thelastpathfinder

[thelastpathfinder]

Ah. You squeak and scrunch your entire body up into a ball of scrawny limbs. "Unicron!" you blurt out. "Something about Unicron. You. I thought—maybe it'd make you smell different, somehow?"

Leans in and sniffs him. Hm.

...Grabs it by the neck. "Dare I ask what you are doing?"

[thelastpathfinder]

You sit alone and watch the rain fall.

In the distance, a thunderhead looms ominously, bristling with lightning. You know from your research and your instincts that Windriders would delight in such a storm; looping and diving between the towering clouds, battling with the lashing winds in the dance that gave them their name.

You're not a Windrider now, though you will be, soon, if you have your way. So you sit and watch the rain, and you dream of a future where you and the storm are one.

[thelastpathfinder]

look at this wayfie animal

my attempts to make one in wayfie's colors went. uh. well it's kind of eye searing

[thelastpathfinder]

"I'm not a cultist. Or a prophet." You look at her, affronted. "I'm talking about something real, something tangible. I mean—" You dither, flattening your rotors. "Theoretically speaking."

You flip your puzzle cube over in your hand, dancing it across the back of your knuckles. Its corners are worn smooth from constant use. How many times have you solved it, now? A hundred? A thousand? It has become your dear companion, able to pull your mind back into place when it starts to wander.

"It must be strange," you say, more to yourself than the spider. "To never be surprised. It must be tempting, as well. To use that power for personal gain."

𖥻 ⎁ ⭑ identification : @thelastpathfinder ✫ life has a way of revealing the truth to you before it occurs. — prompt .

but never accurately enough. there's an itch under her chest plate, deep in her ancient alloys and hydraulics that pinch at her vitals with something cruel and bitter ... he sounds like them. the insects of the primitive jungle planet which prefer to revel in their abilities wasted on a community of dissenters and laggards : a gift that's so, in their own words, fickle. yet sacred -- a blessing. secretive even amongst the beasts that crawl on their bellies for even a glimpse into what the universe has for them in its boundless pocket ... even without a variable thrown into the deterministic laws. it's all so pathetic.

“ you sound like some cultists i once knew. ” it's an exaggeration, of course; airachnid is nothing if not dramatic. the fateweavers and their small community were a scientifically religious staple on eukaris, but never demanded any tithe or worship. that was simply a byproduct of fools misplacing their faith. “ shortsighted prophets. what a phenomenon, hm? ”

[thelastpathfinder]

Do you remember a time when things were right? You think back to your limited memories of your life before becoming a Pathfinder. You think of Tauler, your beloved old mentor, dying in your arms as Uraya burned. They'd blamed you for that. All of it. The murder, the genocide of the undesirables who made a living amongst the industrial waste.

And for a time, you had believed them—that you could be so evil. You would have died believing it, had you not glimpsed the truth with your Sight. You may be absolved of that particular crime, but there are still others. You look at your fist and think of Longwing.

"No," you answer truthfully. "I don't." You sigh and lower your arm. "But I have to try and make it right. Don't I?"

Watching Wayfarer's hands, he nods in agreement. Home would always be his alt mode on Max's neck, Galen a puzzle of mechanical and organic parts deep inside him. Visor dimming, Cerebros decided not to share that, knowing he could never return home, never even be the complete person he was, again, but he could come close. Mac reached out to him in concern, the ebb and flow of their bond flooding Cerebros, warping around him, comforting him. It helped.

"I can relate," he sympathised, nodding again. He reached into the other mech's space tentatively, running a single finger down the length of a tear in the armour clearly inflicted by something unbearably hot. He withdrew his hand, the feel of plating beginning to melt and twist a faint echo of Max's memories in his back. He'd fussed over the repair until Max forbade him from doing so. "How do you stop it? And- what's right? Do you really remember a time when things were right?"

The question isn't mocking, but almost desperate. As old as Fort Max was, he had never known a peaceful Cybertron. Transformers had, seemingly, been crawling out of the pits armed and hostile, surviving, since the very first. Before the Energon crisis there wasn't peace, merely a lack of war.

[thelastpathfinder]

If it's any consolation, everyone around you is a killer, murderer, or worse. In a way, now you almost fit in better.

"That's not—" You groan, rubbing a hand down over your faceplate. "That's not the point."

[thelastpathfinder]

Do you think you've changed since you'd first killed Longwing? Do you think there's something in you that you'll never get back after that? Are you afraid?

"Do you think I've changed since I murdered someone?" You almost laugh, but it gets caught in your intake. "I'm—yes, I'm afraid. I think about Longwing every day, and I dream about him most nights. His ruined face, the sound he made when he died."

You flex your claws, then tuck them up beneath your elbows and hug yourself tightly. "I can't deny that it felt good. That's what scares me the most. I don't want to be a killer."

[thelastpathfinder]

do you think you would have been a Decepticon or Autobot?

"A Decepticon. Or at least Farsight would have been." You glance around you nervously to make sure no-one is within earshot. "I know I'm friends with a few Autobots, but—it was different then. Not that I think I would have lasted long, being as small and weak as I am."

"... I think it best we keep this conversation between us."

[thelastpathfinder]

"See?" You hook a thumb over your shoulder at Perceptor. "He saw it. The molecule. It must be because you don't have special optics, like us."

You hop, reaching up to the highest shelf, and grab a data-pad out from between its neighbors. You clutch it to your chest with your secondary arms as you slink back to the desk, reaching up to tap Prowl between the optics with a claw.

"You should get a special optic for a replacement. I'd give you mine, but I only have the one. Can I read this? It says classified on it, but it looks old."

@for-the-better-and-worse

"Something molecule shaped and sized just passed by me."

Prowl squints at Wayfarer through his good optic, before turning to scan his surroundings. Purely to double-check. "Any molecule in particular, or?" he asks, because there are billions of molecules, all molecule-shaped, everywhere, practically all moving around at once. A little clarification would be nice. He turns to Perceptor, frowning. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

@rifleseye

--------

[thelastpathfinder]

You take the chunk of metal, turning it over in your hands idly. You have a good idea of what it is. "Home can be people," you echo quietly. "That's true."

Home can be Prowl, and Perceptor; it can be making Skywarp laugh or quietly watching Tarantulas at his work, you think. You feel guilty for desiring more than that. "It was my fault. I came back to Cybertron," you say. "The Institute of Praxus took custody of me. Then they tried to kill me. I still don't know why."

You rest the chunk in the palm of one hand and clench the other into a fist. "I have a horrible feeling that something bad is happening because I returned. The feelings I get never lie. It's my duty to stop it, and make things right again."

"I want you to live, too," Cerebros murmured, resisting the urge to shrug a shoulder. He knew his statements were usually sweeping - It was Max who held their collective judgemental sensibilities, Max who always demanded the details. Max, the nitty-gritty. Cerebros sat down next to Wayfarer, clunking heavily, and offered him the piece of metal.

"I don't know where home is, either, unless home can be people. How do you fix it? What you started?"

[thelastpathfinder]

You stare back at him, unblinking. There's a certain relief that comes with being told you're not evil, but there's anxiety, too. Cerebros was quick to render judgement even without knowing the full story. If he knew Longwing, if he was his friend, would his answer still be the same? Somehow you don't think so.

"That's good." You shift uncomfortably, looking away. "I don't want to be evil. I want to survive, and fix what I started. And I want—" What do you want? "I want a home. I just don't know where it is yet."

He looks at Wayfarer when he compliments him, head tilted, face unreadable behind his visor and bevor. He's been called noble many times; he wonders what it means for a Pathfinder to say it.

"No. It's normal, and you're just trying to live," he replies without hesitation, Max's voice in his throat. "We've all killed. There are many evil deeds, but fewer evil people, I think. I believe in nuance."

[thelastpathfinder]

We share everything. You shutter your optic and float in the darkness, wondering what that must feel like. Does it feel like having two minds at once, or two separate minds that are perpetually linked, thought for thought? You can't picture it, so you stare at the chunk of metal Cerebros holds instead.

"I think that's very noble of you," you say, truthfully. You hesitate before continuing: "Is it wrong of me to want to hurt those who hurt me, who are still hunting me?" And, even quieter: "If I killed someone who was only following orders, am I evil?"

"I do share it," he says, idly turning a sheared off piece of Max's armour over in his hands. It predates Cerebros. "Fortress Maximus and I share everything. Besides-"

Switching his visor off diagnostic mode, he brushes a thumb across the twisted piece of blue metal. "We're a force for justice and peace. I've seen enough pain to know I don't want to make anymore of it."

[thelastpathfinder]

› 🗣 ▮

-CEREBROS✧

🗣

"You're so much larger than your body." You sit with your knees pulled up to your chest, your head resting on your arms. Looking at Cerebros sideways, you can almost imagine he's floating in zero gravity. "How can you stay so kind, after everything you've seen? Isn't it hard? It must be easier to share your pain. There's people out there who deserve it."

[thelastpathfinder]

You immediately start backpedalling away, keeping plenty of distance between yourself and the hunter. You are not letting yourself get caught in his grasp a second time.

"This little bird," you snap, feeling like you're going to purge your tanks just by speaking those words aloud, "has better things to be doing than teaching you manners."

You transform, fire your thrusters in his face to add insult to injury, and zip away before you can be tempted to kick him again.

"Yeah, you fucking cracked the protective covering, ass." He hissed, staggering slowly up to his pedes and snarling quietly. Get this first, then give him another bite mark, take a trophie this time.

"Little bird has some fucking bite to it. That's a surprise."

[thelastpathfinder]

"That was your own fault," you spit back at him, arms folded. "You should have shut your intake when I told you to, not dared me to do it myself."

And then, because you do feel a little bad watching him squirm in agony: "You should see a medic about that. I think I felt something break, and it wasn't my foot."

You look the hunter up and down, your expression unreadable. Then, with absolutely no prior warning, you swing one clawed foot up between his legs—hard.

You're pretty sure you hear his plating crumple. It's oddly satisfying.

There's a screech and a long series of chitters, clicks, chirps and snarls as he holds where the little white mech kicked. Oh, he forgot how much that hurt-

"I shoulda bit harder." He hissed out, wheezing and taking slow, deep vents. Ooohhh he might just give the mech another mark just for this-

[thelastpathfinder]

"I don't think it's right to be joking about bounties, actually." You look even paler than usual, somehow, and your smaller pair of hands shake when you clasp them together.

[thelastpathfinder]

🗣

🗣

"You look like you're always in pain." All that's visible of you in the shadows is your optic. "The kind of pain that's deep inside, not physical pain—though there's that too. Either you did something terrible and it won't leave you, or something terrible was done to you. Probably both."