#cosmetic machinery

[theautismzone]

Jυʅιҽ-Sυ

x x x x x x x x x

[meetthegofer]

you crack me up little buddy

[hermitkin]

ETHOSLAB — stimboard with machinery and glitter! requested by @sherwood-cabin

× × × · × × × · × × ×

[radiotorn]

easily engineer has the best cosmetics. my evidence ? dead'er alive. plus paired with the iron lung? so cool...

[bitegore]

Moth Jedao has suffered more than god huh

[saobaca]

Cosmetic production line

[aadeshmmr]

The cosmetic packaging machinery market was estimated to be worth US$ 5 billion in 2022 and is projected to grow at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 7.4% to reach US$ 8.25 billion by 2029.

[lodhapharma]

Lodha Pharma is a prominent manufacturer specializing in pharmaceutical packaging machines, renowned for its innovative solutions and high-quality equipment. With a legacy spanning several decades, Lodha Pharma has established itself as a trusted name in the pharmaceutical industry, catering to a global clientele. The company's product line includes a diverse range of packaging machinery tailored to meet the stringent requirements of pharmaceuticals, biotechnology, and healthcare sectors. Lodha Pharma's machines are designed to ensure precision, reliability, and compliance with international standards, addressing the complex needs of modern pharmaceutical manufacturing. For more info visit our website: https://www.lodhapharma.com/

[asianpharmaequipments]

Hi Guys, we are a professional, transparent team in Vasai, Maharashtra India with an experience since 2005 in building Pharmaceutical, Food & Beverages, Chemical, Agricultural, Cosmetic Equipment’s manufacturing company. With effort and courage, we gained the knowledge necessary to design and build stainless steel equipment, provide technical project engineering for multiple industries production lines, and give advisory design services in addition to designing and developing machinery.

Visit our website now to know more about our company!

[mspopstar]

okay how the fuck is sectiona muchless haltmann alive?

"Hehehee! That was easy! I made a clone using genetic material I found from a collection my father had created a fail-safe measure. Used machinery to artificially speed up senescence in the zygote until he was back to his silver glory compressing sixty years into six months. To ensure any and all possible biological failures associated with the cloning process could never occur, I created some bio-mechanical implants to improve and fix some things. With that, my father was created physically. Mentally? He was a husk. Using as much data as I could find, scanning journals of his, emails, and phone calls and more I created an artificial intelligence that functions about 96.7% close to the original! My new father's existence now resides in the creation of several thousand server units in a warehouse at a undisclosed location!"

-Susie P. Haltmann

"My, now that's a query! Bringing her excellence back was no easy feat! I near lost my head in the process. The physical preparations were important, after all, without a body there's no vessel for her to even exist. I used necromancy to recreate her graces' body, or, what was left of her body. As you know, a body with no soul will decay quickly. With magics I preserved her physical elegance temporarily to use as a temporary vessel for what would become her. Next were the spiritual preparations. Horrifyingly, I had learned that Sectonia's hobby for cosmetic and physical glamour had completely fractured her soul in so many pieces, mashing them with others. The ritual to resurrect one spiritually requires a whole soul, not one that's been mixed with so many different colors and speckled to nonrecognition. I did what I could and using a process referred to as alchemic memory based soul creation, creating a soul from ones memory, to fill in the gaps that were missing. It's not perfect but it is satisfactory. They say that the dead lives on through the memory of others, and there's a truth to that! With Queen Sectonia back in the temporary vessel, I needed to do one final ritual to ensure her grace would live healthy for a long time. After all, her original body was beyond repair, parts of her were missing and the ones that were not missing weren't even hers! With a virgin, as the ritual will not work otherwise, I had swapped her soul with Sectonia's soul. I destroyed both Sectonia's original resurrected body (this brought me to tears.) with that street urchin's soul infecting it. Finally, I used some transformation magic to turn the sacrificial body into Queen Sectonia in her former glory. With that, I have her back in my life again. The healing process will take some time, but that is fine. I will wait for her majesty as long as she needs me to."

-Queen Sectonia's Royal Advisor, Taranza

"They both terrify me."

-Meta Knight and King Dedede

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[yuesya]

Chief Scientist Polus squints at the numbers on his holographic screen. Reaches out with a mechanical hand to readjust the values slightly, then continues down the rest of the page.

The lab is quiet, save for the subdued whirring of background machinery. If he were to close his eyes and relax for a moment, he could almost pretend that this was just another late night overseeing ongoing experiments in the labs. He’d be able to head home in the morning, give his wife a kiss, then promptly collapse into his bed and knock out for a solid eight hours. Then, he’d wake up in the afternoon –his lovely wife would laugh and call him a sleepyhead, then ask if he wanted to grab groceries with her. He’d say yes, and they’d walk to a grocery store together beneath the lazy afternoon sunlight.

It’s a nice dream.

His wife is dead, had been one of the civilian casualties in the initial incursion of the Swarm that descended upon Glamoth from distant stars. There had been no time to grieve. The military’s weapons and fortifications had been enough to turn back the insectoid aliens the first time, but it had only been a short reprieve –barely even a full week, before the vanguard of the Swarm arrived, following what must’ve been their scouting party.

The Swarm was truly a plague among the stars, killing and devouring everything in its wake like locusts. Multiplying, spreading decimation across the stars. For they were beloved by the Aeon of Propagation, the Dread Tayzzyronth, whose only goal was to reproduce and replicate endlessly.

The sheer number of casualties that Glamoth suffered, the horrifying hell that the Republic had been reduced to–!

Glamoth’s military power was not enough. It wasn’t enough. The Council had screamed themselves hoarse, while people continued to die, but it wasn’t until news of neighboring nations being completely overrun by the Swarm came that they finally came to the difficult decision–

We must adapt to our enemies.

Alter the essence of humanity.

It’s the only way for a chance of survival.

… No matter how heinous and reproachable the means, it does not change the truth of the matter: We must fight. Surrender is not an option! To accept defeat is to accept the extinction of our race.

And thus, Glamoth gathered its remaining scientists and set before them a task: Create soldiers. Create vast numbers of expendable soldiers to wage war against the Swarm, ones who could pilot a far more destructive version of the military’s mechanical battle suits. Numbers versus numbers.

Polus was one of the scientists who answered the Council’s call. How could he possibly turn away, when the fate of Glamoth was at stake?

…

Polus sighs, standing up from his seat. He stretches out his stiff body, and turns to head deeper into the labs –nearly tripping over Thrasos’ comatose body, from where the other man had collapsed over a half-finished spreadsheet and was currently snoring quietly. Polus grabs the lab coat slung over the back of the man’s chair and drapes it over him like a blanket, before continuing on his way.

The clack-clack of footsteps against the tiled ground seems almost unnaturally loud, with none of the other scientists accompanying him. But it doesn’t take long before Polus arrives at his destination, and he cranes his neck back to take in their creation.

Their answer, to the task that the Council had entrusted to them.

Suspended within the X-819 formula, there is a facsimile of a girl. Countless wires are attached to her body, a sign of her inhumanity –as if the hard, blackened limbs with a chitin-like gloss and antennae sprouting from her head weren’t a clear announcement of it already. White hair flows out behind her, a cosmetic effect of the C-71 injection from the earlier development cycles.

Polus looks up at their creation silently.

… Their weapon. One that was created using materials scavenged from the battlefields, using the corpses of the insectoid aliens of the Swarm. As reprehensible and stomach-turning as it was, it was also necessary if they wanted to be able harness the ability to manufacture soldiers en masse. To propagate their weapons, in order to defend Glamoth and fight the Swarm that was the avatar of Tayzzyronth’s Propagation.

Soon. Soon, the first soldiers would be ready, and the Iron Cavalry would prepare for combat. And this one here would be the key to it all –not a soldier, not a fighter, but far more important; she would be the nexus commanding all the soldiers to be manufactured in this war that Glamoth could not afford to lose.

After all… they had nowhere to retreat to anymore. The majority of the Republic's territories had already been decimated by the Swarm.

“Titania,” Polus whispers, a quiet prayer that’s a mixture of fear and desperation and tremulous hope. He raises a gloved hand, touching it to the cold glass of the living weapon, then presses his forehead against it. 

Polus closes his eyes. “… The first of the Iron Cavalry. Our final hope. Please… be the Queen that we need, and end this nightmare for us.”

[weedgator-mommy]

The Roadies

Reddah, Ms Boe , and Dusty were all separate townies coming to the west for different reasons at different times but eventually came together to form their small gang of roadies over time. Reddah was originally owned by Tex to make western R-rated fashion mags. She had a lot surgically cosmetic stuff done to alter her appearance to make her more "attractive" enough for her work. She still continues to die her feathers and wear heavy make up despite it being abnormal for an Mudd. 

Being sick of the constant abuse behind the scenes she ended up stowing away on one of the rail line cars heading out east thanks to the help of her other Mudokon friend who didn't survive after she left. They were close and starred in plenty of photo shoots together. Reddah still keeps some of the old mags they were in to remember her. She met Sal at one of the docking yards in Feeco dpt. partially disguised as a worker but still looked off from the others that usually worked the yards. She recognized Lockheart for obvious reasons and extensive "research" with the magazines she was featured in. Sal offered to help her out and hide her fully as a worker after they had done some chatting about what had been going down back in the west. For a time she worked as a bay loader with machinery since she could stay more anonymous and out of corporate eye. She would fuck shit up from time to time but Sal would take the fall for that since she idolized her highly. She didn't get paid for any of her work but instead shared wages earned by her friend. Reddah did eventually miss the freedom west and decided after a few months of working to head back. With what money she had saved she returned back to her former looks and spun up a new look. Sal took her on a scheduled route out west and some time off {haha just fucking left the train at the station cus, bastard bosses don't give time off, and not many know how to drive her fucked up rigg} They both set out for an off set town farthest away from industrials as possible ( small town of Hackles set in-between Buzzerton and New Yolk.) 

-------------------------- Ms. Boe is an older Clakker who owns a Saloon/back town brothel in Hackles. She tends to come off as a butch lesbian thanks to all her usual patronage of scumbags and assholes. She's a mean barkeep and tends to keep her business running with the help of western dancers. Her business wasn't the same when she had lost her original star of the show, Faleena, and just grew meaner since then. Till Reddah and Sal walked into the bar one night looking for a place to stay. Boy being gay as shit took one look at Reddah and had the bright idea to offer her a job at the place because it was needing a new eye catching face. They set up for a time and while Sal was off being a menace to society once more, Lockheart took the time to get to know the place and help out Boe with business. She dies her fethers and grows them out to look extra. Also wears spurs and she need to beat the shit out of any out law looking for trouble. Is also the one who taught Reddah now to shoot should she ever need it.

--------------------------- Dusty Rider is kind of an enigma and came out of no where to the small town. She was riding in one evening and caught up with Sal stealing meat from a farmer. Using her rodeo skills she roped her down and ask what outlaw gang she was from only to answer she was with Ms Boe Leggs. They both went to the saloon where Dusty confronted her about thieving again. Boe about to shit herself was glad her old wandering friend was back in town. They'd known each other since Dusty was a child practically raised by Boe when her dad would frequent the saloon. Some time after he just never came back for her and left her to work at the saloon. Boe would give her the basics for learning but she always seemed to want to know more about anything other than the west. Dusty's young adult life was spent away from the west and out to the east. Where she'd gotten a degree for law paid by her rodeo days. She never opted for a gun and didn't believe in killing folks because of how Boe raised her. She'd eventually go back to her roots of the west but still dawning her continental business suit. Eventually becoming a traveling sheriff. Chooses to keep her rodeo clown make up on to mask who she really is and intimidate outlaws better. Especially hates poachers and will take pleasure in extra time beating the ever living shit out of them. ( also nicknamed Laughing Ghost Face ) 

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

Hello I saw your post about super villain y/n can I request about the supervillains fighting over who kidnappes reporter yuu today when villain y/n just swoops in dragging yuu away while grim taunts the villains idk

It's been a long time since I wrote for that Au...! Thank you for requesting it! A HUGE shout-out to @britishassistant because it's their Au and it's one of my favorites!

-

[Yuu has no date life]

Based on the imagine above!

-

-

Knocking on the door to the apartment. You impatiently tap the heel of your shoe, holding the box of mini cakes and red roses.

"J-just a second (Y/N)!" Yuu called out behind the door, a bit of whisper-shouting and shuffles being heard after.

The well-known reporter had asked your civilian self on a date, so you decided, "Why not?" The two of you planning to meet at their home and make the date as you go.

Here you were, standing outside, waiting, and feeling like a fool. The sky had just turned into a warm sunset color, and you could have sworn your pretty bouquet of roses was starting to droop.

Leaning against the door, you stare down at your nice attire for the evening.

"So... While we wait, uh.. Talk to me about your day?" Yuu's voice was heard once again through the door. You perk up slightly, smiling happily, recalling the odd events happening during the day.

-

You weren't one for fashion, but you wanted to look nice. It wasn't every day you went out with someone as famous and cute as Yuu Radcliffe.

Your villain suit was on the board list of what you could wear... But you chuck the idea away, deciding to head into the city and find something nice.

Browsing through the clothing rack of a store more expensive than the machinery you made for evil schemes, you pause when noticing a tall lean figure a few steps away from you.

'Oh shit, they look so cool..'

Trying to be as chill and not creepy as possible, you go over to them.

"Hi.. I.. Like your clothes, where'd you get them?"

The person turns around, a pair of black sunglasses and a hat adoring their figure.

"Custom made, designed by me."

"Wow really?!" You get closer to them, looking over them once more and showering them with compliments by the second!

They smile at your fluttering, enjoying the way they were given attention without the need of even knowing his true identity.

"Hey, can I ask a personal question?"

"You may..."

"(Y/N) that's my name, but... Does this suit or dress look better?" You ask, holding up the two sets of clothing shyly.

Your clothing rack buddy lowers their shades and shoots you a look.

"Neither, dear apple."

You soon find yourself modeling with your new found clothing rack buddy. With him mostly choosing outfits that would suit you nicely.

Even paying for your outfit and deciding what cosmetics you should apply, he even gave you his number!

-

You smile at the warm air surrounding you when you step inside the bakery. Breathing in the intoxicating scent of bread or cake. Walking up to the counter, your grin becomes bigger towards Trey. Whose family owned the tasty establishment, but from the small conversations they've had with each other. Trey had somewhat of a second job like you, yet you doubt he knew that you were a villain for fun.

"Hey Trey, mind if I order a small box of mini cakes?"

"Your lucky I got these out of the oven," he replied with a soft laugh. Heading behind the counter to the kitchen.

"(Y/N), it's good to see you." A voice states behind you, turning around, you stare down at the well-off pharmacist. "Dr. Riddle! It's good to see you too, you' on a lunch break?" You ask, noticing his face become a lighter shade of pink on his pale skin.

"Ah, yes actually. How can anyone resist Clover Bakery," Riddle joked. Causing you to let out a small chuckle.

Trey comes back with the box of mini cakes and tells you your total, handing you a receipt once you finished paying. Waving goodbye as you and Riddle step out of the way for the next person in line.

"I didn't know you liked Trey's mini cakes as much as (favorite food)." The red-headed stated quizzically when noticing the small box in your hand, along with a few bags of items you had possibly bought during the day.

"They're not for me, I'm meeting someone today, thought I would surprise them... Ya'know?"

Riddle frowns at the idea of you hanging out with someone other than him, but he controls himself. Wishing you a pleasant evening and a promise of the two of you heading to the city gardens for tea and tarts.

-

Hearing full-on arguing and yelling, the door busts open as The Royal Flush and King were seen holding onto Yuu's arms while Charon and Leviathan were looking around the simple apartment.

Poison Queen scowled at the attire the reporter was wearing as Snake Charmer and Tsunotaro noticed you.

Tsunotaro strides up to you, his presence more domineering than the other villians.

"What makes you think yous earned a place to even be in the reporters' presence?" He hissed darkly, raising your chin to stare at him instead of Yuu.

"I.. I wanna to get to know them, that's how things like that work. Sure maybe I'm not "worthy", but I'd like to try."

You state plainly, shrugging your shoulders. Having known Tsunotaro when you were in costume, so you weren't that scared by him.

The villain hummed, letting go of your skin, "I see."

Gazing back at your roses, you came up with a idea.

You out one rose towards Tsunotaro, who looked shocked at your gesture you grin sheepishly.

Heading to the other quiet super-villians. You hand them all roses, saving at least two for Yuu and leaning one on the counter for Yuuken.

"Is it cool with ya'll for me to steal Yuu for a date?"

They all look at each other, then back at you. Letting go of Yuu as they stumble next to you.

"When I come back. All of you. Please leave my house."

-

{Ta-da! I hope you enjoyed! I'll be writing a bit more twst again so get ready! For my batman fans, I got something amazing for yall too!}

[waywardsou2]

Summer of Bad Batch Week 9

Hold Still

Summary: Omega gets a gift from Phee and she want's to try it out on her brothers

Word Count: 600+

“Tech can you hold still please” This was the fifth time Tech had absently pulled his hand away from Omegas as she was trying to apply a second coat of polish to her nails. He had been fidgeting the entire time and when he forgets what he was in the middle of doing to start some other activity Omega had to catch his wrist and sit him back down on the other side of the table. She nearly knocked the bottle over this time. Spilling the orange all over their stainless steel pull out table of the marauder.

Phee had given her a set when they had seen her last and she had been obsessed she had painted her fingers and even her toes all at once she was that exited. But she only had so many fingers and toes and she needed a victim volunteer, and Tech was the first to be cornered and coerced. It wasn’t hard to get him to agree, once she told him that he would constantly be wearing gloves and boots so no one would see it he saw no reason not to.

She was using an orange colour that match the one on his newly decorated suit, but she was getting it all over his fingers instead of his nails because he just would not. hold. Still.

“Tech-“ Omega said “If you don’t stop moving I’m going to use that horrible pink colour”

Tech sighed and sat back down, his data pad sat on the table as the already dried hand tapped away on the screen. Tech was usually bustling about the ship, fixing things or upgrading machinery (he didn’t know the definition of ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it) or reading the galaxy wide intercoms to see where their next mission might lead them.

But he wanted to do this for Omega, but sitting and concentrating on one thing was simply not stimulating enough.

“What exactly is the purpose of colouring your nails?”

“It’s fun” Omega said as she stuck her tongue between her teeth as she concentrated

“But what purpose does it serve?”

“Makes you look pretty, Phee said people do it to make themselves feel pretty”

When Tech had seen Phee last her nails were a deep shade of purple that contrasted the gold of her accessories, and he had to admit she did look rather nice.

“So, it is a purely cosmetic procedure”

“Yeah, if you want to say it like that”

Omega continued to swipe over Tech’s fingers with the colour, being as delicate as possible trying not to make more of a mess than she already had.

After she was done Tech took his hands and studied them. The vibrant colour on his neutral toned fingers look strange, but he had to admit he did like the colour.

“Thank you, Omega, you have done an excellent job. I thoroughly enjoyed this experience” He thought to himself a moment before taking one Omega’s hands in his own and taking the brush from her hand. He delicately made a line down her index finger and then took the purple to do the inverse on his own.

“There. Now we match”

Omega smiled looking at hers and Tech’s nails “Thank you Tech”

He smiled softly back at her “You are very welcome Omega”

She stood up and looked a Wrecker laying on his bunk getting some shut eye. Nap time was over, its time for her next victim

“Wreckers turn” she snickered at him and walked over to his sleeping form

Tech chuckled and turned back to the cockpit. If only Crosshair could see them now

[heliopauseentertainments]

Denied Repose

For Rare Pairing Fest 2023 - @tfrarepairing

Prompt Day 1 - Underworld

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Ratchet

Characters: Megatron & Ratchet Warnings: Major character death, mild gore, necromancy, one-sided relationship

Summary: In which Megatron decides death is also his to control.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

“Good doctor,” Megatron started, strapping Ratchet’s limp limbs to the medical slab, not that Ratchet seemed to be in much of a mood to struggle at the moment. He wasn’t in the mood for much of anything, if Megatron were being honest. “This is one of those situations where I’ll be, in theory, asking you for your forgiveness, rather than for your permission.”

The room thrummed with high voltage electricity as it coursed through the wires and circuits of the machinery lining the walls and ceiling. Megatron did not fully grasp the physics behind it, but that didn’t matter. He had read enough of Scorponok’s notes.

The Autobots had made the mistake of leaving their fallen behind in the chaotic aftermath of battle. Megatron had never been one to let an opportunity go to waste.

Ugly welds made by inexperienced hands crossed Ratchet’s cold chest, windshield glass lingering only as shards still stuck inside of the frame. With guidance from Flatline over their commlinks, Megatron had already patched the worst of the damage to Ratchet’s body, leaving only cosmetic injuries that could be repaired. These were not vital, not yet to a functioning body.

Of all the mechs misguided enough to join the Autobots, Ratchet had always held Megatron’s personal respect. One day, he had always reasoned, perhaps Ratchet could have been convinced to see the world from the Decepticons’ perspective. He had seen the worst of what Functionism had done to the people. Megatron had even put out a standing order early on to leave the handsome medic to do his work, to not target him in battle.

This was not how he had anticipated swaying Ratchet to his cause. He had hoped to use words, wielding the powerful weapon of rhetoric. Though, perhaps, in time he could yet do that, but Ratchet would need function sensors to receive the anything that Megatron had to say.

Megatron checked the straps again, running the back of his hand along Ratchet’s forearm as though soothing an ailing friend, rather than a deceased enemy. He avoided looking at the medic’s dark, unseeing optics.

Cables, still powered down, hung from the ceiling. Megatron reached into Ratchet’s chest through the gap where the windshield had once been, clipping the cables onto his spark chamber.

He stared for a few moments at the gray, crystalline orb nestled inside. Once it had held all that Ratchet was, powering both his frame and his thoughts. Perhaps soon it would again.

Thankfully the spark itself had not sustained damage or shattered, otherwise even this last hope would have been out of reach.

Scorponok had pioneered this gargantuan machine in his quest to both understand the spark and boost Decepticon numbers. His research had been intended to both keep their strength up and pursue techniques they could leverage when Phase 7 finally arrived.

This resurrection machine, however, had been only sparsely tested due to its unsustainable energy requirements.

Should Megatron have been doing this?

Absolutely not. This was selfish, pure and simple.

What would Ratchet say when he discovered that Megatron had sidestepped the natural order of the universe for him? That was hard to say, but he would be alive to say whatever it was.

If it worked.

Reluctantly leaving Ratchet’s side, Megatron walked over to the control console to begin entering the commands to prepare the machine. Its sole task was to jump start the cold spark in Ratchet’s chest.

The console ready, Megatron initiated the sequence.

Power surged down from the ceiling through the cables and into Ratchet’s empty spark.

“I hope one day you’ll understand.”