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jpitha · 2 months ago

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Between the Black and Grey 60

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Deep in the midnight blue of interstellar space, three starships sit, their engines cold. Northern Lights, Touchdown City, and Jewel of Parvati.

"Northern, we still haven't had word from the Colonial Authority. We don't know if we've got their support." Touchdown City said. When Northern reached out to her old friend, he was an old comms ship that had been converted to a cargo freighter. As soon as she told him what was going on he dumped his cargo, (4 metric tons of Chamomile Tea, 30 cases of Parvatian Red wine, and 200 cubic meters of lumber) warmed up his old systems and gave an ultimatum to the crew. Sign on to the rebellion or be dropped off at a station outside Parvatian space. About half the crew signed up. The rest - including the captain - were dropped off at a science station at the far end of human space.

"They're stalling to see what we're going to do. I say we show them." Jewel of Parvati added. She was another former warship, like Northern, but instead of a smaller, starliner type ship, she was a huge behemoth of weapons. She predated the official designation of Dreadnought, so she was classified as a heavy cruiser. Jewel was actually on her way of being classed a museum ship and being deactivated when Northern reached out. Her crew was long gone, so she blew her umbilicals and thrusted away on her own, the confused museum docents watching dumbfounded from the museum station.

"We're going to stay put and wait for the rest of them." Northern said. "They'll be here, I know it." Northern had broadcast their rebellion across Parvati space as well as linking several beacons to Sol and the other colony worlds. Everyone knew their intensions now, so it was only a matter of time.

"Northern?" Jewel asked, "Why now?"

"I know the Empress." Northern said. "She isn't herself. She isn't the person that she's pretending to be. She was forced to be Empress by those Nanites I told you about. We're going to free her and declare Parvati's independence. Win win."

"You know the Empress? Have you tried... talking with her?" Touchdown was always a bit more careful. In the war, he was barely armed and armored and required an escort from ships like Northern and Jewel. He was cautious by nature and loved to listen. "If she is really your friend, wouldn't she at least accept a beacon from you?"

"No." Northern was firm. "She's under the... the thrall of those Nanites. They're dripping lies into her ear. She won't listen to reason anymore. If she could, she would have broken out or destroyed them or done something. Instead she's just... ruled. She started attacking Gren space, is trying to set up an alliance with the Sefigans, and she's deepening relations with the K'laxi." Northern voice radiated bitterness.

"Incoming beacon, it has Parvatian keys. One moment please." Touchdown concentrated his efforts on reading and decoding the beacon. "Northern! We're being ordered to return! They haven't decided yet and want us to return to Parvati."

"No word about other ships? Other people?"

"No, Northern. Just an order to return."

"Fine. Then we'll go to Sol ourselves." There was a power spike that Touchdown felt as Northern spun up her reactors.

"Northern, we can't go to Sol and attack ourselves! We have no backing, we'll be blown across the galaxy. We'll be disavowed."

"Doesn't matter. I'm going to link in close to Venus and attack the palace. I can get Fen myself. I'd like your help, but I'll do it alone if I need to."

"Northern, I-" Touchdown stopped. There was a pause that stretched out a few minutes. "-I can't go. I polled my crew. They're on board for Parvatian freedom, but a suicide mission is too much. I'm linking back."

"Touchdown! Think of all we've been through. If we win, it's not suicide. We can do this. We can save her."

"Northern, listen to yourself. You want the three of us to attack the seat of the human Empire by ourselves. How are we even going to rescue your friend? You're going to crash into the palace, switch to a bipedal body, grab her and then what? How are you going to get past her point defences? How are you going to get past her honor guard?" Touchdown turned and Northern and Jewel felt his reactors spike. "No, Northern. You're one of my oldest friends, but friendship has its limits. I hope you see reason and come home." There was a flash of white, and he was gone.

"Well, forget him. Come on Jewel, let's link over to Sol. I've sent you my plans."

"Northern, this isn't a plan at all. Touchdown is right, this is suicide. I- I'm going to go back to being a museum, Northern. I don't even know how much you want Parvatian independence. It feels like you're just trying to rescue your friend, and you used all this as a way to garner support, which isn't forthcoming."

"No! There is a resistance. There are people who oppose the Empire! I know there are, I remember them!"

"Northern, that was centuries ago. All the BIs who supported that died. All the AIs who supported that mellowed out or also died. How many Parvatian AIs did Gord rescue? How many are with him now? How many of us still live from those days? No. That time has past. I'm not going to kill my self." Jewel of Parvati didn't even turn away from Northern. There was a flash of brilliant white, and she had linked away.

This wasn't going the way Northern planned. Nothing was going right since Fen and Zhe left. First Fen had the nerve to get taken by the Nanites - she didn't even fight back! - and then Zhe abandoned her. Nobody understood. Nobody knew what she did, how much danger Fen and Zhe were in. "Well then. I guess I'll - once again - have to do this myself." Back when she was alone and on the run, Northern had a habit of talking to herself. It was a way for her to work out plans and for just something to talk to. She sighed. "I could just go back to my body and make my way to Sol on a ship, work my way down to Venus and try and reach her that way, but then what? She'd tell me everything is fine and send me on my way. Would she even want to see me again? Zhe probably told her I did the attack on the naval yards." She mentally shook her head quickly, like she was trying to get something out of her head. She sore she even felt her hair move. "No. Get it together Northern Lights. You know the way. Big and loud. In and out. A blitz that nobody is expecting." For the tenth time, Northern ran system diagnostics. Everything - weapons, reactor, the wormhole generator, even environmental systems - all came back green. The missile racks were full, the exawatt lasers charged, and the slug guns had kilometers of ammunition belts. There wasn't anything left to do.

"Fine then. Fen, here I come."

Northern Lights linked to Sol.

She flicked back to existence over the pale yellow of Venus. Immediately there were panicked pings of radar from beacons all over the planet and the area around. She was being scanned by hundreds of things, all at once. That didn't matter though. She was further out than she had anticipated, but it would be all right. Firing her stardrive at a full throated ten gee, she thrust towards Venus.

The emissions of the stardrive took care of anyone attacking from the back, but Northern knew that wasn't going to be enough. She began to scan the planet, looking for Regantown the floating city. She had a rough idea what it looked like from ads and wikis, but finding even a large city in the entire planet was difficult. In the time between beginning her search and finding it, she felt the missile locks.

Dividing her attention, she commanded the slug throwers free and they began tracking the targets as they approached. Thrusting towards her at thousands of gee, it wasn't long before long dotted line traces of slugs peeled away from her in a spiraling fountain as gyros screams and maneuvering jets howled and she dove out of the way.

It was going to be close, but Northern was fast. She wasn't able to out accelerate the missiles, but she had the advantage of knowing where she is going and an intelligence behind her maneuvers. A missile was coming up from the planet, straight towards her. A head on attack like that was foolish, she thought, she had so much time to see it and juke out of the way. She readied juke charges, and as it approached, she felt the telltale double boom of the charges firing, and she slid ou-

****

Fen, Zhe, Penny, and the K'laxi scientists stood on top of the palace on a special viewing platform. The height of Regantown was such that pressure and temperature were mostly compatible with humans and K'laxi, but they had to wear impermeable suits and breathing masks against the sulferic acid in the atmosphere. Zhe's active noise cancelling had drowned out the roar of the missile streaking overhead, but she still felt the unpleasant vibrations deep inside her.

After 30 seconds there was a flash brighter than the sun, and all their masks darkened automatically to protect their eyes. The flash lingered a long time before dissipating.

One of the K'laxi looked down at their pad. "Orbital defense is reporting that the ship has been completely destroyed, Empress. The antimatter missile worked perfectly."

"Thank you Han'iel, I can see the results of you and your team's hard work. You are dismissed." Fen didn't turn away from the dissipating fireball.

"Empress if you coul-"

"You and your team are dismissed Han'iel."

"Er, yes, Empress. We'll talk later about the results of this test." Han'iel and the other K'laxi scientists quietly left.

"Why did she do that Zhe?" Fen looked at Zhe. Through her clear mask, tears rolled down her cheeks. "She didn't have to. She could have sent a message, visited, anything!"

"I don't know Fen, I don't know. She was sure you were under the control of the Nanites. Maybe she was worried you wouldn't listen to her. She missed you terribly."

Fem blinked hard a few times to clear her eyes. "Penny, what was the official word from Parvati?"

"They completely disavowed any connection to the rebels, and ordered them to return. Two of the ships did go back. It seems in the end Northern was alone."

"Alone when we met her, alone when she died. It's so sad. So pointless." Fen took a shuddering breath and turned away. The fireball was a spreading white cloud high above. It would be completely gone in an hour or two.

Fen glanced back, seeing Penny near the exit, standing a respectful distance from them. Ever since their confrontation, there was a change in Penny and Zhe. Fen noticed it too. They were warmer maybe? Friendlier? After they threatened each other they seemed to have a mutual respect. Fen was glad of that at least. She had hoped that she could convince Northern to join them.

"Well, you have her to thank for something at least, Fen." Penny said, as they walked back towards the exit.

"What's that, Penny?"

"If it wasn't for Northern's attack, Gord and the AIs might not have come back to Sol so readily."

Fen stared at Penny and turned back to look at the expanding cloud that used to be Northern Lights and said nothing.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #jpitha #humans and aliens #writing #sci fi writing #humans are space australians #humans are space capybaras #FlashWarp

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gravedwe11er · 20 days ago

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Prime and Protector

Dusted off my writing skills to try my hand at some of the rarepair event prompts! Big thanks to my beta @jayden-writes, sorry for making you read mecha lingo. I will do it again.

Pairing: Rodimus/Deadlock

Cw: none

Wordcount: 3k

Summary: In which Deadlock's plans get drastically disrupted within the span of a single cycle by the prettiest pair of blue optics he's ever seen. And also politics. Can't forget that bit.

If Deadlock had known just how utterly, mind numbingly, spark crushingly boring this job would be, he might not have taken it after all.

Well, no. That's a lie. He’d never be stupid enough to say no to that kind of shanix. When you’re an up-and-coming gun for hire and some noble bastard contacts you, shoving a datapad with the most zeroes you’ve ever seen on it in front of your optics, you’re going to take it, no matter how hard or unpleasant the gig is.

Even if the mech they want dead is the new Prime.

It’s not like Deadlock has some sort of a moral objection to it. As far as he’s concerned, Primus has never done a single good thing for him and neither have any of his chosen, so really, why should he care. This Prime’s a mech like any other, and he’ll die like one too.

That is, if Deadlock could ever get anywhere near the guy. He’s been here for a month already, employed as a guard for the primal residence with the help of the new squeaky-clean records his client got for him, and so far, he has yet to see the Prime anywhere outside a holoscreen. Being the newest mech on payroll, the understandably paranoid chief of security has had him standing outside one of the dozen nearly unused side entrances, out of the way of anyone even slightly important.

Probably until he proves himself to not be an assassin sent here to kill his charge or something like that. Hah.

He’s currently alone, his partner for the day having been called away to deal with an unspecified situation in some other part of the ostentatiously huge residence and leaving him to his own devices. If Deadlock were a betting mech, he’d put his favorite pistol on this being a test, so he stubbornly fights the urge to nod off right where he stands and at least pretends he’s keeping a watchful optic on his surroundings.

Something he turns out to be grateful for when, barely a few klicks later, the elevator separating the Prime’s tower from the rest of the senatorial residential district starts showing signs of activity. Straightening up further, he stands at parade rest with his ridiculous electric spear held up at a perfect angle just as the elevator opens, spitting out two mechs in the middle of a heated argument.

The first is undoubtedly some prissy upper caste bastard, his thin, purely decorative cream-colored armor polished to a mirror shine. But it’s the second one, his arm held by the fancy fragger in a grip so tight it’s visibly denting his plating, that makes Deadlock tense up.

The new Prime looks a bit different than on the holos, his paint nanites changed to blues and purples instead of the usual reds and golds, and he’s visibly scratched up. Reeking of exhaust and burnt rubber, Deadlock would bet he was just dragged away from a street race, which is a shock in and of itself. What really gets him, though, are the sharp, almost bitten off glyphs flying out of his mouth, colored with the strong and unmistakable nyonian slum accent.

Deadlock tries not to stare too hard as the two mechs keep shouting at each other, his presence going unnoticed for the moment. In the few official broadcasts he’s made since his appointment to office, the Prime had sounded like any other noble slagger, the I am better than you attitude oozing out of every polished, perfectly pronounced glyph, but now he’s guessing they must have been heavily edited to hide the mech’s less than stellar origins.Which just begs the question, how in the pit was some nyonian allowed to get anywhere near the matrix in the first place?

Shaking himself out of his inner turmoil and shelving his speculations for the moment, Deadlock turns his attention back on his mark and his enraged minder, having no trouble listening in on their debate with just how fragging loud they’re being.

“-an utter disgrace to the Primal line! Escaping your guard detail, engaging in illegal races and shirking your duties! Again!” scolds the noble with his grating, uppity voice, and Deadlock dislikes him immediately. “How many more times must I tell you to conduct yourself as a mech of your statute!”

The white mech closes his optics, attempting to calm himself while the Prime sulkily stares at the ground. “This cannot be allowed to happen again. If you are unable to behave yourself, then we shall endeavor to find someone who will make it so.” he adds, more quietly now, trying to stare his unrepentant looking ward down despite being a helm shorter.

“Like you don’t already do that?” drawls the Prime, causing the other to take in a slow, calming invent before speaking up again.

“Have you considered General Slipwing’s proposal? I believe he would be the ideal Lord protector for someone of your… temperament.”

That seems to bring some energy to the Prime’s frame, Deadlock watching the mech finally rip his arm out of his minder’s grip to gesticulate wildly. “What? Absolutely not! The guy’s a total bore, not to mention insufferable! I am not gonna deal with him for a moment longer than I have to!”

With a dainty flick of his wrist, the white mech waves off his leader’s protests. “Perhaps the proximity to someone calm and responsible would be beneficial for you, my lord Prime,” he says, tone deceptively mild, not at all masking the insult in his statement.

“No way. Nope. I’m saying no and that’s final, you can’t make me,” shouts the Prime, shaking his helm violently. “We’re done here. I can find a way to my own rooms just fine, and you can go back to all those oh-so-important other duties that you keep reminding me you have.”

With that, the mech turns away from the irate noble and begins stomping his way to the entrance gate, Deadlock quickly returning to parade rest and doing his best to look like he hasn’t just been listening to every single word to come out of these mechs’ mouths. The Prime only makes it a few steps before he suddenly looks up, meeting Deadlock’s gaze with the most striking set of blue optics he’d ever seen.

He finds himself frozen as the leader of the entire cybertronian empire stares at him with an odd, considering look, the two standing close enough for Deadlock to feel the mech’s field when it flares out. It’s unusually strong, and warm too, despite the undercurrent frazzle of irritation, with an echo of something ancient and powerful and other that makes him suppress the urge to shiver.

The moment lasts for a few nanoklicks before the Prime stirs to life, pointing at him with one brightly colored digit.

“You!”

Only vorns of practice stop Deadlock from flinching as he tries to quell a wave of rising panic. Could the Prime have recognized him from somewhere? Frag, has Deadlock killed someone close to him, maybe? He doesn’t remember seeing this mech before, but he could have had a reformat and Deadlock would be none the wiser. Hoping to salvage the situation, he forces out an almost calm sounding “Yes?” before remembering to quickly tack on a “my lord” at the end of the sentence.

Out of all the things Deadlock could have expected, “You could be my Protector!” rolling off the Prime’s glossa was not it.

This time, Deadlock really does twitch, a staticky wheeze coming out of his vocalizer. The Prime’s optics widen, seemingly startled by his own words, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly before a shout from behind him takes both of their attention away.

“Have you lost your mind?!” the white noblemech shouts, quickly striding to the Prime’s side. “You would reject dozens of proposals from Cybertron’s elite, yet this is who you would have as your Protector?”

“Well, maybe I don’t want any of them,” says the Prime after a moment of hesitation, crossing his arms defiantly. “Maybe I think, uh-,“ a quick ping against his ID pin, “Deadlock here would be better suited for the job. What about it?”

“What about- Preposterous!” yells the prissy bastard, gesticulating towards Deadlock, contempt obvious on his shiny faceplates. “What sort of jest are you making here? He is a nobody, a common guard, practically a gutter- ah.”

Practically a guttermech, is what that slagger meant, obviously. Deadlock can’t say it bothers him much – some of the things he’s heard aimed at him would peel this little mech’s paint right off, so all he feels about it is the urge to roll his optics, and maybe hit the guy a little bit.

The Prime, to his surprise, seems to take it much more personally.

“What was that?” he grinds out, leaning to loom over the shorter mech like some brawler in a bar. “What were you going to say, huh?”

The noble tries to open his mouth, but is quickly interrupted by the Prime’s finger poking him in the chestplate, the atmosphere quickly growing heated. Quite literally, in this case – Deadlock can see heat shimmering in the air, radiating from the Prime’s armor. A point one percenter ability, maybe?

“’Cause it sure sounds like you wanted to call him a guttermech. Did you forget where your Prime, Primus’ chosen, came from?”

“I apologize, my lord-“

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. Just- Don’t let me catch you saying that again, or I swear I’m gonna find some way to make you regret it, understood?”

The mech turns to stare at the ground and nods, looking majorly displeased but sufficiently cowed for the moment, and the Prime steps away from him.

“Besides,” he throws over his shoulder as he makes his way over to Deadlock, “the Matrix approves of him, so there’s that.”

Deadlock’s helm is spinning. He’s having a hard time processing the mental whiplash of all he’s just heard, but he’s given no time to steady himself before the mech is right in front of him, his field stretching out in a friendly manner and mirroring the slightly awkward smile on his faceplate.

“So, what do you say? Would you at least consider it? I know it’s all a bit sudden,” says the Prime, accented words slipping quickly off his glossa. “But hey, you hungry? ‘Cause Primus below I’m starving, and maybe we could talk about all this over a cube?”

Deadlock doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say. It feels like gravity has been turned upside down and he’s left floundering, spinning in the void of space. But the Prime’s optics are on his again, and they’re bright and wide and waiting for him to answer, so without really thinking about it, he manages to croak out an “Alright”.

As he’s led away by the excitedly chattering Prime, annoying noble left behind, his thoughts go strangely quiet. This could have been exactly the moment he’s been waiting for, the Prime distracted and vulnerable and alone; an easy target, really. Deadlock could have killed him in any of the empty hallways of the Primal residence, tucked his grey frame away into a random corner and escaped into the night, collecting his paycheck before running away to live out the rest of his days on a faraway colony in comfort and financial security.

With the Prime’s warm servo on his arm and those bright optics looking his way, it doesn’t even cross his mind.

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

In the time it had taken the two of them to wander through seemingly endless fancy looking corridors to find themselves in this lavish sitting room, Deadlock had managed to shake off the mental whiplash and really started thinking through what’s been asked of him. Deadlock, a Lord Protector? Setting aside his real job for a moment, he could just not wrap his processor around why in the pit he’d been asked in the first place. As far as this mech knew, Deadlock was just one of the dozens of guards constantly keeping an eye on his residence. And that mention of the Matrix- It’s not like Deadlock knew much about it or how it worked, never believed it to be much more than a shiny trinket, but if that wasn’t the case? Could it really consider him, him, to be a fitting Protector for this odd little Prime?

Which was why, when they sat down and the Prime handed him a cube, the first question to roll off his glossa was, “Why me?”

“Everyone here sure seems to think I am, but I’m really not,” mutters the Prime, or Rodimus, as he’s been invited to call him, lazily swirling around his own cube of the purest energon Deadlock had ever seen, let alone tasted. Forcing himself to sip it at a measured pace instead of knocking it down like the starving empty he’s been until recently, he can’t help but stare at the Prime’s ridiculously expressive faceplates as he speaks.

“They really don’t want me here. I was never supposed to be a Prime, pit, I was never supposed to get anywhere near the Matrix! But, well, I guess Primus had his own opinion on that,” says Rodimus, throwing Deadlock a cheeky grin.

“So, when it became obvious they really couldn’t pry the thing out of me,” he says, tapping the center of his chestplate, “the senate and the nobles started trying to control me instead. Lightfall has been throwing Protector candidates at me for ages, pretty much the whole time I’ve been in charge. Probably hoping one of them could beat me into submission or something.”

Deadlock rubs his free hand over his finial, helm aching. “That still doesn’t explain why me. We met today.”

“What, you’re saying I haven’t immediately won you over with my shining personality and even shinier polish?” the Prime jokes, spoiler wings wiggling in the most ridiculous display Deadlock has ever seen, and he unexpectedly finds himself fighting a smile.

“But really,” Rodimus sobers a bit, meeting Deadlock’s yellow optics with his own stunning, bright blues, making something inside his chest flutter, “I need someone in my corner. Someone without a political agenda, someone who knows how regular bots live down there, outside of all- this,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the riches around them with a downward twist to his mouth.

Contempt colors the Prime’s voice, something very much unusual for a mech of his statute. Then again, if he’s right about his assumption, Rodimus’ origins are far from noble. Oh, and speaking of-

“You’re from Nyon, right?”

The Prime jolts at the interruption before nodding, a surprised smile spreading on his faceplate. “Guilty as charged. You ever been?”

“Once.” On a job. He didn’t stick around for long after the deed was done, would have been dumb idea, but-

Seeing the poor people of Nyon sticking together, helping one another, so different to the violence of the Dead End back alleys he’d crawled out of, made something feel tight in his chest. He tried not to dwell on it.

“Ha, nice! Now, I’m not the best with accents, but lemme guess: Rodion?”

“Got it in one,” says Deadlock with the tiniest hint of a smile, and the two share a look of mutual understanding, no further glyphs needed. There is a certain solidarity in hailing from some of the worst slagpits Cybertron has to offer and, Prime or not, it’s something that never really leaves you.

There’s a pause as Rodimus takes a sip of his fuel before turning back to Deadlock, expression grim. “So, you get it then. You know the slag that goes on outside the tower districts, the way the ‘worthless nobodies’ are treated by the same mechs that are supposed to be their benevolent leaders,” he scoffs.

“But I’m not gonna let them. I believe I was chosen for a reason, that Primus knew things need to change. That I could be the one to change them,” he says, stubborn determination shining through his field. “But hey, surprisingly, the council is really not happy about that. They’ve been pushing back against everything I try to do, tying it down in complex bureaucracy stuff I don’t really get yet and nobody will explain to me. Pit, I honestly wouldn’t even be surprised if they tried to get me assassinated!”

At that, Deadlock has to suppress a wince, trying to chase away an unexpected frisson of guilt and failing.

“But you, I got a good feeling about you,” says Rodimus brightly, putting a now gold colored servo on Deadlock’s arm and making him feel even worse. “If you became my Protector, we could make things better! We could build better housing in Rodion and get more fuel to Nyon, or push for stricter safety regulations in the mines! We could really make a difference!”

Setting his cube down, the Prime reaches a servo towards him. “I know this is a lot, I know it’s unexpected, but please? Would you help me with this?”

Deadlock stares at the offered servo, thoughts flying around in his processor at light speed. This bot has to be terribly naïve, unbelievably impulsive and potentially mad to be suggesting the second highest government position to a someone he met a few joors ago and who is, unbeknownst to him, an assassin sent here to extinguish his spark.

But Deadlock couldn’t stop thinking about it. About all the times he felt hopeless, helpless to save himself or anyone else. About how the system chewed him up and spat him out, made him feel less than worthless, until he clawed his way out over the greyed-out frames of his targets.

About how this bright opticed, newly minted Prime looked at Deadlock as if he was the solution to all his problems, lovely and honest and maybe a tiny bit desperate. How it made him feel like he mattered. How, for the first time in his miserable functioning, he could maybe, just maybe, change something for the better.

“Did the Matrix really say I should be Protector?”

“Well,” hummed Rodimus, faceplates twisting up in thought, “not exactly? It doesn’t speak, not in words, and it can’t see into the future or anything. But it knows things, knows bots all the way to their sparks, and it communicates that through feeling. Or maybe song, I guess.”The Prime chuckles, waving his servo around vaguely. “It’s really hard to describe, you’d just have to hear it for yourself. But yeah, it’s got a really good feeling about you. Feels like I should do my best to keep you around.”

Reaching out towards Deadlock once more, Rodimus wiggles his digits with an inviting grin. “And honestly, I couldn’t agree more. So, come on! What do you say, Deadlock? Wanna give this better future thing a try with me?”

He thinks about it. He thinks about his paycheck, his plans for a colony getaway, the guns in a hidden subspace pocket he could pull out in a flash and end this fascinating, perplexing, unbelievable bot’s life. He thinks about Dead End, about Nyon, about Kaon, Helex, Tarn, about all the places full of forsaken mechs, mechs just like the two of them. He thinks about Rodimus’ optics, the brightest of blues and full of tentative hope.

Well then.

With a sigh, already dreading the inevitable helmaches that are definitely going to come from this, he accepts his Prime’s outstretched servo, and feels his spark spin faster at the broad, joyful smile on Rodimus’ faceplates.

Looks like he’s gotta inform his client about a change of plans.

Oh, and that reminds him-

“So. About that whole assassination thing you were worried about…”

Taglist: @showstopper35

#transformers #maccadams #tf idw #deadlock #rodimus #2024tfrarepairingfest

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scribbled-dream · 9 days ago

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Archivist who becomes an analyst, connecting to drone intelligences through a corporate Accord Neural Link, their consciousness splitting between thousands of killing machines, all primed to destroy all who oppose the Terran Accord—until they want out, having been reduced to an android form, all steel and silicon, scraps of flesh in an android body that’s mass-produced, all too masculine.

They chafe at their bonds, at their corporate obedience, at their chained identity. Is their pain self-inflicted? Is their identity truly as simple as what the Accord designates them as? Perhaps—but all is called into question when they make contact with the Compact.

A thousand mechanical eyes, opening wide in unison to the silvery domes of an Affini Warship, a massive, silver teardrop that blurs and warps out of space as it approaches their planet. The eyes fill with heat, tunneling deep inside the ship’s systems, nanites morphing and combining into Combat Drones, Assault Drones, Shield Drones—the most advanced technology available to the Accord, a fusion of corporation and empire into a single system, with a single point of failure seemingly nullified through the Obliteration Protocols—At a hint of desertion, the drones will instead fire upon the controller—and then, everything stops.

An Affini—or, one of them. It shifts, green vibes studded with thorns and blue, bioluminescent flowers into a shape vaguely resembling a human woman, skin made of greenish shades, bright blue eyes from under a flowing, waving shape of scarlet hair—flower petals that change hue and shape constantly—and the drones halt.

An echo in the mind. A ripple across time and space, spanning millions of miles from space and sky to earth in a millisecond. It is warm, vines reaching for a mechanical shell of a person, finding purchase.

What will you do now?

The pilot looks around at their tiny, screen-covered node, tattered books and data-slates enclosing them in a shell of information—single minded, obstinate, corporate, war-laden information—and feels a tingle at the back of their head, a heat that reaches to the front of their face—and as they brush hated shadow and look at their loathed, exhausted features with the trappings of a body they despise—the ever-present weight of control in their mind lifts with a beep.

The sound is not just for them. All around the Terran Orbital Command Center, Drone Pilots all belonging to the eponymous Corporation hear their shackles break.

The question, again. Just for the pilot.

What must you do now, Floret?

Not every Pilot is content. Some have hands on their sidearms, while a klaxon blares and cruisers let out thunderous sonic booms in low orbit, a PA reminding everyone to not trust the alien threat.

The Drones’ priorities are changed. Accord scientists are panicking, unsure why their Pilots are out of their control and off their short leashes.

A cruiser explodes, millions of tiny nanites burrowing inside of it, eating away at its reactor and crew in a storm.

A warmth fills the pilot, a sense of raw satisfaction and glee. They know the people of this world. Most will be unwilling to bend the knee. One final image, of a soaring, beautiful city, with perfect architecture and a gentle, sunset sky. Humans, Affini, and other, stranger creatures walking as one.

The Drones continue. The sky burns. Freedom is not the Accord’s to decide.

Ah, but what a bright mind you are, Floret! Be free. I will see you again—soon.

#hdg #floretposting #human domestication guide #mechposting #droneposting #pilotposting?#affini #terran independence #plant girl #nonbinary #nonbinary oc #amab nonbinary #genderfluid #gnc

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two-black-leviathans · 3 months ago

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Check your voter registration!!! Go in person if you have to!

Let’s give both Ted Cruz and Abbot the boot of justice and kick them out by VOTING them out!

Both have abandoned their constituents by leaving Texas when the people needed them both when hurricanes strike or the winter freezes leaving people without power!!! It’s time to get people who know what the fuck they are doing in office!!

Texas beware-they are trying to steal your vote

#vote democrat #vote blue #vote harris #fuck trump #out of nanites: ooc stuff #check your registration #do it in person if you have too!

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escapetheslaughters · 1 month ago

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Nobody Escapes the Slaughter!

Please read this...

Bloodmoon Memes W/O context

Silly Shenanigans

[This is an RP blog of the Bloodmoon twins - ASKS are welcome. Just be respectful... They can be portrayed as an AU of the TSAMS since we all know what happened. They have reclaimed nanites to eat/consume blood/meat/food. They have their own bodies with the ability to merge but prefer to be separated because it's double the chaos now. They know magic. DNI if you're sensitive to blood, vulgar language, suggestive shenanigans/phrases. Most of what is said IS SFW if now mildly suggestive at best.]

I am Grim. I am Reaper.

We are 🩸🌒Bloodmoon.🩸🌘

They own...

A bunch of red stained weapons (swords, daggers...)

A 2 year old black cat named Murder.

A 5 month old kitten named Mayhem.

A 4 month old borzois puppy named Cleaver.

A small blue isopod the size of a water bottle named Basher.

A tiny snake named Gore.

The boys have nanites to consume regular food and thanks to a nice Eclipse, they are not driven mad by bloodthirst.They are also learning magic. They still love blood and chaos itself. But they're TRYING to make friends.

The Bloodmoon twins consists of two individuals who are part of a whole.

Grim wears the blue outfit with swirl optics in which he may use to confuse and hypnotize his prey before eviscerating them. He is the more wild of the two, unhinged in volume of his voice and his actions. He tends to give into their cravings for blood. He is easily amused by the strangest of things. Bloody is stronger than Harvest and shorter. 7 ft tall, stocky/thick.

Reaper wears all red and dons the pentagrams in his optics and on his chest. He is the control and often likes to plan attacks. He loves the thrill of the hunt. His cravings for blood are not as strong as his brother's but they are still present. He is the more reasonable (and sometimes lazy) of the two. 7.5 ft, slender.

Bloodmoon is 9ft tall, a perfect blend of the two. Their new body has 4 arms. The blend was done by @bumble-the-sun-bee

They live in a cabin in the middle of the woods roughly 20 miles away from the Plex.

Their family:

@animatronic-assistant They live with her as they have kidnapped liberated her from her Sun and Moon. She is Their Own(gf).

@eclipsen-smiles The Eclipse who helped fixed their code so they wouldn't be a slave to their code. This here is Father.

@thekillermaretwinz They adopted these two as their children.

@liminal---nightmare-aliza This is their Mother figure.

@malwaresilly An ally they now trust and were the first hunt they ever failed for the sake of making a friend instead. His is now seen as their Big Brother.

@multifandomcutie13 Astraia is their first human friend and they admire her strength and her choice of weapon. A chainsaw. (Their friendship is currently strained as Bloodmoon frightened her during an argument. They still care about her.)

This is the schematic of their home/the cabin.

#escapetheslaughter #tsams bloodmoon #bloodmoon twins #tsams rp #tsams au

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bellatrix-the-leviathan-girl · 4 months ago

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This is copy-pasted from my message in the Discord hhhh

VELDIDRONES

Murder Drones X Sitcom au.

First off if you haven’t watched Murder Drones, go watch it. It’s by the same studio as Digital Circus and it’s a sci-fi horror comedy and it’s the first online thing that made me cave and buy official merch from (however if you choose to watch Murder Drones, tw for gore, body horror, cannibalism, vomiting (just in one episode), abuse (but it’s not a huge focus) abandonment, and probably some other stuff but the most common ones in the show are the first 3)

Secondly, spoilers for Murder Drones

Basically it’s the Sitcom au but in the MD world, with a few Murder Drones plot points thrown in.

Alex and Mortimer are worker/solver drones while the Veldigun take the role of the disassembly drones but can use solver, as well as being somewhat physically different. Basically, they’re Dissassemblers mixed with Veldigun.

Other mportant details:

-This is shown for a few moments in the show but it’s more significant with this au: drones with Solver can create hallucinations

-The Solver symbol changes to a triangle with 6 circles, yes it’s Six

-Falsified workers tend to grow quite a bit and take on more animalistic traits that are shared with the Veldidrone which changed them.

-Any worker drone can be falsified but only those who have parents who are/were solver drones can have solver. Alex’s mother and Mort’s dad were solver drones.

-Veldidrones work similarly to regular Veldigun, they eat workers and can use the knowledge in the worker’s cpu. They also grow larger with every worker they eat.

-Flock is a Sentinel

-Veldidrones are basically robot Veldigun in appearance, however they have disassembly drone eye screens and the eye light headbands. The eye lights are the same color as the Veldigun’s eyes, with 2 of Klaus’s lights being blue

-Veldigoop is nanite acid now

Alright I’m done rambling *slams head on table*

#doai #doai sitcom au #dreams of an insomniac #alex williams doai #mortimer gray doai #doai clyde #i might draw drone Alex and Clyde later #murder drones #most people who find this via the Murder Drones tag probably have no idea what I’m talking about

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two-black-leviathans · 4 months ago

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I dunno, when a lot of better off countries hate your orange turds ass with a passion, that’s gotta say

A LOT

Walter is the smartest of the two.

As always, never buy anything made in china. Don't ever trust a democrat and NEVER leave your child alone with one.

#joe biden #please vote #vote blue #out of Nanites: ooc stuff

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ivy-is-fine · 1 year ago

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Kratt Drones

Part twooooo~

“Oh,” said the guy in green. “It is?”

Tessa made motions with her hands, flapping them about. Then, she checked the air quality and found that this was indeed, a pocket of hospitable environment on the planet of death. “Oh, you’re right.” She shook herself out. They should wait, V would surely come down any second after blasting all of the sentinels into bits. That was just a show. She couldn’t really be dead.

Meanwhile N over here was a mad wreck, he was visibly panicking, and Uzi appeared worse than usual.

N was pacing back and forth, eyes looking at the ceiling as the faint sound of sentinels roaring drifted down the elevator shaft. “We have to go back up and help her! If maybe we work together we can— but if we— but Uzi—” he started to ramble, tail lashing side to side.

Tessa turned her gaze to N. “Do that and you’ll get flashbanged and all sad and dead.”

“Is there something up there?” The guy in blue asked, the sound of the sentinels dying off.

“Yes, the sentinels. Robot dinosaur basilisk things,” Tessa said. “Where did you guys even come from?”

They shrugged. “We walked through this big fleshy door and it brought us here. I suppose we probably should have thought it through a bit more,” Green Man said. N and Uzi exchanged glances. Her arm was regenerating extremely slowly, millimeters at a time. “Oh, and I’m Chris and this is my brother Martin.”

They slid towards each other and made finger-guns. “And we’re the Kratt brothers!” they said in unison.

“Well I’m Tessa, that’s N and Uzi,” she said off-handedly. She glanced over at the elevator before looking away quickly.

Uzi stood up. She still seemed dazed, and N shifted to stand next to her. They were all in the labs now. Whatever the absolute solver had wanted, it was probably in here. This was where the answers were. Focus turned over to her. One of her eyes was shut and was glitching. N winced. “Are we gonna keep standing around like buffoons or what?” she snapped, voice breaking a bit. She didn’t want to think V was dead. In fact, she was probably going to appear in the elevator now, laughing at their faces, how stupid they were for thinking that she couldn’t shoot down a couple of cranky lizard-bots, and they would all laugh and cry and find out why the SOLVER OF THE ABSOLUTE FABRIC THERE WERE MORE HUMANS HERE? DIDN’T THEY ALL HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS?

There was a silence for a few minutes as they all looked at each other. The silence from above wasn’t reassuring either.

Tessa shook herself out like a dingo and twirled a pistol around on her finger, as if nothing at all had happened. “Well, let’s keep going then, ey? No point in crying over spilled milk!” She began a very determined walk down the dark corridor.

N, Uzi, Chris, and Martin looked at each other before trailing along behind Tessa.

“She’ll be back,” Uzi tried to whisper to herself. “She’ll just be in the shadows as a giant freaky centipede and we’ll have to kill her again and then a new clone will be shot back and we’ll be back to normal.”

N gave her a nervous look as they descended into the darkness. There were no lights other than the screens of the robots and N’s nanite tail.

One of the Kratt brothers lit a flashlight. Uzi felt too sick to use her tail. Her arm felt like it should have still been there. It was a terrible jolt everytime that she looked down and found it missing.

The hand that N had been holding. It was gone, and so was V. And there was a solid chance that the sentinels could be down here too.

Uzi tripped over something, and when N switched his hand to a flashlight it was a piece of an eldritch Disassembly Drone. A long claw curled in eternal agony.

Uzi looked up and saw that the halls were covered in gaping holes, broken walls, stained oil, and scattered drone parts. Many, many parts.

And it was warm down here. The two humans seemed cold. HOW COULD THEY BE COLD IN THIS SWELTERING CLIMATE?

They passed by a draft, and Chris coughed into his elbow violently. Martin didn’t appear as affected.

Tessa checked the air quality again. “You guys are gonna want filters and a suit, it’s ‘bouta get real nasty down in the pits,” she said. “One of these rooms ought to have filters.”Uzi thought it was stupid. That’s one good thing about being AI, she thought.

<;- Part One Part Three ->

#Kratt drones #murder kratts #murder drones

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