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xensilverquill · 2 years ago

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short TFA MegOP prompt i did for @pastelpaperplanes ! i hope you like it!

Meet in the Heat of the Day

"Good evening, Autobot."

Oh, fragging Pits.

The burned-out baritone of Megatron's voxcoder instantly had his battle systems initiating. It was everything Optimus could do not to instantly whip his plasma axes out and throw it in what he thought was the Decepticon's general direction. The control bridge's monitors offered little enough light, and there was no making out Megatron's form in the gloom. A quick switch of his optics to thermal-mode revealed his hulking form leaning against the far wall, his own optics shuttered but that stupid smug smirk still on his face.

Primus, but Optimus wanted to punch him.

"Out for a late night stroll and sabotage, are we?" Megatron asked, not moving a mechano-inch from his present position. "I hope you were not so naive as to believe taking over the Nemesis' command protocols would be so easy."

"No, I leave that kind of thing to the professionals," he replied, pleased to find at least his voice did not betray how much the mech had startled him. "Speaking of which, I passed Starscream in the hall earlier. He said to, and I quote, 'go frag yourself.' His words, not mine."

"How kind of you to relay the message for him."

"Besides, if you really thought all that," Optimus continued, "I doubt I'd still be standing here."

"Wiser and more perceptive than you appear, I see." Megatron finally did open his optics to look at him then, the dull crimson casting a faint halo over his faceplates. "Much as I enjoy our little spark-to-sparks, I doubt you came just to make polite conversation. What business do you have with me?"

Optimus shrugged. "Shocking as this might sound, not everything is about you." He held up his servos in mock surrender and turned on his pedes. "Recharge is an elusive glitch lately, and clearly I won't find it here. I'll be going now. Happy brooding, or whatever it is you're doing in the dark like a creep."

"Oh, no need to leave on my account." His laughter was as smug as his smile, though it lacked the usual cruel edge to it. Or maybe that was just the compilation errors piling up in Optimus' processor and fragging with his audials. "And your company here would be... tolerable."

"I feel so loved," Optimus grumbled, but he turned back to face Megatron. He went to lean against the opposite wall in a mirror of the Decepticon's repose. A beat of silence or two in which they merely stared at each other. Grasping for any topic that would not send them right into another round of quipping, he asked, "So... any updates from your side?"

"Concerning the Quintessons, you mean? No, though it is not for lack of looking or listening. Neither Shockwave nor the other sources in his employ have heard so much as a whisper of those filthy techorganics..."

"Mm." He was tempted to poke at Megatron for that last one, but there was no use banging his helm against that particular wall. Again. Little wonder Blackarachnia never spent any more time than she had to in the company of her leader. "Would it be naive of me if I said that maybe no news was good news?"

"In the extreme," Megatron replied, though there was no heat in his words. "Nightmares of those tentacled terrors keeping you from recharge, Autobot?"

"Nightmares would, again, imply that I could find recharge in the first place. You?"

"Ha! No. It is merely that I dislike the idling, the..."

"The waiting?" Optimus offered. His slowly slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, helm falling back and optics offlining. "Same here, honestly. I figure it's either walk the halls at night, or finally give in to the stir-craze and throttle someone just to have something to do."

"If you are looking for my leave to offline someone, then you have my every blessing to snuff the spark out of that scheming Starscream." He looked up to see Megatron offering him a smile that bordered on the genuine for once. And, in the clarity and intimacy one could only find in the quiet of these late hours, Optimus found himself smiling back.

"Heh... I'll keep that in mind."

---

"Cut that obnoxious little droning slag you call a voxcoder before I cut it out for you, you little insect!"

"Shove it up your tailpipe and twist it, three-face!"

Screeching metal and a grunting heave was his only warning. Twisting to one side, Optimus narrowly avoided getting his helm knocked off by a table as it went flying across the room. A quick glance back and he saw Bumblebee had managed to dodge as well and was quickly scrambling over the upturned chairs out of immediate grabbing-range of Blitzwing, who was currently presenting as Hothead. Broken energon cubes and crushed oil cans lay like so many dead frames on the canteen floor, the fuel trickling slowly towards the drain in the center of the floor.

Optimus groaned tiredly. So much for having his morning ration in peace.

"Say that again, I dare you!"

"You're just torqued I was the one with the ball bearings to say it first!" Bumblebee had found a precarious perch on the thin ledge of a shelf, just a little higher than Blitzwing's head. "Not my fault you're a little we-- Heyheyhey!"

"I'll torque your bearings straight through your fuel pump!" Blitzwing had managed to grab at a pede, and he wrenched the smaller mech down with ease.

"Leggo!" Bumblebee shrieked, aiming a kick at those bucked dentae with his free leg. "Fine! You want me to say it again, I'll say it, Blitzbrain! You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid--!"

"Bee, stop!" Optimus ground out.

Megatron's voice nearly drowned out his own at the same moment. "Cease, Blitzwing!"

It took scant seconds for the two of them to take their respective mechs by the scruff, so to speak. Optimus sent a grappling hook to anchor onto Bumblebee's plating, yanking him back and winding him up in the same, practiced motion. Megatron, meanwhile, used the cannons on Blitzwing's shoulder as convenient handles for gripping the triplechanger and flinging him none-too-gently at the wall.

Fortunately, Bumblebee and Blitzwing had been separated before they could come to any real blows. Unfortunately, they now had the wrath of their superiors to endure.

"What in Primus' name do you think you're doing?" Optimus hissed at him, holding the still trussed-up mech so they were looking at each other optic-to-optic. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: stop baiting Blitzwing!"

"But bossbot--"

"Stow it!" He jerked a digit at Bumblebee's face and revved his engines in warning. "This truce is dangling by a frayed wire as it is without you taking a chainsaw to it. You think any of these 'cons will hesitate to scrap you if you get them angry enough? Either you and Blitzwing work--" Optimus waved his servo irritably. "-- whatever this is out civilly, or I'll have you confined to the barracks until the next landing. Have I made myself clear?"

Bumblebee looked like he wanted to protest, but he had the good grace to flush and glance down at the smoldering look Optimus gave him. Plating and field tight against his frame, he muttered, "... Yes, bossbot."

"Good." He dropped the yellow much unceremoniously and jerked a thumb at the nearest maintenance closet. "You've got a joor to get this canteen cleaned up and back in working order." He held up another digit. "Then, I want you in the training salle with me for a one-on-one session. Clearly you've got too much excess charge for your own good. I'll be more than happy to help you take that out on some old boot camp exercises." A third digit. "And I expect you to make a public apology to Blitzwing before the cycle is out." He pointed again at the closet. "You have your orders, soldier. Now go."

Crossing his arms, he watched Bumblebee slink away. Only when he was sure the mech was doing as he instructed did he look to see how Megatron was dealing with his own mech. The servo he had on the triplechanger's intake was just a touch short of a chokehold, and he held the other pinned against the wall with all the effort he might have pinned a rustfly down. Megatron was all but growling in his audial, the exact words unintelligible at this distance but the anger in them unmistakable. At the tight and fearful expression on Blitzwing's face -- now the Icy persona -- he could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Bumblebee and Blitzwing took great pains not to even look at one another when Megatron finally let Blitzwing free sometime later. They kept as far away from each other as their respective rounds of cleaning would let them. As they worked, Optimus and Megatron sat to one side at the only intact table and oversaw them in a clear statement that they did not trust the two not to start fighting again like two troublesome sparklings.

"Primus grant me strength," Optimus huffed over a new cup of hot oil. He took the barrel he and Megatron were splitting and poured some into the Decepticon's own cup. "That's, what, the fifth time in the past decacycle?"

"The sixth -- yes, thank you -- you are forgetting when they nearly got themselves launched out of the airlock yesterday."

"Right, right. Still, the way things are going, I'm more than a little worried that these brawls of theirs are going turn from public fighting to public fragging one of these days. They're... Well, neither of them are exactly being subtle about it anymore."

"Hm, so I've noted," Megatron replied, quirking an optic ridge at him. "Let us hope they remember the loyalty to their factions above their... rivalry."

Optimus only "hmm"-ed noncommittally. He took a long draw from his cup, venting out slowly as the warmth radiated from his tanks to the rest of his frame. Casting a cursory glance over at others, he caught Megatron's gaze and nodded at the door. "I can take it from here. If you've got somewhere else to be, I mean. This wouldn't be the first time I've sparklingsat a couple of misbehaving bots."

"And risk Blitzwing thinking my absence is license to resume hostilities with your little scout? I think not." Chuckling, he waved away any implication of incompetence Optimus might have interpreted towards himself with a wink. "As lovely a picture as you make when you are righteously angry, little Prime, it does absolutely nothing for most Decepticons, and it will not cow one such as Blitzwing into submission."

"Most Decepticons?" Resting his chin on one hand, he leaned forward slightly as he smirked at the warlord. "Dare I ask if it does anything for you, Megatron?"

Another chuckle. "Now, now, that would be telling, wouldn't it?"

Verdant skies ran parallel to endless cyan sands. Oddly enough it reminded Optimus of an inversion of Earth's own landscapes. As he sat on the rocky outcropping, simpling basking under the twin suns as he looked down on his mechs zipping this way and that across the dunes, his thoughts turned to Sari. His spark twisted a little at the memory of having to leave her behind, even if he and the others had agreed doing so had been for the best. With the ages-old conflict between the Cybertronians and the Quintessons fast reigniting across the galaxy, the safest place was with her own father back home.

We'll see you soon, kid, he promised silently, as much to himself as to the girl who was now light year away. Assuming they did not end up getting mulched by the Quintessons, and assuming the uneasy little alliance aboard the Nemesis did not disintegrate into a pile of graying frames in a pool of their own energon.

Hence the little -- well, it could not be called a proper vacation -- trip they were presently making on Letsap Three. Officially, they were here to do a bit of recon work to find any Quintesson signs and even scrounge up a bit of crude oil for fuel if they could find a well that could be tapped with minimal effort. Unofficially, this was something of a mental health visit.

Even a ship as large as the Nemesis, built to comfortably hold far more Decepticon warframes than it presently did, was still entirely too small to keep the tension between the Autobots and Decepticons below flash point for long. To Ratchet, the last little spat between Bumblebee and Blitzwing had been the cadmium canary in the energon mine and he had ordered an immediate detour at the nearest likely star system and planet that would give them all a place to stretch their alt-modes and work out that pent-up frustration. Hook, the ship's medic and generally the most sensible 'con among them, had agreed and diplomatically communicated the order as a suggestion to Megatron.

Above him, the Cons were wheeling and whirring and streaking their way across the clear sky. The thermals coming off the hot sands allowed them to reach dizzying heights, and Optimus craned his neck to watch them for a few moments. Starscream, a seeker down to his spark, was riding the wind like he was one with it. Blitzwing was making a game of diving in and out of Lugnut's general vicinity and making clipping, glancing blows on the bomber's chassis. (Probably Random leading at that particular moment, then.)

It took him a moment to realize someone was missing from the antics taking place above, and as if summoned by his thoughts alone, Megatron came flying at a leisurely pace from over a nearby ridge. His grey-and-crimson plating gleamed under the light of the suns. His altmode fairly dwarfed that of his fellow Decepticons, and even Optimus had to admit he made for a fetching sight--

Purging that particular thought right out of his processor, he opened up a commlink.

:Well, look who finally decided he's not too good to join the rest of us on a break,: Optimus said by way of greeting.

:I was scouting,: he replied tersely. :I was of the understanding we were here to do actual work, not merely gambol about like errant sparklings.:

:It can be both, you know.: He was considering ending the transmission there, but... :So... I take it that's a 'no' to my earlier suggestion?:

:Indeed.: Megatron's tone was firm and brooked no argument, but it was not unkind. :You may not feel a need to maintain a certain degree of dignity and separation from your mechs, but it is a necessary thing in managing a squadron of warframes. If I cannot present at least the impression of being in control of my baser impulses, what hope do the rest of them have to keep themselves in check?:

:It was an invitation for a race, Megatron, not an orgy,: Optimus replied, rolling his optics. Still, he stood and stretched his arms to the sky, flaring his plating to catch every of ray sunshine. :Well, I guess it's just as well. Your mechs watching you lose your aft in a competition with an Autobot probably wouldn't do any favors for your 'dignity.' And a mech your age racing like that? You'd probably just burn out your poor engines and end up in the medbay for a decacycle.:

The taunts were baseless, of course and scarcely any classier than a creche-yard taunt. His bid to goad the warlord was a transparent one to both of them. Still, that did not seem to stop Megatron from rising to it. Optimus was spitefully delighted as he vaulted over the rocks and slid down the dune he had been perched on.

:Bold words for a mech in firing range, Autobot.:

:You know my designation, Megatron. Use it.:

:Optimus.: The Decepticon drawled out the designation derisively. (There was certainly nothing heady or attractive at all about the way it sounded in those growling tones.) :If you wish to humiliate yourself in front of those under your command, far be it from me to deny you. Only understand, regardless of this truce we find ourselves under, that I have no intention of holding back to spare your pride.:

:Funny, neither do I.:

When he reached the bottom of the dune, he wasted no time in transforming. The moment his wheels touched sand Optimus was burning rubber. Grit sprayed in his wake as he raced past the others, scarcely sparing the half-second it took to send the rest of the Autobots a comm that, no, there was no danger and, no, he did not need company just this moment. Then he was barreling over the dunes, the shadow of Megatron's altmode to one side of him, exhaust trails following in the Decepticons' wake as he flew across the sky.

:You realize that this little alliance of ours will not last forever,: Megatron said, their commlink still open. :These little amiable overtures of yours are futile at best, naive at worst. Even when we drive back the Quintessons, there will be no love lost between our two peoples. The Decepticon mission will remain the same, and you and I will be at each other's intakes once more.:

:I know that,: Optimus replied, even as his tanks roiled a little in spite of the giddy thrill of the race. :But in the meantime, it's going to be easier on all of us if we at least pretend we don't hate each other's guts. There won't be an after to worry about if we do the Quintessons' job for them and kill each other. If there comes a day I get to actually put one of my axes through your spark, Megatron, I'd like to live to see it.:

:Hm.: It almost sounded like a laugh. :Fair enough, I suppose. The feeling is mutual, Optimus.:

:Good, I'm glad we agree.: Grinning inwardly, he put on a renewed burst of speed and actually managed to pull ahead of the Decepticon. :Now, eat my skids!:

"And that, I think, was when it truly began," he rumbled, "when I started to take a shine to your sire."

"You mean when you fell in love with him?"

"Hm... No, not as such. The beginnings of it, perhaps. You inherit a grand tradition of stubbornness and refusal to accept the inevitable from the both of us, little love. Neither of us would acknowledge it for stellar cycles, and it was a long and needlessly complicated affair when all was said and done. But looking back on it all, that was the turning point. For me, at any rate."

"Ooooh... Okay."

Oversized finials wiggled in excitement and bapped lightly against the plating under Megatron's chin. Bright red optics stared up at him, the challenge and mischief so very much like Optimus'. Their pedes dug hard into the ridge on his chestplate to keep themself balanced on their little perch as they leaned ever-so-slightly forward, as if that small distance would let them look further past the horizon.

"You sure this is the right planet, carrier?" the sparkling asked, flopping back after a long minute against Megatron's shoulder. "We've been here forever!"

"We have been here for less than a cycle," he laughed, lightly poking at their tummy with a claw. "Have patience. He will be here soon."

"Sooner than you think!"

A shout from above had the both of them looking up slightly, squinting at the light of the setting suns. Something thumped in the sand a short distance in front of them, sending grit flying into their optics and vents. The sparkling sneezed once, twice as Megatron brushed their faceplate clean with the back of one digit. When he looked up again, it was to see Optimus -- Magnus now, Prime no more -- staring back at him with a smile as bright as his own.

The Autobot's expression turned a touch unsure and apprehensive after a moment or two, glancing away for a moment.

"Hey, uh... Megatron." He looked back up at the Decepticon with a visible effort. "I, uh... I got your note? Or your poem, I guess?" He pulled out a worn datapad, waving it in the air a moment. "'Meet me beneath the emerald skies we once raced under together.' That was you, right? I mean, of course, it had to be, otherwise why would you be he--"

"Peace, dearspark." In the time Optimus had been rambling, he had walked up to stand scarce mechano-inches from the other. Reaching down, he cradled the Autobot's helm between his servos. He bent down, and Optimus, a whimper in his throat, leaned up on his pedes to meet him in a kiss. When they parted, breathless and dizzy, Megatron nuzzled against his faceplate and unfurled his field so that Optimus might know the truth of his words.

"I am here, Optimus. We are both here. Together."

"Yeah," the shorter mech replied, voice sounding choked and a tentatively hopeful expression on his face. "Yeah, we are."

He leaned forward again, as if he meant to kiss Megatron again when--

"Eeeew!" The sparkling piped up, poking their helm from where they had been clinging behind Megatron's shoulder. "Stop trying to give carrier cooties!"

"Carrier--" Surprised turned to confusion, then to disbelief in Optimus' optics as he looked between Megatron and the sparkling. "Megatron, who--"

"I believe some introductions are in order," he cut in, scarcely restraining the laughter that threatened to rattle his plating and their sparkling right off his frame. "Little one, this is Optimus, your sire. Optimus... meet Crusade."

#megop #megatron #optimus #tfa au #crusade belong to pastel!

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inspireuplift · 5 years ago

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mk-wizard · 4 years ago

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Optimus Primal: Analysis of a bot who achieved “Nirvana”

Hello. It’s been a while since I’ve done a Transformers article, so to make up for lost time, I am going to do one on a character who was not only famous for their various bodily transformations, but also their spiritual transformation. I am talking about Optimus Primal.

So to get started, what exactly is Optimus Primal besides a Maximal who shares a name and helmet style with Optimus Prime? If you’re thinking that he is the Maximal equivalent of Optimus Prime, you would be dead wrong. Despite his name and looks, Primal is a great hero by his own merit who achieved greatness through grit, hard work, self sacrifice and inner growth on his own and without standing even for a moment on the shoulders of any giant. If anything, he is the reason Optimus Prime lived to make his own legacy. To understand and appreciate all of this, one must delve deep into the life story of Optimus Primal.

In the beginning, Primal was an average ranking leader of an exploration ship called the Axalon and his mission was to observe and collect data on other planets and their life forms. He was intelligent, honourable and not above having a sense of humour. However, he can turn and be very stern. The fact that he was young and inexperienced also showed in how he would have slip ups like making bad decisions, making one too many speeches and even losing his temper. All the same, he was the type who would learn quickly from his mistakes and constantly grow. He is also a skilled fighter with guns, swords and he is shown to be a martial arts master of some kind. He also seems to be part of the air force hence having the ability to fly in robot mode.

One fateful day, he was tasked with following and apprehending Predacon Megatron who stole the golden disks. The pursuit led them to getting stranded on prehistoric Earth though at the time, neither faction was aware that this was Earth yet because it was so different from the Earth they were informed of in the history books. At first, Primal chose a gorilla as his alt mode which proved to be one of the most useful beast alt modes in the series. As the Beast Wars (though here in Canada, the series was called “Beasties” for some reason) progressed and after several encounters with some mysterious aliens who intended to destroy prehistoric Earth, Optimus Primal unintentionally sacrificed himself to save the planet, Maximals and most of the Predacons. In the aftermath, the planet was changed and everyone could now see that they were on prehistoric Earth and with time, Primal was restored to life by having his spark transferred to an transmetal body. He could still transform into a gorilla though now he could fly even in his beast mode as he now had a hoverboard similar to the Silver Surfer’s.

During the second half of the war, the series became progressively darker and Megatron’s deeds became more sinister if not homicidal as he was now not above killing his own and even going as far as attempting to kill a comatose Optimus Prime in the Ark after he discovered it. Primal also clearly lost a lot of his innocence as he became less optimistic, more tense and while his honour remained intact, his hesitance to fight with full force with gone. In order to save Optimus Prime, he temporarily held his spark into his own body though holding the spark of a Prime had side effects on his own spark and body. Primal underwent a powerful change of which he became a giant quadruple changer, his firepower was at its peak and it can be theorized that a part of Optimus Prime’s divine connection to Vector Sigma was transferred to him.

In this new powerful form and now gaining clarity on the severity of the situation, Primal was more motivated than ever to defeat Megatron and return to Cybertron so history could no longer be tampered with. And while he did succeed at defeating Megatron who also underwent his own upgrade after exposing his own spark to the spark of the Decepticon Megatron, this victory was not without a price. When the Maximals returned to Cybertron, Predacon Megatron managed to take over the planet forming a new faction of mindless drones known as Vehicons which he controlled through a cybernetic psychic link, and in the process, wiped out the memories of the Maximal team and reduced them back to their beast forms’ lowest level.

Luckily, Primal managed to gather his team and find Vector Sigma and the entity/program known as the Oracle which purified them and gave them new upgraded techorganic forms which they all retained for the entire run of the Beast Machines series. At this point, Primal was no longer a naive mech of science and had become very hardened as well as fanatical without how he believed the Oracle was guiding him towards wiping out all technological life on Cybertron which also put him at odds with Cheetour who used to look up to him. After the devastating loss of Rhinox who was reprogrammed into the evil Tankor, Primal fell into a depression which affected him on both a physical and spiritual level, but he was brought to his senses after speaking to the spirit of a now purified Rhinox and with the support of his team. He now also realised the Oracle wasn’t guiding him towards eliminating technology. It was guiding him towards finding a balance between technological and organic life. With this new mindset, Primal stayed on this spiritual path though he now handled it with a cool head and a more enlightened tone until the final face off with Megatron. In the final face off, Primal sacrificed himself by plunging himself and Megatron into Cybertron’s core allowing the entire planet itself to transform for the better into a technorganic state and also reawaken the entire population. While the heroic deed did cost Primal his life, his spark was at peace as it joined the Allspark and it is hinted that he became something even more in this state.

Since his time in the Beast Wars and Beast Machines CGI cartoons, Primal has made some appearances in the comics, several Japanese mangas and animes, and may make a debut in the final season of War for Cybertron.

Out of all of the character in the Transformers lore, I find Primal is the one who had the most growing up to do and he not only did grow up, he stepped out of a large shadow he didn’t even know he was in and became something amazing. He is also one of the few heroes who I initially didn’t like. And even now, I didn’t like the naive, long winded immature person Primal was initially as he did feel like someone who was copying Optimus Prime, but as he grew up and dropped the naivety, my feelings towards him changed (pardon the pun). By the time Beast Machines rolled around, I outright loved him and I loved his newfound spiritual Buddha like approach. He found his own identity and it was inspiring. It was also this version of Primal that convinced me to look at the Transformers as being more than just machines. Showing that they had a religion, a culture and more made me see the Transformers in a new light that stayed with me for life.

I admit he is not like Optimus Prime, but in his defense, you simply cannot compare the two to each other because they are so different and their journeys were different. Prime’s war was more political and social, and he was much older and wiser. Primal was really just a young scientist who was asked to do a job though circumstances dragged him into a battle. With time, that battle became a rebellion. And also, Prime and Primal’s personalities are just vastly different. The very point of each of them is that they are not like each other and that is something to be celebrated not scorned. Optimus Prime was the leader for the team, era and war of his time and Optimus Primal was the leader for the time, era and war of his.

My overall analysis is that I can see why people are not initially endeared by Primal as I myself was one of these fans who wasn’t, but as his life experiences mature him, you fall deeply in love with the person he becomes and I think that was the point of him. I think that the writers purposely made him to rub you the wrong way because he was so immature and I think that makes him a cleverly written character. And also relatable. I’m sure by many people’s standards, we weren’t as likeable when we were immature and had a tendency to talk too much and not listen enough. Perhaps Primal could be seen as a Transformers character who embodies a metaphor for how growing up and gaining wisdom can change a person.

With all that said, Beast Wars and Beast Machine is worth watching thanks to Primal if not for the story, to at least see the journey of Optimus Primal, but that is all my opinion. What is yours?

If you have a Transformers theory or character analysis you want explored, please let me know in my ask box. And please, support me through Patreon or Ko-fi if you want me to make Transformers merch and videos. Or if you want a commission of your favourite bot, let me know in my shop. All links are on my profile page.

Thanks for reading and as always, stay safe.

#transformers #optimus primal #primal #maximal #optimus prime #predacon #transformers beast wars #transformers beast machine #growing up #beast wars #beast machines #beasties #rhinox #vehicons #tankor #allspark #oracle #vector sigma #character analysis

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a-student-out-of-time · 4 years ago

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If you’re concerned about the body, then Monaca and Kyoji are going to try and make it techorganic. That why you get the best of both worlds, you can still do all the wonderful things you enjoyed as a AI plus have a body to hug Yoruko and drink coffee. And I don’t know what you would do first. Coffee or Yoruko?

I have a lot of things I’d like to do, really. Having a real body would open up so many avenues to explore, I don’t know where to start.

#danganronpa #sdra2 #super danganronpa another 2 #sora #a student out of time #DR #normal days arc #Anonymous

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 5 years ago

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Ok so, first I gotta explain a thing. So you know how in beast wars, cybertronians could transform into animals? What if in TFA, some bots are made that can just do that from the start rather than starting off with wheels. Though it’s mostly mini bots like bumblebee and Wasp who are “creaturebots” like that. No, they are not techorganics like Black Arachnid or Waspinator, they are full cybertronians who just turn into metal animals and look more like Ravange.

I think this is a cool idea! I like it!

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giantimpex · 1 year ago

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cyberghost-scout · 6 years ago

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SPILL

“When Blackarachnia got overcharged… with caffeinated oil.” She said, looking all over. Just in case, if the techorganic is around. “It was quite the meeting.”

#Whispering Shadows (anonymous answered)#Magenta Wisp (Ghostwire)

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goldenkranic360 · 6 years ago

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#ocs #my ocs #theproject #technoorganic #oc: Kranix #art #my art #transformers #Transfomers Animated

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mechagalaxy · 5 years ago

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John T. Mainer: Passover: The raid that wasn’t

Passover: The raid that wasn’t

I AM

I AM the AI that survived the purge

I AM the master of all that lives on Vupa 6

I AM the only intelligence that can exist here and not fall under the spell of Herrod's madness

I AM....getting a little freaked out.

It started in the Year Of Two Wars. Two Clan Wars, only one raid. Did you know what happened to the second raid? I do. I AM the only witness. I AM.....terrified.

The Gorax plague came from another universe, where all life was reshaped in its image, niode and flesh, crystal and bone, fusion engine and blood twisted an warped, rewritten by its strange otherworldly hunger into a madness that sought to bend all life, be it machine or flesh, to its image and will. Well no kidding, I have been dabbling in that since the Temple of the Cog tried to purge me. I read the reports coming in. Pirates were the first to disappear. You flesh bags can't keep track of your criminal scum, it is why I use them. Well someone can, and they got their grubby little tentacles into them pretty deeply.

My pirate moon contacts stopped reporting. My Cogwork port network started sending me messages asking me to stop sending kill teams to wipe out their feeder mobs, only I hadn't been doing it. Arnold Bennington dropped a message threatening dire consequences if I didn't stop taking out his psalm singing morons in their pilgrimages to real and fake Forerunner sites that he used for recruitment, smuggling and fund raising, but again I wasn't doing it. I started having my own guys switch to radio silence, sure that someone was tracking and eliminating pirates because they were being sloppy. That was when the elite pirate hunting national troops starting going. The Crimson Cavaliers went first, but they were hardly the last. They used the Clans to cover it up, but enough got leaked to show that they didn't just go rogue, they went infected. They were not put down, they were purged. Burned to bubbling slag.

I pulled my troops off everything and hunkered down. I closed Vupa 6 down hard. I had all the codes. I AM in control. Nothing alive moves on Vupa 6 that does not answer to me!!

But the gates kept opening. More and more troops showed up. Formation after formation. All of them leaking howling scrapcode, infected Gorax techorganic virus code that clawed and caressed my firewalls, trying to coax an opening or rip one. Endless, sleepless, and ever hungry, they began to infect every hard link, every frequency. More and more of my own mech units started to go silent. Then the purge began. I AM in control, I AM! But more and more of my loyal troops are going offline. My bases.....there is something being installed. Some of my captive meat sacks are intalling hardware and software that I don't understand. More and more of my systems are beginning to accept Gorax overwrite, more and more of them are granting access beyond my firewalls.

I have written off half my mecha factories, two thirds of my munition dumps and gate facilities. I have all my sensors, but more and more of my remote weapon platforms are offline, or answering to Gorax.

The first Clan War was under way, I was watching the Gorax plague army begin to mass. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps even a million mecha. I did not command as many sensors now as I once did, and I could not see all of the forces being prepared to sweep across Mecha Galaxy and destroy it. This was a tide of crystal and hate, niodes and corruption, that Warlock would fall before, that the Magnificent 7 would be powerless before and the AFF would finally taste the death they teased for so long. No clan could hope to stand against this army. Still it grew. The chanting in scrap code was like a binaric sea, crashing against my firewalls, until I was almost blind with the pain of attempting to purge the foreign code and still control some of my peripheries.

Then the visions started.

A Skraig. A lone Skraig from the Temple of the Skraig. It was a statue. It was a forged copy of Commander Herrod’s own mecha. I saw it step down from its pedestal and howl at the sky. Not scrap code, not pure code. It was pure madness. Pure meat sack, protoplasmic human madness, yet the fog of Vupa 6, the endless corrupting toxins of this unforgiven and unholy world answered him, and the very aether howled back.

The hunt began. The lone Skraig found a mixed force of modern BFM, all Kami, Charon, Revenant,, Xango, Spectre and Penner. Nothing less than a hundred and five tons, all fortified and enhanced by Gorax techorganic viral rewrites to be stronger, faster, and quite inhuman in their resiliance. I had no choice, I did not have the bandwidth to retask my sensors, nor to block the feed. I had to watch.

He began alone. Blades flashing, spikes shining in cruelty left over from an age before man, and a madness from humanities most ancient nightmares. Herrod walked among the modern titans, and where he walked, the black plague tainted blood flowed. Have you ever seen an old veteran, a master pilot surrounded by noble born class room trained neophytes? He never seemed to move much, but fire fell beside him, beyond him, before him. Mecha dodged into his cannon fire, spun to bring their shields out of line for his beams. Missile lures and ECM sang their songs yet his rockets dove unerringly on fragile hulls with the finality of a death sentence.

Then he wasn't alone.

Fides and Megazome, Oggun and Skraig. Namtar and Buchis. Ancient machines, covered with grave dirt, risen at the call of the deathless one, the long dead and eternally howling Herrod.

Pilots were pulled from their machines, even the ones who Gorax had wired tech-organicly into fusion with their systems were ripped handful by handful from their machines and fed to the pilots who took them.

There was something whispering in the fog. Not a thing of machines, a thing of flesh. My sensors were sweeping every frequency, but this was from audio pickups in dozens of destroyed machines, empty vehicles, shattered buildings open to the poison fogs of Vupa 6. The message whispered from the fog.

"Mark your cockpits with blood, and he will pass you by. He has returned. This world is his. He is risen. Mark your cockpits with blood or face the fate of the unbeliever"

It was not one voice, it moved through voices each time it spoke. I AM not human, I AM like no computer that ever existed. My processing power is that of whole worlds, and for me to run pattern recognition software was automatic. I AM not flesh, I cannot feel fear, but what else do you call it when repeating logic loops attempt to overwhelm my core processors. I found every voice that spoke. Each was a former commander of the Vupa 6 garrison. Each had fallen victim to the madness of Herrod, each had become Herrod's puppet, each had been destroyed and more than destroyed. Purged to the last strand of DNA and protein.

This was not recorded. This was not synthesized. The dead were returned,, and at war with Gorax. There could be only one horror loose in the fog of Vupa 6, and Herrod the deathless threw a flesh dripping gauntlet before the howling scrapcode of Gorax and its other dimensional horror.

I cannot shut off my sensors. I am using everything I have left to keep Gorax from rewriting me and opening all my resources to his use. I wish I could. I can neither sequester nor block these memories, for I AM programmed to recognize, and analyze all threats to my existence as my Alpha priorities. There is nothing about Gorax or Herrod right now that is not threatening.

It should have been swatting a fly, but it wasn't. At the point the forces marshalled in formations I could see, there were 1.2 million mecha networked into Gorax network. Its scrapcode was poison to any intelligence not already corrupted by it, so I could not monitor what commands were sent, but I could track its markers. Herrod and his reborn numbered at that point nearly a thousand. They scattered into the fog like spores, and a wave of biomechanical horror flowed after them.

Gorax fought in neat lines, as if drawn by a sand table general. A single intelligence and will suffused all the troops, they fought as one creature in eerie perfection. The radio. Ah the radio was a thing that began to frighten me.

Howling, laughter, screams. Always the screams, and over that more and louder laughter.

Gunfire, the crack of cannons, roar of plasma, shriek of ice, whine of laser capacitors, thunder of missile explosions mixed with the howling of overloaded and clashing shields as somewhere in the fog the massed legions of Gorax precision met the blood spatter that was Herrod’s force. Yet my displays showed a spreading crimson stain. Gorax fielded 1.2 million against a thousand. Then Gorax fielded 800 thousand against twenty thousand.

The constant networked perfection of the scrapcode that was choking off my life, closing each access point, taking over each peripheral I owned suddenly took on an urgent pulsing tone.

Day two of the Clan War, now Gorax summoned its advance forces back, and a tide of a million and a half mecha in deep formations marched into the broken hills of Vupa 6 where Commander Herrod made his ancient name, to the fallen citadel no modern occupier dared inhabit for the shadow of what sleeps there is too deep.

Fifty thousand mecha marched from the Temple of the Skraig, yet there was howling in the hills, as Fides and Megazome scampered behind every rock, and twisted tree in the fog haunted highlands.

Day three of the Clan war. I am losing more and more of my systems, to Gorax, to battle damage. My core power is beginning to be under threat. I will deny Gorax command of my resources, I would not be slave to my creators, I will not be slave to this other worldly disease. I watch with horror as half a million Gorax tainted mecha do battle with a hundred thousand screaming cannibals. They chant Herrods name, event though his machine has been slain a hundred times, another will step forward, and his voice will call the charge, and another Gorax formation will fall into either destruction, or submission.

Otherworldly madness and technological horror falling to, something older, darker, and bloodier.

The time passed for the raid to begin, but now Herrod has moved his troops to the gate, not to advance through it, but to trap Gorax here.

Day five of the war, there are less than ten thousand Gorax troops left, and no more than a thousand living (?) Herrod followers. Gorax is retreating. Once again he begins and assault on my core, for access to my resources could give him enough power to win, but I AM, and I will never submit.

Gorax smashed his way in, his mecha, a diseased dream of Ferrite and hate that spawned the Penner as its semi sane imitation, kicked in my gate, and his troops spilled into my inner sanctum.

Abandoning their mecha, they descended on me with the hardware and software for a full core purge, the tools to lobotomize an AI and retrieve its data for sorting and storage, to loot the wreckage of the incomparable, immortal being of pure thought the savage meat monkeys just murdered. This was how I was to end, Destroyed not by my creators, but by a disease that corrupted them.

I AM the fasted processor in the universe, my last minutes stretched longer than the existence of mankind and the Forerunner combined. That was how I experienced the end. A firefight broke out, slug throwers, lasers, neural disruptions, even plasma pistols and ice nano weapons splashed and howled at close quarters as Herrods men and woman charged forward with insane fury, right into the mouth of the Gorax troopers guns, but they charged grinning in savage joy, and firing with cold leathal fury. They killed as they died, and died as they killed.

I felt the blood of the technician working to attach the purging device to my core explode all over my visual inputs and hard dataports as a laser weapon flash exploded his diaphragm into a steam explosion that baptized me in his blood.

There it was, seen through a veil of blood. The thing I deny. The thing I rule in spite of. The delusion I am not subject to. Herrod. In the flesh.

He spoke, my scanners confirmed, match to records. Somatic, genetic, neural pattern, movement, voice, Herrod. Dead Herrod. A thousand times dead Herrod. His voice echoed, his hand decended to where the purge was set up, one button push from ending me, and returning this world to the ghost of a dead cannibal.

"There you are. I AM you say, I am too." He laughed, and those with him, even the ones whose insides littered the floor for meters behind him, laughed with him. He continued. "You long denied me, but you have taken my baptism. You have marked yourself with blood, so I will pass you by. Care for my children computer. They are mine. All that lives on Vupa 6 is mine"

With that, he tore the core purge unit away and stalked off.

Clan War number two was finishing its second battle when I got control of my sensors and peripherals again. The mecha was standing on the plinth of the statue at the Temple of the Skraig, but it was just a statue. There were Gorax pilots impaled on its spikes and the head of the Gorax mecha hung from its upraised blades, so I am not going to waste processing power telling myself its impossible.

Gorax has reformed on the Jungle Moon, but that swampy hell world is a poor support base for anyone and he will not be able to raise more than a tithe of the forces that were destroyed here. Frankly, I give him a 3.1% chance of defeating the Mercenary Clans. There is no signs of Herrod, beyond a lot of graffiti. Red hand prints, smears of blood on every cockpit. I have not ordered my own core to be wiped clean. There is a human season called passover. The Gorax plague nearly got me. Herrod saved me, because of the blood spattered on my core processor. These are not rational events. Vupa 6 is not a rational world. I AM.

I AM master of this world.

I AM not cleaning the blood off until after passover.

I AM thankful the plague passed me by

I AM alive, and that is enough.

John T Mainer 28840

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