Ariel for two weeks but the cooler-running systems of the tiny femme ALWAYS caught him by surprise. It was like being touched by a walking ice box. Both frames shuddered on another ripple of nerves, ever-present in them both and likely would be until they returned... if they returned.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

Ariel vented deeply inward then outward. Cypher watched her intently, studying the flits of her optics between the passes of her cold servo, and the scrunched expression that crossed her fascia while she concentrated. The mech bit back an amused grin. She looked like a sparkling would while focusing on a task, and given Ariel’s age, he wasn’t far off in his assessment. He himself wasn’t much older than her from what he’d learned, the deformity only gave him the appearance of such. Sparklings, practically, the both of them — they all were.

❝ D...D-Don’t move yer mouth— ❞ Ariel hushed, quiet yet no less demanding. Time was running out before their Corporal would come by for pre-checks, and he ran a tight operation.

Cypher complied instantly, tenor vocoder emitting an acknowledging hum. The mech sucked in a wavering ventilation. Large black servos trembled as they unconsciously fidgeted in his lap. Cerulean hues shifted to meet his orange gaze — another marker to his ‘otherness’. The acid has splashed up into his optics, eating away at the natural colour filter and tinged them deep orange. Very rarely did mecha have optic colours other than blue, always drawing attention whether intentional or not. Despite the accident occurring millennia ago Cypher still struggled to recognize his new reflection; cobalt optics and handsome fascia now only a painful, distant memory.

❝ In fer four, out fer four, Cyph, ❞ the tiny femme murmured encouragingly. Demonstrating just that with her own ventilation pattern. One, two, three, four she vented inward. One, two, three, four, the vents expelled steadily from her frame, unable to hide her own nerves as they swirled about on her EM Field. It matched his own terrified energy, and that of the entire company. All of them choking the prep station with their unease.

Cypher took the advice in stride, remembering the shared mantra and putting it into motion. Silence. Another repetition of vents. It helped... marginally.

❝ What in the PIT do ya think yer doin’, Rookie?! ❞ a gruff voice barked over in mandated Cybex.

Ariel and Cypher recoiled, each bolting upwards from their seats to stand at rigid attention as the older mech clomped towards them. Piercing azure optics practically peeled the femme’s paint, narrowed in a hardened glare and stealing the air from her vents. Although, the tar cygar the teal mech incessantly puffed away on was also partially to blame. Bitter white smoke stung her optics as he stopped in front of them, LOOMING over to block out the overhead lights. At least Cypher stood closer in height, only a half-helm below the Corporal. Ariel, meanwhile, barely came to the Corporal’s mid-chassis. Something the intimidating older mech never failed to exploit.

Processors whirred, expertly switching to Cybex in preparation.

❝ Assisting my teammate, S-S-Sir, ❞ Ariel quietly dared to answer, knowing full well she couldn’t remain silent to his query. Cerulean hues didn’t budge from their froward stare, catching the Corporal’s movement only by peripheral vision and forceful EM Field beating her weaker one into submission.

Speaking around the cygar poised in the crook of his mouth the mech drawled lowly. ❝ He don’t need yer help, he’s a grown aft mech! Everyone does their own paint— ❞ the Corporal barked again. Ariel narrowly escaped the instinct to flinch. Glowering down to Cypher he continued, ❝ Finish up. On yer own. NOW. ❞

❝ Aye, Corp-eral Kup, Ser— ❞ Cypher replied, his Tarnish accent ever prevalent. Seating himself he immediately started back on task. Praise the Maker, all that was required was the line from the lower lip to his chinplate... Primus bless ya, lass.

Ariel remained in place, optics forward, servos clasped at the base of her spinal column, shoulders back and chin level to the floor. Perfect stance. Kup leaned closer to come within inches from her fascia. She didn’t move. Locked in place like a statue, rigid and tensed.

❝ Ya think ya did such a perfect job ya can offer yer services to yer buddies, eh, Rookie? ❞ he scoffed, blowing the cygar smoke into her faceplates.

Ariel wheezed ever so slightly against bitter air, ❝ No, S-S-Sir— ❞

❝ Then keep yer servos to yerself! ❞ Kup replied loudly, assuring everyone in the prep station could hear him. A few closest to the pair braved their curiosity to peek over, then just as quickly returned to their own paint jobs. The threat of deployment already hung above their helms, they needn’t a terrifying altercation with Corporal Kup to add to the mix.

❝ Y-Yes, S-S-Sir! ❞ Ariel stammered in acknowledgement, feeling another involuntary tremor course through her circuitry. Dangling scarlet cables at the top of her helm rattled behind matching backplates, catching Kup’s scrupulous attention. Dammit. Ariel bit back a wince, already anticipating what he’d say.

❝ An’ get those THINGS properly secured. If I catch ya with ‘em down one more time, yer aft will be doin’ waste chute cleanin’ for a VORN— ❞

❝ Y-Yes, Corporal! Right away, Corporal! ❞ the femme sputtered, all but THROWING herself back into her seat.

Trembling limbs frantically tore into her subspace for the helm-cable covering, yanking the cables up and twisting them in preparation at break-neck speed. Meanwhile, Cypher cleaned his digits at the side, too petrified to look over. Her covering magnetized in place with a CLINK, cables neatly secured and out of sight. Ariel despised how she looked without them, feeling a deep betrayal to her Carrier in even taking such an action in the first place. Helm cabling was an inherited trait— one of the few Ariel took PRIDE in. A marker of the great Solus Prime’s influence, or at least, so she had been taught. But, these were the rules. Plus, the alternative was less appealing: having them chopped off at their roots.

What must’ve been a nanosecond after the Corporal stood at the front of the prep station. Gruff voice loudly echoing off the walls with another order, assuring everyone could hear despite the slight distance from front to back.

❝ Company, ATTENTION— ❞

Creaks of metal shooting up to stand followed immediately, all taking to the proper military stance in a sparkpulse, Ariel and Cypher included. Every optic was trained on Kup, hardened expression partially hidden by the never-ending wafts of cygar smoke. If anything, it only added to their anxiety; never quite able to tell where he was looking at any given time, or at who.

❝ Weapons! ❞ he demanded.

The conglomerate of mecha — about one hundred or so — complied instantly. Plates shifted into the proper configurations, bringing onlined weaponry mods to view for inspection. Down the line Kup went one by one, checking their war paint and weapons, assuring they were calibrated, properly cleaned, and paint up to Sentinel code.

Unfortunately, the process took longer than he liked and wanted, high standards aside the mecha before him were incredibly underprepared. Greener than green. If half returned from Hyperion he’d consider the mission a success, but in the recesses of his core he anticipated every spark in the room to be snuffed. A disheartening part of the military, especially when it concerned the lower-caste drafted soldiers.

Not nearly enough resources were put into proper training as it was simply considered wasteful. Lower-caste mecha were a dime a dozen, their population large and only increasing with every passing year. While Kup never spoke of it aloud, he assumed on more than one occasion the High Council did so purposely as a means of population control. Still, he’d would do his best to TRY and get them all home, as he always had done. Despite his reputation even HE wasn’t completely sparkless...

Standing in front of the skinny femme once more Kup grabbed her helm, tipping it from side to side roughly to check the war paint. Clean, even lines. Perfectly spaced. Near perfectly straight, though, he hadn’t expected any of the strokes to be all that steady given nerves. Lip plates pursed. Good. Kup released her with more slightly force than intended, she was simply much lighter than he’d been expecting and had exercised with every other mecha in the company.

Ariel vented shallowly, locking her weapon in place as he reached forwards. Sparkpulses continued to RING in her helm, vibrating against the confines of her chassis so violently she swore Kup could feel it coursing through her limbs.

                                                   In for four, out for four...

The Corporal turned the blaster over from side to side, next checking the internal components, and again, perfection. He huffed. The femme had an incredible optic for detail, meticulous as a seasoned vet would’ve been, it mildly impressed him. When it came to being technical the kid EXCELLED, but when it came to physicality... that was her constant challenge. She simply wasn’t BUILT for being a Sentinel. Every form served a function and this was so obviously not hers, but, she came as a volunteer; a rarity from her caste. Whatever it was she set out to prove in being here remained to be seen, and likely never would.

Kup withheld a sigh and released the weaponized arm back to her side, gentler this time, though however barely. Today would be the true test he supposed. Just like that he moved onto the next, Cypher, without a second thought. Sentimentality and emotions had no place here. Besides, he hardly knew the femme — knew ANY of these mecha — there was no use lingering on things.

The inspection lasted ten painstaking minutes before finally coming to completion. After which came a quick briefing. Two boundaries on Hyperion were locked in a deadly and bloody battle over a border feud. One trying to absorb the other to gain power over the resources ( and reach ), with the other fighting to maintain its independence as their own region. A tale as old as time...

Previous waves from both Caminus and Cybertron had come mainly to assist in civilian transportation and TRY to maintain peace, but, as the battle waged on, their services were needed to push back against the invading region’s forces. Caminus pulled the majority of their guards after the first wave. Cybertron willingly continued to shuttle in wave after wave of mecha, each less prepared than the last. But what they lacked in skill they made up for by sheer NUMBERS, bolstering the allied forces just enough to maintain position against the invaders. This company’s objection remained simple: hold the line, advance if at all possible.

❝ Load up an’ shove out, LET’S GO— ❞ Kup suddenly barked, stepping ahead in preparation to lead.

The sea of scarlet frames moved as one unit, falling into their orderly lines and marching out of the prep station to the distinctive tune of heavy pedefalls. Cerulean and orange optics of both Ariel and Cypher respectively shared a nervous glance. If the shared look were any indication they each were seconds away from purging. Even beneath the bright war paint the blanched colour tinging each faceplate were unmistakeable, and in Cypher’s case, making his welts and burns all the more apparent. Surrounding frames trembled as they marched, adding to the general cacophony of the company with Kup blazing forwards at the pre-determined brisk pace.

Ariel clenched then straightened dainty servos at her side, desperately trying to fight the heavy and numb sensation overtaking her extremities, taking to shaking them one then the other. It did nothing. Processors whirred and she swallowed against the perpetual lump in her vocoder, struggling to complete the action with her mouth now entirely parched of saliva.

Once in the main hangar they could hear the whirs of rotors preparing takeoff checks, adding to the white noise of the bustling space: vehicle transports, other marching company’s, superior officers giving and relaying orders, overhead speakers echoing updates and notices. This was happening. There was no turning back now. Reality settled over Ariel and every other mecha surrounding her like a thick, dense fog. EM Fields frantic and frenzied, mixing into an endless wave of FEAR.

Each pedefall brought them closer and closer to their aerial transport, the large back entrance open and waiting to swallow them. Ariel took a last peek around the hangar, too overwhelmed to notice any real details in the moment before crossing the threshold and marching up the inclined ramp. Kup gave another loud order and they settled onto the benches, seated and ready for takeoff — each secretly hoping the transport would be delayed in one way or another. Or, better yet, word that the conflict had miraculously ended. None came.

Large doors closed with a heavy creak and pneumatic hiss, sealing them inside along with their fates. Bright white lights of the hangar were now replaced with total blackness. Cypher’s vents hitched to Ariel’s side, deeply phobic of pure darkness such as this. Ariel glanced over and reached for his servo, skinny digits giving the thicker, warmer ones a small squeeze. Cypher reciprocated, CLINGING to her for the small comfort the touch brought; chilly as ever. A click. Dimmed red lights slowly onlined overhead to feebly illuminate the interior, allowing their optics to adjust to the nightfall exposure awaiting them at their arrival point. Servos remained tightly wound but hardly anyone noticed — they weren’t the only ones taking such action.

Scarlet plates all RATTLED against each other at varying levels, piercing every set of audials in the hull. Shaking, squeaking metal against neighbouring metal filled the space in an unsettling melody. Short, staggered vents wheezed all around, nervous ticks becoming all the more apparent now that they were officially en route. Pedes tapped at the ground, some simply let the entire leg bounce erratically. Digits thrummed over bent knee joints, or cracked the components in each digit on repeat. Denta chewed on lower lip components and inner mesh. Shoulder pauldrons lifted only to then fell, trying to dispel the tension pent up in tight neck cabling. The list went on...

Engines whirred to life as did rotors. The transport lurched forwards then up, briefly jolting the company trapped inside. Take off. Overhead, static pre-emptively filled the broadcast comm, followed by a muffled voice from one of the pilots.

                      >> ETA: TWENTY-MINUTES TO OBJECTIVE <<

Ariel cycled inwards and outwards as steadily as possible. Keeping to the four count she had been taught back in her youngling years by her Creators. Ridges crinkled, the familiar phantom ACHE made its presence known in the depths of her spark. A pained vent trickled past quivering lip components. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Don’t be afraid. Her Carrier’s voice continued to whisper to her over and over like a faulty record. Soft but strong, just as she had when Ariel had lost her—

                             No, when she had been TAKEN from her.

Large cerulean hues stung with pricks of coolant threatening to fall. Ariel swallowed hard, it would muss up her war paint if they did, Kup would be furious. Optics screwed shut as she focused on her ventilations instead. Reaching up, servos blindly felt around the back of her neck joints for her helm cabling, going to pull them forwards to comb skinny digits through yet only found air. Optics opened. Right. They were fastened beneath a covering at the top of her helm.

Beside her, Cypher rocked gently back and forth while massaging slow circles over his sparkpulse, self-soothing in his own personal way as many mecha had taken to. Beneath his breath the quiet tenor voice every now and then met her audials, mumbling a half-realized song to himself. The melody barely existed, but Ariel picked out the longer held vowels and slight dips and rises in their enunciation. Actually, the hull had begun to fill with similar whispers, mecha speaking to themselves or partner next to them. Same region-originating mecha took to their own languages and traditions in the form of prayers, mantras, and other offerings the young femme could only partially understand. All of it bled seamlessly together into a constant yet hushed hum.

Ariel watched the circling passes over Cypher’s much broader chassis, the mark of a traditional Tarnish bot through and through. Sturdy. Strong. Exactly as her Sire had been. Primus, never had she wished to have inherited such a frame more than in this moment. Instead, she took mostly after her Carrier; slim, slight, pure-bred Vosnian. The few curves Ariel’s form bore were the only hints to her mixed-race, a confusing mash-up of thoroughly opposite regions that all too often made her stick out like a sore thumb. Not Tarnish. Not Vosnian. Not a pure flyer. Not a pure grounder. Simultaneously two things and yet nothing.

Circles continued over wide scarlet chestplates, steady and constant. The mech’s thumb caught on the Sentinel insignia at the centre every now and then, but remained largely undeterred in their pattern. A beat. As if feeling her gaze on him Cypher looked over, soft smile briefly twitching across the horrific scars and metal-grafts. The unoccupied servo reached for her nearest one, bringing it to the petite chassis and guiding the same circular action gently over her plates.

❝ Aye, jus’ like that, lass. Nice an’ slow, as yer reg’lar pulses oughta be, ❞ Cypher murmured in his native tongue, tenor voice shaking despite his best efforts.

Ariel expelled another unsteady ventilation, nodding slowly as optics blinked furiously against the welling coolant captured in the crooks; never fully banished back, yet still refused to fall.

❝ What was it ya were s-s-singin’? B’fore? ❞ she croaked, again swallowing back the knot in her vocoder impeding the Tarnish dialect.

Cypher’s smile broadened slightly, ❝ Ack— don’t tell me you’ve nevar heard th’ tradish’nal war chant a’ Prima... ❞

His servo fell from hers though neither took notice. Without warning the transport BOBBED to the side, forcing its occupants to grasp at hanging holds for stability. Tanks LURCHED violently into her intake. Ariel shook her helm, focusing on Cypher instead of their current journey and growing nervous nausea.

❝ Well, s’ppose there’s no time like th’ present, ❞ he half-chuckled, ❝ Aye’ll teach ya. Watch an’ listen to what aye do, lass. ❞

The servo over his spark pulse tightened into a fist. Completing three circles across his chassis the fist banged against the insignia twice in quicker succession, then dragged again in another three circles to repeat the pattern. At the same time a large pede stomped quietly against the ground in a baseline beat, feeding into the growing rhythm. Steady. Strong. Dropping his tone a guttural hum manifested in the pit of the Tarnish chassis, low like rolling thunder. Cypher held the tone as the pounds and stomps continued. It was then that his large frame couldn’t help but move along to the rhythm, swaying back and forth ever so slightly in place as he had done before. Moved by the music he created.

Ariel nodded slowly, mimicking the actions in a fast study. Pounds and stomps came not as powerfully as his, but they didn’t need to be, she could feel it move through her all the same. Dropping her vocoder to as comfortable a low register as she could the pitches harmonized in perfect tune, cerulean and orange optics locked onto each other in an unwavering connection. Ready.

Cypher broke the hum as Ariel continued, singing the ancient Cybex chant to the same steady rhythm:

[ Listen Here ]

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall.

Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call.

Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me... ❞

Cypher regained the previous low hum, nodding over to Ariel. Her turn. The pounds to his chassis and stomps grew in intensity, garnering the attention of the nearest mecha beside and across from the pair. Ariel ex-vented, lyrics committed to memory as well as tune. From the top she repeated the chant just as the Tarnish mech had, in perfect time to his continued beat. Every word sung earned more and more self-assurance, the once meagre embers of her persona flickering to newfound life.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, S-Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall.

Vows of honour and fight for freedom, S-Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall— ❞

Behind frightened cerulean hues a fire caught before his very optics, BURNING behind Ariel’s gaze. The younger femme’s features hardened underneath the warpaint in a different kind of way than the mech had ever witnessed before; a ferocious, unyielding determination.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

A sudden shiver ran down his spinal column, spark growing hotter and hotter in the bowels of his chassis. Cypher’s optics flashed, lowly rumbling the final lines of the chant along with the femme in perfect contrast to her higher register. Their combined fervor and volume GREW.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

By now, a few bots had caught on. Several knew the ancient chant by spark whereas the majority learned in the moment, joining in from the top to both Ariel and Cypher’s surprise. Even more surprising was when — without any sort of warning — the femme SHOT upwards to her pedes, unable to be confined to her seat... or was it contained?

Cerulean hues SEARED into orange, skinny frame willing ever fibre of her being to stomp harder into the ground and against her chassis, repeating the words even louder than before; stutter vanished completely. A dangerous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, prompting Cypher to do the same. disbelieving what he assumed to be such a meek femme to make such a STAND. Little did he know, however, she had performed in front of crowds teeming with tens of thousands of mecha back in Kaon, a couple hundred now as witness was nothing to her.

Courage BILLOWED from Ariel’s EM Field with newfound ferocity, goading the others in proximity to lose themselves to the feeling as it flooded over and surrounded them. For a moment they could only stare at the femme and take in the small but mighty energy SURGING from her with a power comparable to the sun; a different kind of strength that they had never seen or felt the likes of which ever before.

                                                            MESMORIZED.

Unthinkingly, Cypher joined her in standing, heavy mass drawing more power and volume for those seated farther away to take note of. He turned, facing to the back of the transport to engage them as Ariel did similar with the front. In an instant, clanks of heavy servos and thuds of weighted pedes added to the growing tally. Down the multiple benches the chanted words and steady rhythm caught like wildfire through the red-lit hull. Each repetition bringing forth more and more participants as the words and music were better learned.

The transport roughly dipped to the side in choppy air. Ariel briefly clung to Cypher to stay upright as he reached up for a hanging grip, yet the chants never relented, if anything, it merely ROSE in volume to drown out the approaching battle. Optics burned brighter and brighter as frames rocked to the music, and one by one throughout the hull, mecha came to stand at their places.

Some opted to keep the constant baseline hum, others chanting along with the words. Some simply bobbed their helms and frames, fully focused on the beats to their chassis or stamps of pedes, garnering more power with every movement. Each and every bot of the hundred-mecha company echoed with their chosen method LOUDLY in the cabin, banishing back their fear in defiant unison again, and again, AND AGAIN. Together, they made known to the High Council back on Cybertron that their sparks would not be so easily extinguished today.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

Kup sat at his place in the back dumbfounded, cygar threatening to fall from the jaw now hanging completely agape. Never before had he seen ANYTHING like this, especially from the lower-caste drafts. Widened azure optics fixated on the tiny scarlet femme and disfigured mech at the centre of the storm, soon afterwards losing sight of them as now EVERY bot had come to stand on their pedes. Synchronized movements ebbed and flowed like ocean waves to the beat, infectious as ever.

The energy palpitating in the hull could only be described as ELECTRIC. A furious, relentless power that felt as though every spark in the vicinity were about to burst into a great cataclysm; an absolute super nova of strength. Every pound to a chassis and stomp of pede against the metal flooring brought a deep BOOM felt in the pit of each spark casing, vibrating the cores in a visceral, instinctive pulsation as though the Well itself had manifested in the transport; loud and HEAVY.

¦ ¦  Corporal, what in the Pit is going on back there? We can feel the transport QUAKING.  ¦ ¦

One of the pilots filled his comm. Kup had to STRAIN to hear above the thundering volume. The teal torso twisted to face the wall immediately behind to try and dampen the background noise though it was of little use.

¦ ¦  DON’T YA KNOW A BATTLECRY WHEN YA HEAR ONE?  ¦ ¦

He shouted over the BOOMING chants, clanks, and stomps.

❝ Iron and ore ignite the Wellspring, Bright white light to carry me home, Sunlight cresting to the Moons new splendor, Rise and fall— ❞

¦ ¦  — 5 minutes to objective, Corporal!  ¦ ¦

¦ ¦  COPY.  ¦ ¦

Now, Kup also rose to his pedes. Those nearest him took notice and watched with wary expressions, unsure if he were about to give them a verbal lashing for their unruly actions or not. Sucking in another long ventilation of the tar cygar its bitter smoke whistled from his frame. Azure optics flashed, pede stamping against the ground in unison with the company, naturally gravelly vocoder adding to the baseline hum.

❝ Vows of honour and fight for freedom, Spark catch fire to warm my form, Energon pulses hot like lightning, We stand tall... ❞

Down the rows mecha begun to turn around slowly but surely, never breaking stride or beat as they came to face their Corporal. Ariel and Cypher remained at the centre, lost to the sea of Energon-blue war paint and scarlet frames. Kup took the cygar from his lip components, chanting through the residual white tendrils as the transport banked in descent.

❝ Raise your fists and come together, Fate shines down upon this day, Know no fear when your might is sundered, Heed the call— ❞

The horde continued, undeterred and unapologetic. Savouring the high that came with the indescribable feeling claiming them for as long as they would be permitted. Their possible final moments ticked down in pings overhead, only adding to the raucous rhythm.

❝ Oh-ho-oh My spark I give eternally Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Oh-ho-oh To claim our promised destiny Oh-ho-oh Great Maker call on me Great Maker call on me. ❞

[ TO BE CONTINUED . . . ]

[inviso-bill-strikes-again]

best thing about our specific Memory Issues is that mac can buy stuff while someone else is fronting and they won't remember it by the time it gets here so it's like a little surprise gift every time

[xviruserrorx]

I don't understand why people get frustrated at things they knew were gonna happen because someone else is chronically I'll and it's happened multiple times before so it's not like it's new, like oh yeah sorry for existing like this