#optical proximity sensor

[visheshgroupindia]

Proximity Sensors: Enhancing Efficiency and Safety Across Industries

What are Proximity Sensors

Proximity sensors identify an object's presence even in the absence of physical touch. Without coming into direct touch with the item, they are made to recognize when it enters the sensor field. In a variety of manufacturing applications, proximity sensors are used to identify the proximity of metallic and non-metallic items.

How Do Proximity Sensors Function? 

In the least complex terms, proximity sensors work by communicating information about the presence or movement of an item into an electrical sign. They yield an ON signal when the article enters their reach. There are a few critical contrasts in the manner that different closeness sensors work, as made sense below: 

Capacitive Nearness Sensor Working Guideline Capacitive 

Proximity sensors work by identifying changes in capacitance between the sensor and an item. Factors, for example, distance and the size of the article will influence how much capacitance. The sensor just recognizes any progressions in the limit produced between the two. 

Inductive Nearness Sensor Working Standard

Inductive sensors work by recognizing vortex flows causing attractive misfortune, created by outer attractive fields on a conductive surface. The discovery curl produces an air conditioner attractive field, and impedance changes are distinguished because of the created whirlpool flows. 

Attractive Vicinity Switches Working Rule Attractive 

Proximity switches are similarly basic and clear. The reed end of the switch is worked by a magnet. At the point when the reed switch is enacted and ON, the sensor additionally turns ON. 

It is additionally significant that proximity sensors are not impacted by the surface shade of the article identified. They depend simply on actual development and the movement of an item, so its tone doesn't assume a part in that frame of mind of the sensor.

The Role of Proximity Sensors in Modern Industries

Sensors have become indispensable in today's automated world, serving important functions such as tracking and positioning control. In this field, location and proximity sensors are reshaping several industries. By detecting nearby vehicles in the automotive industry and accurately tracking the location of delivered packages in production, these sensors show their versatility and potential in several fields.

Robotics

Both position and proximity sensors are used in many applications in the field of robotics. For example, linear position sensors are commonly used in robotics and industrial settings for object detection, part fixation, and machine control. These sensors play an essential role in detecting the location, distance, and proximity of moving objects and provide important information for robot navigation and manipulation.

Industrial Automation

Today many manufacturers use these sensors to improve work productivity and efficiency. Integrating position and proximity sensors into production systems enables accurate detection and tracking of objects on conveyor belts, robotic arms, and assembly lines. This combination enables precise object positioning and motion control in industrial processes.

Security systems

Combining proximity and location sensors, security systems can be used to track and control the movement of objects in a certain area. It is useful in surveillance, burglar alarms, and access control systems.

Automotive Applications

The combination of these position and proximity sensors can be used in parking systems to detect open spaces and nearby cars in a parking lot, and accurately track the location of a vehicle for parking assistance. These sensors are also used to improve the safety and performance of Advanced Driver Assistance Systems (ADAS) vehicles.

Smart Healthcare

Location and proximity sensors play a vital role in healthcare, facilitating the monitoring and management of various aspects of medical facilities. Wearable proximity sensors play an important role in both acute and chronic health conditions, as they allow non-contact detection and monitoring of physical movements and interactions.

Food and Beverage Industry

A proximity sensor for food is a type of sensor that is designed specifically for use in the food industry. It is used to detect the presence or absence of food items during various stages of food processing, packaging, and handling. 

As technology advances, the integration of location and proximity sensors is expected to increase security, automation, and sensor innovation. based systems in various industries.

[kishorxox]

Optical Sensors Market Size, Share, Forecast, & Trends Analysis

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled ‘Optical Sensors Market—Global Opportunity Analysis and Industry Forecast (2025-2032)’. According to this latest publication, the optical sensors market is projected to reach $55.4 billion by 2032, at a CAGR of 12.3% from 2025 to 2032.

The optical sensors market is experiencing growth driven by the rising demand for optical sensors in consumer electronics and the increasing integration of highly sensitive light sensors in automotive applications. However, limited range and line-of-sight requirements hinder market growth.

In addition, the increasing utilization of optical sensors in healthcare applications and the expanding adoption of advanced light-based technologies for contaminant detection in the food sector present significant growth opportunities for market participants. However, the market also encounters challenges, particularly the high cost associated with advanced optical sensors. Moreover, prominent trends in the optical sensors market include the rise in the adoption of 3D sensing technology in photoelectric sensors and the growing trend of Industry 4.0, IOT, and cloud computing.

Key Players:

The optical sensors market is characterized by a moderately competitive scenario due to the presence of many large- and small-sized global, regional, and local players. The key players operating in the optical sensors market are Broadcom Inc. (U.S.), Renesas Electronics Corporation (Japan), Analog Devices, Inc. (U.S.), Texas Instruments Incorporated (U.S.), TE Connectivity Corporation (Switzerland), Leuze Electronics Pvt. Ltd. (Germany), Honeywell International Inc. (U.S.), Rockwell Automation, Inc. (U.S.), Vishay Intertechnology, Inc. (U.S.), Hamamatsu Photonics, K. K. (Japan), ams-OSRAM AG (Austria), ROHM Co., Ltd. (Japan), ipf electronic gmbh (Germany), SensoPart Industriesensorik GmbH (Germany), and Festo SE & Co. KG (Germany).

The optical sensors market is segmented based on product, type, and end user. The report also evaluates industry competitors and analyzes the optical sensors market at the regional and country levels.

Among the products studied in this report, the photoelectric sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The high demand for photoelectric sensors, which enable non-contact object detection, along with the increasing need to improve system performance and efficiency in high-speed operations, are key factors contributing to the segment's leading position in the optical sensors market.

Among the types studied in this report, the intrinsic optical sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The significant share of intrinsic optical sensors, known for delivering precise measurements of light intensity and wavelength, along with their expanding applications in temperature sensing, pressure monitoring, and chemical detection, are driving the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

Among the end users studied in this report, the consumer electronics segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The substantial share of optical sensors in consumer electronics aimed at improving usability and user interaction, combined with the rising demand for smaller, more portable devices and the increasing use of image sensors to enhance camera capabilities for high-resolution photography, are key factors reinforcing the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

This research report analyzes major geographies and provides a comprehensive analysis of North America (U.S. and Canada), Europe (Germany, U.K., France, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Sweden, and Rest of Europe), Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, India, South Korea, Malaysia, Australia & New Zealand, Indonesia, Singapore, and Rest of Asia-Pacific), Latin America (Mexico, Brazil, and Rest of Latin America), and Middle East & Africa (UAE, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Rest of Middle East & Africa).

Among the geographies studied in this report, North America is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The expansion in the adoption of smartphones, electric vehicles, and diverse smart home applications, alongside the rising demand for advanced safety systems and vehicle technology and the increased use of optical sensors in healthcare applications within the region, are key factors contributing to the market's dominant position.

Download Sample Report Here @  https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=6040

Key Questions Answered in the Report-

What is the value of revenue generated by the product, type, and end user?

At what rate is the global demand for optical sensors projected to grow for the next five to seven years?

What is the historical market size and growth rate for the optical sensors market?

What are the major factors impacting the growth of this market at global and regional levels?

What are the major opportunities for existing players and new entrants in the market?

Which offering segments create major traction in this market?

What are the key geographical trends in this market? Which regions/countries are expected to offer significant growth opportunities for the manufacturers operating in the optical sensors market?

Who are the major players in the optical sensors market? What are their specific product offerings in this market?

What recent developments have taken place in the optical sensors market? What impact have these strategic developments created on the market?

Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- sales@meticulousresearch.com Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research

[woradat]

For the ask, can I have IDW Prowl please? Maybe with with forced proximity that ended up with always thinking of the others/each others once they're apart? Hopefully it's clear enough, also love your works btw!!!

Loosen Close

SUMMARY – two cop in operation, with tension that no knife can cut through (pre-war)

PAIRING – prowl x reader

NOTE – that's clear enough, hope this one works for you! I spent quite a bit of time writing that scene, so I apologize if the rest of the writing looks bad (maybe not that bad, but still?)

⚠️ SUGGESTIVE THEME UNDER CUT ⚠️

The door hisses open with a sad wheeze. Inside: silence. Heavy. Uncomfortably well-organized silence. This is not a precinct that looks lived-in

No clutter. No discarded datachips. Not even a dent in the walls. Just a workspace arranged with such neurotic precision that it feels more like an altar than an office. One datapad lies exactly 1.75 inches from the edge of the table. You know because you’re already planning to move it—just to see if he twitches

And then you see him. Standing with his back to the door, arms folded, optic glow reflected in the screen of the crime log interface. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t greet you. Just simply say “You’re not Firstline”

Wow. Not even a hello?

“Observant” you answer, stepping inside like the floor might eat you “Firstline’s gone. Probably somewhere quieter. Like a burning scrapyard

A pause. A long, very precise pause

Then, slowly, too slowly, he turns. Takes one look at you like he’s scanning for structural flaws. You feel like an appliance he didn’t ask for but has to keep under warranty

“They assigned you”

You nod “They did”

“They know about your incident log”

“…Which one?”

“Stairwell collapse. Shot your own knee once during a ricochet misfire. Electrocuted yourself with a.. malfunction machine?”

“Okay, I feel like you’re cherry-picking the wrong highlights from my résumé” you mutter, stepping around a chair that’s somehow too centered to trust

“Statistically, your continued survival defies several probability models. I’m still reviewing for system error”

“Thank you. I think”

He picks up a datapad and hands it to you without eye contact “Three targeted break-ins at energy redistribution depots. Each two cycles apart. Entry logs spoofed. Surveillance corrupted. Item targets: high-grade cognitive chips. Not replaceable. Not traceable”

You glance at the file, flipping through logs “This smells like an inside job”

“Good. That’s what I wrote in the report you’re holding”

“…Oh. Right. Just testing you. Team-building?”

He doesn’t blink. You're not sure he can blink

They say his last partner quit mid-patrol Didn’t even finish the field report. Left a half-full energon cube on the console and walked out with that look—the one bots get when their processor hits the force shutdown limit for social stress “Said he’d rather transfer to the sewage grid patrol than work another cycle with that code-crusher” someone whispered earlier “Tried reformatting his own emotion chip to feel less rage. Didn’t work” And now it’s your turn. Because the universe? The universe thinks it’s funny

The second you step inside, your sensors protest

The place smells like ion dust and old machinery—coated in the greasy kind of silence that only exists in buildings where something went wrong slowly and nobody noticed. Prowl is already a step ahead

Typical. He doesn’t need to speak to issue commands, he just is one. Every footstep is calculated. Every movement filtered through about six levels of tactical foresight. You? You're doing fine—aside from almost tripping on a panel hinge five clicks back. You only caught yourself because he reached back without looking and yanked you upright by the elbow

You didn’t say thank you

He didn’t expect you to

Now you’re moving in formation, side by side in a corridor not wide enough for side-by-side. His shoulder brushes yours every other step. You try not to think about it

“Stay alert” he murmurs “I just picked up a weak pulse two segments to the west"

“…someone still here?”

“Or came back”

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. You both hear it. A footfall. Then another. Close—too close

Before your next breath, his hand snaps out and grabs your wrist. Hard. And without warning—Your chestplate hits the wall of the maintenance recess with a muted clang

Cold metal. Uneven. Narrow

You barely have time to blink before he's pressed in after you—no room, no pause, no buffer. Just hard armor against softer plating, his pelvis plating, locked behind yours, angles slightly forward every time he shifts to adjust footing. Each movement earns you the press of his abdominal plate against the lower arc of your back, and the sharp, seamless motion of a mech who never improvises—unless he absolutely has to

His hand slams against the wall beside your head. The force of it sends a small shudder through the panel behind you. Not aggressive—just final. Like punctuation. Like a closing gate

“Stay still” Prowl breathes into the narrow air between you

You try

You don’t trust yourself to breathe

But he's pressed in so tightly that every micron of movement feels amplified. Your shoulders are squared against the curve of the wall; his chestplate flattens against your back, firm and unmoving. You can feel the subtle pattern of his armor ridges brushing yours—contours slotting into place by accident… or fate. His left thigh slots between yours, almost casually—but the angle is wrong. There's no space for him to plant his stance properly, so his hip drives into your lower side with each shift of balance, forcing you closer to the wall than you thought possible. To the point that you almost kiss it

And worse still. Your hands are nowhere to go. Trapped at your sides. Pressed between your frame and the wall

And he hasn't moved. Not really. Just that slight lean forward when someone stepped too close outside and when he did that his chest curves over yours —and in doing so, your backplate presses snugly into the softer seam below his collar struts. Just that tense press of his midsection into the small of your back when your balance faltered again —The corridor outside crackles with approaching noise. Footsteps—slow, dragging. Too close. Whoever it is, they stop only inches beyond the alcove’s divider

“..They’re scanning” he mutters, voice pitched so low it sounds like it belongs inside your processor. Prowl’s mouth is beside your audio receiver now, close enough that the movement of his lips stirs the faintest shift of air

His voice cracks at the edge—just faintly as his hand is shaking slightly. Not out of fear. But out of control because now you’re both aware of everything

Of the way your back curves into him. Of the way his abdominal plate locks against the arch of your lower plating. Of the brushed heat of his sparkpulse syncing too close to yours. You shift—accidentally—and that small adjustment causes his torso to slide down just slightly, armor grinding slow over the base of your back

You hear it..He hears it

His other hand comes up, quick, firm, and lands on your waist—not gently. Not by accident. He doesn’t move it

“Don’t do that again” he hisses under his breath. It should sound commanding. It doesn’t. It sounds shaken. You try to retort. You do. You even open your mouth

Now you’re no longer just pressed against the wall. You’re bracketed. Encased. Enclosed. Caging. Pinned

Your voice falters before it makes it past your lips. But finally it came

“You’re crushing my hip actuator..”

“You shifted into it”

You swallow

His hand at your waist. No— now just below it. Palm splayed over your hip bracket, digit angled forward where armor meets the side of your abdominal plate. Not quite suggestive. Not quite innocent. And his thumb? It moves. Brush slowly, tracing the ridge just above the joint of your hip. Hard to tell whether it was intentional or an accident when he only did it once

Your field flares—just slightly, but enough that you know he feels it. He doesn’t comment. But his own field? It hums. Subtle. Coiled

“They’re gone, we're clear” he says at last. But he doesn’t step back. You can feel the restraint in him. The way every servo is holding position by willpower alone. His head lowers beside yours, lips dangerously close to the edge of your head

Your vocalizer stutters back online “..You can move now?”

“I know”

—

You sit at your terminal with a energon cube, pretending to go over surveillance logs. The lights above buzz quietly

The precinct’s unusually still. You should be feeling good. You cracked the case. You made a clean arrest. No injuries. No screw-ups. Not even a misfiled datapad this time. And yet—Your field still stutters every time your thoughts drift back there. Back to that narrow alcove. Back to his servo on your hip. Back to his frame pressed into yours like you were two puzzle pieces force-fit into one impossible frame. You groan quietly and bury your face in your hands

“I need to reboot my processor” you mutter to yourself “or smash it”

Because no matter how many times you try to drag your thoughts back to something else— they always slide back to him. The way his voice dropped.The weight of his chest plating against your back. The way he didn’t move until he decided to. You’re not even sure if you hated it. In fact, you’re very sure you didn’t. And that’s the problem

Meanwhile

Prowl stands at the end of the hallway, looking out the half-shuttered window

He’s not watching the traffic patterns. Not analyzing flight formations or reading case reports. He’s trying to process the fact that his body still remembers the exact angle of yours. And worse—likes it

He can still feel the curve of your back pressed to his chest. Still feel how snug your waist fit under his hand. Still remember the exact point of contact where your hip bracket slotted just slightly over his. Every time he blinks, the sensory map reloads like a damn glitch. He hasn’t been this distracted since training academy

“Unacceptable” he mutters under his breath

But he hasn’t filed a complaint. He hasn’t asked for reassignment. He hasn’t even deleted the sensor log from that sector of the depot. He tells himself it’s for protocol. Evidence integrity. Audit trail. But he’s lying. And he knows it

—

The next day, the paperwork and the results of the mission were all done, everything was done yesterday, which is expected when you work with regulations that have legs and a conscience, but you just got a message

Incoming message: Prowl

“If your balance actuator is still unstable, I can submit a requisition for maintenance diagnostics”

You blink at it. Then snort. Then immediately slam your hand on the desk and bury your face in your hands again “HE REMEMBERS”

And suddenly your core is on fire all over again

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."

[kissingraine]

Will the Seacons ever get a follow-up? I rarely see anyone writing about them☹️☹️

AAAA- i didnt think y'all actually liked that:') (Hopefully, I can update the other stories since we have the next week off)

Stray — Seacons x Mermaidf!Reader (2)

There was nothing in the void. But that suited Snaptrap just fine. Silence was the natural state of predators—no boasting, no declarations, no wasted noise. Only the slow, steady hum of readiness, of proximity alerts in the background. The stars watched indifferently. So did he. At least, that's what he first thought. It was meant to be a simple mission: reclaim the coordinates to the lost sea bridge buried on some forgotten organic mudball. Earth. A nothing-world, once contested, now beneath attention. Their war had left it gutted, for the most part. That’s why the small natives that lived on it left. Almost exactly like they did when Cybertron fell. But the thing was, this planet didn’t remain in decay or rust like metal—it thrived.

Persistently. Like a weed under pede. No matter how many times it was stepped on. For that, he’d at least give the planet some credit. But that’s about it. His target remained submerged underwater. That was the only detail that mattered to him. He belonged there. Though admittedly, Snaptrap spent his years in the bog as a mechling until he earned his title as commander.

Around him, his unit idled. Quiet for once, void of the usual bickering he was subjected to. Even Tentakil was silent—Snaptrap merely suspected the other was weaving something elaborate in the dark behind his smug stillness. Overbite stayed his twitchy self, smelling pressure changes before the sensors could register them. Muttering over static-warped sonar files was Nautilator, and by the rationed coolant was a sulking Skalor. Every bit as annoyed as he was that they’d been sent here to fight a what? A losing war. The sea bridge had mostly been another Decepticon’s idea. A pathway they could use to remain hidden just in case the worst-case scenario came to fruition.

He realized his crew’s unrest might have been tied to that, too. They were significant figures in battles that occurred beneath the waves, and now? They were forced to search for a way to hide. Snaptrap couldn't say for sure, but he knew a losing side when he saw one. And his Seacons—afraid of becoming irrelevant in this century-old war—knew, in some parts of themselves, that this was unavoidable. That none of the things they were promised to fight for were going to matter. And he’d write their supreme leader a strongly worded letter if he could, but not until he was sure his crew was safe with the coords. At the very least, they would be able to flee. Though divided, they might not be Piranacon once more.

Snaptrap’s focus returned to the descent vector. A sharp slant through Earth’s atmosphere, aimed like a harpoon straight into the largest trench in the planet’s ocean. A fall from orbit, to return to the depths. This would perhaps be their final reclamation, if their prior ones ever counted at all. His claws flexed, systems humming with the promise of cold pressure—the familiar grip of deep water crushing his frame in ways no land-based combat ever could. Water dulled nothing for him. It only amplified his protocols, because down there, he was the apex. Down there, the pressure drowned his enemies before they could scream.

“Ten kliks to atmospheric breach,” Seawing said over the comms.

Blinking once with narrowed optics, he expected darkness. Heat. Impact. And while those did ensue in the following moments—before the Seacon commander realized Earth's gravity had ripped the hull of their ship open—he didn’t expect songs. Eyes. And certainly not her.

You weren’t in any of the files. Weren’t even supposed to exist. But you did. He faced gods, monsters—and devoured them both. Yet he found himself clueless as to how to fight the taste of salt that lingered in his mouthplate days after you escaped. He did not know how to silence the echo of that voice. Because as brief as the meeting was, Snaptrap remembers everything clearly. Vividly. As if he could still feel the softness of your scales brushing against the living metal of his faceplate. Even now, when he closes his optics, the deep is no longer quiet.

• When you felt the surface water ripple with waves as something heavy sank further down, you had been so surprised to see that there were more of him. Towering, like sunken monuments that moved in predatory grace amongst the darkness. The archives mentioned these beings once. But almost all knowledge of them was lost during the Hidden Age. The surface was dangerous to be explored then—other mermaids had lost the ability to shift their tails from legs because of it. Scrolls told you they were capable of rendering your home to ash, something about a war—and that eventually became the reason why humans built their ride to get off Earth.

• Two others circled once they made contact with the seabed while your tail was still pinned in what felt like a clam’s grip. You’re pretty sure you just chipped off a scale with how much you’d thrashed—and still, the metal beast kept you in its unyielding hold. Watching you with sharp red hues. Glowing. A mask covered his face when the others finally got close enough, hiding those incredibly human-like features.

“Flesh. But not weak.”

A low growl, speaking in a language he thinks you can’t understand. Snaptrap imagines it must sound like metal just grinding against metal. “Pretty thing,” he notes absentmindedly, with a voice that reminded you so much of a submarine’s death-knell. Tentakil drifted near your side, murmuring something ancient to him in Cybertronian before he could think about snarling at the tendril-covered mech. Is she prey? Or a lure? Pit if he knew—but he doesn’t argue with the fact that you are, pretty much, a lure. A shiny, soft-looking one.

• Your heart pounds, burning under their gazes. Their presence suffocated you, unblinking—so you sang. More of a scream than a melody: sharp, pure, primal. It hurt them. And you could tell—it made them reel back. Not physically, but in something deeper inside them.

His SIC had to be held back by Tentakil, restraining the shark mech with tendrils while the sly octopod gave a strained laugh. Snaptrap recoils, your voice carving into their processors like seafoam into a ship’s hull. His hand spasming, and you bite him. Your denta may have been blunt, but they were strong enough to leave a small scratch in his coating—metal bent just barely under the force of the bite. His grip loosens and you dart away once more. Bolting successfully into a shaft of volcanic warmth rising from the trench vents, into a crevasse no mech could fit in.

Gone, like a ripple in the deep.

Previous

[need-him-pregnant-poll]

Pregatron Fanfic Anon, here! I'm finished with the next part

PART 5

=====================

Previously:

„My apologies.”- Megatron murmured before storming out of the lab, he didn’t even bother with the door, he just broke them down and made his way across the many corridors. I need a distraction.

After some time, Soundwave found him sulking in the dark corner of the dining room, eating an unhealthy amount of energon goodies.

======================

Optimus was on his way back to the Autobot base. It was a long day, patrolling the nearby area was always tiring, so he let his mind wander. He discovered a few places that could be used as observation points, he would need to settle proximity sensors and radio transmitters there, that way any Decepticon spies or even attacks could be easily prevented. Speaking of, the other fraction was awfully quiet as of lately, zero activity, strange. Optimus wondered what Megatron might be planning.

Megatron…

Autobot leader shook his head, no use in dwelling on those thoughts…again. Proximity sensors and radio transmitters, yes, he’ll talk to Wheeljack about that. But for now let’s just enjoy the walk to the base, his shift was over and Optimus could spare some time to enjoy the little things. The pink sky was really beautiful this morning, few lonely clouds, the stars barely visible, but still there.

Hm. One seemed to be getting closer. Not even a nano-klik later Optimus recognized the approaching object as not a star, but Starscream. Blue bot didn’t waste any time he took his stance and already opened his communication channel to warn the others-

Wait, something dangled on the line attached to the jet. Something wriggly and suspiciously bot-shaped. The Decepticon transformed and landed elegantly as ever. When clouds of smoke fell, Prime could finally see that the cargo Starscream was carrying was actually-

Optimus’ spark skipped a beat- Megatron?

And why is Starscream missing an eye??

„Greetings, Prime! No need for violence, today, I come in peace.”- he lifted his servos to show no threat. But the way his voice seemed to radiate nothing but joy and the way he grinned was…disturbing to say the least. No, something’s not right here.

„What are you doing here, what is the meaning of this?”- Prime vaguely pointed at the uncanny situation happening before him. Megatron, tied up and gagged, kicking around, throwing metaphorical daggers at Starscream, who- on the other hand-  was happily tightening the knots. Primus, his Optics were practically beaming with child-like excitement! Well, one optic.

„Oh I’m so glad you ask. You see, we’re having a little crisis, nothing to worry about, so don’t even think we- Decepticons, are on a losing position, no, no, no.” He turned Megatron around so he could face the Autobot leader. And only now did Optimus notice that the silver bot was.. bulkier than he last saw him, thicker on his thighs and chest, not to mention the subtle roundness on Megatron’s middle…

„But our beloved leader here can’t be trusted with making sensible decisions, let alone leading the Decepticons in his current… state”- Starscream and Optimus just stared blankly at eachother.

„How to say this delicately? Megatron is insufferable and we can’t stand him. You see my optic? No? Good, who do you think gouged it out, because I told a pun to cheer him up, because he was crying?? -He pointed at Megatron- „No big deal though, Shockwave already has a replacement. Speaking of Shockwave- Megatron yelled at him, because he wouldn’t eat his Energon from a purple bowl, but a blue one. I know- what a petty bastard, eh?. Even Soundwave has had enough of him, which is saying something since those two are so smitten with each other.” Starscream finished, but Optimus felt like he understood even less than before.

„OH! I almost forgot- This is actually all your fault. Me and the rest of high command decided that Megatron should stay with you. Don’t worry, we’ll keep in contact. But he’s your problem now. Good luck and goodbye!”-He threw over his shoulder and dissappeared into the skies, further and further away.

What.

Optimus looked down at Megatron, probably his only chance to getting any clear explanation. He removed the gag and-

„I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY ACTUALLY FUCKING KICKED ME OUT-”

Prime has never been so confused in his entire life.

„Megatron, can you explain, simply, what is going on?”

The Decepticon leader turned his red optics to Optimus, a mocking smirk on his face- „Well I wonder, what could it be…” Megatron moved on the ground to make his chassis and rounded middle more visible.

„Congratulations, Prime, you’re going to be a Sire.”

========================

To be continued...

Whatever pun Starscream told Megatron, it must have been awful

-Pregatron Fanfic Anon

Even if the pun wasn't awful, I imagine the outcome may have been the same.

[zephyruslights]

lil character study that some force possessed me to write in second person pov. idk it just seemed to fit

▫ ▫ ▫ ▫ ▫ ▫

Sweet Malaise

Your spark swells as he draws near—though you cannot see it, you are certain that the coronal plasma must be expanding outward, a not-uncommon manifestation of joy. It's also a manifestation of a few other things, such as seeking a merge, and you cannot help but feel that may be relevant, as loathe as you are to admit it. You would not put that past the spark in your chest, the traitorous, pathetic, pitiable thing. Your yearning seems to reach new lows each time you think you've found the bottom, and you no longer have the wherewithal to be surprised.

The sensation of his field as it lazily entwines with yours is as familiar as light in your optics, yet more indulgent than any of Cybertron's luxuries. It's everything you'll ever need. You want more. You need more. His presence torments your greedy spark, all the more so as your proximity sensors register how near he comes to you.

The urge to turn and grasp that slender waist of his is irrationally powerful. You reroute the energy towards tapping your digits against your desk. It's not a very good replacement, but does provide enough distraction to keep your frame from doing something very stupid without your permission.

Optimus’s field presses deeper into yours with a wave of warming calm that makes your fans catch and your plating shiver. A moment later, the gentle weight of his servo presses down upon your pauldron. You let it steal the tension from your frame, your struts sagging and a breath of too-warm air slipping from your vents along with one of those helpless sighs that he's able to draw from you so easily. The tapping of your digits ceases, your spark having accepted submitting to him touching you, as small of a touch as it is. It's good enough—it needs to be enough, because you cannot have more than this.

Your field ripples gratefully, and you cannot keep the love from it, but it's all right because he will not question it. There are many forms of love. He loves you back, and you can foolishly pretend for a moment that it matches your own before your logic reminds you that you're torturing yourself for no reason. Still, his love feels wonderful. You might cry from it sometimes if you allowed yourself, but beyond being pathetic, that would only give him something needless to worry over.

You are blessed to be his friend. The inappropriate sentiments that you can feel prodding out from your spark��even though you keep actual flights of fantasy truncated and locked away—are surely a result of your own imperfection.

[11092234]

G1 prowl. I don't know where I'm going with with this. Mention of 'suggestive stuff but it's not explicit.' hrhrghrhhhrh

IT was a fine evening that night in his habsuite. As usual, the lights are turned off; room shrouded dim with the only illumination apparent is the iridescent glow from the desk lamp that tugged an ache in his optics.

He persevered, however. No matter how uncomfortable the ache pulsed. Bent over the desk, he skimmed through the expense protocols from this morning's briefings. It wasn't usually his position to handle the funds. The most he's got his hands on is managing the military expenditure, ensuring nothing is nicked during the process. But given the mech prior his employment had handled the situation indelicately, 'usually', he's now tasked with the errand to do so.

Another one of the many issues he'll have to sort through. As if being the tactician isn't enough. Not only will he have to spend weeks formulating battle plans but also play side-hustle as a financier.

Ultra Magnus expected the finished product the end of this week. Unfortunately for him, he'll give it seven days prior.

Footsteps patter in front of the door. He's too fixated on a misspelling to hear it slide open. (Is it so hard to not miss the other 'i' in Liaison?) And when his proximity sensor does register — swivelling around in surprise, the chastise lodged in his throat is cut short when a forty Cybertronians isn't in his view - but tipping his helm down is your minuscule form on the floor.

You peered back up, features twisted in solemn ire. Nose scrunched, lips down turned. Eyes distraught.

"You look..." He tried to find the word. When he couldn't he settled on something less severe he winced out. "...unhappy."

You sighed. "You have no idea."

With a slight tilt of his helm, he crouches to your level and curls out a servo. It didn't take long to waddle onto the palm, clutching the thumb to keep yourself balanced as he raises himself. You blinked when the thumb you're holding moves, pressing against your cheek then back and forth against the skin. You leaned into the touch and nuzzled the ridge.

"I was in trouble.” You spoke after a moment.

Prowl raises a brow. Oh? Trouble? You're not usually the worst ones. Worst are the twins. Along with an occasional Smokescreen and Hot rod thrown into the mix.

"That seems a little vague." He says, ploddings towards his desk.

"Hardly. It's just a little scolding I've got from ultra Magnus."

" What did you do to warrants such a transgression from the commander? Nothing too severe, I suppose?"

"That's for Wheeljack to decide. All I did was follow what the twins told me to do.

He sets you on the table, turning around to sort his datapads while you brought your legs to your chest, crossing your arms and perching your chin on top of it.

"Twins?" He frowned, tossing aside a datapad that read: Base Report #096.

"Sunstreaker? Sideswipe? The twins?" You list off. "...Don't tell me you forgot them too."

"I've got better things to remember." He tosses aside another report. Battle plans. Classified information. Blueprints.A digit points to his helm. “ Hard copies are unreliable. They're easily taken advantage of if not stored safely. That is why it is essential my processors are clear of any 'irrelevant' information."

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Red black. Yellow black. I don't see how hard it is for you to remember primary colors."

"Perceptor is also red and black."

"But you remember him."

"Only because he is my direct liaison to the Scientific district." Prowl turns halfway to you and you can see the quirk of a smile. "He's worth remembering." A pause. “And I suppose," He goes back to his desk. "You are too."

Silence. Prowl's door wings flick up straight as he fully faces you. You observed the unusual blue hue on his cheeks, though. Are those...?

"What did they tell you?" He asked, organizing the datapads

There was a pause as you observed him for a moment.

"Promise me you won't laugh."

He shoots you a look. "I don't laugh.”

"You do."

"Only when it's necessary."

"That's a 'somtime."

"A probability close to half."

You groaned. "Its just some stupid joke they've managed to rook me into. Tell me, what the hell does frag mean?"

His door wings flick up, just as his lips does. " Why, its an equivalent to your, ah, well — equivalent to the curse word—"

" Fuck?" You finish for him since it was obvious Prowl would take a lifetime to enunciate that word.

"How...tragic."

"Oh, please—"

"I'm going to assume they've tricked you into uttering it beside the commander?"

You crawled towaeds him, "They said it means rest! Can you believe that? Everytime I needed a break they told me to use 'frag' since it practically means the same! Except Cybertronian? Can you imagine the humiliation when I realized ice been going around telling bots that I need a frag? To everyone?!"

He scoops you up into his servos,and you noticed the surface lightly shook. You look up and is greeted by the crescent crease of his optics.

"Laugh and I'll pour water on your datapads."

He starts moving again, still unable to hide his sounds of amusement. " I admit that's a little—"

" It's terrible!"

"Yes, very terrible." Prowl sits on the edge of the berth, adjusting his position as he leans back, you perched on his chassis. " You have my condolences."

" Now, everyone thinks I'm some player with a desire to bag all bots in this base!" You hid your face into your palms. The memories of this morning resurfaces and the burn sears into a scalding heat. "This is— they're not even my type.....i don't even— ugh. Take me, now."

"Not unless you've taken the lives of the twins first."

You look up. Prowl is looking down softly.

"Oh, I will." You crawl up, tucking yourself under his chin. "Tommorow. They're never going to escape."

"An apple for an eye?" His voice rumbles as he spoke. A digit curls out and rubs your back.

"A paint job for a paint job." You leaned close into the cables of his neck.

"Sunstreaker adores his finish..." He mumbled.

"That's why I'll give it a little mishap."

[mychlapci]

Can we talk about vampires then auughhhhghhghhh look I grew up on vampire prowl I need him with fangs

By cybertronian standards maybe being a "vampire" is less of a curse and more just like. A fuel processing defect. Their systems cannot process any type of fuel other than medical grade. And unless you work in a clinic there isn't exactly medical grade energon readily available. The only place to get it is from other mechs' fuel lines

Prowl definitely sees it as a defect. A very shameful defect. He thinks it detestable to have to steal fuel straight from another mech. At least, thanks to Ratchet, he has a pretty reliable (and secret) supply of medical grade. He tends to try to stay along the back lines or even back at base to give his commands from there cos the energon that gets spilt everywhere during a battle drives him crazy. He makes sure to always stay away from the medbay for a while after a fight too.

But yknow things will eventually go wrong. It only takes one unfortunate chain of events to have him end up trapped in a cave with the twins during a mission. The twins are in pretty good shape, all things considered, but they have a few small dents and scrapes here and there. But they are leaking energon. And that's the one thing Prowl can't deal with.

As the twins look around the small space they are trapped in, looking for any possible ways out or maybe a weak crack in the rock, Prowl panics. He never panics. It's unbecoming of him to panic. Oh but he's shaking. He's backed himself into a corner, knees pulled up to his chest, as his doorwings rattle behind him.

Every step the twins take wafts the scent of fresh energon into his olfactory sensors. He's not seen or smelt fresh energon in... in years, millenia even if their time in stasis was considered. He can feel his jaw clench so tight that it hurts. His digits dig into his leg plating so hard it starts to dent.

His tanks suddenly feel so empty. He can see his HUD reflects that he should not be in dire need of fuel yet, but- all his other senses lie to him. There's a sharp pang in his tanks and an ache in his denta that tell him he needs it. Maybe he could just lick the stray drips of energon off- NO. No. He will not stoop to that level.

"-owl? Hey, Prowl! You gonna help us or what?"

Prowl's helm snaps up to see the twins leaning over him

"Yeah, you gonna just sit there and mope? Put your slagging battle computer to use and get us out of here."

Prowl's optics are wide as they dart between the twins. Sideswipe has a trail of energon from the side of his mouth, a crack on his arm, a small gash on his torso. Sunstreaker has a scratch on his cheek, a cut on his leg, a-

"Get away from me." He tries to sound stern. Like he's annoyed.

"Sheesh. We cause a cave in once and he doesn't even want to talk to us."

The twins banter back and forth for a bit as to whose fault it is that Prowl is being so cold with them today, but eventually they stop, realising Prowl isn't even giving them an annoyed look. He ducks his helm between his knees again and his doorwings continue to quiver.

"Hey... Sir, you okay?"

"Yeah did you get hurt or something?"

When Prowl doesn't respond, Sideswipe reaches a servo forward, and that's his mistake. The fresh cut on Sideswipe's forearm at such close proximity sets Prowl off. He grabs the offered arm and immediately larches on, sharp denta digging into the wound to tear it open.

"Ow! Hey- What-"

Sideswipe tries to push Prowl off whilst the tactician moans, fresh energon hitting his glossa.

"Prowl what the frag-" Sunstreaker is immediately in defence of his brother, yanking Prowl off Sides' arm and is shocked by the energon that suddenly spills from Prowl's intake and Sides' arm.

Prowl snarls in annoyance and turns his attention to Sunstreaker. The twin is expecting Prowl to struggle away and is really not ready for Prowl to twist his weight against him instead, knocking him to the ground, shock pinning him for just long enough.

Nasal ridge pressed against thick neck cabling, Prowl growls and feels for the minute charges along the cables, sorting between power and fuel lines, before he bares his fangs and sinks them into the largest fuel line he can identify.

Sunstreaker screams at the sharp pain in his neck. He kicks, but Prowl's mouth is firmly latched onto him, hungrily drinking down the energon that gushes from the wound. His engine purrs in contentment, until Sideswipe's tackles him from the side, launching him off Sunstreaker and onto his back

"FRAG. PROWL."

Prowl snarls and struggles under Sides, faceplates smeared with both twins' energon and sharp denta on full display. His optics are crazed and so bright they are nearly white.

ow this arrived back during the first prowl madness, and has gotten buried since... but I am glad that I can bring up vampire robots today. I need vampire robots. vampirism is like breastfeeding, in a way.

Prowl would be an edgy vamp for sure. But it's not much of a question of morality to him as it is a question of decency and shame. He knows he's not supposed to want to drink energon from living mechs' lines, so he pretends that desire doesn't exist. He has to.

ouh but Sunny and Sides smell so good, all riled up and hot and dripping with warm nutrients. It's a miracle he's lasted as long as he did... he doesn't have much control, living on a steady diet of medical grade and rarely seeing gorey battles made his resolve weak. Being exposed to warm energon drives him crazy. He's on top of Sunstreaker in a second, drinking his fill...

Man, It would be so fucked up if they had to stay trapped together while Prowl just kept trying to eat them. Sideswipe is not sure for how long he can keep Prowl restrained. He mellowed out a little after drinking from Sunstreaker, but he's still got that look on his face-plate, like he's ready to pounce any second now....

[sketchnskribbles]

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

The rhythmic clacking of keys echoed through the main room of the hidden mesa base. The noise was level. Controllable. Soothing. A familiar presence. One of the few things that this organic planet had in common with his wonderful homeworld.

It brought a sense of ease that lulled him into the calm of a mindless task. A quiet chore that brought a peace that he could hardly find at any other point within this senseless war. 

A silent alarm popped up in the bottom right corner of his screen and he gritted his denta at the reminder that the children were nearly done with their last day of school before summer break. Because that was just what they needed. Sparklings underpede. 

He shuttered his optics, stretched his digits, and continued his current job. He only had a few short earth hours before the next two months. Which would be filled with youngling fun and fancy free. An absolute boon to the war effort, he was sure. Note the sarcasm. 

He pushed away the souring thoughts. They wouldn't serve anything other than ruin his mood more than it already was. 

He'd gotten back into his groove when a Deception proximity alarm screamed through the mesa. 

A window concerning the potential danger popped up in front of his work and he nearly threw one of his tools in a fit of rage. He didn't, as he was a fully grown cybertronian and he needed those tools.

He maximized the window and narrowed his optics at the information. The signal was unknown. Meaning that it wasn't of any decepticon that they'd been in contact with since they'd moved into this mesa. Magnificent. He wished yet again that they had access to Teletraan I. But Primus-only-knew where the Ark was in this blasted universe.

The bot sighed and notified his team of the disturbance. He got four acknowledgements and ETAs. The heavy pedefalls of his oldest and closest friend coming near brought down some of his frustrated anger. He breathed in a deep breath and closed out of all his open programs. Leaving only the map showing the signal.

Moving away from his monitors, he turned around to greet his Prime. "Optimus."

"Ratchet." The deep baritone welcomed back. The Prime settled his hand on his shoulder plating and giving it a comforting squeeze, as he walked past. He peered at the screens to oversee the tripped alarm and hummed in consideration. That familiar gleam of the infamous strategist brightened up his gaze. "It is of unknown origin."

"Indeed. A new menace to grapple with." The older bot rolled his eyes.

"Or… perhaps a weary soul in need of better allies?" The Prime retorted back with his usual bout of hope.

"As if any Con would understand the meaning of the word." The medic huffed. "You expect too much out of thieves, societal rejects, and ex-convicts."

For a moment, the taller bot looked surprised. Then pained. Ratchet felt a lurch at his spark when he actually took the time to analyze his words. 

He blinked and pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor. There he went, shoving his pede into his derma. Again. "I… I'm sorry Optimus. That came out wrong."

"But full of truth." His leader gently chided. That look of disappointment never faltered. Ratchet sighed and looked away.

"I am sorry. You know of my past and how I was raised… but that is no excuse." Ratchet felt the familiar weight of his friend's servo land back on his shoulder. A comforting weight. Forgiving. The old bot looked back over to the younger mech. They smiled.

Optimus looked back up to the signal and then teasingly back down to the medic. "What do you say we scout out the signal together? It's rather close to being time for our charges to be picked up by their guardians."

"I'd say we're asking for trouble."

"Hmm, that doesn't sound like a no to me." Optimus had already inserted the coordinates into the ground bridge, powering it up. 

Ratchet felt the tell tale of a ping reverberate through him. One that he was sure was felt by the rest of the team. It notified the rest of their orders from the Prime, to retrieve their humans and to join them at base on standby at the soonest opportunity.

There were more pings that flew in soon after. Full of complaints and acknowledgments. They were happily ignored as the two walked through the gate. 

It led into a road through a forest of trees. 

From the position specified on their internal maps, they were about a couple hours away from the heavily populated city of Los Angeles.

It was honestly not too far away from their own home base in Nevada. Less than a day, even. Which was much too close for comfort in Ratchet's opinion. 

He followed Optimus through the trees. Their optics to the skies as they scanned for the source of the signature. It didn't take very long to find the jet. 

They heard the engine long before they caught sight of it. A worryingly familiar palette of purple and black made it ever obvious just who it was, despite the unfamiliar altmode.

" Skywarp." Ratchet growled, his optics narrowing at the jet above. 

He slipped a servo into his subspace and brought out a tiny gadget given to him by Wheeljack. The wrecker had created it on a whim and given it to the medic proclaiming that it needed to be "field-tested" by the team. 

He hadn't yet brought it up with Optimus. A fact that was backed up when the Prime looked down at the medic's arm cannon in confusion while Ratchet inserted the device within a small port that seamlessly opened up.

"...What is that, old friend?" Optimus looked back up to meet Ratchet's optics, wariness pooling in his own. The medic didn't hold the same concerns.

"Jackie said he needed this field-tested. So here it is!" His answer didn't seem to be to his leader's satisfaction.

"Ratchet… let's not be too hasty." A servo found its way over top of his weapon. With enough pressure to imply that he needed to put it down, rather than forcing him to do so. The medic rolled his optics.

"If all goes well, it'll merely incapacitate him. Not kill him. Wheeljack knows of how you operate and wouldn't dare to go outside of those bounds." Ratchet looked over to his old friend, the corners of his lips curling downward the slightest bit. "For all my misgivings with him, I know he respects you too much to do something like that."

With that said, the old medic took aim. An optic closed as he aligned the sights with the plane overhead. He took the shot.

The old bot turned around to smile with pride at his leader, as the plane stalled in the distance. Blue arches of electricity danced along Skywarp’s frame as he was forced down to the ground by gravity.

“I'm quite surprised you actually agreed to test it, old friend.” Optimus sighed and shook his head when the ground shook and a few of the trees ahead cracked and fell. 

“Oh, no. I've run test after test on my terminal on this thing. Also checked the power output and many other things.” Ratchet nullified with a shrug. “I kind of liked the idea of temporarily incapacitating a foe. Just too bad that some of the materials to obtain it are either expensive or hard to obtain.”

“Is that so?” Optimus began his trek forward toward the decepticon. His medic, right on his heels.

A03 | Rectifying Fallacies

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Anatomy of a Dalek

A Dalek is primarily made from Dalekanium and polycarbide and is technically a cyborg. To understand how a Dalek is created, see How Do Daleks Become Daleks?

Some Daleks will have variations on the below, but these aspects of a Dalek's anatomy are broadly applicable to most.

The Dome (aka dome section, head section, head dome) is attached to the neck via a docking clamp.

Eyestalk (aka eyepiece, eye antenna, tele-eye, eye-stick, optical stalk, sensory antenna, eyeball unit). The eyestalk is attached to the dome via a lens attachment, sitting on a pivot in a cowl. The eye itself is known as an eyelens. The eyestalk is covered in multiple insulator discs to protect it from radiation.

Luminosity dischargers (aka headlamp, radiation valve, dome light, vocaliser light, sound disc). It's not quite known how or why the luminosity dischargers sync up with Dalek speech, but they could be energy compensators, translation units, safety valves to release excess energy, or just lights to indicate when a Dalek's speaking.

Neck (aka grating section, upper grating section). Attached to the weapons platform via another docking clamp, or 'catch'.

Neck rings support the neck grille.

Neck grille (aka audio receptor grill, sensor grille, sensor mesh, sensor grid louvres) cover the mutant Dalek within.

Weapons Platform (aka shoulder platform, shoulder section).

Slats (aka solar power collection slats, solar slats, solar cells, shoulder slats, armour slats, sensor plates) are effectively solar panels that absorb energy to power the Dalek.

Gunstick (aka radiation gun, gun-rod, ray-gun, exterminator, blast-gun, energy gun, Dalek neutraliser, neutraliser, beam distributor, Dalek beam gun, Dalek gun, ruby ray blaster). Sits on a balljoint, controlled by armament circuits. Can be set to non-lethal, causing temporary paralysis, but maximum settings can split atoms apart. Some Daleks deliberately reduce the power of their gunstick so that the beam burns away the central nervous system outside inwards, so victims die within 2-3 seconds in complete agony.

Manipulator arm (aka tactile arm, arm-stick). Usually sits on a balljoint. Attachments can be swapped out for various tools depending on the needs of the Dalek. Some attachments include the plunger, flamethrower, seismic detector, electrode unit, sieve, syringe, blow torch, cutting tool, another gunstick, or a claw, or basically anything they need.

Base Unit (aka travel unit). Contains the motive unit, the elevation unit, and thrusters.

Sense spheres (aka sensor globes, sensor arrays, bumps) can do pretty much whatever you want them to, including detecting emissions, monitoring the surrounding environment, and acting as self-destruct mechanisms. They can also function as sockets for cables and wires, and some say the sensor globes are capable of free flight, allowing them to provide remote battlefield intelligence.

Bumper (aka fender). Possibly containing proximal alert systems to detect other Daleks, but more likely just softening collisions.

Gallifreyan Dalek Biology for Tuesday by GIL

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features:⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[kishorxox]

Optical Sensors Market to be Worth $55.4 Billion by 2031

Meticulous Research®—a leading global market research company, published a research report titled ‘Optical Sensors Market—Global Opportunity Analysis and Industry Forecast (2025-2032)’. According to this latest publication, the optical sensors market is projected to reach $55.4 billion by 2032, at a CAGR of 12.3% from 2025 to 2032.

The optical sensors market is experiencing growth driven by the rising demand for optical sensors in consumer electronics and the increasing integration of highly sensitive light sensors in automotive applications. However, limited range and line-of-sight requirements hinder market growth.

In addition, the increasing utilization of optical sensors in healthcare applications and the expanding adoption of advanced light-based technologies for contaminant detection in the food sector present significant growth opportunities for market participants. However, the market also encounters challenges, particularly the high cost associated with advanced optical sensors. Moreover, prominent trends in the optical sensors market include the rise in the adoption of 3D sensing technology in photoelectric sensors and the growing trend of Industry 4.0, IOT, and cloud computing.

Key Players:

The optical sensors market is characterized by a moderately competitive scenario due to the presence of many large- and small-sized global, regional, and local players. The key players operating in the optical sensors market are Broadcom Inc. (U.S.), Renesas Electronics Corporation (Japan), Analog Devices, Inc. (U.S.), Texas Instruments Incorporated (U.S.), TE Connectivity Corporation (Switzerland), Leuze Electronics Pvt. Ltd. (Germany), Honeywell International Inc. (U.S.), Rockwell Automation, Inc. (U.S.), Vishay Intertechnology, Inc. (U.S.), Hamamatsu Photonics, K. K. (Japan), ams-OSRAM AG (Austria), ROHM Co., Ltd. (Japan), ipf electronic gmbh (Germany), SensoPart Industriesensorik GmbH (Germany), and Festo SE & Co. KG (Germany).

The optical sensors market is segmented based on product, type, and end user. The report also evaluates industry competitors and analyzes the optical sensors market at the regional and country levels.

Among the products studied in this report, the photoelectric sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The high demand for photoelectric sensors, which enable non-contact object detection, along with the increasing need to improve system performance and efficiency in high-speed operations, are key factors contributing to the segment's leading position in the optical sensors market.

Among the types studied in this report, the intrinsic optical sensors segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The significant share of intrinsic optical sensors, known for delivering precise measurements of light intensity and wavelength, along with their expanding applications in temperature sensing, pressure monitoring, and chemical detection, are driving the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

Among the end users studied in this report, the consumer electronics segment is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The substantial share of optical sensors in consumer electronics aimed at improving usability and user interaction, combined with the rising demand for smaller, more portable devices and the increasing use of image sensors to enhance camera capabilities for high-resolution photography, are key factors reinforcing the segment's dominance in the optical sensors market.

This research report analyzes major geographies and provides a comprehensive analysis of North America (U.S. and Canada), Europe (Germany, U.K., France, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Sweden, and Rest of Europe), Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, India, South Korea, Malaysia, Australia & New Zealand, Indonesia, Singapore, and Rest of Asia-Pacific), Latin America (Mexico, Brazil, and Rest of Latin America), and Middle East & Africa (UAE, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Rest of Middle East & Africa).

Among the geographies studied in this report, North America is anticipated to dominate the optical sensors market in 2025. The expansion in the adoption of smartphones, electric vehicles, and diverse smart home applications, alongside the rising demand for advanced safety systems and vehicle technology and the increased use of optical sensors in healthcare applications within the region, are key factors contributing to the market's dominant position.

Download Sample Report Here @  https://www.meticulousresearch.com/download-sample-report/cp_id=6040

Key Questions Answered in the Report-

What is the value of revenue generated by the product, type, and end user?

At what rate is the global demand for optical sensors projected to grow for the next five to seven years?

What is the historical market size and growth rate for the optical sensors market?

What are the major factors impacting the growth of this market at global and regional levels?

What are the major opportunities for existing players and new entrants in the market?

Which offering segments create major traction in this market?

What are the key geographical trends in this market? Which regions/countries are expected to offer significant growth opportunities for the manufacturers operating in the optical sensors market?

Who are the major players in the optical sensors market? What are their specific product offerings in this market?

What recent developments have taken place in the optical sensors market? What impact have these strategic developments created on the market?

Contact Us: Meticulous Research® Email- sales@meticulousresearch.com Contact Sales- +1-646-781-8004 Connect with us on LinkedIn- https://www.linkedin.com/company/meticulous-research

[flipping-the-coin]

Ratchet, canyou explain how field attacks work? Why is pax so good at them? Is there any defense against attacks like that? If field attacks are so powerful they can make the prime collapse, why werent they used during the war to help take down Megatron and the cons? Is there special training for that kind of weapon?

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡: ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔱

ℭ𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔩 ℑ𝔞𝔠𝔬𝔫 -

ℭ𝔶𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔞𝔫 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔩 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 -

𝔊𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 -

Orion is so fragging good at using his field as a weapon because evidently, he's had millennia to master it. I don't know everything, but based on what I've pieced together, Orion mainly expressed himself through emotion when he was within the Matrix. Without a frame to divert his attention, he could put his entire being into expressing emotion physically. I assume he likely caused Optimus pain by sending electrical currents through sensory systems in his and Optimus's shared frame. But again, I don't know the details. All I can say for sure is that his skill in focusing his emotions transferred directly into the most severe field attacks I have ever witnessed.

Let me make this clear. The EM field of a Cybertronian is not meant to be painful. It's purpose is to express emotion without words through electromagnetic shifts and flares. The average civilian does this without thinking until they are trained to hold their field close or are given a dampener. It is instinctual for our kind since we are so varied and can be forged with special needs and alternate ways of communicating. In fact, field communication is considered to be the first and purest way to express desire and emotion. Supposedly, before there was language, our kind were bound together as one through the whims of our sparks. Much like words, field flares are not meant to cause actual pain. They are merely intended to get a point across.

But of course, as with all things, there are exceptions.

As a Doctor, I was trained to actively dull my field and taught to increase and decrease my ability to sense fields at will. I learned this through focus training where I was instructed to actively force more of my attention into specific sensory organs. The same general premise applies for those trained to use their field. Not everyone can do it, mind you. Training to use one's field is incredibly difficult since it requires a mech to learn how to imbue more of their emotion into their field through an actual exertion of energy and mental strength. Even when trained, most only learn how to stun temporarily or to create a shield of sorts which makes it impossible for whoever is behind the trained field user to be read by others.

The only actual defense against field attacks is to completely shut off the ability to sense fields. Being unable to sense a field means it cannot be registered as pain. However, that is a very... unsettling process for the untrained. It is akin to losing a whole separate set of optics and is very distressing for anyone who hasn't gone through endurance training. Fields are used for so much, and you never really know how much you rely on it until you walk directly into a wall because your proximity sensors were shut off along with your field. I honestly don't know how the humans last without the ability to sense one another.

It is also somewhat dangerous to train as a field user. Once you learn to use your field as a weapon, it is incredibly difficult to go back to using it as a simple means of communication. Trained users, even when they are trying to be docile and loving, have been taught to put so much emotion into their fields that they are incapable of being mild in their communications. Their average field usage is suffocating for normal mecha, and when they get violent, it physically hurts. Sensors read the emotion being flared as danger, which in turn is translated into pain since the processor is unable to locate any actual source of pain in the frame.

It is a flaw of Cybertronian biology. But it is what allows us to sense danger, so there is no actual winning in this regard.

Explanations out of the way, it is because of the sheer amount of training involved that few soldiers were ever trained in the art of wielding fields. It is time consuming in the extreme and during the war, we simply couldn't risk having our soldiers hurting each other with their fields when things got tense. It would have been chaos. Not to mention field users would have projected their feelings at all times like blazing beacons for the Decepticons to notice. It was simply more efficient for the average soldier to live with field dampeners and keep their emotions hidden from view.

Only the elites were trained to use their fields, and even that was more of a side note. The knowledge needed to train field users was all but lost when the Primacy was destroyed and only the Elite Guard still maintain a degree of the skill that field users once had. Even they are nothing like the Limit Breakers the Council employed before and during the start of the war.

EM fields are not intended to be made into weapons. And quite frankly, I think turning fields into weapons is something that should go die along with the sins of war.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡 - ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔱

[best-first]

{ @paladinofthepits }

Optimus goes to offer his servo out to the latest mech to come by, only to draw himself up short in confusion.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” he finds himself saying, fins dipping back a touch as he recalibrated his optics and tries to understand the garbled read-outs on his HUD. “Uh. Have we… met before? Somewhere? You look familiar.”

How’s he going to explain to this mech (a Decepticon, obviously, but still, some guy) that Optimus’ proximity sensors are pinging him in warning about Megatron being in the danger range?

[quibble-auk]

Heh, part two for… idk what to call this. Jeopardy realizing that Dropmix isn’t a medic?

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

They are so dysfunctional, don’t you love that?

It was a dreamless sleep, restful and deep. It was the kind that Dropmix favored, dreams were messy and too often unkind. He did not mind this sleep, even if there was a dull ache that simmered beneath it. But all good things must come to an end, eventually he would have to wake.

There was no sound at first—just static.

Then pain.

Dropmix’s systems surged violently online, sending a burst of error reports through his central processor. Internal sensors blinked red and orange, readings fluctuating wildly before stabilizing. Every joint ached—they always did, he reminded himself—vents clicked with slow, mechanical distress, and heat built low in his chest. His spark fluttered beneath layers of damaged plating and armor, thrumming softly.

His single optic flickered open.

The ceiling was pale, sterile, crisscrossed with soft lighting—medbay fixtures. Somewhere overhead, the gentle hum of fans spun in sync with a muffled, low tone: a proximity scanner, active. Watching.

He recognized this place.

The outpost medical bay. Home.

The realization didn’t bring relief. Only tension. The kind that coiled up inside his frame and refused to unwind. Dropmix shifted slightly, testing movement—instantly regretting it. Something in his abdomen sparked angrily in response, forcing a sharp vent from his back. His jaw tightened, blunt teeth grinding against each other as he tried to recall what exactly had happened to get him sprawled on his own medical berth.

If Jeopardy was safe.

A voice broke through the haze. Familiar. Tight with restrained panic.

"Dropmix? Hey—hey, you're awake."

Jeopardy.

He didn’t even need to look. He knew that voice. Always on the edge of uncertainty, but brave in ways that Dropmix still didn’t understand. Too soft. Too kind. And far, far too young.

The dark mech almost sighed in relief, the younger medic was safe, hopefully unharmed. Dropmix blinked once, yes—Jeopardy had a filtration system, a mask and the ability to seal off vents. The gas that had nearly fried his own systems didn’t affect the smaller mech, much to his relief.

He forced his head to the side. Jeopardy was seated beside the berth, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees, expression more nervous than usual. The younger mech’s optics flicked rapidly over Dropmix’s face, then his vitals, then back again. His plating was scuffed. Burnt in places. And he looked like he hadn’t recharged since the battle.

Dropmix tried to speak, but his vocalizer sparked—a choked rasp was all that escaped.

It sounded weak, pathetic, unfit for a mech of his standing. It grated against his plating, the sound was more insulting than he’d care to admit. He wasn’t supposed to sound like that, ever. Clawless fingers twitched against the berth, threatening to clench into a fist.

Jeopardy was up in a blink. Not frantic, but close. His hands hovered over the panel beside the berth before snapping back as if he didn't know whether to call someone, check something, or just sit still and breathe.

“Hey—don’t move. Don’t—uh—don’t try to talk yet? You’re still recovering.”

Still recovering.

Dropmix would’ve laughed if his throat weren’t filled with static. He settled for a slow blink instead, the kind he reserved for situations where sarcasm wasn’t worth the breath.

He turned his eye toward Jeopardy again, taking him in more clearly now. He had sat down again, closer this time. The younger mech's lines were tight with exhaustion. His shoulders slumped in the way they only did when he’d been locked in a chair for too long, refusing to leave a bedside. Hands clasped together again, thumb tapping on the other anxiously, an outlet for when Jeopardy needed to remain professional.

It was his tell.

That quiet, repetitive motion that said more than his voice ever could. Dropmix watched it for a long moment, as if studying it might anchor him better than the medbay lights, the hum of machines or the lull of distant music ever could.

Music. Because it was his medbay, he always played music. And now Jeopardy did.

Despite himself and the situation, warmth spread through his chest. Not the uncomfortable and suffocating kind that he had grown accustomed to, but tender. Pride perhaps, or simply just affection.

It didn’t linger long, not with the way that Jeopardy was staring at him.

He wanted to speak—to crack a joke, say something sardonic, ground them both—but his throat burned like slag, and his pride was already smoldering enough without piling on more humiliation.

Dropmix should have noticed the extra claps and the strange seams, he has seen Theremin use his mask once—long before they had ever declared each other Conjunx. It was his own fault, his own ignorance that had landed him in this situation. He didn’t know that medic’s had masks and filtration systems, he never got one installed.

But Jeopardy must know, considering how he had reacted when Dropmix had lied and said his mask was malfunctioning. Perhaps, Jeopardy had forgotten about it in the spur of the moment. Hopefully, he would not question—not that he ever dared to pry very far—about the older mechs faulty equipment.

Equipment that he did not have, nor did he know how to install.

Dropmix ex-vented, a shuddering rattle that Jeopardy instantly misread as pain. He half-rose, hands already moving toward the console again.

The older mech shook his head once—barely a twitch.

“I’m fine,” he rasped, voice raw but functional now.

Jeopardy stopped mid-motion, visibly relieved, but still watching him like he might fall apart at any second. His gaze was unsure, something hesitant lingered in his eyes, more than usual. His lip pressed into a thin line before he picked up a datapad from beside the berth.

“Right—uh,” the young medic paused, taking a moment to skim over whatever was on the pad, “The gas is some form of airborne corrosive, it attacks the connections between the processor and the rest of the frame. That’s why your shut down protocols were activated rather quickly. The rest is mostly surface level damage, scans indicate that your self repair should be able to handle most of it. Though, some vents and other particularly vulnerable parts may need to be replaced.”

Jeopardy’s voice was clinical, precise. He clung to procedure like it could protect them both from the weight of what wasn’t being said. Dropmix knew that tactic. He'd taught it to himself long before Jeopardy had ever stepped foot in this medbay.

The datapad clicked softly in the medic’s hands. Tap. Scroll. Tap again. Then a pause, Jeopardy didn’t look up, “Your malfunctioning contamination protocols and mask will be more difficult to tackle.”

Dropmix froze.

Not physically—he was too well-trained for that—but internally, every line of code that hadn't already been singed by the gas staggered under those quiet, carefully spoken words.

So he hadn’t forgotten.

Jeopardy didn’t say it like an accusation. He hadn’t ever said things like that as accusations, even when Dropmix probably deserved it. There was no edge in his voice, no scorn. Just soft awareness. That, somehow, was worse.

He kept his gaze level, unwilling to break eye contact, even as his spark stuttered once behind fractured armor. His optic narrowed slightly, focusing on Jeopardy’s strained expression—concern, uncertainty, fear. The young medic was afraid of something, and he had no idea of what. His condition wasn’t bad, they were both safe, no one else was around.

The only thing that could be causing the distress was the mask he had mentioned. The lie that the older mech had thrown together on the spot, the one that he would need to continue for both of their sakes. Dropmix prided himself in his ability to redirect and deceive, but that required understanding who he was dealing with and what.

Dropmix did not know anything about contamination protocols and medical masks. He was stumbling in the dark with a half functioning processor and everything to lose.

His vocalizer whirred, voice still raspy but controlled “It’s been awhile since I’ve had the need to activate the protocol.”

Jeopardy nodded slowly, still not looking at him. Something twisted in his expression though, his grip tightened on the datapad by a fraction, something like disappointment flickered through his eyes. His voice was clipped, more strained than before, “Yeah, that… I can believe that.”

The older mech felt the shift, subtle as a hairline fracture across reinforced plating. Not quite a challenge. Not quite trust. Just enough hesitation to sting. A quiet acceptance that wasn’t truly believed.

He forced his thrumming spark to settle, tamping down the sluggish hum of error messages flaring behind his eye. The line he’d given was thin, but he could still control the damage. Redirect. Divert. Control the room the way he always had—through certainty, posture, and tone.

Dropmix could make this more believable, he could be more convincing.

He let his gaze slide toward Jeopardy’s bowed frame, his own expression schooled into the same flat calm he used when delivering mission debriefs over the bodies of teammates they couldn’t save.

“The protocol was old,” he said, voice low, gravel rough. “Outdated. Not something I thought to update. We don’t go in the field that often, and contamination is the least of our worries right now.”

The datapad lowered further. Jeopardy’s eyes flicked up, guarded. Searching almost desperately. “You’re the chief medical officer,” the younger mech said softly. “You’ve been for a while.”

Dropmix huffed, a tired sound that passed for agreement. “Doesn’t mean I expected to be breathing toxins in a trench any time soon.”

He didn’t say it with bitterness. He said it like the truth—which to be fair, it was, he never planned on being gassed. Like something logical. Boring, even. Inconvenient at most.

Jeopardy studied him. Longer this time. Dropmix didn’t fidget under the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to. A lie was a structure—you built it straight, you didn’t lean into it, and you never left cracks to peek through. He couldn’t let himself falter now, he couldn’t lose what little he had.

Eventually, Jeopardy looked away.

Dropmix didn’t let himself relax.

“I can file a requisition,” Jeopardy said after a moment, quietly, disappointment lingering. “Get you a replacement unit. New mask. Updated protocol integration.”

“No.” It came out faster than he meant it to, sharper. Jeopardy’s shoulders tensed. Dropmix caught himself. Let the silence stretch, just enough.

“I’ll do it myself,” he said, calmer this time. “Once I’m cleared to stand.”

The datapad in Jeopardy’s hands clicked again—soft, mechanical. Tap. Tap. Scroll. It was a nervous habit, but Dropmix knew it was also a way of retreating without stepping away. Letting the topic bleed out without confrontation.

Jeopardy didn’t press. He never did.

When the young medic spoke again it was softer, more genuine than his attempt at control before. He nervously looked over at Dropmix, “You… you trust me, right?”

Dropmix’s spark skipped a beat.

He smiled softly, reassuringly, as warm as he could make it. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t have to think much about his response. Despite everything, he could answer this question honestly, “Of course I do.”

The younger medic managed to smile, though Dropmix could see through it, he could see the way something fragile seemed to shatter. Dropmix felt it, the fragility that hung in the air, too delicate for words, too heavy for either of them to ignore.

He watched Jeopardy’s smile crack, ever so slightly, before the younger mech quickly masked it again—his expression smoothing into a mask of his own, trying to stay composed, as though he had never shown that little piece of himself to Dropmix at all.

It stung, that smile.

Not in the way he thought it would, not in the way that others might feel pain from a lie. It was sharper, like the slow drag of a blade across old metal—familiar, yet terrifying in its quiet intensity. Dropmix had said something wrong, somewhere he had messed up.

Jeopardy’s fingers tapped on the edge of the datapad a few times, following the beat of the music that gentle hummed in the background. It filled their silence, heavier than it usually was. The smaller mech looked at the contents of the datapad one more time before setting it down on the bedside table, in Dropmix’s reach this time.

His vocalizer clicked, “I uh… I need to go check on the other patients now.”

Dropmix nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. The hum of the medbay, the soft tick-tick of Jeopardy’s anxious habits, the barely-there music—everything felt distant, like he was on the verge of forgetting something important. He couldn’t place it, but that unfamiliar emptiness gnawed at him.

He hated not knowing what.

Jeopardy stood up slowly, shifting on his feet like he was unsure whether to leave or stay. The older mech knew this dance too well. Jeopardy was always hovering, always worried, but the way he moved now—like he was leaving something undone—made the silence feel more suffocating.

When Jeopardy finally moved toward the door, his hand hovering just above the control panel, he stopped. The door didn’t open.

He turned back to Dropmix, his optics dimmed slightly with fatigue, shoulders sagging even more than before.

"Dropmix..." Jeopardy’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the composure he had carefully crafted. He didn’t say anything more for a moment, just stood there, watching him like he was trying to make sense of the pieces of something broken.

His jaw tightened a fraction, gaze flicking back to the door as he finally pressed the panel, the mechanisms unlocked and he pushed open the door. He didn’t look back as he spoke this time, “Just… get me if you need anything.”

Dropmix remained still, his single optic tracking Jeopardy’s retreating form with careful, silent observation. He could feel the young medic’s anxiety lingering in the room, almost palpable—an uncomfortable tension that clung to the air between them like static. The door shut with a soft hiss, and suddenly, Dropmix was left alone again, the only sounds were the low hum of the medbay equipment and the distant thrumming of his music.

The door clicked quietly as it locked.

Jeopardy never locked the door to a patient's room unless he had a good reason, privacy was not one of them. If the outpost was under attack or if they had reason to believe the patient was aggressive—the door was locked. Otherwise it was an obstacle if something went awry.

For a long time, Dropmix didn’t move. He could feel the silence thickening in the room, pressing against his frame like the weight of all the things left unsaid. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there, staring at the door Jeopardy had just walked through, pondering at what point he had managed to misstep in their interaction.

Why the door was locked.

His systems were still groggy, sluggish, with erratic surges of pain and malfunction, but that was nothing new. The gas had been an unfortunate surprise, but Dropmix had survived worse. He would recover.

The dark mech looked at the datapad on the bedside table, screen still dimly glowing. Whatever Jeopardy had left open was still visible. Screen up, exposed, almost inviting in the way it lay there, as if begging for Dropmix to read it. The dark mech grunted and pushed himself to sit more upright, eye focusing on the screen.

Something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t a medical diagnostic, or a patient file.

Dropmix’s systems whirred with a mix of curiosity and self-preservation. He shouldn’t probe too deeply—not now, not in this state—but he couldn’t help himself. His spark thrummed uncomfortably in his chest as he reached out for the datapad. His fingers, unsteady and stiff, carefully wrapped around the pad and pulled it closer to him.

It was a file, an informational article on a medical frame’s contamination mask and protocols. A brief informational packet on the inner working and purposes of the system, as well as a small section focused on possible malfunctions. That’s where the screen sat idly, focused on the few paragraphs that described potential errors.

The contamination mask and protocols were not a standard program, it was a form of transformation. Not quite like an additional alt mode, but a half morph, something that medical frames had their T-cogs specialized so they could perform. The only way for there to be a malfunction was if there was a physical obstruction that prevented the transformation or if the cog itself was malfunctioning.

Dropmix could see his error now, clear as day, painfully obvious. It clicked into place, why Jeopardy had been so confused when he didn’t deploy the mask, his insistence that it couldn’t have been a malfunction at first. Dropmix had used his alt mode earlier that day, his mask should have worked, he had just scared Jeopardy into not pressing further.

But Jeopardy was smart, smarter than Dropmix would ever be, even if the young mech didn’t believe it himself. This was proof of that, Jeopardy had beat Dropmix at his own game and he was letting him know. He had been fishing for an answer, trying to see how far Dropmix was willing to go to conceal his lie, and he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Which meant that Jeopardy knew more than he was letting on. He knew that Dropmix was lying. The door had been locked because Jeopardy knew he was dangerous.

[adafruit]

Ladyada tries out ChatGPT Canvas for Arduino library writing: A request- tabs & context, please!

We sat down this morning to try and crank out a library for the VCNL4200 light/proximity sensor

- these sorts of chips always have a trillion twiddly registers and are a bear to write. Phil recommended that Limor try out OpenAI's new ChatGPT Canvas (https://openai.com/index/introducing-canvas/). It's fast! And has very few errors. We like to go through each register one by one, add the typedefs and #defines, then the setter/getter functions, and finally the arduino ino 'sketch' to actually test and verify. However, with three files - header, cpp, and ino - canvas can get really confused about which file we're editing and what it's called. Our request! We would love it if there were tabs for 'fixed' file names, and then clicking on the tab set the context for the code we're collaborating on.