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seungkw1 · 21 days ago

Text

heroes — chs

💿 heroes - david bowie 🎶

🪐 pairing: chwe hansol x gn!reader 🪐 theme: sci-fi/horror au 🪐 wc: 13.9k 🪐 warnings: suspense, scary imagery, mild gore (nothin crazy), minor character death, doppelgangers, lots of talk about goo, wistful yearning, some good old fashioned angst. 🪐 a/n: here it is!!! my longest work to date!! this fic is inspired by the movie Alien (1979), one of my all time favs - and who better to star in it than our favorite Movie Guy™️ chwe hansol. i truly had so much fun writing this, definitely made some stuff up about space ships and physics along the way but i hope u find the world of this fic to be immersive, intriguing, and best of all - spooky!! :) huge shoutout to @haologram for beta reading and @miniseokminnies for being my writing buddy and listening to me go insane ♡

You’ve been Captain of the Atlas IV for five years now, so a months-long interstellar cargo haul like this one is standard work for you. But when you’re mysteriously woken prematurely from your cryogenic sleep-stasis to find yourself still in the middle of deep space, nowhere near your destination planet, it’s up to you and your Pilot to figure out what triggered the Emergency Revival System - before it’s too late.

hisssssss

Your brain begins to awaken as you re-enter consciousness. Somewhere in the back of your mind you recognize the sound of the sleep pod unlocking, signaling your long journey through the depths of space must be coming to an end - but right now the only thing you can think about is how dead you feel. Waking up after such a long, artificial sleep is always physically challenging, but nothing you’re not used to by now. You give yourself a couple minutes to lay there, still half-lucid, letting your body slowly readjust from the months-long cryogenic sleep cycle. You listen to the ambient sounds of the ship. The noise is loud, but low - mere background noise that you’ve grown accustomed to. The mechanical rumbling of the engine amidst the otherwise silent ship brings you a strange sense of comfort, a contrast to the usual chatter of the crew and beeping and blooping of machinery. You decide to take a few more moments to enjoy the peace and quiet before you have to get back to work.

Suddenly, you are flooded in the sterile brightness of the ship’s interior lighting as the capsule lid is opened - nearly blinding you even behind closed eyelids. You reluctantly open your eyes to, to see-

A face, staring down at you.

You jump a little. You blink a few times as you sit up, still processing the identity of the face’s owner. Then it registers: it’s your Pilot.

“Jesus Hansol, you fucking scared me.”

“Sorry, Captain,” he apologizes. He just stands there, upright, so still that he could be mistaken for a mannequin if you weren’t paying too much attention.

“Why are you standing over my pod?" you grumble, still adjusting to being roused so abruptly.

He looks at you, his demeanor calm as always - but based on the concerned look in his eyes, you guess he’s going to tell you that there’s a bit of a problem.

“We have a bit of a problem.”

“Yeah, I guessed that much. What-”

Before you can ask anything, he’s already spun around on his heels, making a beeline back to the cockpit. You stumble out of the pod and quickly don your coveralls before hurrying after him.

You enter the control room, its many processors and screens humming all around you. At first glance, everything seems fine - all machines are fully operational, no blinking lights, no alerts going off. Somehow, you find this more worrying than if all the alarms were blaring.

Hansol hovers over the main computer. You join him, stepping up next to him to get a good look at the screen. To an untrained eye it would be incomprehensible, but you could interpret the map in your sleep. You take one look at the coordinates and the issue is glaringly obvious.

“Shit.”

Your whisper is barely audible, but Hansol gives you a stoic nod.

“Yeah.”

You’ve captained the Atlas IV for five years now - you’ve been on so many of these routine, months-long cargo expeditions that you’ve stopped keeping count; every last detail of its operations is ingrained in your memory at this point. The ship is programmed to wake up the crew in stages upon entering a 0.5 parsec orbital radius of the destination planet (Pilot first, Captain next, and then the remaining crew), allotting plenty of time to communicate with the ground crew and prepare for landing.

However, the blinking blue light indicating the ship’s position is nowhere near the destination planet. It’s not even near any planet - you are in the middle of fucking nowhere.

The system is designed to wake the crew early if an emergency arises - a critical built-in safety measure - but there’s no emergency. Aside from the fact that you’re deep in interstellar space, there doesn’t even appear to be a minor issue at hand.

You look up at Hansol, who is patiently awaiting your response.

“Why was the Emergency Revival System triggered?” you ask hesitantly.

He stares at you for a second before responding.

“I don’t know.”

“And is anything malfunctioning? At all?”

He shakes his head.

“I’ve run all diagnostics twice - nothing. If there’s a problem somewhere, it’s undetectable.”

You grimace. Hansol lets out a sigh. You both know you only have one option here.

“Well, guess we better start combing the place. Find the problem ourselves.”

He nods resolutely. You head to the supply room together, gearing up in silence. You grab as many tools as you can carry - anything you might need to repair… whatever the issue is.

“Alright, I’ll start at the fore, you start at the aft. Take your comms - radio me if you find anything, no matter how trivial.”

You prepare to head out, but the silence filling the room stops you. You turn around to see Hansol, geared up head to toe with supplies, holding two pulse rifles. He extends one to you.

“Why-”

“Just in case.”

“We’re the only ones here, and everyone else is still in stasis. Who would I possibly need to shoot?”

“Nobody. But you never know what you might come across.”

“Hansol if there was anyone, or… anything else on this ship we would know about it,” you reply, but not confidently. You know he’s right. Weird shit happens in deep space sometimes - better safe than sorry. You take the rifle.

“Be careful, y/n.”

Normally if a subordinate addressed you informally, you would scold them. You have a good camaraderie with your crew, but you still demand respect. But you and Hansol have known each other for years - although you were never super close, you were still in the same class at the Academy. You did all your basic trainings together - and that kind of shit builds an unspoken bond. You wouldn’t necessarily consider him a friend, but truthfully you do see him as your equal. Being on a first name basis with him just comes naturally.

You give him a firm nod. “You too.”

He clips his rifle to his utility belt. “Meet you in the middle. Unless I find something first.” He shoots you a playfully-smug grin. “Which I will.”

You roll your eyes, but you grin back at him. “Hey, take your fucking time, it’s not a competition.”

“I know,” he says as he exits the room. His voice echoes from the hallway. “But I’m still gonna win.”

[two hours later]

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you shut the large panel door. You’ve checked what feels like a million controls and systems at this point, but - frustratingly - everything appears to be in order. Still no insight into what’s going on.

With an exhausted groan you sit on the ground, leaning your head back against the wall. You grab your canteen and chug some water. This type of work isn’t hard, but it’s fucking tiring. Not to mention boring as hell. At least you have an old mp3 player to keep you company, but you’re still too alone with your thoughts for your liking. As level-headed as you normally are, your mind can’t help but wander, imagining every terrible thing that could possibly happen. You try to push those thoughts aside, knowing you’re probably overthinking it. But the worries still linger.

You close your eyes, zoning out to the sound of David Bowie’s voice in your ears:

I, I can remember (I remember) Standing, by the wall (by the wall) And the guns, shot above our heads (over our heads) And we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall) And the shame, was on the other side Oh we can beat them, for ever and ever Then we could be Heroes, just for one day

“Captain! Come in Captain!”

You jolt upright. You curse yourself, realizing you must have drifted off to sleep for a bit. It takes you a moment to process where the voice is coming from - but then you notice the red light of your comms lighting up on your wrist.

“Hansol, come in.” you reply, bringing your arm up to your face.

“Geez, I was starting to think something happened to you.”

“Sorry, was just taking a rest. What’s up?”

“I found… something.”

“What do you mean ‘something’?"

“It’s easier if you see for yourself. Meet me in Cargo Bay 7.”

“Roger, on my way.”

The large pneumatic doors to the cargo bay open with a deep whoooosh. The coldness of the hangar stings your face as you step into the freezing room. Hansol’s head pokes up from behind several rows of large crates, his breath visible in the frigid air. He waves you over to him.

“What is it?” you inquire as you approach him, but as you step around to where Hansol is facing, you see it. Along the side of the crate, where the door is meant to be sealed shut, is a large hole ripped through the multilayered titanium walls. The shredded-up metal protrudes outwards in a peculiar manner, almost as if…

You lean in to get a closer look at the busted door. Hansol’s arm instinctively shoots out in front of yours to stop you from getting too close.

“Be careful - we don't know what's in there.”

You give him a firm nod. You retrieve a crowbar from your toolkit, sticking it into the small opening. Hansol lifts his pulse rifle into position, pointing it at the crate. Slowly you heave the large door open.

The beam of your flashlight illuminates the crate’s interior. In the center of the crate sits a biocapsule - not unlike the ones you use to enter stasis during long journeys, though notably larger. The capsule’s exterior is fitted with several, heavy-duty locking devices that appear to have been inadequate, given that the glass lid is almost entirely missing, accounting for the thick shards of broken glass strewn all over the floor. Dozens of tubes and wires connect the capsule to various bizarre pieces of machinery, presumably keeping its former occupant in stasis or something of the like. But now, it is vacant. Whoever - or, whatever - was in there, is gone.

“Okay, this is fucking weird,” you say, turning to Hansol. “Live cargo isn’t even permitted on this ship. What do the logs have listed for this shipment’s contents?”

Hansol lifts his arm and activates what looks like a sleek wristwatch. The watch projects its hologrammatic display into the air in front of his face, featuring a small keyboard. He types in the crate’s serial number into the interface.

“Um,” he starts, his face remaining placid, but you can see the confusion in his eyes. “There’s no record of this container in the system.”

“Like… at all?”

He types in the number again, checking if he made a mistake. But the projected screen once again only says 0 results found.

“Nothin’.”

You furrow your brow. That should be impossible - crates go through two checkpoints to ensure they are registered correctly before they are even allowed on the ship.

“Search the lot number.”

He types AT-07 into the device. It brings up the general cargo bay information - shipments are sorted into different bays depending on the type of contents they carry.

“‘General Plumbing Equipment’,” he reads from the screen.

You let out a short laugh.

“Plumbing equipment my ass.”

“Yup,” Hansol agrees. “This has gotta be contraband.”

Despite all the weird shit that’s been going on, the man has remained cool as a cucumber the whole time. You’re reminded why you’ve hand-selected him to be your Pilot for the last six missions.

“So, we have no idea what this is or where it even came from.”

Hansol nods. “Affirmative.”

You take a closer look at the hole. Crude, jagged edges line the gashes where the wall was torn asunder. Worse, however - deep scratches lay engraved around the hole’s perimeter, distinctly made in sets of three; they look eerily like claw marks. It looks exactly like what you’d expect a titanium crate to look like if something large broke out of it. But, the impenetrable thickness of the walls renders the crate nearly indestructible. Whatever being was held here - it is capable of gargantuan strength.

“What could have possibly done this?” you ask - not necessarily to Hansol, for you know he doesn't know either. You really would rather not find out, but that doesn't seem like an option at this point.

Hansol stares into the bizarre crate, mind racing with theories and questions.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

You turn to face your Pilot. His demeanor is unchanged, but he looks undeniably concerned. As are you.

“Well. What now?”

Hansol gives a slight shrug.

“It's your call, boss.”

“Right,” you sigh. Being in charge of decision-making is something you've gotten very good at over the years, but it certainly is a burden sometimes.

A sudden few beeps resonate from Hansol’s wristband. He lifts his arm to read the notification.

“The rest of the crew is waking up now,” he informs you.

“Shit. We better go brief them on the situation.”

Hansol nods in agreement. He puts his flashlight back on his tool belt and pulls his pulse rifle up again - safety still on, but ready to fire if needed. You do the same, silently praying to any god who might be listening that you won't need to use it.

But you're not too optimistic about that.

You head back up to the sleeping quarters to find the four other members of your crew mulling about - most still pretty dazed and grumpy from the waking process. Your Lieutenant, Jones, is the only one who doesn’t look like they want to kill somebody.

“Captain,” she greets you with a salute.

“Alright, listen up,” you command your squad, cutting right to the chase.

“We have a bit of a situation,” you start. Your crew is focused, listening attentively, but a nervous air of tension hovers in the room. Those are definitely not the words they were hoping to hear.

“First off, we’re not at the destination planet. Not even close.”

Hushed murmurs echo throughout the room. You continue.

“Chwe and I have not yet identified the source that triggered the Emergency Revival System. We did, however, find something of interest.”

You glance over at your Pilot. He gives you a subtle nod of assurance.

“A crate in one of the storage rooms was… breached," you start, trying to give as unalarming an explanation as you can manage. But, you know your crew isn’t stupid.

“To speak candidly, I have reason to believe this crate - which is missing from the ship’s logs - was transporting some kind of contraband life form.”

“Life form?” chimes in your Sergeant, Ridley. “What kind of life form?”

“Unclear,” you respond. “I don’t know exactly what I saw, but the crate seemed to be some kind of stasis chamber. Now, there is no reason to panic just yet. But I want everyone to remain vigilant, so I am issuing a Code Gray until we have an all-clear.”

A few subdued grumbles roll through your crew, but everybody knows it’s the right call. Code Gray indicates a potential hazard to the wellbeing of the crew or ship - not yet an emergency, but could quickly become one if things take a turn for the worse.

“Alright, let’s get going people,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Jones and Ridley, take the mid decks. Liang and Destin, lower decks. Follow code protocol, you know the drill. And radio if you find anything, no matter how small.”

The crew disbands, splitting off into designated pairs and gearing up for duty. As the duos depart, you nudge your head up at Hansol, signaling for him to follow you.

“Let’s go back to the cargo bay,” you tell him quietly. “I want to investigate every inch of that crate.”

You spend at least an hour poring over the crate’s contents, learning frustratingly little about its former occupant. All you can really tell is that the capsule was built to accommodate an individual approximately 8-9 feet tall, slender, with undeniably alien proportions. Your biggest lead is the mainframe - you’re not able to view any of its contents, as it appears to require an eye scan and a passcode, but you recognize the display language to be Acheron. Unfortunately, neither you nor Hansol can read a single word of it - and while it’s not the most ubiquitous language in the known galaxy, it’s still fairly widespread, only narrowing down possible origins to a minimum of 500,000 different star systems. But, it’s at least a start.

The only other discovery you make of potential interest is a thick, black, slimy residue coating the various internal components of the capsule. You collect several samples, scraping it into miniature vials for analysis.

“Well, let’s hit up the lab,” you tell Hansol as you wrap up your painstakingly thorough investigation. “I don’t think we’re going to find much else in here.”

“Should we send everyone an update?” he inquires.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “What exactly are we going to tell them? All we can say for certain right now is that it’s big and gooey.”

Hansol scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Please don’t say ‘big and gooey��.”

A subtle smile creeps onto your face. “Big and gooey,” you repeat.

“Blech,” he grumbles, pretending to gag - but the tiniest upward curvature of the ends of his lips breaks his facade.

“Let’s get these samples analyzed,” you say as you pack the vials into a red plastic bag bearing the words CAUTION: BIOHAZARD. “I don’t like how much time is passing without us getting any answers.”

“Do you remember that time at the Academy when you nearly killed that guy during a drill?”

The trek to the ship’s biolab has so far been traversed in silence, the only sound present other than the ambient rumbling of the engines being the muted echoes of boot-steps as you and Hansol walk down a seemingly endless number of corridors.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I couldn’t forget about that if I tried. And trust me, I have.”

A wide grin spreads across Hansol’s face. One thing about your Pilot: you can always know exactly what he’s thinking by his expression. You know for a fact that it’s not that he can’t hide it - he simply doesn’t feel the need to.

“I still can’t believe I set my comms on the wrong channel,” you lament, shaking your head in embarrassment. “Did NOT get the memo that the drill was long over.”

“That’s why Sergeant Briggs personally went searching for you. We all thought you died.”

“Nope, not dead. Just an idiot,” you sigh. “And then he scared the shit out of me and I almost blasted him in the head.”

“Hey, we all make mistakes,” Hansol reassures you. “And in the end nobody got hurt, that’s what’s important.”

“You’re right,” you sigh in agreement. “Some mistake though, huh?” Hansol says nothing, but smiles.

You walk a few moments without conversation, but the silence feels too heavy. You’re not one to make small talk - but in the quiet your mind starts to wander, and now is not the time to let your nerves get the best of you.

You turn your head toward Hansol. “What the hell made you think of that, anyway?” you ask, the question genuinely on your mind anyway.

“Oh.”

Hansol looks up. His eyebrows scrunch a bit as he stares off down the hallway, seemingly deep in thought. He muses for a moment, then nods to himself.

“I felt similar then, like I’m feeling right now,” he tells you, his eyes still lingering in the distance. “I wouldn’t call it fear - I’m not scared. But there’s certainly the same… palpable sense of dread. And the anxiety of not knowing.”

He looks back at you. You meet his gaze, struck by the unexpected gravity of his answer. Despite knowing Hansol for years, he’s never opened up to you like this before. It’s not that he had anything to hide - he’s always been honest and communicative, and you trust him with your life. But, this conversation feels deeper, more intimate than any you've had with him in the past. Your eyes linger on his for a moment, unsure what to say, but as the next airlock whooshes open your attention shifts to the figure at the end of the corridor. It’s your Engineer, Liang, her back turned to you as she faces the next airlock - but given that she was assigned to search the ship’s lower quadrant with Destin, your Science Officer, her presence on the upper decks catches you off guard.

“Liang,” you call out, your voice carrying in a hollow echo down the long corridor. Her head snaps around to face you with startling speed. She stares back at you for several seconds, unmoving, before twitching slightly to stare at Hansol. Then, she bolts - disappearing into the adjacent corridor in the blink of an eye.

You glance at Hansol, who stares back at you equally confused.

“What was that about?” he questions. You lift your comms and page the Engineer.

“Liang? Come in, Liang.”

A couple moments later her voice rings through the device.

“What’s up, Captain?”

“Is everything okay? What are you doing in the upper decks?”

“I’m not in the upper decks,” she replies matter-of-factly. “Me and Destin are down on Deck 27 still. Haven’t found anything yet, though.”

You and Hansol stare at each other for a moment. The figure you just saw was undeniably Liang - her short stature and fiery red hair were a dead giveaway.

You switch the comms to all channels.

“Atlas Crew, report back with your positions,” you order the whole team.

A curt female voice rings through the comms. “Jones here, me and Ridley are on Deck 14, nearing the engine rooms.”

“Ridley here,” replies a deep voice. “Ditto.”

“Destin reporting from Deck 27,” a second male voice replies. “I’m here with Liang.”

A sinking feeling swells in your gut as the realization sets in: nobody is even remotely close to you and Hansol right now.

Your mind starts to race, but now is not the time to stand here and think. You raise your pulse rifle at the ready and motion for Hansol to follow you.

“Who the hell is up here with us, then?” he asks as he marches beside you with haste.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like this one bit,” you mutter as you head toward the corridor the figure vanished into. “Something feels very off here."

The pneumatic door to the connecting corridor is sealed, but not locked. It opens as you approach it, revealing a short, dimly lit passageway leading to a handful of Emergency Ejection Modules. The gargantuan ship has many such escape pod installments - fortunately, you’ve never had to use any of them, but they do offer a sense of security when you’re stuck on board for months on end. However, their quiet stillness feels eerie as you peer down the vacant hallway, their glowing red standby lights glaring ominously back at you through the darkness. As you and Hansol slowly move down the corridor, you notice a faint, mellow beep resonating in the distance. Then, you see it: the lights of the furthest Module blinking slowly, in sync with the beeping sound. In glowing green text, the panel screen beside the pod’s airlock displays the words MODULE DEPLOYED. You tap the screen and pull up the record log; sure enough, the pod is gone - deployed not even one minute ago from this terminal.

WHOOOOSH

Startled, you jump slightly at the loud sound coming from behind. You whip your head around to see the pneumatic door sliding open, gatching the briefest glimpse of a large, dark shadow fleeing the corridor.

You cock your pulse rifle and charge after the figure, bursting back into the vivid light of the main corridor to see… nothing.

Hansol appears beside you in a flash, but also stops in his tracks. The hall is far too long for anyone to have escaped on foot already, and the airlock behind you wasn’t opened. Whoever you’re chasing after has seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call as you raise your comms. “I’m issuing a Code Orange effective immediately. Engage shipwide lockdown protocols and be on high alert. Rendezvous at the bridge ASAP.”

“Affirmative,” three voices reply one after the other.

“Affirmative,” Jones responds a moment later. “What’s going on, Captain?”

“I’ll explain when we get there, but be on high alert.” You glance nervously at Hansol, finding an equal amount of fear in his eyes. Somehow, you find it reassuring. You raise your arm once more to speak into the comms.

“There’s somebody else on this ship with us.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jones says as she reads the biologistics report on the screen for the fifth time. “There’s not a single biometric signal readout on this entire ship except for the six of us. If there were another human present on this ship - or any being for that matter - we would know about it even if they were dead.”

Your crew is gathered in the main control room on the bridge. You just finished giving them a detailed rundown of what you saw, relaying the uncanny events exactly as you witnessed them.

“And you’re sure it was me you saw?” Liang repeats, her brow furrowed.

“100%,” Hansol confirms. “They looked exactly like you. And besides, you’re the only one here with bright red hair.”

She lets out a somber laugh. “Fair enough. But it’s not like evil doppelgangers actually exist, and we’ve confirmed there’s no other living beings on board. So… you must have been seeing things right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply with a frown. “We both saw the exact same thing though.”

“You’re forgetting the missing creature.”

You turn, shifting your focus to the voice across the room. You see Destin, who had been silent until now. He sits hunched over in his chair, elbows balancing on his legs as he rests his chin upon his clasped hands. His legs bounce slightly in his usual anxious manner.

“What about it?”

“Nobody’s found the thing that escaped that crate,” he reminds the group.

“True,” you respond. “But whatever it is has to be dead by now. There’s no trace of it at all.”

“That’s just it, though.” His legs still as he sits up straight, resting his palms upon his knees. “Like Jones just said - if there were someone else on the ship we would know about it even if they were dead.”

The room fills with silence as everyone sinks deep into thought. Your mind races, trying to think of any logical explanation to any of this - but nothing makes sense.

“What about the Emergency Ejection Module?” Ridley finally asks, looking toward you and Hansol. “You guys said one was deployed as a decoy, but what if somebody… something was on it after all?”

Hansol quickly strides over to the nearest terminal, a blue glow illuminating his face as he pulls up the interface. His fingers fly as he speedily types upon the keypad. Every escape pod is equipped with a tracking device and a biometric monitor built in as a safety precaution; he hones in on the ejected module.

“I’ve located the pod.”

You hurry over to the terminal and look at the screen. Unfortunately, there’s no good news.

“It’s currently 0.02 parsecs from the ship. No sign of life on board. Or death.” His shoulders drop as he closes out the terminal in defeat. “There’s nothing.”

“Okay, so whoever we saw on the upper decks is still on the ship,” you state. “And we have an unknown specimen on the loose who is evading all detection. The most logical explanation is that the specimen is our mystery guy. But that doesn’t explain why they looked exactly like Liang. That part is…”

“Unsettling,” Hansol finishes your sentence for you. You nod in agreement.

Jones stares at the computer screen, reading the metrics over and over again in hopes of a revelation, but she knows the effort is futile. She shakes her head and turns the screen off with a sigh. “The way I see it, whatever escaped the crate is some kind of unknown biological specimen that can either shapeshift or induce hallucinations. Or maybe it’s advanced android technology. Regardless, we should still be able to detect something. But there’s not even a residual trace of electromagnetic radiation we can’t account for. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Chwe and I were on our way to the lab to analyze the substance we found in the crate,” you inform the crew. “Hopefully a molecular analysis will provide some insight into whatever the fuck is going on here.”

“I sure hope so,” Jones grimaces. “I’m not one to be superstitious, but I have a bad feeling about all of this.”

“What do you want us to do, boss?” Ridley asks from across the room. “While you guys run the tests?”

“Try and track down where that crate came from,” you tell him. “The mainframe language is in Acheron - that’s all I could glean, but start there and see if you can narrow down potential origin planets.”

You turn to the others. “Destin, you’re with me and Chwe. We need your expertise. Jones, Liang - try and figure out why we aren’t able to detect it. Search the scientific database - there’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

“What’s the protocol if we encounter the specimen?” Hansol’s voice resonates from behind. You turn, finding his eyes locked on you - focused and attentive.

“We know barely anything about it,” you respond, addressing the whole crew. “We don’t know its intentions or motives. But in an abundance of caution, assume the subject to be hostile. Set pulse rifles to stun - we don’t want to cause it any unnecessary harm. Worst case scenario, though…”

You hesitate. For all you know, whatever this species is may be friendly, intelligent. You certainly have a hunch that it has high intelligence - but as for friendly… Your gut tells you otherwise. And above all else, your duty is to protect your crew.

“If it comes down to it,” you continue, “do not put your life in jeopardy. Use your best judgement. Shoot to kill only as a very last resort.”

Several “yes, Captain”s are solemnly murmured through the room. Every member of your crew has years of experience under their belt, and you were all thoroughly trained for any type of situation. But simulated drills at the Academy, while intense, are nothing compared to the real thing - and none of you have ever experienced any true threats on a mission before.

Except for Hansol.

You don’t know the details. He’s never offered them, nor have you ever asked. But you know through the chatter of colleagues that one of his past missions involved an emergency on board, and - allegedly, according to some - one of the crewmates did not survive. Your gaze falls on him once more: still calm and collected, focused and taking his job seriously as usual. But his focus on you is more intense than you’re used to, and you detect a somber aura looming around him. You find yourself wanting to pat him on the arm, to tell him everything’s going to be okay. But, although you care greatly for each member of your crew, you know that would be starkly unprofessional. You cannot let your personal connection to Hansol cloud your attention right now.

And besides, you can’t tell him that anyway, because you don’t even know if you believe it yourself.

“These readouts are incredible - like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

You and Hansol stare at the monitor as Destin pulls up the lab results. You both have a fairly extensive background in science, as everyone who graduates from the Academy does, but the overwhelming jumble of data readouts on the screen are far beyond your paygrade. So you let your Science Officer do the interpreting.

“99% of all life discovered in the galaxy so far is carbon-based - it’s one of the most abundant elements in the universe, so that makes sense. But this specimen has a silicon-based biochemical makeup. Now, we have seen a few silicon-based lifeforms from a few remote planets, but all of them thus far have been primitive, relatively speaking,” he explains. “We’re talking mostly single-celled organisms. There’s been a small handful of multicellular silicon-based species discovered, but nothing more complex than bacteria or algae. Certainly nothing like the large and presumably-advanced specimen that’s running amok on the ship right now. But look at this…”

He pulls up a 3D image rendering of what you can only assume must be the creature’s DNA - but it’s nearly unrecognizable as such. The main culprit is its triple-helix structure - something that’s been theorized as potentially possible, but has never actually been seen before in nature. Though, the bizarre molecular formations you’re staring at makes you wonder if this creature is even naturally-occurring - it’s so strange that it almost makes you think it must have been engineered in a super-advanced laboratory, on some planet unknown to science.

“Obviously, the triple helix is astounding in and of itself,” Destin continues. “But even stranger is there is no water present in its chemical composition.”

“No water?” Hansol echoes, a perplexed expression etched onto his face. “Like, at all?”

“None whatsoever,” Destin confirms. “There are some known species who use ammonia as a solvent - which makes sense, because ammonia and water are both polar molecules, so their structure is similar. But this specimen appears to use methane as a solvent instead. Which, it’s a hydrocarbon, so that is theoretically possible, but with its tetrahedral structure…”

He glances over to you and Hansol, seeing that he’s starting to lose you in his technical jargon. He shakes his head, abandoning the in-depth explanation.

“Basically, this creature is theoretically possible. But for all intents and purposes, it shouldn’t exist.”

The laboratory air hangs still around the three of you as nobody speaks for several prolonged moments. An unnerving chill runs through your body - you thought you would feel better after gathering more information, but at this point you feel even worse. None of these findings comfort you in the slightest.

“Well, at least we have a lead here,” Hansol points out, breaking the silence. “We can eliminate a large majority of possible origin planets.”

“True,” Destin agrees. “It’s a good start. But I have a feeling based on this completely unfamiliar biochemistry that we might be dealing with an unregistered planet here.”

You frown, but you know he’s right. You may have narrowed your search down, but the answers you’ve found thus far have only led to more questions.

“There’s one more thing.”

Destin types on the interface again. An empty chart pops up on the screen.

“These are the readouts on the spectrometry analysis.”

“It looks blank,” you tell him, confused.

“Yeah. It is.”

He turns back to you, the wrinkles on his forehead more prominent than normal.

“That’s not a mistake - the test was completed. The results are either nonexistent or off the charts, neither of which makes any sense. Basically, all living beings produce bioelectric fields, giving off some form of radiation. Radio, infrared, our visible spectrum, ultraviolet - wherever it is on the electromagnetic spectrum, there should be detectable waves. But there’s nothing.”

“How is that possible, then?” Hansol asks.

“I don’t know,” Destin responds quietly. “I can’t even begin to reason why this might be the case. But this must be why we aren’t able to detect it.”

He looks anxious, and you don’t blame him. It’s your job as Captain to know what’s happening on the ship at all times - uncertainty is not an option.

“Send these results over to Ridley and Liang,” you tell him. “We can rendezvous with them and see if they’ve found anything. Maybe they can help fill in some of the missing pieces.”

“The good news is: based on its system’s language, I’ve definitely narrowed down the crate’s potential origin.”

Ridley picks up a mug sitting on his desk, taking a large sip of what appears to be lukewarm black coffee. His small office very clearly is not meant to accommodate four people at once; you crowd around his screen, standing sandwiched between Destin and Hansol as you listen to his report.

“And the bad news?” Hansol inquires.

“The bad news… only to around 50,000 star systems.”

“Fifty thousand??” Destin blurts out, incredulous. “That’s it?!”

“Hey, out of the one billion star systems in the galaxy known to have life? Could be a lot worse,” Ridley counters.

“Did you import the data from Destin’s test results?” you ask. “Maybe that can help pinpoint it further.”

“Unfortunately, that didn’t help. In fact it eliminated all 50,000 of them - not a single one has an atmospheric composition matching the creature’s biology.”

“Sounds like you were right,” you nod your head toward Destin. “The creature must be from an unregistered planet, then. Whatever planet this crate came from was probably just transporting it.”

“I’ll check the ship logs and see if I can piece together where we might have picked this crate up,” Ridley states. “I don’t think that will tell us any more about the creature but maybe we can figure out how we ended up with it in the first place.”

You nod in agreement. “Destin, you go with Ridley. Hansol and I will see what Jones and Liang are up to.”

As if summoned, you hear Jones’ voice echo from your comms.

“Captain, come in. Are you alright?”

You stare at the device for a moment. The other crew members in the room turn to look at you, also confused. You raise your wrist toward your face to reply.

“I’m here. What do you mean?”

“We just saw you down the corridor but you were acting… weird. Are you on Deck 7 right now?”

Your stomach drops.

“No, we’re in Ridley’s office. Jones, that wasn’t me.”

“Shit. It looked just like you, Captain, I swear,” she replies.

“What was… it doing?” you ask reluctantly. But you have to know.

“You… well, the creature I guess - it was walking really fast toward the medical bay. I called your name out and it turned and looked at me but…” her voice trails off. “I’m not gonna lie, the look in your- its eyes scared the shit out of me. It was a cold dead stare. Then it said something but I couldn’t understand, it was unintelligible. But it was your voice, Captain.”

You instinctively look up at Hansol, meeting his gaze with horror in your eyes. He looks deeply concerned, but he remains calm. You would never admit it to him, but his presence always reassures you when you would otherwise be freaking out. You take a deep breath; your mind refocuses, and you decide you can worry about the details later.

“Should we go after it?” Jones’ voice rings through the comms.

“No, not yet - it’s too risky. Stay where you are, Hansol and I are on our way.”

You signal to your Pilot to follow, but he’s already by your side, pulse rifle at the ready.

"Turn your locators on your comms on,” you order to the whole crew. “Send a ping to check positions if you see somebody out of place. Report back with any anomalies. And stick with your partner at all times. I don’t want anybody going off by themselves.”

You and Hansol head straight for Deck 7, walking hastily but with caution. Every corner you turn, every airlock you open - you expect to see the image of a crew member lurking there, out of place. You remain focused, but there’s no denying you’re a little on edge.

Hansol notices, of course - he always does. You’re good at hiding it when you’re stressed or anxious - it’s part of the job, after all - but he’s known you long enough to recognize that you’re growing increasingly nervous. He watches the back of your head as you walk briskly down the corridor, alert and attentive as you clear each passing airlock.

“Hey,” he speaks softly. “Captain.”

You make sure the next hallway is clear before turning to face the voice behind you. It’s just Hansol, but something about seeing him gives you a sense of reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Do you think we should send a distress signal?”

You pause for a moment, staring off into the distance as you mull over his words. Slowly, you begin to nod your head.

“I’ve been considering it for a while now,” you admit. “I didn’t want to jump the gun, but I think at this point it’s better safe than sorry.”

“I agree,” he nods. “Let’s head to the bridge after we meet up with Jones and Liang - no need to split up.”

You continue toward Deck 7. As you near where your crew is stationed, you hear loud banging sounds, followed by a thunderous CRASH. Your heart rate spikes. Glancing at Hansol, he looks equally as concerned. You raise your pulse rifles and start running toward the noises, when then you hear Liang’s voice ringing through the hallway.

“FUUUUCCCKKKKKK!!!”

You and Hansol burst into the room, prepared for the worst - but all you see is the Engineering Lab, looking like a tornado went through it. Liang is at one of the workstations, smashing some sort of device with a hammer while screaming expletives. Jones is laying on the floor, looking like she has given up.

“What the hell is going on??” you inquire loudly, relieved that there is no emergency but exasperated from the near-heart attack Liang almost gave you. “I thought you were dying in here!”

“Liang is smashing her third attempt at a tracking device with a hammer,” Jones remarks dryly. “I’m lying on the floor.”

“Yes, I see that,” you reply with an eye roll.

“It’s not BANG fucking BANG WORKING!!!” Liang bellows, giving the busted machine a final BANG before shoving it off the desk. Her shoulders slump as she hangs her head in her hands. You glance at Hansol out of the corner of your eye; he meets your gaze. You stare at each other for a moment, then the corners of his mouth start to twitch. You bite your lip to prevent bursting out in laughter; Hansol tries his hardest to stifle his grin. Nothing about this situation is funny, but the ridiculousness of it all definitely offers some comic relief.

Hansol clears his throat, shoving the laughter back down. “Um, so what have you tried so far?”

“Well, somebody fucked up the first machine because they got a little too solder-happy,” Liang grumbles, shooting a glare at Jones.

“I said I was sorry!” Jones retorts, exaggeratedly throwing her hands up into the air.

“The second one was close, I could feel it - but then I fucked up the wiring so bad I just decided to start from scratch again.”

“And you see how well that went,” Jones teases. Liang picks up a pencil and chucks it at Jones, hitting her in the forehead.

“OW!”

“Get up, dumbass. Make yourself useful and go get some power couplers,” Liang gestures at the giant wall of spare parts.

“Alright, alright! Damn!”

She hops up and brushes hastily past a shocked-looking Hansol to go fetch the requested parts. You laugh, remembering that this is his first mission working with these two.

“They’re always like this,” you reassure him out of earshot of your crew members. “Trust me, they’re best friends.”

Hansol scratches his head, letting out a nervous laugh.

“If you say so, boss.”

You head over to Liang’s workstation as she plops what you can only assume is Attempt #2 onto the desk. It’s a bulky, unsightly thing - a crudely-soldered collection of mismatched parts - but as she flips a switch it whirrs to life, displaying a blue hologram screen that you recognize as the ship’s schematics. Four glowing white dots appear upon the map.

“So obviously, that’s us,” Liang states. She makes some adjustments, zooming the display out to show the whole ship, and two additional white dots pop up. “And that’s Destin and Ridley up on Deck 3. Still no sign of our alien anywhere.”

“I assume you built an electroscope into the device?” Hansol asks Liang.

“Yeah, but it’s not detecting any anomalies.”

“What’s the detection threshold for static electricity, millivolts? Microvolts?”

“Microvolts,” Liang answers, raising her eyebrow at Hansol. “Why?”

“Instead of volts, hone in on the amps,” he instructs. “And up the sensitivity to nanoamps. I have a hunch.”

“Oookay,” she agrees with a shrug. “Can’t hurt to try anyways.”

Jones returns, setting a handful of power couplers on the desk. Hansol gets to work rummaging through endless boxes of parts; he returns in a few minutes with dozens of tiny pieces of machinery. He and Liang get to work, fine-tuning the machine. You don’t exactly want to sit around doing nothing, but you’re not much use here - and besides, you could use a few moments of rest. You plop down on a nearby rusty folding chair, watching your crew diligently fiddle with the contraption, but you quickly catch yourself zoning out. You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until right now. You close your eyes, just for a minute, you tell yourself. Just a quick breather…

“Captain!”

You jolt awake from the nap you didn’t know you were taking, nearly falling off the flimsy chair.

“What’s happening?” you ask frantically. “What time is it? What-”

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You look up to find Hansol’s face hovering above yours.

“God, you have got to stop doing that!”

“Sorry,” he replies with a sheepish smile. “We finished.”

“Fuck, how long was I out?”

“16 minutes and 58 seconds,” Jones reads from her watch.

“Oh,” you say as the panic in your body ceases. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, because me and Hansol are geniuses,” Liang says smugly.

“Well, does it work?” you inquire, getting up and walking back to the workstation.

“Don’t know,” Hansol replies matter-of-factly. “We’re about to fire it up.”

“Moment of truth…” Liang says with hesitant optimism. She flips a few switches, but the machine remains silent. Her eyes widen, looking like she’s about to reach for her hammer again, but fortunately the machine slowly starts booting up.

“Oh thank fuck,” she exhales. The blue screen pops up again, showing the same dots as before. Grimacing, she stares at the machine tiredly. “Well, nevermind that.”

“Wait,” you call out, leaning in to get a better look at the display. “Zoom in on our location.”

Liang zooms in on the Engineering Lab, the cluster of four dots growing larger.

No… five dots.

Everyone stares at the display in silence, processing what is being shown.

“Zoom back out?” Jones requests quietly.

Liang zooms out. Two additional dots appear for Ridley and Destin, still on Deck 3. You look back at the five dots in the Engineering Lab. Four are stationary, the fifth one slowly circling the others.

“There it is…” Liang utters, her voice barely more than a whisper.

You raise your comms to your chin. “Ridley, Destin, come in. State your locations,” your voice wavers as you ask the question you already know the answer to.

“Ridley here. I’m with Destin on Deck 3.”

“Destin here, copy that.”

You ping them on the locator, just to triple check - but they are indeed still up on Deck 3.

You stare at the fifth dot at your location. It’s still circling the other four, the eerie steadiness of its creeping pace sending a haunting chill up your spine. You feel the room shift, abject horror washing over everyone’s faces as the severity of the situation sinks in.

You slowly raise your pulse rifle, signaling for your crew to do the same. Everyone looks around the room anxiously.

“Where the hell is it?” Jones whispers reluctantly. The room falls silent as everyone tries to detect any trace of the creature. Then, you hear it.

swhoooooosh

The sound comes from above. It’s almost undetectable, but you hear it: the sound of wet, muted slithering from hell, accompanied by horrid crackling noises.

Hansol hears it too. He peers up, staring at the ceiling, his eyes widening with fear.

“It’s in the walls.”

“How…” Jones’ voice trails off momentarily. “I thought it was supposed to be gigantic… how can it fit in there?”

“I don’t know,” you respond as you cock your rifle, holding it at the ready. You point the barrel at the source of the sounds, tracing steadily along the ceiling as you hear it move above you. “But that doesn’t really matter right now. Everyone stick together at the center of the room - but hold your fire.”

“Blasters to stun?” Hansol checks, his arm brushing against your shoulder as he takes his position beside you. You turn, unintentionally staring directly into his eyes; your mind is racing, but his steadfast gaze grounds you back in reality. You nod at him.

“For now,” you add quietly.

The slithering and crunching continues, barely audible, but it echoes through your skull like nails on a chalkboard. You continue tracing the sounds with the muzzle of your rifle, when suddenly the noises cease, right above a vent cover.

“The vent!” Jones stammers. Time seems to freeze as you all stare at the hatch in the ceiling, terrified to blink or breathe lest it makes its move. You don’t know how much time passes - all you can focus on is the dreadful roar of blood rushing through your ears. Your heart pounds in your chest, so heavily it threatens to burst through your ribcage. But all there is is silence. Until-

BANG.

The vent cover rattles in its frame as the creature slams against it.

BANG.

Dust and particles trickle down from the ceiling. The whole room seems to shake.

BANG.

The vent protrudes from the blows, threatening to burst at the seams.

BANG!!!!

The dense metal covering gives way, falling to the ground below. Harsh clanging sounds ricochet through the room as it bounces off the floor - but the creature remains in the shadows above.

“I can’t see it,” Liang frantically hollers, staring up into the dark hole. “Where is it?”

Nobody moves as dust and shards of metal settle onto the ground, leaving behind deafening silence. Then, a series of deep, hollow clicks starts rippling through the air - you can’t tell where it’s coming from, it feels like it's all around you. A large dark figure suddenly plummets to the ground, landing with another deafening CRASH. You immediately fire your weapon, but it darts away, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

“It’s over there!!” Jones screams, firing at a black blurry form in the corner of the room. You turn your head, trying to follow the horrid clicking sounds, but it’s as if you’re moving in slow motion - by the time you are facing it, it darts off in another direction. You do your best to aim and shoot, but your vision grows fuzzy, your head spinning with vertigo as you struggle to maintain focus.

“I can’t see!!” somebody shrieks. The room wobbles around you as you try to locate the creature, but it's near impossible. Finally, you spot the dark figure hovering not five feet in front of you, standing above one of your crew - your vision is too obscured to tell who. It raises its appendage, ready to attack. You scream, raising your pulse rifle with frustrating slowness, aiming it at the creature, but you know you’re too late. The crew member cries out in terror as the creature swings toward them, but then the room fills with a blinding flash of somebody firing point-blank at the creature. The creature howls, flying back up into the vent in a single leap. You hear it slithering away, its body crunching and creaking as it forces itself through the walls. By the time you can see straight again, it’s long gone.

Your eyes focus on the crew member laying upon the ground: it’s Jones. Her left sleeve is ripped clean off her jumpsuit, exposing a set of three slashes in her skin. You rush to her side, careful not to touch the wound. All things considered, it could be a lot worse - it’s not very deep, just a scratch, but the wound is already turning a concerning shade of purple. You whip your head up to find Hansol - you spot him across the room, helping Liang off the ground, both of them seemingly unscathed. Jones grits her teeth as she groans, clutching her arm in pain.

“How bad is it?” she asks reluctantly.

“Not the worst I’ve ever, but also not great,” you tell her truthfully. “Looks like our alien is venomous, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, might explain why it feels like my bones are on fire,” she remarks with a forced laugh. Hansol and Liang appear by your side, crouching down to get a good look at the wound.

“Yikes,” Hansol exclaims as his face grows contorted with disgust. Liang elbows him in the rib. “I mean, you’ll be fine,” he adds. He looks up at you. “Looks like we need an antidote. I think we can use the goo.”

“Shit, you’re right.” You jump into action, paging your Destin and Ridley on your comms. “Atlas crew, come in. We encountered the alien. This is Code Red - I repeat, this is Code Red.”

“Is everyone alright? What happened?” Ridley’s voice rings through the device.

“I… I don’t know really. We were attacked. Jones got hit and turns out the damn thing is venomous. We need an antidote - Destin, you there?”

“Copy, Captain. I can use the sample from earlier to cook one up. We’ll head to the lab, stat.”

“Wait,” you reply hastily. You return to the tracking device, thankfully unharmed despite the commotion. Zooming out, you see the seventh dot rapidly heading toward the upper decks.

“It’s headed right toward you. You have to go now - and FAST.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Destin responds. “We’re quite close to the Laboratory so we should be okay, but we’ll remain on high alert.”

“Keep us updated. Liang will take Jones straight to the Medical Bay. Me and Hansol will meet you at the lab to fetch the antidote.”

“Got it.”

You grab the bulky tracking device off the desk, taking a spare strap of leather from the ground and hurriedly fastening it to the device with some rivets. You go to put the strap around your shoulders, when Hansol stops you.

“I’ll take it,” he insists, attaching the device to himself before you can protest. “You’re a better shot than me, in case we encounter that fucking thing again.”

“Captain-” Liang shouts from behind. You turn to see her lifting Jones off the ground, but barely - as Jones is nearly a head taller than herself. They both stumble - you rush in to grab Jones’ torso, hoisting her back up while being careful to avoid touching the wound. You look back at Hansol.

“I’ll go get the antidote. You guys get Jones to Medical.”

“No!” you shout, louder than you mean to. “I don’t want you going by yourself. Come with us-”

Hansol shakes his head. “You know it’ll be faster if I go alone. We can’t waste any time.” He gestures to Jones’ arm, which is even more purple at this point.

You sigh reluctantly, but you know he’s right.

“But be careful,” you tell him sternly. “Please,” you add in a softer voice.

He gives you a quick salute, then disappears out of the room, tracking device and pulse rifle in tow. An anxious pit starts to develop in your stomach, but you ignore it. He’ll be fine, you tell yourself. And you know it’s true. But if something happened to Hansol… you would never be able to forgive yourself.

Turning back to Jones, you hoist her up so she can lean most of her weight on you. Liang pulls her rifle at the ready - and the three of you take off to the Medical Bay. It’s not terribly far from where you are, but having to drag an entire crew member with you makes the journey feel ten times longer than it actually is. You wish you had the tracking device to calm your nerves, but you know it was the right decision for Hansol to take it - he is heading in the same direction as the creature, after all. Eleven grueling minutes later, you arrive at the Medical Bay. You quickly help Jones into a medical capsule - the stasis technology won’t stop the venom from spreading, but it will at least slow it down slightly. You just hope and pray it’s enough.

“I’m going to the Bridge to send the distress signal,” you inform Liang. “Stay here with Jones, ping my comms if anything changes.” She stares back at you solemnly, not liking that you have to go off alone too, but she nods in agreement.

You run as fast as you can toward the Bridge, willing the creature to be anywhere else but in your path. You approach the final corridor, relief washing over you that you’re almost there. The pneumatic door whooshes open as you turn the corner; you look down the long hall to see the Bridge’s bright blue security door-

And Hansol is standing right in front of it.

Except, it’s not Hansol. You don’t even have to stop and think about it, you just know: that’s. not. him.

The creature disguised as Hansol stands unnaturally stiff, in an unnaturally wide stance, shoulders hunched in a way that seems painful. But the dead giveaway is the eyes - instead of the familiar warm gaze of Hansol’s brown eyes, you are met with a cold, hard glare of solid black irises. The hollow, disturbing clicking sounds from earlier begin again as the creature contorts Hansol’s lips into a hideous snarl. The same disgusting slimy goo you found in the crate starts to ooze from Hansol’s mouth, frothing and gurgling repulsively; it has also started pooling around Hansol’s boots where the vile creature stands. You stare back at it intensely, trying to see if you can get any read on it, any sense of kindness or well intentions - but all you can glean from its dead piercing eyes is a dark, harrowing sense of evil.

Then, it charges at you.

The Hansol doppelganger runs awkwardly, but startlingly fast, speeding straight down the corridor to where you stand. You don’t even have time to think - you shut the airlock and engage the blast shields moments before it reaches you. It thuds against the blast shields with a thunderous BANG.

You run. You don’t know where you’re going, you just run - as fast as you possibly can. All you can hear as you run away is

BANG.

It grows quieter the further you run, but you know if the creature can’t break down the blast doors it will just find another way out. You run, zig-zagging randomly down the corridors, until your legs feel like they’re going to give out. You slow to a stop - just for a moment, to catch your breath, when Ridley’s voice suddenly echoes from your comms.

“I just ran into the alien,” he frantically informs all channels. “And it fucking looked like me.”

“Ridley - are you hurt?” you quickly respond.

“My shoulder, it might be sprained,” he groans. “I’ll live. But shit, that was fucked up man, that was so fucked up…”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I turned the corner and saw myself standing right in front of me, god it was so fucking weird. But Captain - it talked. In my own voice. It said… It asked me, ‘Whoooo areeee youuuuu’. Fuck, it was so creepy. I blasted it in the face five times, that fucker barely even flinched. Then it picked me up and threw me into the wall. Landed on my shoulder, I think I might have sprained it - but I’ll live.”

“Where is it now, Ridley?” you ask imperatively. “Where did it go?”

“Ran off toward the upper decks, I think. Starboard.”

You look up, checking the corridor number where you ended up. Sure enough, the creature must be headed your way. Just my fucking luck. You start off in the opposite direction, aiming to avoid running into it, when you hear the thump thump thump thump of heavy footsteps growing louder.

It’s coming.

You have no time to think. You spot a supply closet - definitely not the world’s greatest hiding place, but it’ll have to do. You pull the door shut as you stumble into the closet, practically throwing yourself to the ground. You sit against the wall behind one of the shelves, pulse rifle across your lap in case you need to think quick. The thump thump thump thump-ing continues, the owner of the footsteps clearly getting closer. And closer. And closer. Then, they stop - right outside the closet door. You practically hold your breath, lest you make any sound to alert it to your presence. The doorknob squeaks as it slowly turns; bright light floods the small closet as the door opens. You raise your weapon, aiming it at- Hansol?

His eyes widen as he stares down the barrel of your rifle. He gently raises his hands, gesturing to you to lower the weapon.

“Hey, Captain-”

“Don’t move!!” you scream, rifle trembling in your grasp.

“Captain, it’s me-”

“How do I know it’s really you??”

Tears flood your eyes as you stare down your Pilot, blaster aimed directly at his head.

“Y/n, what happened?”

His soft voice fills your ears. You stare into his eyes - warm, brown, gazing down at you with concern. Those are Hansol’s eyes alright, but you know the alien keeps getting better at mimicking your crew - plus, it can speak now. You have to be sure.

“Tell me something so I know it’s really you,” you demand, your voice wavering. “Something only the real Hansol would know.”

He looks back at you for a moment, thinking.

“Do you remember how we first met?”

You stare up at him, still afraid, but you wait for him to continue.

“It was our first year at the Academy, on our third day of training. I was exhausted already - we all were. That first week was rough, I mean they really tried to kill us with the physical examinations, huh,” he says, a small grin appearing on his face as he reminisces. “Anyway, I didn’t know it but I had somehow already made an enemy. Chadley Praxton.” Mumbling, he adds, “stupid fucking name…” You’re still trembling, but the corners of your mouth twitch briefly into the tiniest of smiles. “Anyway, he was an asshole and decided I was a nerd or something, I don’t know what his deal was. In the mess hall that night he kept throwing peas at my head, for some reason. I ignored it, but then he started flinging bits of mashed potatoes with his spoon. I grabbed my tray and started to leave - but not before this random girl from my barracks walked right past him and dumped her full cup of cola and ice on his head.” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “You went, ‘Oops! Sorry!' in the most insincere tone and just kept walking. That’s when I knew I wanted to be your friend.”

He makes eye contact with you again, the smile on his face so kind you almost forget where you were for a moment. You go to lower your weapon, but realize you’ve already lowered it. You drop it to the ground, then burst into tears.

Hansol stands there, unsure what to do for a moment.

“Can I… come in?”

Your face is buried in your hands as you sob uncontrollably, but you nod. He enters the supply closet, shutting the door gently behind him, then plops down right next to you. Hesitantly, he gives you a couple pats on the shoulder - you lean in to him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Fuck it, he decides, and wraps his arm around you, letting you cry as he holds you. After a few minutes, you start to calm down.

“Sorry,” you say with an embarrassed sniffle. “I didn’t mean to have a mental breakdown on you.”

“It’s okay.”

He rubs your arm as he embraces you, letting you lean against him still. You wonder when the last time you felt this calm was.

“I ran into the creature earlier. It looked like you, but it was all horribly wrong,” you explain. “That’s why I freaked out when I saw you.”

You feel him nod. “I figured.”

“Hansol, I was so fucking scared. I mean, I still am - I don’t know what’s going to happen. And I hate not knowing.”

“I know, me too,” he says as he rests his chin against the top of your head. “It’s going to be okay though.” He pauses, then somberly adds: “It has to be.”

You sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the steady rhythm of Hansol’s heart beating in his chest.

“Can I ask you something?”

You lift your head up to look at him after you ask. You see your trusty Pilot before you, but more importantly, you see your friend. Hansol.

“Sure,” he answers. “Of course.”

“I’ve heard rumors, but I’ve never known for sure. Did you have a mission that ended… badly?”

Hansol closes his eyes, giving you a solemn nod.

“Yeah. Four years ago, I was on a short transport mission. Was supposed to be super easy - one payload to be picked up and delivered. We’d all done it a hundred times. We were nearly at the destination planet when the ship had a strange malfunction. One of the engines shut down and nobody could figure out why. I offered to suit up and go check it out, but our Captain insisted he would go instead. Because it was my birthday.” He laughs softly. “He was always like that - he really cared about the crew. Just like you do.”

He looks back to you as he says it, and it makes your heart sink.

“So he went out to do a routine maintenance check. But, turns out the engine shut down due to a gas leak. I don’t know how it went undetected, but it did. The moment he took a pistol grip to the tank carriage, it exploded.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter softly.

“Yeah. It severed his tether and pierced his primary life support system. He died instantly.”

A gentle stream of tears falls from each of his eyes, running gracefully down his face.

“We had to make an emergency evacuation in the auxiliary shuttle. There was no time to even retrieve his body. That was the worst part of it all: watching him float off into the void of space as we flew away to safety, knowing there was absolutely nothing we could do. I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head. It haunts me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, placing your hand on top of his.

You stay there together, sitting in silence for a bit. You find yourself leaning your head on his shoulder again - it’s comforting for both of you.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He tilts his head to look at you. “For what?”

“For being there.”

He smiles softly. “You too.”

You sit up abruptly. “The antidote!! And the distress call! Did we-”

“We got it,” he answers immediately, quelling your worries. “I noticed the distress signal wasn’t sent yet, so after I delivered the antidote to the Med Bay I went to the Bridge - everyone else stayed behind with Jones. You weren’t in the Bridge, so I sent the distress call and went to come find you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me on the comms?”

He grins, lifting up his wrist to show the busted remains of what was once his comms.

“What the fuck did you do?” you inquire, your eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Had a brief run in with the alien. It was a giant dark blur again - I fired at it like 15 times in a row but it still managed to body slam me into the ground.” He shrugs. “Then it ran off.”

“And the only thing hurt was your comms?”

“Um, I might have a broken rib,” he admits, scratching his head. “But it’s fine.”

“What?! Okay, come on, let’s get you to Medical too.”

“I’m fine, really,” he insists, but he reaches for the tracking device from his stash. “Here.” He fires it up, the hologram display projecting seven white dots before you. Two are you and Hansol, in this stupid supply closet. Four are the rest of your crew up in the Medical Bay. And one lone dot lingers near the engine rooms.

“Okay, the creature isn’t close, that’s good,” you comment. “But why is it down there…”

“I dunno, but it can’t possibly be up to anything good.”

You and Hansol make it back to the Medical Bay with no issues - the creature appears to be staying put for now. You’re relieved to find Jones with two intact arms, the sickly scratches looking significantly less purple after the antidote.

“Practically good as new, boss,” Jones announces cheerfully. “I’m ready to get back out there. What’s our game plan?”

“Well, Hansol sent the distress signal but so far, no response. One option: stay here - lock down Med Bay and wait for someone to pick up our beacon.”

“And hope and pray that the creature can’t break in?” Destin questions. You sigh, but you know he’s right. “What are our other options?” he asks.

“Well, we could-”

Your sentence is cut off by the sudden blaring of the emergency alarms.

Startled, everybody jumps to their feet. A loud, grating bell rings on top of the piercing sirens.

“What’s happening?” Liang shouts over the noise.

Hansol is already at the terminal, pulling up the reports. His face drops as he reads the text on the glowing blue screen.

“One of the exhaust pumps on the portside engines is malfunctioning!” he shouts urgently.

“What??” you shout back. “How-”

You are interrupted by another bell ringing.

“A second exhaust pump is offline??” Hansol yells with confusion. He scrambles back to the tracking device - six dots up in Med Bay, one down in the engine room.

Another bell. You don’t have to look at the terminal to know exactly what is happening.

“That thing is dismantling the exhaust pumps!!” you shout, watching as fear washes over your crew’s faces yet again.

“The ship is gonna fucking blow if it keeps this up!!” Liang shrieks.

You find yourself looking to Hansol. He nods to you, and you know what must be done.

“EVERYBODY TO THE AUXILIARY SHIP,” you command your crew. “WE’RE EVACUATING - NOW.”

“What about the alien??” Ridley yells. “What if it comes after us?”

You look back at him, replying with a single word.

“Run.”

The blaring alarms screech in your ears as you and your crew bolt through the ship, heaving footsteps clanging against the metal floors as the emergency lights flood the hallways with their incessant flashing. You sprint, as fast as your exhausted body will allow, but time seems to lag, your movements occurring in slow motion. But you can’t stop - not until your whole crew is safe.

“It’s running right towards us!” Hansol hollers from right behind you. “Approaching fast, from behind, 1000 meters…” Then, seconds later, “800 meters… 600…”

“Shit,” you growl under your breath. You yank your pulse rifle up, cranking the blaster to maximum voltage. You’re not taking any more fucking chances.

“500 meters,” Hansol shouts. “400… 300…”

You stop in your tracks, whipping around to face the hallway you just came from. Your crew follows suit.

“KEEP GOING,” you shout to your crew.

“No way,” Ridley shouts back. “We’re sticking with you.”

“THAT’S AN ORDER.”

You scan the faces of your crew - they are filled with terror, but you see the determination in their eyes. They each salute you, then run. You watch the backs of their heads as they flee down the corridor. A horrible feeling that you will never see them again creeps into your head.

You turn back around, Hansol standing beside you, ready to fight.

“Hansol, GO.”

He shakes his head in refusal. “I’m not leaving you, Captain.”

He looks at the tracking device once more.

“200 meters, 150, 100…”

You hold your ground, bracing yourself for the worst. You hear the repulsive scuttle of the creature’s footsteps, rapidly approaching, accompanied by the god-awful scraping of its claws against metal. You aim at the airlock, finger on the trigger - but the pneumatic door doesn’t open. The horrifying realization sinks in as you hear it stomp and crunch above your head, passing you in an instant as it heads directly for the auxiliary ship.

“It’s still in the fucking walls!” you yell urgently to the rest of your crew over your comms. “It’s heading straight for our escape route - divert course immediately!!”

Several seconds pass with no response, and you fear for the worst. But then you hear Jones’ voice crackling through.

“We’re headed to the nearest Emergency Ejection Modules,” she shouts through the static. “We lost Destin though, I don’t know where he went!”

“Keep going - don’t stop for anything.”

You switch channels, pinging Destin’s comms.

“Destin, come in - where are you?”

“I’m going to distract it,” his voice rings distantly through the device. “You and Hansol get to the auxiliary ship, I’ll lure it away.”

“No! It’s too dangerous-”

“Godspeed, Captain.”

The channel goes quiet as he shuts off his comms.

“What the fuck is he doing??” you cry out, staring incredulously at Hansol.

“I don’t know, but it’s working,” he replies as he looks down at the tracking device. You see two stray dots on the map, heading for the aft. The confusion on Hansol’s face lifts as he realizes.

“I think he’s going to try and trap it in the garbage receptacle.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you grumble.

“What do we do?”

You meet Hansol’s eyes. He patiently awaits your order, looking back at you with all the trust in the galaxy. It nearly rips your heart in half.

“I don’t-”

BOOOOOOOOM.

The rumbling explosion cuts you off. You feel the ground shake beneath your feet.

“That was nearby,” Hansol announces with concern. Pulling up the map again you see a third dot on the deck above your current position, unmoving. Another dot speeds back in the direction of the other crew members.

“Quick!” You sprint up the nearest stairwell, Hansol right by your side. Up on the next deck you find yourself in Central Mainframe Storage, but one of the huge towers of computers has been fully knocked over. Spark zap in the air as the exposed wiring flickers to death. Then, at the other end of the room, you spot your Science Officer. He clings to the Terminal as balances himself on one leg, the other appearing to be badly mangled.

“Destin!” you shout. He peers over his shoulder, his face contorted with pain.

“You have to go,” he tells you somberly as he types a long string of codes into the Terminal. “I’m gonna blow this shit to pieces.”

Flashing red lights fill the room as a deep, thundering alarm overtakes the air. The sound fills you with imminent dread.

“Emergency Self-Destruct System activated,” a robotic female voice echoes through the chamber. “T-minus 10 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Destin what the hell?!?!” you shriek.

“This is all my fault,” he laments, hanging his head low in shame. “I’m the one who allowed the crate containing the specimen on board.”

“What? I…” you struggle to form words as shock, confusion, betrayal course through you all at once. “Why?”

“Three months ago I was contacted by a strange man. I never even found out his name, he told me just to refer to him as The Ambassador.” He rolls his eyes with a huff. “That should’ve been the first red flag. But he was looking for a recruit to help him on a project called Operation Prometheus. He told me it was a classified government-funded operation and that he couldn’t give me many details, but he needed somebody on the inside to help him bypass security measures to get a crate on this ship for its next mission. I don’t know where it came from, it was being transferred from another cargo ship. Another measure to bury the trail, I guess. But the payout was incredible, almost too good to be true, but he paid me 50% up front. So I agreed. He told me the crate contained new weapon technologies, but he assured me it was perfectly safe for transport.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I should’ve known better. I don’t think he meant for the alien to ever escape, but regardless I shouldn’t have trusted a word he said.” He pauses, lips quivering as tears start to fall from his eyes. “The only reason I did it was for my family - my daughter, she was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder last year. I took on extra missions, my wife got a second job even, but the bills were insurmountable. We were drowning. Even just the 50% payment was enough to change our lives. My family can be free now.”

“T-minus 9 minutes until self-destruction,” the robotic voice booms through the air.

“You have to go,” he urges you and Hansol.

“We can get you out of here-” Hansol starts, but Destin waves his hand.

“It’s too late, I’m not going to make it,” he shakes his head in defeat. “My leg is broken to pieces and I’ve lost too much blood.”

“Shut up, you’re coming with us,” Hansol snaps, charging over to the Terminal, but he stops in his tracks as Destin raises his rifle at him.

“Please,” he begs. “I couldn’t live with myself anyway. My will to live is long gone.”

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Go!!” he insists again. You grab Hansol’s arm, pulling him along as you back out of the room. He looks at you, distress coloring his face. You shake your head in defeat.

“There’s no time.”

He nods, reluctant, but he understands. As you step back into the hallway, you take one last look at your Science Officer. Solemnly, he gives you a final salute. He disappears as the airlock shuts itself closed.

“The alien is still headed toward the rest of the crew,” Hansol informs you. “I think we can make it to the auxiliary ship in time.”

“Atlas Crew, come in,” you call to all channels, panting through labored breaths as you and Hansol run down the hallway. “The alien is headed directly toward your position, get out of there.”

“Roger, Captain,” Ridley responds immediately. “We’re all in the Modules, ready to Evacuate. We may lose contact once we stray too far from the ship.”

“Ejection in 10 seconds,” Liang announces through the comms. “Goodbye Captain, Hansol. If you two don’t make it out alive I’ll kill you.”

A smile spreads across your face. “Godspeed, Crew.”

“Catch you on the flip side,” says Jones. A loud whooshing sound overtakes the comms - the Modules have deployed.

“T-minus 8 minutes until self-destruction.”

“We’re almost there,” Hansol shouts over the awful cacophony of sirens and alarms. You turn the corner, the airlock to the auxiliary ship waiting for you at the end of the corridor. You sprint down the hall, traversing the final 50 meters as fast as you possibly can. You reach the door, scanning your hand to unlock it. It zips open, and you and Hansol practically throw yourselves into the airlock.

“T-minus 7 minutes until self-destruction.”

You scramble into the craft, sealing the blast doors on the airlock and taking your respective places on the flight deck. Hansol fires up the ignition - it gives a few sad-sounding spurts, but the engines fail to start. He stares at the controls, trying again. Same thing. He tries again. And again.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands as he sinks into the chair in defeat. “You have got to be joking.”

You flip a few more switches - the interior lights turn on, as does the climate control.

“We have power,” you tell him. “The engines just aren’t firing. Looks like the combustion chambers are offline.” You groan as you too sink into your seat. “I don’t think we could even fix that if we tried.”

“T-minus 6 minutes until self-destruction.”

“Fucking SHUT UP!!!” you scream at the robot voice. Taking a deep breath, you quietly ask Hansol, “What the fuck are we gonna do?”

He thinks, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly, he bolts upright. He starts flipping switches and adjusting dials on the deck. “We have system power, right? So we can at least detach. We float away until the main ship self-destructs, then the explosion will propel us away. Comms are up, we can send a distress signal once we reach a safe distance.”

“‘The explosion will propel us away’.” you repeat. “That, or it blows us to smithereens.”

“Yeah, one of those.”

You mull it over briefly, then shrug your shoulders. “It’s the best shot we’ve got. Let’s do it.”

Hansol dismantles the coupling, detaching the smaller ship from the main hull. Without power, you linger for a moment, but then the ship jolts, sending you floating out of the bay.

“T-minus 5 minutes until self-destruction,” you hear the ominous voice fade as you slowly drift away.

The ambient humming of the ship’s generator fills the air as you sit there together in silence, unmoving except for the steady heaving of your tired chests, waiting out the longest five minutes of your life. You watch the seconds fall in the countdown as you drift, putting good distance between you and the ticking time bomb that is the ship you’d grown quite fond of over the past five years.

“Almost…” you announce as the timer approaches zero. Hansol extends his arm, placing his hand on yours. The unexpected sensation makes your stomach do a little flip, but you accept, turning your hand to lace your fingers through his. You stare out the window, bracing yourself.

Suddenly, the ship begins to burst. A blinding flash of light causes a momentary white-out - you abruptly squeeze your eyes shut; when you open them again, you watch as your ship silently erupts in a massive ball of fire. The explosion violently shakes the ship, the vibrations rattling deep in your bones. You don’t realize how tight your grip has become on Hansol, but he doesn’t mind. Together, you watch the fiery remnants of the Atlas IV grow smaller as your vessel is safely propelled away by the shockwaves, drifting aimlessly into the void of space.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it back home?” you ask Hansol softly after a few minutes.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. Without thinking, he rubs his thumb over your hand lightly, as if he’s done it a million times before. “We’re gonna be okay, y/n.”

“You think we’ll see the rest of our crew again?”

Hansol ponders for a moment, then a gentle smile appears on lips. He squeezes your hand in his, with no plans to let go.

“I hope so.”

♡ if you liked this fic, REBLOGS, TAGS, and COMMENTS are extremely appreciated ♡

TAGLIST: @miniseokminnies, @kyeomiis, @tinycatharsis, @hannieween, @smiileflower, @exomew @reiofsuns2001

#ren's fics #diamond life network #vernon #svt x reader #svt fics #vernon x reader #svt vernon #chwe hansol #vernon imagines #vernon scenarios #vernon fics #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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kissingraine · 2 months ago

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(might become a Starscream x reader, Shockwave x reader thang,,,,) eventual smut! 18+

Midnight City — TFP Soundwave x f!Reader

Draped in fog and soft neon, the Nemesis cruised slowly across the dark skies. Undetected and reeking of Decepticon malevolence as always yet undetected. The small lights that flickered below were as ignorant as ever, inferior lifeforms that were too busy eyeing their tiny glowing boxes to even look up. Soundwave knew without a doubt that they spent twenty four full hours of the week with their heads bent down. No mistaking it's become an issue among them.

Thin servos dancing over the keys as he watches the human settlement breathe, each streetlamp glistening faintly; a city that never sleeps. His sources tell him. Flickers of data, EM fields that pulse—not enough to disrupt the way his processor regulates but just enough to make the probes attached to his chassis writhe in distaste, primitive security networks buzzing with naive confidence. He's been relentlessly tracking down a signal that's made contact with the Earth's atmosphere a little over two nights ago.

It flashes every few irregular intervals, making it hard to pin down where the signal begins before fizzling out again. Like a dying star. Soundwave doesn't stop, can't stop. Not when this might be the only thing that can fix their current dilemma and he's been alone for so long. He's not sure how much time has passed. The ship's command left in his servos as their forces went on separate paths, vowed not to stray from the cause just had more creative 'ideas' on how to effectively mobilize their forces. He stayed on the Nemesis to keep things within control, to keep himself in control. Knows that his cassettes are also worrying about their situation but when they see him so composed, can feel that relief as it washes over him.

That signal, so similar to that relic's nature... but he can't be too sure just yet. Needs to keep probing, combing through the infantile network that the natives possessed.

Lazerbeak suggested to scout, but he turned it down. This organic settlement is a little too crowded for his liking. Can't risk them getting found. Not with their resources limited. He's been rationing their energon preserves too and he's this close to finding another hotspot of undisturbed fuel. Just enough to get them off of this miserable ball of dirt. The others can't be faring too well, can they? His objective was apparent, precise: locate the signal. Which he watched disappear into the city near the sewege systems.

Not exactly pleasant but he isn't Knockout enough to be picky about it. A red dot appears on his screen and his servos are quick to move, tendrils moving in to help. This is the first time Lazerbeak's seen him get remotely excited over something like a red spot on the multi-screens of his control panel. It's faint but emits a similar wavelength to the one Soundwave's filed away in his data banks.

It's in an area just near the organic's underground mode of transportation. Figures. It's more complicated to single out the signal's location especially if it was underground. Soundwave had discovered pretty recently that layers of concrete, reinforced metal buried beneath the earth didn't allow currents of data to run as easily.

And he'd rather not part with the ship to risk getting his processor overwhelmed with human thoughts and volatile emotions. So he does what he's best at. Infiltrate surface network and seeping into it like viscous liquid. It's fascinating how they make it so easy to extract information from them with their fragile digital infrastructure, trembling with aging code—an easy point of access. Doesn't even need to knock when the firewall practically crumbles at his technological prowess.

• Glancing at the clock, it's almost time for you to close the cafe. It had been a hectic day with Ma finally taking over the latter half of your shift so you could lay back and relax on bean bag chairs in the basement. Said basement was a small arcade area where a select few people in your block would come and relax, too. The space just big enough for a small crowd. It was mostly you and your friends who used it, though. One of their siblings, an electronically inclined person as you like to call them, had their computer setup placed in one of the cozy corners.

• It's... beeping, the screen flashing in red with warnings popping up in a dozen windows. That can't be good, can it...?

• Granted you have no clue how to code things and the like. Or just code in general. You've called your friend's sibling's name. Once, twice, but no response and the very undeniable fact that there might be a virus or worse... someone trying to hack into their device was enough to alarm you.

Interference... suddenly. Out of all the humans on this sad excuse for a mudball, there's one tenacious enough to not only interrupt Soundwave's search for data but crudely walk straight into his network with intent. Curious and reckless, his servos stop moving something that Lazerbeak doesn't fail to notice as he and his fellow cassette look at each other. And then he's back into it, he narrows the scan and slices through the city's digital haze to trace the point of origin. Protocol indicating he should move quietly and observe. It's difficult to keep track of, being so close to their manmade tunnels, slipping through his iron grasp and fading into an almost ambient noise.

• You don't know how you're doing this, you don't even know why and for all you know your friend's sibling could have their entire information compromised! But your fingers move as though possessed and you find yourself unable to stop. And now you wonder if it had anything to do with that incident from a week ago. But you definitely know that someone is actively trying to hack the computer, “You're mine now.” You murmur to yourself, responding in plain text and all the amount of taunt you could muster in you.

Before his tracer could lock on, having every bit the intent to scare this human off by revealing their location because that always worked—a spew of numbers and words strung together with an image attached. His tentacles twitch in anticipation, coiling around itself as his head tilts in instinct. And there you are, on his screen forming visuals on who the very human that's dared to intercept him. Bold move, human, he all but manages to swallow the growl building in his chassis. And that gesture... your middle finger's raised. Soundwave might not know what that means but he'll assume that you're insulting him considering the words that appear right after it.

“Come and get me. Coward.”

#transformers #valveplug #transformers x reader #x reader #tfp #tfp soundwave #soundwave #tfp soundwave x reader #soundwave x reader #Spotify #Midnight City

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gardens-light · 3 months ago

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Flirtatious Company

After a chaotic run-in with Decepticon scouts, Wheeljack crash-lands in Earth’s dense, wilderness forest near Wolf Lake, Stranded in the middle of nowhere with a damaged ship, he's expecting trouble—but not in the form of a curious dog and its wary human owner..

As an unexpected storm rolls in, an unlikely bond begins to form. With flirtatious banter, subtle tension, and a slow growing trust, Wheeljack explores what happens when two very different worlds collide—and just maybe, discover something worth coming back for.

Content: TFP Wheeljack x F/Human Reader. Slow burn. Strangers to Lovers. F Receiving Oral. Face Sitting Kink. P in V. Size Kink. Fluff/Smutt. Mild Courage Language.

Word Count: 8,500

Inspired Song: Eastside- Benny. B, Halsey, Khalid

Wheeljack's servos gripped the controls of his small starship- The Jack Hammer, his processor running hot with frustration as he fought to keep the craft steady. Smoke filled the cockpit, the flashing emergency lights painting everything in erratic pulses of red and white. The ship jolted violently, alarms blaring in his audials.

“Scrap.” The Wrecker snarled through gritted denta, gripping the malfunctioning controls as the small scout ship tumbled through Earth’s atmosphere like a flaming comet.

It had been a simple recon mission, a routine patrol on the outskirts of Cybertronian space, when a pack of Decepticon scouts ambushed him. He’d taken a few of them out before they got a lucky shot in—right through his nav system. Now, with only minimal control, he was on a one-way trip to whatever patch of dirt and rock happened to be below him.

The windshield displayed a rapidly approaching landscape of green and brown, thick forests stretching across the terrain. He didn’t have time to scan for a proper landing zone. The Wrecker could already feel the ship losing altitude, the power reserves draining fast.

"Hold together, girl," he muttered, pulling every bit of power into stabilizing the descent, flipping switches in vain as warning lights blared all around him.

The Jack Hammer slammed through the thick canopy of trees, branches snapping like toothpicks as the hull tore through the foliage. The impact sent him lurching forward in his seat, harness straining against the force. Metal screeched as the ship skidded along the forest floor, carving a deep trench through the earth before finally grinding to a halt with a heavy groan of twisted steel.

Wheeljack exvented sharply, pressing a servo against his chassis to still the thrum of his spark. His optics flickered as he checked his HUD—damage reports scrolling rapidly. The ship was wrecked. No immediate explosions, but he wasn’t flying out of here anytime soon.

"Well, ain't this just my luck," he muttered.

Stepping out of the cockpit, the forest around him was dense, tall pines stretching high above, their scent thick in the air. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and scattered debris from his rough landing. Optics scanning the area, Wheeljack crouched beside the wreckage, examining the worst of the damage.

The engines were completely shot. The communications array? Fried. He wasn’t sending out any signals to Team Prime anytime soon.

Just as he was about to pull open a damaged panel, a sudden rustling nearby made him freeze.

Wheeljack’s optics sharpened as he turned toward the foliage to his right. Instincts kicking in, and in an instant, his twin swords were drawn, their edges gleaming in the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy.

His optics narrowed. Decepticon scouts? A human retrieval unit or something?

The underbrush rustled again, and a blur of motion leapt toward him.

Wheeljack barely had time to process what he was looking at before the animal—clearly some kind of Earth species—bounded up to him, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling from its mouth in a pant.

"What in the pits—?" he muttered, stepping back slightly.

The creature didn't seem to care. It barked, hopping in place, looking at the Wrecker as though he was the most exciting thing it had seen all day. Wheeljack hesitated, one servo still gripping the hilt of his sword.

It wasn’t dangerous. That much was clear. But before he could decide whether to shoo it away or just ignore it, another sound caught his attention—a voice.

"Dodger! Get back here!"

Wheeljack’s optics flicked back up , following the sound.

A human. Female, if my audials are picking up correctly.

You stepped cautiously into the clearing, slowing as your gaze locked onto Wheeljack. As your curiosity melted into stark fear, as your brain struggled to register exactly what you were looking at.

Eyes went wide. Posture stiffened.

Fragging organics.

Wheeljack knew that look. That sharp inhale which meant you were seconds away from either screaming or bolting. Maybe both.

---

His first instinct? Disappear.

Humans weren’t supposed to see Cybertronians, not if Team Prime could help it. Too much risk, too many questions.

The Autobots might play nice with ‘em, but Wheeljack wasn’t an Autobot in the traditional sense. He didn’t answer to Prime’s rules.

On the other hand… you'd already seen him.

If I... let her run, what were the odds she’d tell someone? Report a 'crash' to the authorities? Call for help? Wheeljack grumbled. I dont need human interference on top of this already slagged situation of mine.

The dog—Dodger, apparently—was still wagging its tail, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.

With a low sigh, he slowly released the grip on his swords, sheathing them away.

“Well,” Wheeljack lowly spoke, shifting his weight as he folded his arms, “didn’t think my first visitor on this rock would be someone so... small.”

Your breath hitched, h-holy shit! This... thing... is talking to me?!

Dodger barked again, tail thumping happily against the dirt, patiently waiting for pats.

Wheeljack smirked. At least someone was enjoying the introduction.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered between you and your dog—Dodger, who was still wagging his tail like this was the best day of his life. But you, however, wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic.

You were stiff, shoulders drawn tight. A scream bubbling in your throat- contemplating weather to let out to the world, or hold it in.

Wheeljack optics softened slightly, the way you were looking at him—the sheer terror in your expression—made something twist uncomfortably in his spark.

He wasn’t a Decepticon. He didn’t want to scare you.

He watched you take a slow, cautious step backward, hand moving in a subtle way—trying to get Dodger's attention without making any sudden moves.

Wheeljack shifted his weight slightly, raising his servos in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

"Hey, relax," he said, keeping his tone even. "If I wanted to hurt ya, I would’ve done it already."

Alright... Maybe not the best choice of words-

But the second he shifted, just the tiniest bit, your nerves finally snapped. Breath hitched, and in a split-second, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Dodger! Come!” you called desperately, voice high with fear.

The dog hesitated for half a second before scrambling after you.

Wheeljack cursed under his breath, watching as you bolted without a second thought. Don't blame her, really... if I were a squishy little organic and just ran into a seven-foot-tall armored alien, I'd probably do the same-

But then he saw it—the terrain ahead. Wheeljack's optics widened.

“Hey, wait—!” he called, but it was too late.

You barely made it three strides before your foot got caught on an exposed root. Ankle twisted, balance thrown off completely. You pitched forward with a sharp cry, unable to catch yourself as the momentum carried you toward the steep incline of the forest hillside.

Wheeljack’s instincts kicked in before he could think, he lunged forward. Metal servos wrapping around you, stopping your descent just in time. Breath gasping as you clung to the cold, smooth plating of his index digits, fingers trembling.

For a second, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The world seemed to slow down, as the Wrecker remained quiet for a moment, allowing your brain time to process everything.

Wheeljack carefully lifted you closer to him, ensuring you wasn’t harmed. “Whoa, easy there, darlin’,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft. “That coulda been nasty.”

Swallowing thickly, forcing yourself to look up at him. His glowing blue optics locked onto yours, sharp and alert, but not unkind. You expected menace, something predatory in those robotic features. Instead... you found something else entirely.

Amusement. Curiosity. A hint of exasperation, even.

“Usually, I’m not the mech that the femmes fall for,” Wheeljack quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The sheer ridiculousness of the comment—especially after saving you. Blinking in surprise, and then, despite everything, you let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle.

Something that made Wheeljack's smirk grow a little more.

Wheeljack carefully loosened his grip, helping you back to solid ground. Surprisingly mindful of his strength, allowing you to lean against his frame, as he knelt beside you. Once stable, a slow breath escaped you, placing both hands on your knees, testing movement.

Swallowing hard, glancing up at him. “You, uh… you caught me...?”

The wrecker gave you is typical charming grin, “yeah, well... can’t have you tumbling into the unknown, now can we?”

"So...” you exhaled, brain still catching up with reality. "What exactly are you?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.” Wheeljack tilted his helm, considering for a moment before answering. “Long story short? Name’s Wheeljack. I’m a Cybertronian.” He gestured vaguely toward the ruined ship behind him. “Some assholes caused my ship to crashland and now I need to fix it.”

Your eyes flickered toward the smoking wreckage, mind spinning. A-Aliens...? Aliens... are... real...?

Dodger barked suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. His small head looking up, the sky had darkened considerably, thick clouds rolling in above the treeline. You didn't realize that the wind picked up, rustling the canopy, nor the scent of rain heavy in the air.

Wheeljack quirked a optical ridge. “Something wrong?”

"Yeah..." you heavily sighed. "I forgot that a fucking winter storm is rolling in, but... if I quickly hike the 3 miles back to my lake house, I should easily avoid the rain." Pausing for a moment, your eyes flickered back to the Jack Hammer, “so… how exactly are you gonna fix that?”

Wheeljack glanced at the smoking remains of his vessel, optics flickering over the torn metal, busted thrusters, and the deep trench it had carved into the earth.

The Wrecker shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. The ol' girl has been in worse shapes than this.”

Your brows lifted, clearly unconvinced. “You crash-landed in the middle of nowhere, with half your ship in pieces. You sure about that?”

A chuckle escaped the Wrecker, “darlin’, I’ve gotten outta worse scrapes than this. Just need time, and maybe... a bit of luck.”

You gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue.

Turning his attention to the terrain, mentally mapping out the uneven forest floor.

If my ship had landed somewhere flatter, I would have considered transforming and offering her a ride back.

But the wreckage, thick roots, and steep hills would clearly damage is altmode- and that was something he certainly couldn't offered. Wheeljack turned his attention back to you, watching you subtly call your dog again, as you stared at your map. Trying to mentally figure out which hiking trail would get you home quicker.

Dodger barked at Wheeljack again, as if impatient for your solution, his tail wagging in anxious little flicks.

Wheeljack glanced at the sky again. The storm was moving in fast. The clouds thickened, the air heavier with humidity, and a distant roll of thunder growled through the forest.

He let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, darlin. Looks like you’re bunkin’ with me for a bit.”

A startled yelp escaped you, instinctively grasping at the Wrecker's plating as he lifted you off the ground. “What do you mean—?Whoa, hey—! What are you doing?!”

“Relax.” Wheeljack casually spoke, carrying you towards his ship. “Not leavin’ you out here to get drenched and hurt yourself. I got room inside.”

Dodger barked excitedly, trotting alongside, as Wheeljack carried you within his palm. Maneuvering past some of torn plating, stepping up into the cockpit where the interior was still relatively intact.

Smoke had settled into the cracks of the cockpit, a few sparking wires flickered from exposed panels. The metal walls were dented, panels shifted out of place from the rough landing.

Lowering you carefully onto the co-pilot seat, making sure you were as comfortable as possible, before lounging into his pilot seat.

You stared at Wheeljack for a moment, something unreadable within your expression. “You’re... a lot more careful than I expected.”

Wheeljack huffed a chuckle, leaning back slightly. “What, you think ‘cause I’m a big scary alien, I don’t know how to be gentle?”

Shrugging, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Didn’t really know... what to expect, honestly.”

The Wrecker chuckled once more, before kneeling in front of the control panel. Laying upon his back and crawling beneath it, the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the cockpit as he pried open a ruined panel.

Sparks flickered as he dug through the exposed wiring, muttering to himself. "Just...need to reroute what little power left to the backup systems, running long enough to properly fix a few things."

“You're... actually quite good at this." Your eyes flickered across the main control panel, watching parts of it flicker back to life.

Wheeljack scoffed. “Darlin, I’ve been buildin’ and breakin’ things since before your species figured out how to make fire.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “That’s... a lot to unpack.”

He smirked, tapping the bottom of the control panel. “I’ll dumb it down for ya—this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Exhaling, shaking your head with a small chuckle. Despite the insanity of the situation, you had to admit… the tension from earlier faded a little. Is it his casual attitude? Or maybe the fact that he didn’t seem interested in hurting me at all?

Lightning slashed across the sky outside, illuminating the darkened corners of the cockpit for a fleeting second, before vanishing into the pitch-black of the storm. Wind howled through the dense forest, shaking the trees as rain pounded relentlessly against the hull of Wheeljack’s ship.

Wheeljack continued to work in awkward silence, optics narrowed as he stripped another ruined wire and reconnected it to the backup power conduit.

Then—the lights cut out. Completely.

The sudden darkness swallowed the cockpit, save for the faint golden glow of the emergency lights. A dull hum reverberated through the walls, and thin lines of light now traced the floor toward the sealed exit hatch—just enough to navigate by without tripping over loose plating or exposed conduits.

Wheeljack ex-vented, setting his tool down and wiggling out from beneath the control panel. “Well... Ain’t that just a stroke of some fraggin luck?”

You couldn't help but let out a small sound, adjusting yourself in the seat. Dodger shifted beside you, ears perking up at the sudden change.

“What happened?”

“Ship’s prioritizing power reserves. The non-essentials just got cut, leaving only the necessary lighting and heating online-”

A soft grumble, interrupted him.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered toward you, catching the way you shifted uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat. Arms wrapped around your stomach.

“How... long have you been out here?” his tone more curious than accusatory.

You hesitated. “Uh… since this morning...”

Wheeljack gave you a look. “And you didn’t pack any food?”

“No… I wasn’t planning on hiking further than I normally do, due to a storm that I forgotten about. Or did I expect to be temporary abducted by a ridiculously tall alien. ”

The Wrecker scoffed slightly, "fair enough."

Pushing himself up from the console and walking towards a storage compartment. Digging through it, searching for anything remotely edible for you. His servo landed on something small, crinkly, and definitely not Cybertronian.

Wheeljack frowned before realization dawned. Miko. That little gremlin must’ve stashed her junk food in, the last time she was aboard. He could practically hear her cheeky laughter.

Shaking his helm, pulling out a bag of chips and a protein bar, glancing back at you. “Here.”

You blinked, catching the snacks. “Where did you even get this?”

Wheeljack smirked, leaning against the wall. “Let’s just say I’ve got a human friend who stows away in my ship when she ain’t supposed to. She’s got a habit of leavin’ things behind.” He smirked, grabbing another bag and tossing it towards you. “Go ahead, eat. Ain’t no use starvin’ while waiting this storm out.”

“…Thanks,” you muttered, opening the protein bar. Dodger immediately perked up at the sound of crinkling plastic, his tail wagging as he nudged your arm, clearly very interested in sharing.

Wheeljack chuckled, popping open another compartment and pulling out a small container of energon. It glowed a soft cyan in his servo, casting eerie blue shadows in the dimness.

You paused mid-bite, staring at it. “What’s that?”

“My kind of fuel,” twisting the cap and downing a sip. Wheeljack gave you his usual cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to start chompin’ on your food.”

Rain pelted against the hull in steady sheets, growing louder as the storm settled in overhead. Outside, the forest was cloaked in shadows, but inside the battered ship, the cockpit held a strange sense of warmth.

Yet, you couldn't help but watch Wheeljack lean back in the pilot’s seat, one leg bent, the other stretched out casually. Your eyes gazing at the way the glowing liquid pulsed faintly in the container, as it slowly drank it. It was… kind of mesmerizing, actually.

Your gaze continued to take in more of his frame, which was marked with dirt and superficial scrapes from the crash, but his energy signature had evened out.

“Hey... Wheeljack...” you finally spoke, gaining his undivided attention, “thanks. For… you know. Letting me and Dodger crash here for a bit- oh! I'm Y/N, by the way.”

Wheeljack grinned, leaning his helm back against the back of his seat. “Anytime, darlin.”

Another beat passed before you spoke again. “So… what were you doing here? On Earth? I mean... you don’t exactly look like you came for sightseeing.”

Wheeljack huffed a quiet laugh. "Like I said earlier, got into a bit of a scuff with some assholes, which caused me to crashland. Plus, I'm a Wrecker, crashin and breakin things, is what we do."

You blinked. "A... what?"

He gave you a proud little smirk. “Wrecker. Kind of like… a demolition squad. Special forces back on Cybertron- my home planet. We go into places no one else would survive. Dig up enemy outposts, track down Con's, sabotage supply lines—clean up the mess no one else wants to touch. Dirty, dangerous work. The kind where you either finished it… or you didn’t come back.”

You blinked, lowering your food slightly. "That... sounds intense"

He gave a lazy shrug. “It was. Still is, when the job calls for it. Back then, I ran with a crew that stuck together no matter what. Me and Bulkhead? We used to be tighter than any weld line.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity softening your gaze. “Bulkhead?”

“My old partner,” Wheeljack said, a rare fondness softening his tone. “We raised hell across half the galaxy. Got in trouble more times than I can count. He always had a bigger spark than a brain, but he had your back without question.”

“What happened to him?”

“He settled down,” Wheeljack said, his grin returning. “Joined Team Prime. You know—Optimus’ gang? Bulk and the rest of the gang chill here on this rock, defending it from Con's, while tryin to rebuild our home.”

“So… that means you follow your bos...Optimus too?”

Wheeljack barked a laugh. “Pfft—me? Please.” He waved off the idea like it offended him. “Don’t get me wrong, Optimus is noble—one of the best mechs out there. I respect the guy. But me?" the Wrecker tapped his chestplate. "I’ve never been big on the whole ‘chain of command’ thing. I don’t follow rules unless they’re written in explosives.”

You raised a brow, amused. “So, you’re basically a space cowboy?”

“Pretty much. Never stay in one place too long. Get in, do the job, move on. I’ve been to more planets than I can count. Some with three moons, others with nothing but ice. And plenty with fascinating native species…” He paused, glancing at her with a sly smirk, “which I’ve been known to explore from time to time.”

The word hung in the air for a moment.

Your eyes widened just slightly. “…Are you implying…?”

He winked with a smug look. “Let’s just say diplomacy comes in many forms.”

You snorted into her protein bar, choking on a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, no judgment. We all find ways to learn about a culture. Some of us just prefer the... hands-on approach.”

Another laugh escaped you, genuinely this time. Despite the absurdity of everything, you found Wheeljack was… oddly easy to talk to. His confidence didn’t come off as arrogance—more like someone who had truly seen too much to be bothered with pretending otherwise.

“So…” you began slowly questioning, adjusting your position in the oversized co-pilot seat. Curiosity getting the better of you more than it should. “When you say you’ve, uh, explored other species… what exactly does that mean?”

Wheeljack chuckled, the kind of rich, raspy sound that rumbled low in his chassis. His optics flicked with amusement, knowing full well where this was going.

“Well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mischief, “you’d be surprised how many intelligent species are out there across the stars. Some of ’em are not half-bad company, once you get past the tentacles and communication differences.”

You paused in mid-bite of the protein bar. "Tentacles?"

“Only one time. Learned real fast not to ask about mating rituals unless you’re ready for a show.” He gave you a pointed look, laughing when you visibly cringed.

“There was this planet, Veltraxis-9. Swampy terrain, had these bioluminescent creatures with skin like polished crystal. One of ‘em tried to barter mating rights with me by throwing bio-fruit at my head. Had to fight off three of their siblings just to get back to my ship. Whole species thought a good brawl was a love letter.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “That’s amazing. Sounds like you’ve lived one hell of a life.”

Wheeljack chuckled, sipping from his energon cup again. “Let’s just say boredom’s never been a problem.”

You fell silent for a beat, thoughtful.

Then—almost too casually—asking, “So… have you ever, y’know… explored a human?”

Wheeljack choked on his energon, placing the cup onto the main console while coughing. Optics flickering as he stared at you in stunned disbelief. "“W-what? No! I—I’ve met humans. Bulk and Team Prime��s got great ones around 'em. They're brave. Smart. Loud, but none are... I'm not going there! Plus you guys are so small. Fragile. Squishy. Not exactly built for compatibility with seven-ton alien mechs.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casually stroking Dodger's ears while the dog dozed peacefully beside you upon the co-pilot seat. “Sounds like someone’s lacking imagination.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened. “E-Excuse me?”

A smile faintly teased your lips, not even bothering to meet his gaze as you added smoothly, “It’s all about positions, Jackie.”

The Wrecker paused for a moment, spark slowly picking up it's pace as his processor begun to wonder. “…Alright,” he said at last, avoiding eye contact but definitely not hiding his curiosity. “You’ve got me wondering now.”

You blinked, feigning innocence again. “About what?”

“You know what.” He gave you a sideways glance, arms folding over his chassis. “You said it’s all about positions. Which position would even work?”

“Oh? You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t.”

“Alright, Hypothetically speaking?”

“Sure,” Wheeljack said smoothly, leaning a little closer, his curiosity piqued.

“Well…” your voice trailed off, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “There’s one that might work pretty well."

Sitting up just a little straighter, voice dropping just a touch more playful. “Imagine this—you’re on your back, nice and steady. I’m on top, sitting…” your hand raised to gesture vaguely around the level of his face. “Right about here-nice and comfortable."

Wheeljack blinked slowly, optics dimming just slightly as he processed that.

"And you…" you smirked, giving him one last teasing little glance, "would get to use... that mouth and sharp tongue of yours to explore me.”

Your grin widened as the Wrecker's engine purred, curiosity upon his faceplates melting into all sorts of mischief. As his words slipped out as a moan, "Oh... darling."

---

Your fluttered within your chest, holding Wheeljack’s gaze, as the air between you molten.

Every part of you buzzed with adrenaline. Unbelievable. Yet, here you both were crossing a invisible line with an ease that felt frighteningly natural.

Wheeljack's optics burned a vivid, focused blue, his ventilations slow but deliberate, his massive frame laying stretched out upon his berth beneath you. He didn’t move—didn’t dare move—as he watched with a hungry patience, as if giving you full control of the moment was some sacred offering.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for the button of your trousers, fingers deliberately slow and popping it free. You could feel Wheeljack’s optics trailing your every movement, practically hearing the faint hum in his plating as you slid the fabric down your legs, revealing soft skin inch by inch. Underwear followed, pooling at your ankles before kicking both garments aside, leaving yourself in just hour oversized shirt that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.

Wheeljack ex-vented sharply, the plating along his throat flexing with restrained tension. His servos clutching tightly onto the plush covers of his berth, optics greedily traced the newly revealed curves before him.

Hard, cold plating met your warm skin, the contrast sending shivers up your spine, while straddling his broad chestplate, knees braced wide for balance.

The size difference was startling up close like this.

You felt ridiculously small as you straddled his chassis, the slope of Wheeljack's armor creating a perfect perch for you- and it utterly thrilled you. The power difference, the way Wheeljack so easily could dominate you if he wanted, made heat coil tightly between your thighs.

Fingertips softly tracing his lips, as you leaned in closer. Your voice a playful, husky whisper. "Can I?"

The growl that rumbled from Wheeljack's frame in response was nothing short of feral. His optics burned into you, bright and unwavering.

"Oh baby... you don't even gotta ask." He rasped, voice thick with hunger.

Shifting your hips, sinking down carefully onto his faceplate, positioning your core directly over the his mouth. Bracing yourself by planting your hands against his forehelm, biting your lip at the sheer wrongness and rightness of the sensation—the faint mechanical hum of Wheeljack's systems vibrating against you.

Wheeljack let out a low, guttural growl of approval, his optics shuttering closed as he tilted his helm back slightly for better access. His warm glossa, textured with faint ridges that pressed and explored your folds with a slow, savouring precision that made your thighs tremble.

"F-Fuck!" the curse slipped from you in a gasp. Your fingers scratching and marking up the paint upon his forehelm, as your hips rocked against him instinctively.

Wheeljack groaned again, the sound vibrating up through your most sensitive places. He lapped slowly at first, savoring the taste of you, experimenting with careful, firm strokes of his glossa. Every movement seemed designed to coax out a reaction, to learn exactly how to make you squirm atop him.

As you grinded down against his mouth, seeking more. His servos finally letting go of the plush fabric of his berth, caressing your thighs with a gentle touch. Raising his servos just enough to hold you steady by your thighs, anchoring you exactly where he wanted you.

Wheeljack’s mouth worked with expert, unrelenting focus—every flick of his tongue, every deep, hungry suck drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

You clutched at his forehelm, moaning loudly, thighs quivering around his face as the coil inside you finally snapped, bouncing against his glossa. Mewling the Wrecker's name, as he explored your velvety walls.

Wheeljack groaned beneath you, venting hot air against your soaked core, servos gripping your thighs tighter to holding you steady, as you rode out every last tremor. Wheeljack didn’t stop—Primus, he savored it. Your essence coated his glossa, slick and heady, dripping down onto his lips, cheeks, and the seams of his mouth.

Wheeljack's glossa- hot, textured, insistent- swirled and flickered expertly against your swollen clit, while every hungry growl of his sent electric shocks bolting straight through you.

P-Primus! She's driving me wild! Her taste... Her overload... how it better than the richest, most potent energon I've ever sampled? Sweet, sharp and oh so fragging intoxicating!

"Scrap... you're addictive!" his greedy words escaped, just before pressing his mouth even harder against your dripping heat. Drinking your essence in, like a starved mech.

Your vision blurred, body trembling as you feel the orgasm building deep in your core, the tension coiling so tight it almost hurt.

Wrapping his lips fully around your clit, drawing hard, as his glossa delivering quick, precise strokes against your entrance- and that was it.

Head falling back, a broken, desperate moan escaping you and filling his private quarters. "Jackie!"

The climax ripped through you like a tidal wave. Pleasure zapping across your neves- white hot and overwhelming. Your thighs clamping around his helm, fingers pulling at the seams of his forehelm without thought. Needing something to hold onto as you rode out the shuddering wrecking upon your body.

Your essence spilled over the Wrecker, slick and dripping across his glossa, lips and down his sharp cheekplates. Wheeljack growled, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating deep into you as he licked and sucked every drop from your folds. His glossa sliding into every slick curve, mouth exploring with single-minded worship. Wheeljack's fan whirled loudly, struggling to keep his systems from overheating as he devoured you.

Whimpering softly, trembling atop him, still caught in the afterglow. Your body was loose, molten with release, but your teasing, wicked smile never left. Even as you paused for a moment to catch your breath, running your fingers down the side of Wheeljack's faceplates.

"You're... way too good at that."

Wheeljack finally pulled back slightly, optics gleaming up at you with a smug expression of pure satisfaction. His entire mouth, chin, and cheeks glistened with your wetness, licking his lips slowly and deliberately.

"Guess I do... have a little imagination after all." He rasped, the roughness of his voice making your thighs clench again.

"Th-That... was the hottest thing I've ever experienced."

The Wrecker shifted slightly under you, giving your half naked body a slow glance up and down. "Now... you gonna let me keep exploring? Or was that just a... scenic tour?"

Before you could tease back, Wheeljack shifted again with careful ease. Lifting you gently and placing you at the end of his berth, placing a firm pillow beneath your lower back and hips. Adjusting till he felt like you were perfectly supported. Before his servos caressed your thighs, thumbs stroking gentle circles into your skin, subtly exploring your flexibility- feeling the way your joints and muscles move beneath his servos.

Your heart couldn't help but flutter a little, as you watched this ridiculously strong, armoured mech, who could without a doubt tear through his enemies without blinking. Yet treating you with such care and precious touch.

Kneeling down, removing his buckling modesty plate with a low metallic hiss. Your breath caught in your throat as Wheeljack's sleek white and thick spike emerged, the polished surface glinting slightly under the golden hue of the ship's emergency lights. Watching him give it a slow pump, before hesitatingly placing his thick tip close to your core.

Your legs naturally fell further apart for him, simply motioning him closer with your index finger.

Wheeljack groaned under his breath as he coated himself in your arousal, sliding his tip up and down your wetness, savouring the way you trembled beneath him. "Primus, you're soaked."

Slowly- agonizingly slowly- he began to push into you. A rasp, gasp escaped you, fingers clutching onto the soft berth as your dripping core stretched around him. Feeling the slow, delicious sense of Wheeljack filling you inch by careful inch, while he watched your expression for any signs of discomfort.

F-Frag, she's takin me like... she was made... for me.

As Wheeljack pushed deeper, every inch of him stretched you even more- filling you more completely than you could of ever imagined. And when he finally bottomed out, your hips meeting the heavy, solid weight of his plating. A low growl rumbled deep within his chassis, optics glinting while looking at the sight of you stretching around him.

His free servo traced up towards your torso, catching the hem of your top, shoving it up with impatience till your breasts spilled free with a subtle bounce. Dipping his helm towards you, his mouth nipping and sucking upon the soft, sensitive flesh.

A heavy gasp escaped you, as you arched into his touch. The wet heat of his mouth, making your thighs tremble even more with his relentless thrusts against your core. Wheeljack's pace picked up with each passing moment, each movement becoming more desperate and hungry. The berth creaked beneath the pair of you, your breasts bouncing with each hard snap of his hips against yours.

The sound of your moans echoed off the curved metal walls of his private quarters, mixing in with the faint hum of the rainstorm battering against the Jack Hammer's hull.

"H-Harder... Harder-!"

"As you wish, darlin." Wheeljack grunted, his servo upon your hip moved towards your ass and giving it a good sqweeze. Spreading your legs a little more, before pushing his spike deeper into you, "you like it rough, don't you, baby? You like me. Want me to wreck and ruin this pretty frame of yours."

Every thrust pushed you higher, your body singing with pleasure, teetering on the edge of collapse. Both of your movements were a raw, frantic rhythm, condensation built up against Wheeljack's plates. His lips caught yours in a heated kiss, tongues swirling and tangling as you explored each other. Clutching onto his neck cables, as your hips rolled up, meeting his with each rough thrust.

"J-Jackie! I'm-! I'm-!-"

"Overload for me, darlin!" he panted, rutting into you harder and deeper, causing the berth to creak more under the force. "I wanna feel you on my spike! Let go, darlin- let me feel you!"

Your body clenched and fluttered around him, the pressure inside you snapping into a another, overwhelming orgasm. Screaming the Wrecker's name as your nails raked over his servos, scratching into his paint and leaving marks. As your entire body shuddered, coming undone harder than you'd ever had. Wheeljack's thrusts became more erratic and desperate, as he drove into you a few more times before finally shuddering.

"B-By the fraggin AllSpark!"

You felt him spill deep inside you, thick and heavy, as Wheeljack collapsed carefully atop of you, bracing himself upon his elbows. His entire frame trembling from the force of his release.

For a long moment, the only sound were both of your ragged breaths. Wheeljack remained hovering over you for a moment, your bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible. His vents huffed softly against your flushed skin, but his optics were fixed—absolutely locked—on the place where you both were still connected.

There you were, stretched so beautifully around the thick base of his spike, your slick folds glistening, clinging to him as if trying to keep him buried inside.

The sight alone made a shudder rack Wheeljack's entire frame. A deep, strange, overwhelming satisfaction rippled through Wheeljack's systems, something far deeper than simple release.

Bliss. Pure, unfiltered bliss.

He hadn't felt anything like it in centuries. Not after battles. Not after surviving the impossible. Not even during his wildest, reckless nights of pleasure across distant stars.

Nothing—nothing—compared to this.

“Fraggin’… stars,” Wheeljack muttered hoarsely, optics half-lidded, awe etched into every movement. His spike throbbed inside you, his frame vibrating slightly under the overwhelming surge of emotion.

He couldn’t help himself. Leaning down, cradling your face with a large, trembling servo, his thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed cheek, before planting a kiss upon your lips.

It was slow, deep, worshipful. Deliberate. Adoring. The kiss of a mech who had finally found something precious after centuries of believing nothing could ever stir his spark like this again.

A silent praise, silent gratitude pouring from him in a way words could never capture.

Reluctantly—carefully—Wheeljack finally pulled out, letting out a low, shuddering groan as he watched the thick evidence of their joining glisten between your thighs.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Simply slumped back against the berth with a heavy breathes, sprawling out as much as you both could. Staring up at the ceiling of his private quarters, listening to the faint hum of the ship's systems and the rain still drumming on the hull.

The heat of the moment ebbed into a lazy, heavy stillness. Both of your bodies slick with the remnants of your union, breathing gradually slowing.

Wheeljack couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so... weightless.

Catching your breath first, turning your head to look up at him-and out of nowhere, a soft giggle bubbled up from your throat.

The Wrecker raised an optic ridge, voice low and rough-edged from exertion. "What's so funny, darlin?"

Softly, playfully biting your bottom lip, as your eyes sparkled with mischief. "I was just thinking... you're probably gonna be in so much trouble with your boss, if he'd find out you've been... y'know... exploring the native species of Earth."

Wheeljack barked a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his frame. Without a word, he reached over, strong but gentle, and effortlessly scooping you up. Causing a tiny squeak of surprise to escape you, as he shifted, maneuvering you stomach-first across his broad, warm chassis.

You relaxed instantly against him, cheek resting against the smooth, humming metal. Feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his spark deep inside its chamber, the rhythmic pulse beating against your heart in a strange, beautiful sync.

Wheeljack ran a single large digit through your tangled hair, the touch slow and affectionate—tracing lazy, soothing paths. Tilting his helm slightly, peering down at your small form sprawled over him, and smiled—really smiled.

"Darlin," he murmured, voice filled with his usual flirtatious tone. “I don’t care what Prime—or anybody—thinks. I’m the only one who decides how much trouble something’s worth, and tonight?... Tonight was worth all the trouble in the galaxy."

The Next Morning

A warm beam of morning light pushed through the small slats in the ship’s damaged hull, catching the dust in golden shafts as the storm outside gave way to a quiet dawn. The ship continued its steady rhythm, though a few weak sparks occasionally flickered from the cockpit wiring.

You stirred slowly, breath catching with the faint ache in your core. Dodger's quiet tail thumped gently against the berth, staring at you with bright, expectant eyes. Turning your head, smiling sleepily as the dog nuzzled into your, happy to see you awake. Looking to your side and let out a soft, amused breath, as Wheeljack had left a half-crushed packet of Miko’s snacks and a small water bottle on a nearby console beside the berth.

Your smile widened just a little, as your gaze raked over a holo-pad with a message written:

Mornin Darlin, I'm afraid your pup got into Miko's snacks during our... 'exploration' last night, so blame him for the lack of nutrients. Be outside fixin the engine. Yell if you need anythin - Wheeljack

Reaching for one of the snack bars, opening it and taking a few slow bites, before washing it down with the water. Petting Dodger's head, murmuring a soft "Morning, boy," before brushing hair from your face. Heart fluttering, butterflies entangling your nerves, as your gaze looked at the floor beside the console. Gratitude swelling inside your chest, noticing that Wheeljack neatly folded your jeans and draping them over your hiking backpack.

A man in the streets, yet a Wrecker in the sheets.

The distant sound of metal clanking and muttered Cybertronian swears caught your attention as you got dressed. Curious, sliding out of the berth. Dodger followed, tail wagging, as you made your way to the open hatch and stepped outside the ship.

The air was crisp and cool, filled with the earthy scent of wet pine and moss.

Wheeljack crouched beside the smoldering engine core near the rear of the Jack Hammer, leaning in with his helm lowered and a servo inside the panel. His expression tight, optics narrowed in frustration.

“Morning,” you called softly, careful not to startle him.

Wheeljack paused mid-tinker, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk, a light teasing tone lingering within his words. “Morin darlin, sleep well?”

A smile tugged the corners of your lips, "of course I did, big boy... perhaps we could shower together next time."

The Wrecker's engine purred as he leaned against the Jack Hammer's open hood, his smirk briefly turning devilish before a Cybertronian curse escaped his mouth. Pain zapping throughout his frame as his servo slightly slipped within the engine, ruining the vivid images your words painted within his processor.

“What’s wrong?”

Wheeljack huffed, tapping the bottom of the engine's hood with the edge of a knuckle. “There's a busted conduit buried behind some bracework, but I can’t get to it. My servos are too damn big to reach into the slot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So... you need smaller hands?”

He glanced at you, optics blinking in brief confusion. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. I’ve worked on my Jeep a few times—mostly patches and hose fixes. I can do tight engine spaces. Plus, I’m small enough to fit in there. You just gotta talk me through it.”

Wheeljack hesitated, optics flickering as he eyed the open space, then you. It felt… odd. Letting a human into a Cybertronian engine. But he didn’t have many options, and you wasn’t exactly fragile, last night proved that.

“…Alright,” he said, nodding slowly, then kneeling to your level and offering a servo. “C’mon. I’ll lift you in.”

Gently scooping you up with both servos, easing you toward the open engine, letting you lean in headfirst, while using your hips to balance yourself against the outside frame of the hood. One servo planted just lightly against your hip to anchor you. “Let me know if you need me to pull you back.”

“Got it.”

“Alright—see that fuse-link just left of the orange wire? That’s the busted one. You’ll need to wiggle it free, then snap the spare in place just above it.”

You nodded, hand reaching carefully through the coils. Your jeans stretching as you leaned deeper into the engine, pressing against Wheeljack’s steady servo.

As you followed his instructions, Wheeljack kept his optics locked on your movements. More specifically… the way the jeans hugged your figure, especially with you bent over like that.

His gaze lingered.

The soft denim curved perfectly across your ass, pressing tight with every subtle shift of your body. His digit moved instinctively—just a light brush, testing texture, warmth, softness.

Primus.

He shouldn’t have noticed. He really shouldn’t have noticed. And the images within his processor, of his servos caressing and squeezing your ass last night certainly wasn't helping.

His digit twitched.

Optics flickered slightly as his digits rested against your hip. And then—just barely— sliding down… brushing against the curve of your ass.

A soft, surprised sound escaped you—half gasp, half involuntary “Oh…”

His engine purred. Literally. Giving a deep, involuntary thrumming noise—low and unmistakably pleased.

Scrap.

His servo snapped back like he’d been burned, expression stiffening as he immediately turned his gaze towards Dodger, who sat by the ship, ears perked and watching with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Wheeljack muttered, barely audible, more to himself than the dog.

Dodger squinted, tilting his head as if somehow knowing the connection between you and Wheeljack.

Wheeljack groaned, dragging a servo down his faceplates. “Not. One. Word.”

He cleared his throat and spoke louder, turning his attention back to you. “Alright, uh—slide the spare connector up two inches and twist it clockwise. Should lock into place.”

Wheeljack kept his servo steady, his processor desperately trying not to drift back to the way you softly moaned and subtly pushed your ass into the contact.

“Alright, now shift it two degrees left. You should hear a soft hiss—that means the line’s realigned.”

“Copy that,” you called back from inside the narrow engine compartment.

Adjusting your grip, reaching deeper into the cluster of wires and glowing conduits. Fingers fumbled for the right component, brushing metal and coolant lines. The gap was tighter than you thought. I... just need to reach a little further-

“Whoa—!”

Before panic could fully sink in, Wheeljack’s servos shot back to your hips, both servos firmly catching you just in time. His digits splayed wide keeping you from slipping, thumbs unintentionally pressing snug against the curve of your ass, holding you in place with startling precision.

“I gotcha, darlin” he said quickly, voice sharp, trying to mask the growing heat in his systems. “You’re good.”

“…Good catch,” you teased, voice low and amused, as Wheeljack carefully placed you back onto solid ground. “Lucky I wasn’t wearing a skirt, huh?”

Wheeljack’s systems faltered for a full second. “Primus…” he muttered under his breath, not sure if he was praying or cursing.

You laughed softly, the sound low and unbothered, and that only made it worse.

The low hiss of the engine igniting suddenly drew both of your attention as the power hummed back to life, the circuits responding smoothly to the completed repair.

Wheeljack exhaled. “Engine’s finally all fixed."

You raised an brow, crossing your arms, turning to glance back at the ship. Eyes scanning the hull with slow, deliberate skepticism: the twisted metal plating on the starboard side, the scorched edge of the wing panel, the multiple deep dents gouged along the frame from where it had plowed through the forest, and—of course—the cockpit, which looked like it had gone ten rounds with a sledgehammer and lost.

You looked back at him, brow arching higher. “Fixed?”

Wheeljack shrugged one shoulder and gave a small, shameless grin. waving a dismissive servo.

“The important stuff’s patched,” he said, shrugging. “I can control her just fine. Doesn’t have to be pretty—just has to fly.”

“And the torn-up cockpit?”

“Optional interior aesthetic,” he smirked.

“Completely exposed wires?”

“Ambient mood lighting.”

A laughed escaped you, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Wheeljack chuckled at that, optics gleaming. “I'm more than happy give you a lift home, unless…”

"Unless what?”

He leaned against the side of the ship with that ever-confident tilt of his hip. “Unless you want a joyride first.”

You blinked. “A joyride? In a ship that just crash-landed less than 24 hours ago?”

Wheeljack spread his arms wide, like it was the best offer in the galaxy. “We’ve got gravity stabilization, minimal smoke, and snacks. What more could you want?”

Before you could answer, Dodger gave sharp bark, looking up at you with his best “are-you-kidding-me” expression.

You grinned, patting the pup’s head. “Yeah, he says no. Thinks the whole ‘joyride’ idea is insane.”

Wheeljack snorted. “Tough crowd.”

Stepping forward slightly, giving him a flirtatious wink. “Still, I wouldn’t say no to a ride home… minus the stunts.”

Wheeljack raised both servos, mock innocence in his optics. “No flips, no barrel rolls. Just a smooth flight home.

Dodger huffed, clearly unsure about all this, but trailed after both of you, as Wheeljack gestured towards the ramp of the Jack Hammer.

---

Wheeljack leaned back in the pilot’s seat, servos dancing over the last row of controls as the ship’s engines rumbled to life. The rear thrusters flared with soft blue energy, and the hull gently lifted off the forest floor. A few sparks flew from one of the battered panels, but the craft held steady.

Dodger barked once from where he sat comfortably next you upon the co-pilot seat, tail wagging in rhythm with the ship’s vibrations.

“Strap in,” Wheeljack said with a grin as he checked his controls.

A chuckle escaped you, shaking your head. “Just get us home in one piece, Big Boy.”

You gave him directions—straight shot through the forest and just a few miles west—but you swore, after a few minutes, that Wheeljack was stalling. The ship tilted, banked, and took a slow lap around Wolf Lake, the morning sun glinting off the water’s surface below.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, secretly enjoying the slight detour

“Just calibratin’ the balance,” Wheeljack replied smoothly, optics flickering with mischief.

Eventually, the Jack Hammer hovered just above the tree line, cresting over a peaceful clearing where your cabin stood. Nestled perfectly beside the lake, the cozy logwood cabin looked like something straight from a travel magazine. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, and the front porch was decorated with a windchime and stacked firewood.

With a rumble and a gentle shift, the ship hovered low enough for Wheeljack to open the side hatch. Leaving his pilot seat, keeping one servo extended. With his usual, deliberate gentleness, scooping you up from the co-pilot seat, cradling you comfortably in his palm as he moved toward the trees closest to your cabin.

Wheeljack lowered, allowing you to sit upright in his palm, legs curled to the side as your hand rested against his thumb for balance.

Reaching the edge of the cabin’s path, he knelt down, lowering you as close to the porch as he could without damaging the ground beneath him.

You didn’t move right away. Instead, you looked up at him, face warm with sincerity.

“Thanks, Wheeljack… for everything.”

Wheeljack scratched the back of his helm, a faint hum pulsing beneath his faceplates as his spark fluttered. “Any decent mech would’ve done the same.”

You tilted your head at him, amused by how awkward he suddenly became.

But then, you paused before leaning forward. And then—without warning— slowly rising onto your tip toes, one hand lightly braced on the edge of his faceplate. Placing a soft, delicate kiss to his cheek.

Wheeljack blinked—completely still—as your lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, a faint lipstick mark in soft rose-red had been left behind, subtle, but unmistakable.

Before he could stutter anything that resembled a coherent thought, you gazed at him with a teasing glint in your eye.

“Don't be stranger, Jackie.” You purred lowly, voice dropping even more, words laced with sultry mischief with a smirk upon your lips as you stepped back down from his servo. "I feel like there's still plenty of... exploring for us to do."

Wheeljack’s engine gave an unmistakable purr, loud enough that Dodger tilted his head, curious at the sound. While a sudden influx of lude ideas filled his processor.

A cheeky smile flashed across his faceplate, "wouldn't have it anyother way, darlin. I'll be back before you know it."

Briefly pausing as you took a step upon the porch, you turned back to the Wrecker, sweetly blowing him a kiss as your heart fluttered at his fulfill promise. "Don't keep me waiting."

Wheeljack stood there, momentarily stunned, his spark thrumming faster than it had in centuries. When your door finally clicked shut behind you, he ex-vented hard, whispering to himself, "frag me sideways, I think I've just... sparkbounded with an organic." And I absolutely don't regret it...

#x reader #transformers fanfiction #transformers x reader #x fem reader #x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic writing #tfp x reader #tfp wheeljack #tfp wheeljack x reader #wheeljack x reader #autobot wheeljack #tfp #transformers prime x reader #tf prime #transformers prime

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ramautomations123 · 7 days ago

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sw5w · 2 months ago

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But When the Queen Asked Me to Serve as Senator...

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:39:07

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cyberapid · 10 months ago

Note

Loved your view on Carrier instincts from Ratchet's point of view. I would love to see a part 2, Sire instincts from Optimus' point of view if possible.

Thank you so much!! I hope this is ok! I love the idea and had like three different drafts before I settled with this lmao.

Wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle sire protocol but I’m kinda satisfied? I thought like overprotective and kinda clingy would be interesting.

Little hurt/comfort and a lot longer

Pt.1 Pt.2

•-•-•

This was a simple retrieval that really only required two bots if all went well, get past the miners undetected, retrieve as much energon as possible, sabotage what you can, and get out. Ratchet had emphasised, excessively, the undetected part much to the annoyance of the small bots given the task.

Once the two were gone Optimus had occupied himself in Ratchet's makeshift med bay, much to the older bots annoyance, by picking up some of the broken equipment littered about but a black servo had smacked his own away. Looking down he’d met Ratchet's fierce glare, “Optimus I can barely think with your racket. Also, stop touching my things. I may need them,” he abruptly turns with a dramatic vent, continuing to track the signal of the two bots within the mines; Audials alert in case a quick exit is necessary.

The prime settled to instead linger behind his bonded, arms wrapped around his middle and servos held firm on cold metal. They watched the monitor as the two blinking bots made their way slowly through twisted corridors, avoiding working Decipticons. There was no real need to continually watch with Ratchet, their very capable Medic, on the job but something within Optimus’ processor made even entertaining the idea painful so he settled with being Ratchet’s secondary optics.

“Are you ill? I swear you’ve been clingier than normal,” Ratchet’s tone is twisted with frustration as he attempts to escape the others grip and get a better look up at him but firm, larger servos keep him in place while attempting to stay focused despite the movement, “are your brain circuits. fried, Optimus? Let me go!” Annoyance bursts through their shared bond as the medic attempts to free himself, uselessly.

The bickering pulls all attention away from the computer as the bonded pair complain and soothe respectively, missing the sudden company that surrounded the two spies. They miss the visual but Acree’s voice pulls them away from each other and back towards the monitor. “We’ve been spotted. Bee’s on the sabotage part already so just keep the bridge ready,”

Ratchet is quickly turned back to his monitor answering the femme, “Groundbridge is locked onto your coordinates and ready when you are,” anxiety fills the shared bond from his mates side and parts of this leak into the connection with their youngling, disrupting the usual contentment that flows through. Optimus feels his spark twist and anger flow through his processor, he attempts to cut the feeling off before it reaches his connection to his family but the sudden stiffness under his servos tells him he didn’t block the connection quick enough

“Open the Bridge, I’ll assist.” His request is met with a fuzzy scoff as his mate turns to him,

“Absolutely not. They’ve almost completed the mission and your being there will only make it worse,” anger flares further and he feels the involuntary twitch of his digit; deep in the logical side of his processor he knows his dear friend is correct but any logic he might of had is squashed by the fear that overwhelms him, consumes him. Something will happen to his creation and he stood by doing nothing.

The sudden anguish that fills their bond with the young boy startles them both from the intense stare off they’d engaged in, “scrap, Bee got hit! Open the bridge now I’m grabbing him. Bee put th-“ her comm is cut short but the two bots are quick to jump to action, a silent understanding as ratchet pulls himself away from groundbridge controls and off to prep med bay while Optimus takes over and activates the bridge.

The familiar whirl of the groundbridge echoes through the base along with the clanging from the medbay, Bulkhead's heavy steps alert the Prime to his entrance.

The Wrecker stands at the edge of the groundbridge's opening, in a tense observation, “should I head in and help em?” Anything their leader had to say is interrupted by Ratchet loudly exclaiming,

“Primus, no! I’ve said this twice now, you two will only jeopardize their exit. We don’t know how close they are or if the mines are large enough to house either of you,” he continues to chastise Bulkhead as Optimus turns his attention back to the portal, awaiting the sound of fleeing pedes. It takes far too long and his plating crawls at the sound of scraping metal that comes from the bridge.

The pain is searing to have to stand and make sure they clear the bridge before powering down the machine, he fights every instinct telling himself to forget the bridge and rush to his injured creation; to sooth his fears. He’d failed, again to protect what is his, what relies on him.

Then he failed to be the first to offer comfort as the white and orange mech rushes towards Acree who’s struggling to hold Bee up, who’s unable to walk with one pede as the other is non operational, spilling far too much energon from busted cabling.

He relieves the smaller scout of his creations form and transfers him onto the awaiting medical berth with care not to irritate any wounds further. Optimus is quick to trail behind him once the bridge is secured, narrowly avoiding stepping Raf thanks to Bulkhead who, as gently as possible, grabs the boy out of the way.

A quiet buzz sounds from Bumblebees intake at the sight of his creators and he sends pulses of joy through their bond which Optimus returns in large quantities to make up for his bondeds neglect of it, who instead focuses on the care of the scouts leg. A sudden shrill sound pulls him from flooding the bond with comfort, “Ratchet! Careful!”

The offended mech looks up from his work and lets out a distorted guffaw, “excuse me? You really have shorted your circuits!” Anger explodes from both sides of their shared bond.

A sudden squeeze of his servo kills any further complaints he has, instead he looks down at his creation who whirls sadly. A steady rumble leaves his intake in an attempt to sooth him and it appears to work as his optics dim, a sated calm pulses through the three way bond, and his engine lulls to a calm rumble. The calm allows Ratchet to work quickly and without interruption.

Silence settles into the silo and Optimus finds himself sparing a glance at his bonded who’s taken to working silently; A sturdy wall between their connection, “Ratchet-“

“Not now” his answer is short and his helm doesn’t raise from the damaged leg of their sparkling, experienced hands working for an amount of time Prime isn’t sure of but he knows it drags on far too long— leaving him with stirring remorseful thoughts.

•-•

Every person or bot has retired for the night or left the silo leaving the bonded pair and an unconscious, but stable, Bee. They haven’t spoken since the short outburst between them with Ratchet busying himself cleaning the mess left in medbay and Optimus watching over the resting bot.

He’d had time to mull over his actions leaving a nasty churn in his tanks, “my dear friend?” Ratchets shoulders tense up and his vents stall out as the equipment he’d been gently pushing into size order clatter to the ground,

“What,”

“I owe you an apology,” he reaches his free servo out to the other mech, expectantly, “please.” There’s a loud sigh as Ratchet accepts his hand and walks closer, settling himself in front of Optimus and beside the Berth for just a moment before an clattering sounds throughout the silo and the medic finds himself uncomfortably sat on the primes lap,

“What was that!” His servo collided with the side of Optimus’ helm reflexively before panicking and checking the slight dent as the other laughs. “Why would you do that! It’s hardly an apology,”

“Yes, you’re correct. I do apologize though, I was out of line for reprimanding you. Especially when you are far more experienced than I am in that field,” there’s a faint hum that leads into a purr from the mech above him— the walls that had been built up come down and contentment eases through their bond. The medic turns to look at their creation, free servo running over scraped yellow plating,

“I need to run diagnostics on you, your demeanour change is strange,”

#transformers #transformers prime #transformers fanfiction #optiratch #optimus prime x ratchet #tfp optimus prime #tfp ratchet #tfp bumblebee #tfp arcee #tfp bulkhead #tfp raf

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queeries-book · 5 months ago

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My best guess of how the severance chip works

This is how I think the severance chip works.

Warning: Long and slightly technical.

The severed area has a radio transmitter sending a location-code. There is also a main command tower sending encoded messages to all chips in its range.

The severance chip itself has a radio receiver (but no transmitter) for receiving both the location codes and commands.

Its only output is some sort of signal to the subject's brain. I'll call it the Brain Function Altering (BFA) signal, which can say to the brain "go innie," "go outie," and possibly to go into other states, such as being knocked out. It is what causes the memories to be severed, and the two consciousnesses are created by the severing of memories. This is the show's commentary about how our memories make us who we are.

There's a logic processor to interpret the radio messages and decide what BFA signal to generate.

The BFA signal generator is the most sci-fi part of this. I don't think (as a layman; I'm not a neuroscientist) that separating memories this cleanly will ever be possible.

The rest is feasible with today's technology. (I'm not sure about battery life, but apart from that.)

Spatially dictated severance and overrides

(I wrote a version of this in an earlier comment)

Spatially dictated just means the chip has software to detect where it is (by detecting the location code) and internal logic to 'go innie' whenever it receives a particular location code.

For example, in season 1 episode 1, Helly keeps trying to leave through the door. The switching from Helly to Helena and back is automated: the chip is in charge of detecting when to switch. Graynor doesn't need to watch her and manually push a button in synch with her leaving and returning.

But he can push a button that says "ignore location while you receive this signal." You can override the location logic using various manual controls, which are sent from the command tower with a specific person's chip as the intended recipient. It would likely start with "all chips except [Helena's Chip ID], ignore the rest of this message." Because if you beam that signal out, every chip can receive it.

OTC and Glasgow block are just two such overrides.

Notice that OTC is made intentionally difficult to do (hold down two switches), because they don't want to accidentally trigger it and have a bunch of innies roaming the world, spilling secrets. Lumon wouldn't even know where they were and so there would be no way to contain them.

On the ORTBO, the Dieter Eagan National Park needs to have a Lumon tower transmitting a location-specific signal. (Which is very possible. The birthing retreat might have had a portable tower.) Every severance chip there would detect the location code and 'go innie', except Helena's, which has the override.

Settings for different subjects' chips

Lumon would probably want to be able to specify the locations where each severed person "goes innie."

If Gabriela Arteta went to Lumon's severed floor, would she turn into Gabby?

If oMark had gone with Devon to Gabby's cabin at the birthing retreat, would he have become iMark?

I'm guessing Lumon would want to prevent this. So each chip would need to store, in memory, the location-codes that trigger "go innie."

Example commands

When Dylan set the OTC, the command tower sent:

"Everyone ignore this message except [Helena's chip ID], [Mark's chip ID], and [Irving's chip ID]. Start of message. Ignore location and go innie as long as you keep hearing this signal."

When they sent Helena as a mole, the command tower sent the Glasgow-Block-Command:

"Everyone ignore this message except [Helena's chip ID]. Start of message. Ignore location and stay outie until you receive a Remove-Glasgow-Block command."

Before the ORTBO, the command tower sent:

"Everyone ignore this message except [Helena's chip ID], [Mark's chip ID], [Dylan's chip ID],and [Irving's chip ID]. Start of message. Add [Dieter Eagan National Park's location code] to your list of locations to go innie."

So Helena's list of locations was updated, but she doesn't go innie until the Glasgow block is removed.

Also here

#severance season 2 #severance spoilers #severance

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silver-heroes-rp · 6 months ago

Text

The Remnant of a Fallen Hero

(SHARD'S STORY)

[EMERGENCY: Power Saving Mode Active]

[Awaiting Rescue]

How long has he been laying here?

Memory data indicates that this unit has been in this exact location for around two million hours. Using emergency power saving mode, in order to keep from shutting down completely. He refuses to shut down, not until his objectives are complete.

Logic processors indicate no living being can survive as long as he has. The true Sonic would have died of old age a long, long time ago. It's what his memories tell him of being alive. And yet, he is still here. He is still rusting. Scattered parts of his final battle, his last cry to the world that he was alive, he was the true Sonic, that this world was his to own, lay torn apart as nothing more than scrap metal, now.

Conclusion? He is NOT the true Sonic.

He's had thousands upon thousands of hours to accept that fact. The memories he's had programmed into his head are not his. The true Sonic probably lived a full, happy life with the friends that don't belong to Metal. Metal has been down here, at the bottom of the ocean, for a majority of his own "life."

Conclusion? His creator abandoned him.

Knowing how much the doctor likes his control, when Metal rebelled to rule the empire of his own volition, he was deemed defective and never recovered. Eggman probably built a new Sonic Robot, and left him here, like his brethren Silver Sonic and Mecha Sonic before him. A newer, better robot took his place. One more obedient than him.

That feeling returns. The ones his system have been grappling with for a long time. Ever since Eggman sent him on a mission to retrieve a power gem called the "Technomancer's Diamond", and then subsequently ordered him to shatter it into pieces when the energy from it caused his robots to rebel, he's been feeling strange. He was not built to feel anything. And yet, he's been feeling strange.

Soon, he learned to identify those feelings. Anger. Jealousy. Envy. They swirled through his circuits, mixed with his memories and made him FEEL for the first time. Only now, at the bottom of the ocean, does he know why. A piece of the Diamond was lodged in his engine after he shattered it, and only now that he's been rusted nearly hollow has it finally dislodged itself.

It's probably the only reason why he's had power for this long. All that anger and envy and rage have been coming and going ever since. He gets angry thinking about how he was left down here. But a more empty feeling, that's still a new feeling in itself, has begun to fill a void where that negativity has been since he became self aware.

The idea that logically, no one is coming to save him, and that he's going to be stuck down here forever, makes this sensation in his core that he can only describe as "unpleasant." The constant sound of water bubbling around his rusting parts, his hand stuck in an outstretched position, reaching for a surface to the ocean he'll never see, while sand and sediment slowly bury him alive down here. This is where it ends for him. But he refuses to let himself shut down. He's too stubborn to just give up here.

These thoughts have been playing on loop for decades, according to what functions in his internal clock. It's all he's been able to think about, after being dumped in the ocean by Omega of Team Dark as a means of disposing of him. He's been sending out rescue pings for Eggman ever since he landed on the bottom of the ocean floor. All of them have gone unanswered.

Metal sends out another useless rescue ping.

Suddenly, a ping bounces back in response. For the first time in two hundred years, someone is responding to his cry for help. Metal sends out another ping, looking for the strange signal to respond back to him again, to make sure it wasn't just some dream error.

The ping responds. Metal calls to it, rapidly, repeatedly, demanding a rescue from whatever is pinging back to him. He wants out of this place, he doesn't want to be down here any more, he's practically begging the other presence with the number of rapid pings he's sending to the response signal.

And, after a few moments, something does come to his rescue. The battered bits of him are dragged from the ocean, along side the fragment of the Energy Core Diamond as he's pulled from the ocean with all the sand and debris of himself in tow.

[Rescue Operation Complete. Shutting Down.....]

______________________________________

His systems activate some time later, in a sort of digital white space. He's conscious, but he can't feel his body.

He's not alone in here.

Across from him in the vast, digital expanse, a small girl in a white dress is staring at him. Metal can only stare at the strange being he's never seen before, and despite the state his systems are in, he should be able to pick up on organic life signs.

This little girl does not emit any.

"So, you are awake?" She asks him.

Metal tilts his head at the strange little girl, before letting out a few affirmative beeps.

"Response confirmed. Relaying current information," the girl nods, before a giant screen opens up. "You have been in power saving mode for approximately two hundred thirty years. An admirable feat, considering the state of disrepair your body is currently in upon retrieval."

Metal gives the little girl some annoyed beeps. He hates that this regression of his body has taken away his ability to speak freely.

"If you request it, I can add the proper parameters that will allow you to vocalize," the girl suddenly points out, as if reading his mind. "Due to the state of your body, we are going to have to rebuild you nearly from scratch."

"F...." the sound slowly leaves Metal's systems in response as the programming allowing him to speak is slowly uploaded into his processors. "...from.... scratch?"

It's not the same deep, gravelly voice he'd forced himself to speak with using a combination of system sounds, but it's a voice all the same. Robotic echoing by nature, but a speaking voice none the less, and much easier to use than his first attempt.

"Yes. Much of the material used in your previous body is currently being melted down and reforged into a nanite based casing that will make up your new body. It's a malleable and durable substance that's much more adaptable to surrounding environments as well. In addition, the gem fragment that was dug up alongside your body will be a more than sufficient power source, negating the need to build you are power core from scratch."

"Malleable and adaptable..." Metal echoes.

"You can make your new body look however you want once the nanite casing is completed, yes. This new material also has auto repairing functions, as it was designed to mimic organic cells that can multiply when units are destroyed. Your power core will have full control over everyone with a one hundred percent guaranteed success rate."

Metal looks himself over once he begins to "visualize" the body he would want for himself in light of this new adaptability.

"I'm sure you will be quite pleased with the possibilities." The girl continues. "The organic Sonic the Hedgehog is no longer an obstacle in the way of achieving-"

"I am not Sonic."

The words leave before Metal can process them.

"...pardon?" The girl tilts her head.

"I am not Sonic," repeats Metal. "That is a logical impossibility. The True Sonic would have been long dead before this date. I remember the day of Sonic's birth. I remember Sonic growing up, as it is in my bio data to mimic Sonic based on pre-programmed memories. I have not changed since I was thrown away, ergo, I am NOT Sonic."

"Understood. What would you like to be designated as?"

A pause.

Glancing around the white space, and toward where he feels his body should be, only the fragment of the shattered gem is a part of his current body. That gem is a part of him, his mind and his power source, all in one. It's a fragmented, destroyed thing, but the power contained in it is still immense and incredible.

"Shard."

He states it, thinking about the gem that makes up all he is now. At his core he is the gem shard. As such, he is Shard. That is what he is. And so, that is what he will be designated.

"Understood. To keep our list of robots repurposed organized, I will henceforth designate you as Shard, the Metal Sonic. Current model data as Mach 3.0. Designated "Shard" for short."

"Repurposed...?"

"Everything will be explained in due time. For now, focus on reconstructing yourself."

A moment of silence.

"....who are you?" Shard asks the girl.

"My name is Sage Robotnik," the girl replies. "I am a learning AI created by Dr. Ivo Robotnik as a means of understanding and maintaining old and modern technology alike. And though you are not the Metal Sonic model I called my brother, you are my brother, all the same."

".... brother...." Shard mutters.

______________________________________

"How is the recovery progressing?"

Shadow folds his arms over his chest, looking to the suspended robot in the workshop.

"Systems indicate a 98% recovery of memory files and consciousness," Sage replies through a monitor off to the side. "He is indeed the original model, the first Metal Sonic my father ever perfected. Too perfect, according to his files."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you model a machine after the most free spirited creature to ever walk on Mobius," Shadow grumbles. "Honestly, the fool wasn't expecting a robot filled with Sonic's ideology to rebel in any capacity?"

As he says this, he gives a leery-eyed look to the half built robot suspended in the room. It wasn't turned on, yet, but the gem was hooked up to the mainframe for Sage to recover the data with. "... you're sure that your brother will want to help? Because from what I can remember, the last time I saw this robot specifically, he was trying to create the exact conditions we're dealing with right now."

Even the quill arrangement slightly resembles that of Neo Metal Sonic, the way they stick out in a star-shaped pattern. Though, the change in coloring is different, with a black coat painted over with yellow stripes. Shadow was assuming that with the adaptable nanite shell, the Metal Sonic before him would assume a more organic form, and yet....

Shadow shakes his head. He knows this robot, he knows what it was made for, and he knows how the model that succeeded it refused to change. He shouldn't make any dangerous assumptions. Metal Sonic is a weapon, and a deadly one at that.

The nanite shell slowly assembles itself to the strange gem-like power core they had recovered with the broken bits of robot, taking to the new casing like magnetic putty. There's a whirr and a hum, as the robot begins to activate itself.

Red lights blink into view through the optical visor, before the robot levels a glare at Shadow.

"So YOU'RE still alive," Shard grumbles.

Shadow scoffs. "And your voice is even more grating than I remember it being."

The pair glare at each other. Shadow huffs, already annoyed. Of all the robots they had to find in a semi-working condition, it had to be the one modeled after one of his dead friends. The fact that Shard is giving him attitude isn't helping.

"My bio data scan figured this would be a possibility," Shard comments offhandedly. "Guess that makes you just as artificial as I am, huh?"

Shadow's ears droop, and he lets a low snarl out of his throat for that one. "I could just drop you back in the ocean we found you in if that's going to be your attitude."

Shard, wisely, shuts up after that comment.

Cue the return of awkward silence.

Shadow coughs into his fist. "Moving on. In case Sage hasn't filled you in, we rebuilt you to help in our efforts to keep what we have of the world alive. The Eggman Empire and GUN have fused into one super faction for this purpose, and as one of Eggman's robot's, it will be your job to-"

"Yeah, no."

Shadow's glare deepens. "Excuse me?"

"I said no, hot shot. What are you gonna do, destroy all your hard work?" Shard taunts.

"I'm sorely tempted," Shadow growls. "And then we'll repurpose those nanites and that energy core into a better robot for the job."

Shard snarls back, in a robotic equivalent of the sound. "You even touch me to do that, and I'll kill you myself."

"You're annoying me," Shadow huffs. "Sage, shut him down. Clearly this isn't worth the troub-"

*CRASH*

Shard breaks free of his restraints, leaping past Shadow and blasting a hole in the wall using his brand new arm cannon. Red eyes glance back at the alien hedgehog as cold wind and snow blow in through the open wall.

"I don't take orders anymore, especially from the likes of you." Shard declares coldly, before walking out into the darkness.

Shadow slams his fist into the wall nearest to him. "A waste of precious resources. That's all this was."

"I would not be so certain," Sage pipes up from the screen behind him. "My predictive algorithm suggests that Shard will return with 87.4% certainty, once he sees the state of the world. And then, he will be willing to listen to us."

"You'd better be right about that." Shadow sighs. "For now, let's focus on repairing the wall."

______________________________________

Shard blasts down the snowy terrain at top speed, just to get away from that stupid fake hedgehog. Who does he think he is, giving Shard orders and threatening to replace him on the spot!? Like hell he's going to let someone control him like that again! Who CARES what they need from him, he's not there to be their tool!

After flying around blind like a crazy bot, Shard has to adjust his new optical sensors for night vision mode to see anything outside. The entire surrounding area is coated in darkness. Temperature readings indicate a near absolute zero, and there's nothing but snow and cracked rock in the immediate area.

Parameters state that no organic life can survive in these conditions.

Shard looks left and right, taking in this information. Not a single organic being, not a bug, or a plant, or any annoying hedgehog would last long out here.

...

"FINALLY!" Shard exclaims. "It's everything I could ever want! No more organic life! No more orders! No more Sonic! I can run around this world as free as the wind all I want, and it's all mine to have! Finally, free to roam around the world for free as the most powerful being to survive in this place!"

With a whoop, Shard blasts down one of the snowy trails, excited to finally explore the world of his own volition. There's no orders forcing him to stay in one place! There's no Sonic to run around and hog all the sights for himself! Shard is finally, FINALLY free! No more consequences! And this place is all his to run around in as long as he wants!

Shard moves through the snow, looking for some cool sights and sounds he can finally enjoy for himself. No imposters, no masters, just him!

...just him, and all this snow.

Shard blinks, having been running around in circles for miles. Everything looks the same. Aside from the rushing wind, it's quiet. But that doesn't matter! He's free! It's everything he wanted! There's no more annoying hedgehogs to live his life for him and replace him.

Another few miles, and the same scenery is getting repetitive. Fissures in the earth, endless snowstorms, pure darkness. All the loops have been snowed over and buried. All the landmarks are frozen solid. All the noise of organic chatter he used to detest leaves a silent, barren world.

But, this is what he wanted, isn't it?

Isn't this what he fought so hard for?

His systems wind down and do a full assessment. His objectives are complete. Sonic is dead. Eggman is dead. There's no one left around to control him. He's the only thing that can exist in a world like this, outside.

So why does he feel so... unsatisfied?

There's no answer to his question, only the howling of the wind as the temperatures stay near absolute zero. All the running around is leaving him feeling.... sour, is the world he comes up with, because even though this place is everything he wanted before, there's just something so... wrong, with actually having it.

Perhaps that's why Sonic preached the idea of teamwork so religiously in their final fight. It wasn't power alone that made Sonic so carefree and respected. It was those around him. His friends? Friends Shard never had, even if he has memories of being their friends before Sonic stole them.

Did Sonic steal them...? Aren't those memories fake? How much of what he remembers is real?

He's so confused.

Lost.

...lonely.

Running around this place in silence without the pleasant scenery or anyone to share it with just feels wrong. But what can he even do about it? He was designed to be a violent killing machine, and now he wants to feel less lonely? These objectives are not compatible in the slightest.

Though, sick of the cold and dead air around him, Shard stumbles through the snow on foot, looking for something better to do then ruminate on these awful feeling realizations. Because with them, comes a new wave of guilt for everything he's done up to this point to get here, as well, and all the people he hurt along the way.

And he hates feeling these feelings.

______________________________________

Eventually, his area scan brings him back to a familiar location. One of the old bases he used to frequent back when he was still functional in the past. The shell of it looks redone, reinforced and built to block out the cold, but otherwise rather abandoned looking.

The door is in the same place he remembers it being, and when he enters the code to open it, it does so without issue. Guess his permissions never got removed after he was thrown away. Shard steps inside, kicking the snow off his boots and letting the door seal behind him.

Another one opens shortly after, and Shard steps in. The area is significantly warmer, though not as much as the base he ran away from. This area is clearly abandoned compared to the other shelters he flew by. He can still see some of the rusted remains of projects that were being worked on while he was still active.

Shard looks up and down the old hallways, still taking in the familiar sights when the sound of crashing can be heard somewhere further in. His radar picks up, detecting a life form further in the base, rummaging through the trash area.

Shard doesn't have anything better to do, so he heads toward the sound to satiate his rising curiosity. The rummaging sound gets closer, before Shard notices that some of the trash appears to be levitating around the source of the noise.

[Bio Data scan inconclusive. Phenomena does not match any Bio Data on record.]

Shard pokes the trash can to tip it over once he gets there, and a small creature yelps and rolls out of the steel bin. A bio scan reveals the creature to be a hoglet; with silver quills and gold eyes, as well as a startling amount of natural chaos energy, hence the levitating pieces of trash around the can.

Though it's a young, small thing. Shard could crush it's head under his boot and be done with it. The doc would probably order it as such if he were here. Shard defiantly leaves the tiny thing alone as a result, choosing to defy an order he'd never actually received for the sake of it. As such, he's really only standing there staring at the hoglet for the moment.

Golden eyes grow wide at the sight of the robot before the hoglet. "Woah.... you're one of those robots that scout around for stuff outside, right!?"

"I-" Shard tries to retort, but the hoglet is loud and mouthy, and it just keeps talking despite Shard's protests.

"That's gotta be so cool! You've been outside before! I've always wanted to know what it's like! But because of how cold it is I can't really leave the shelters. I bet it's so fun, playing in the snow!"

Shard's at a loss for words.

The hoglet is gripping his hand now, looking him in the eyes with awe and wonder. His sensory input doesn't know what to make of the situation, as he's never had an organic being look at him like this before. The awe and wonder in the hoglet's eyes directed at Shard, the KILLER ROBOT, is an entirely new sensation of it's own.

"Hey, can you tell me what it's like outside! I wanna see it myself one day, but I won't be able to for a long time. So you have to tell me what it's like! I want to know if it's like what I've been dreaming about!"

Looks like Shard isn't getting out of this discussion. Though, he finds he likes being looked at with admiration, and holding the small creature's hand, so he figures he'd humor the curiosity of the hoglet, recounting what he discovered while outside.

He doesn't know how long he spends with the small thing, who later tell Shard that his name is Silver. They end up sharing stories with each other for hours, and Shard decides he finds Silver to be the first tolerable organic being he's ever met.

Though their little chat session is interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Shard is instantly on guard, and he finds himself standing protectively in front of Silver when an unknown life form enters the abandoned base. Silver clings to his boot as a result.

In walks Shadow the Hedgehog, just as annoyed and brooding as always. Shard's eyes narrow and he prepares his weapon, in case the so called ultimate life form plans to make good on his threats to throw him away again. Shadow levels Shard with a familiar glare.

"You're coming with me, Metal Sonic. Stand down," Shadow huffs, a trio of red irises boring into his own eye lights. Shard gets into a defensive position in refusal.

"I said, you're coming with m-" Shadow reaches a hand out with a Doom Spear charged and ready to go, when he freezes in place, surrounded by a teal hue.

"Don't fight!" Silver shouts, running from behind Shard and putting his tiny hoglet body between the pair.

"Silver?" Shadow mouths in disbelief, seeing the small hoglet defend the robot by holding him in place. "This is where you ran off to? How did you-"

"I said no fighting!" Silver shouts again. "I'm not gonna let my new friend and Mr. Shadow fight each other!"

Shadow looks between Silver and Shard. "Your new friend, huh?" He sighs in resignation. "Well, as long as your new friend promises to be on his best behavior, I won't turn him into scrap metal."

"Likewise," Shard huffs in return.

"Then it's settled!" Silver huffs. "We're all gonna be friends now!"

Friends, huh?

Shard would like some of those, at least, ones that he makes himself instead of remembering someone else's...

______________________________________

Years pass.

Shard volunteers to help with the world restoration efforts, but he mostly does things on his own terms. In his work, he slowly grows an appreciation for the stubborn determination of organic life and their combined willpower to keep living. Shard earns a reputation as one of their best field agents as a result, getting the admiration he's found he always wanted from those in this current world in return for his efforts to help.

He and Silver stay the best of friends. Shadow might be the younger hedgehog's mentor, but it's Shard that actually teaches Silver the basics of how to BE a hedgehog. He teaches Silver the classics; how to spin dash and rail grind, and even though Silver's foot speed is lacking, his airspeed can even rival Shard's own. And so, they spend a lot of their free time racing around the shelters.

Shard cherishes Silver's friendship above anyone else's in this future world. Silver is nice to him, and listens to him, and they tell each other stories about what they're going to do when they find a way to save the world.

Silver wants to grow a garden the size of a forest once light returns to the world. The greenhouse is his favorite spot, and he wants to make a big one everyone can hang out in and relax once they can all go outside again.

Shard wants to travel the world. A world that's whole, and filled with the life he's found he's missing from the one he currently lives in. He wants to make up for his mistakes by spreading new life to the world once the snow melts and the rivers thaw. And then, he'll race around the world as the fastest being around, with races with his best friend all hours of the...

"Sonic?"

"Shard, are you okay?"

Shard snaps out of his sudden lapse in memory. He shakes his head, trying to clear away any image of a friend he never had superimposed on the one he knows he does.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Shard quickly shakes off. He reminds himself that he's not Sonic. He was never Sonic. He's Shard and he's completely different person from some old, dead hedgehog that's apparently still haunting him.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He grins awkwardly in Silver's direction.

"General Shadow wants to talk to us about an important mission," Silver repeats himself. "Apparently, he's secured the Time Stones from Little Planet when it appeared for this year. We're going to go back in time and figure out what happened there, so we can fix what's going on here."

"Back in time?" Shard echoes. Back in time to when Sonic and his creator were alive? Back when he was still rusting at the bottom of the ocean for decades upon decades? Back to when all the people that hated him, and that he was made to kill, were still alive?

"Yeah. It's a last ditch effort, but if we never figure out what's going on, then things are going to stay like this forever. Shadow and Sage are saying that the world might not last until Little Planet appears again. This is our one shot."

"And General Shadow picked us to do this?" Shard asks skeptically.

"He says we're the two most capable mobians for the job." Silver nods.

Shard mimics a sigh. It's probably the nostalgia talking. But, if Shadow thinks they can do it...

"Well, better not keep the Boss waiting, then."

Guess it's time for the two of them to work together and Save the World, huh?

#remnant of a fallen hero [shard]#[shard's headcanons]#[mod's art]#[mod's writing]#shard the metal sonic #sage robotnik #shadow the hedgehog #long post #gif

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