#〔down/uplink〕

[cerebrosurgeon]

[ RECIPIENT: CEREBROS. SENDER: PROWL. ] > Work has been running ahead of schedule at the office lately. I happen to have a free day tomorrow. If you haven't had the chance yet, and are willing, I'd like to invite you to the office for a drink.

〔 CALL SIGN PROWL : 1 NEW MESSAGE 〕

› You're on my schedule.

› Fort Max and I, or just me?▮

[cerebrosurgeon]

"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."

› 🗣 ▮

-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."

[arc-misadventures]

The Jackalopes

"Ba ba baa ba bahhh..."

"Bzzzt bzzit... bzz..."

"Ba ba ba..."

"Bzz... Bzzt... Bzzzt!"

"Do do dodoo..."

"Bzz... bzzt... bzz..."

"Hmm...? Yep, that otta do it."

"Click!"

"Alright... SALEM?"

"Yes, my Lord? "

"The last of the, 'Kings' are finished. Can my, 'Queen' uplink to the, Kings?"

"I can at once, my Lord. But, may you clarify a question for me?"

"Go ahead."

"If I the, Strategic Attack Logistic Engine Mainframe. Codename: SALEM. I am considered the, 'Queen.' And, these, Kings are the mobile command modules, what are you in all of this, my Lord?"

"Hmm... Well, not to sound vain, but since I created all of you you could call me a, God. But, I much prefer to be called the, Architect if anything. Since I built you, and all the various drones, and since I came up with this plan; Calling myself, The Architect is a more fitting name in my opinion. What are your thoughts, SALEM; Does that sound fitting, or does that still sound a little vain? "

"It does not, calling yourself the, Architect is a far more humble title. Although, others may still see you as vain, considering they will not know the history behind your new moniker, 'The Architect."

"Yes... Even more so if I said I was the, 'The Architect of Ozkin demise... Let us begin, SALEM. It is time for, Ozkin to remember that my family will always keeps their word..."

"Especially when it comes to dealing with those that break their word... "

~~~

Fire, explosions, and screams. On a night meant to celebrate the coming of four nations, a day of unity, The Vytal Festival. And yet, instead the of the city of, Vale being based in the light of neon light, it basked in the light of fire. Instead of the booming echoes, and multicoloured lights from fireworks being shot in the sky, explosions of cars, powerlines, and machines erupted in blazing balls of fire. And, instead of the cheers, and cries of a people celebrating together, there was the cries of the fearful, and the dying.

Vale was in flames.

The White Fang, Grimm, and rouge Atlasian Knights had flooded the city. Hunting, and killing all those that got in their way. Wrecking havoc all across the city. Hunters, both professionals, and trainees were running about, trying to save as many lives as possible, often in vain attempt. For there were too many, Grimm, and fanaticals among the, White Fang raising hell across the city, and too many people were dying. They were losing, Vale had fallen.

And, just like many others, May Zedong, a Huntress-in-training of, Shade Academy was about to meet a grewsome end, just like many others. At least, she thought she was.

~~~

"Fuck... fuck fuck fuck!"

May Zedong was panting as she tried to run, she had tried to fight off the, Grimm hordes, but there were too many, she had been separated from her team, she had been disarmed, and now she was the hunted, instead of the hunter.

Struggled raspy breaths escaped her lips as she tried to escape, but the gash on her leg was slowing her down as she tried to flee from the Beowulf's hunting her down for sport.

"Ah! Ah! Aaahhh?! Ophh?!" She fell, May had tripped over a piece of broken debris. She turned over to see a Beowulf slowly moving towards her. Tears ran down her face as she felt absolute terror in her very soul as this beast was about to charge her, and kill her.

"Please someone... Save me!" Tears fell down, May's eye as she closed it shut, not wanting to see her death coming. She heard the monster cry out, about to charge, and kill her, but suddenly silence.

May opened her eye, and instead of a group of, Grimm ready to take her life she saw a figure in white. It bore white armour, a large buckler shield that was two thirds it's height, and a long bladed spear, and most noticeably it had large white ears upon it's head. It looked similar to a...

"A... A rabbit...?" May gasped a she watched the rabbit stare at her for a moment before it, and several of it's kind jump away, and make it's way across the city of, Vale.

These white rabbits jumped across the city of, Vale, jumping down upon members of the, White Fang, and running them through with their weapons, or using their strong mechanical legs to jump high up onto ramparts, roofs, or balconies, and started raining down hell on, Grimm, rouge Atlasian Knights, and radical faunas alike.

Qrow Branwen watched on in bewilderment as several of these bunnies race about the city, slaying all those that stood before them as they went about.

"What the fuck...?" Qrow wondered aloud as he saw these bunny knights race about the city. He looked up into the sky to see several white Bullheads dropping dozens more of these bunny knights throughout the city. But, as he watched on, he saw where several of these crafts flying off into the air in a different direction.

"What... They're heading towards, Beacon...? I need to get their fast...?!" He was about to make a mad dash to find a way, any way to get to, Beacon. But, several of these rabbit knights surrounded him, their bodies standing perfectly still, all but one whose head was moving side to side as it looked at him.

"Uhh... You need something...?" Qrow nervously asked as the rabbits looked about him, until one of the rabbits spoke.

"Branwen. Qrow. Human. Gender: Male. Occupation: Huntsmen. Affiliation: Beacon Academy."

"Uhh yeah... Yeah that's me...?" Qrow was confused, he listened as the rabbit spoke in a low, soothing metallic voice, as it spoke several bullet points about him.

"Target identified. Surrender now. Ally of: Ozkin the Traitor."

The rabbit knights entered a defensive posture as they leveled their weapons at him. Qrow was taken aback, not by the fact several apparently, robot bunny knights were pointing weapons at him.

On second thought, he was taken aback the fact several rabbit knights that were as high as his chest were pointing weapons at him. But, it was the fact that they said that name, that they said, Ozkin, not, Ozpin. They called him, Ozkin which meant that whoever, or whatever had built these things knew exactly who, Ozpin was. And, whoever they are wanted, Ozpin's head.

Qrow drew his scythe as a sarcastic smirk moved across his face as he looked at these silly little bunnies.

"Yeah, I ain't going to do that..."

"So. Be. It." Echoed the metallic voice as they charged the veteran Huntsman.

"Rahh!"

The sounds of metal clashing against one another could be heard throughout the air. But, high above them in the clouds none could hear them. Especially atop a flying, Atlasian Battleship.

Upon the ship, a pair of criminals were gloating about their victory, but were preparing to make their daring escape as they had enough with their, 'business partners.'

"Alright, Neo! What do you say, we fake our deaths, and flee to, Mistral? Let's leave these fanatical dogs behind!"

Roman Torchwick, an infamous criminal of the city of, Vale said to his mute companion who nodded her head in agreement. The White Fang had forced them to partake in their schemes. Sure they had said they would be making a lot of money by doing this, but now that their work was done, they needed to get the hell out of here. Because, at this rate there would be nothing to rule when the, White Fang were finished.

"Alright let's get...?!"

The duo of thieves were about to make their daring escape, but they were stopped as a series of rabbit knights surrounded them. Roman, looked on them in utter bewilderment, Neo swooned over them at how cute they were.

"Torchwick. Roman. Human. Gender: Male. Occupation: Thief. Vanille. Trivia. Human. Gender: Female. Occupation: Thief."

Roman reeled back in shock as a robot rabbit thing called him out, but not nearly as much as, Neo did since it said her name, more so that it said her birthname. She looked on in fear as she saw the various weapons these rabbits were carrying.

"What the... How the hell do you bunny's know her real name?!"

The rabbit that spoke, walked forward, it was different compared to the rest of them, it bore a crown upon it's head with golden trimming. They watched the rabbit as it's eyes changed from a black opal to a ruby red as a new voice echoed through it's speakers.

"Roman Torchwick, and Vanille Trivia. Or, should I call you, Neoplitian?"

Instead of the low, soothing metallic voice, the rabbit spoke in a warm, motherly human voice appeared as they addressed the pair. Neo nervously nodded her head as she answered the robot bunny.

"Okay, so you know who we are... what do you little rabbits want?" Roman pulled out a cigar, trying to calm his nerves, and project an aura of control. He reached into his pocket trying to find his lighter, only to realize it was gone.

"Crescent Moon wishes to offer you a new business opportunity. One that I am sure you will be all too willing to accept."

Roman's eyebrow arched upward in shock, 'Crescent Moon' was a secret business partner he had had been working for, for years. Often, he acted as an information broker, or stole schematics, and raw resources for. And, working for, Crescent Moon always paid, it paid very good.

Roman eyed the rabbit knight as it walked forward, the tip of it's bladed spear started glowing red as, Roman felt heat emanating from it. He smiled as he walked over to it, placing his cigar on the blade tip, feeling the heat emanated from the tip before blowing a few buffs of smoke. He drew in a deep breath of smoke before letting it out, watching it fly through the air before looking back at the rabbits with a wide grin on his face.

"You've got my attention~!"

Roman laughed as, Neo started cooing over the rabbits. The rabbits swiftly took command over the, Atlasian Battleship as they charted a new course towards the, Amity Colosseum.

Several of the white Bullheads, Qrow Branwen had seen before he had been engaged in a fight against the white rabbits. Dozens of them were seen flying towards the, Amity Colosseum. Unloading dozens of these rabbits throughout the colosseum. Several of them landed by the docks, unloading their cargo of warriors before ushering everyone from civilians to, Hunters inside.

One such person was rushing over to see who these unexpected saviors were, hoping to gain any information on who, or what these saviors were.

"Who are you?! I am, General Ironwood, of the, Atlasian Military! I demand you identify yourselves right this instance!" General Ironwood ran over to the rabbits knights. Several of them stopped to stare at the, General before fanning out to block him from reaching the, Bullheads.

Ironwood stopped as he looked at the dozen, or so rabbit robots adopting a defensive position before him. Ironwood's grip on his pistol tightened as he watched these perfectly still robots stare him down.

"Ironwood. James. Human. Gender: Male. Affiliation: Atlas Military. Atlas Academy. Occupations: High General. Headmaster."

Ironwood turned on his heel as he heard his name, and a his position being called out. He turned to see another rabbit knight, this one armed with a longsword, and a crown with gold trimming. It was flanked by several other rabbit knights armed with what he assumed to be pulse rifles.

"You know who I am? They it would be best if you identified yourselves. Least you want to deal with the wrath of, Atlas!"

"Target identified. Surrender now. Ally of: Ozkin the Traitor."

"Ozkin the traitor...? How do you know that name, and what do you mean by calling him a trai...?!" Ironwood's breath fled his lungs as he saw an emblem etched into the shield, an emblem he had learned who it had represented, or more correctly, who it still represented.

Ironwood drew his pistol, and fired off two rounds; one round struck the head of the rabbits, causing it's head to erupt into a cloud of smoke, and metal fragments. The second shot hit the raised shield of the crowned rabbit knight. It didn't pierce the shield, but it left a sizeable dent in the shield.

But, before he could fire off another shot, the rabbit knights were upon him. Ironwood, could feel his body being pushed back as two blast from their pulse rifles hit him, despite their small size they packed a substantial punch, a punch strong enough to knock him to the floor. As he try to stand back up, several of the bunny robots bladed spears were thrusted into his robotic arm, and leg destroying the all of his cybernetics in an instant.

Ironwood screamed in rage as he felt his cybernetic limbs being torn bit from bit as he was dragged into a, Bullhead, and sent away.

As the Bulkhead escorting the prisoner rose into the sky, it passed several much bulkier air transports that were making their decent upon the battlegrounds of, Beacon Academy hell was still being unleashed.

Several Bullheads had landed, and unloaded their cargo, sending dozens, upon dozens of white rabbit robot knights across the grounds of, Beacon Academy. Hunting down any, Grimm that they came across. But, even more battles were happening within the halls of, Beacon Academy.

"AHHH!"

A scream of pain echoed through the ruined cafeteria of, Beacon Academy as a girl dressed in black cried out in pain as blade was ripped out of her belly.

"You have hurt me, and our cause my love… We were suppose to light the flames of revelation against humanity! And, yet you ran away? Like the coward you are..."

The girl placed her hand over the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding as the faunas dressed in black with a red rose across his back walked over her bleeding form, gloating his victory as the flames of revolution were ignited.

"Well, I could keep you alive, but I think I’ll send your severed head in a box to your parents, that would send a good message to you parents, to all faunas! Of, what should be done with traitors!"

"No! Adam, wait! Please no!"

The girl screamed out in terror as she saw her vengeful former lover raise his blade above his head preparing to strike her down.

"Goodbye, Blake... RAHHH!"

"NOOOO!"

His blade was about to fall, but was stopped when he saw several, white rabbit robot's enter the cafeteria.

"Wha...? What the hell are those?!"

The girl saw one rabbit turn to look at him as he screamed, it's head twitch to the side as they looked at him. Before speaking in a low, soothing metallic voice.

"Taurus. Adam. Gender: Male. Faunas: Bull. Affiliation: White Fang. Terrorist organization. Rank: Commander. Command order: Terminate on sight."

"What?! You dare think I will allow, Atlas's special little robots to kill me?! Bring it on you bastards!" Adam Taurus roared in rage as he charged the robot bunnies.

Adam slashed his sword, unleashing an energy blast cleaving two of the robots into pieces. But, several more darted around him slashing with their blades, slowly chipping away at his aura as he tried to block their attacks, but failing to do so as they quickly darted around him, faster than what he expected.

"RAHH! You dare think you pitiful bastards can stop me?! I will destroy you! I will destroy you all! I will... GAHCK?!"

Blake watched on in horror as a bladed spear erupted from his back, as his body was effortlessly lifted into the air. She watched as, Adam's body further slide down the bladed spear, coughing up blood before his body hung limb upon the bladed spear. His body was lifted up higher before being thrown off the bladed spear to land pathetically on the ground. Dead.

She looked at the robot rabbit, it's pristine what armour stained red from freshly spilt blood as it slowly slide off it's armour onto the ground. It turned to look at, Blake, blood dripping off it's face.

"Belladonna. Blake. Gender: Female. Faunas: Cat. Affiliation: Student. Beacon Academy. Former affiliation: White Fang. Status: Injured. Requesting medical support."

Several of the rabbit robots broke away from, Blake, and started making their way through, Beacon Academy. While three of them, particularly the one drenched in blood stayed behind. She watched on as her hand tried to cover over the hole in her chest as her blood continued to spill out.

Her breath started becoming heavy as she the adrenaline spike was wearing off as she continued to bleed out. She was starting to feel weary, and her vision bleary, but she could hear with her heightened hearing that something was coming closer. She turned to her side to see another trio of rabbits walking towards her, with the one in the center looking different that the rest of them.

This robot had a buckier body, a large backpack on it, with bulky gauntlets on it’s arms, but what stood out the most to her, was instead of the beady eyes the rest of these robot bunnies commonly had, this one was outfitted with focal lenses. It scanned over her before kneeling down besides her, placing it's hands over her wound.

"Analyzing blood. Analyzes complete. Blood type: B-. Minimal blood lose. No requirements for blood transfusion. Puncture wound. Cause: Blade. Lethality to patient: Minimal. Executing recommended treatment procedure."

Blake marveled as the evidently, 'combat medic bunny' started treating her injury. It first quickly stabbed her with a needle, causing, Blake to yelp in pain as she felt the sudden jab in her arm. But, her body slowly started to relax as she felt a warm current flow through her veins, obviously some sort of pain killer.

She watched in amazement as the robot pulled out gauze from it's back pack, and socked up some of the excess blood on her arm. She felt a spray, most likely a sterilizing spray over her wound, before she say it's fingers on it's right hand open showing a needle that effortlessly, within the time it took a person to blink stich up her wound. It cleaned up the wound one more time, before placing a patch over the wound.

"Treatment complete. Recommendation: No movement. Movement may result in stiches rupturing. Rest." The 'medic' spoke in a calm. soothing yet metallic voice before it turned to address it's fellow robot rabbits. "New call for medical treatment received. Departing imminently. Stay to protect patient. Recovery team inbound."

"Understood."

Blake watched as the medical team departed, she could feel her consciousness slowly begin to fade no doubt a result of the pain killers. But, she had to ask one more question before she succumbed to sleep.

"W-Who are you...? What are...?" Blake's voice was weak, straining to remain conscious as she asked the question that had been no doubt asked a thousand times today. She watched as the blood stained rabbit turned to face her while it's companions were keeping watch.

"We are the, Jackalopes. Servants of the, Architect."

"T-The Architect...?"

"The Architect of, Ozkin the Traitor demise."

"O-Ozkin... the T-Traitor...?" Slumber soon swiftly overtook, Blake as she faded into darkness. The robot rabbit knights, the Jackalopes watched over her resting body as others darted within, and without the halls of, Beacon Academy.

Within the many yards of, Beacon Academy the majority of the invaders had been dealt with by the, Jackalopes. But, still some of the larger threats remained.

Several of the stolen, Atlasian Paladins were still engaged in combat with, Beacon's students, and faculty along with an array of visitors. Unlike the previous one several students of, Beacon Academy had faced, these were the fully equipped, and armed, more than a match for even veteran Hunters. Particularly for, Glynda Goodwitch, Deputy Headmistress of, Beacon Academy.

Glynda kept creating glyphs to act as barriers to protect her precious students from the raging, Paladins attacking them. Blocking their fists, and heavy weapons form smashing them to bits. But, they were having a damnable time to break through these damned machines.

"Pull back! Take the wounded away from here!" She shouted as she saw several students pull injured their fellow classmates away from the frontline.

Glynda was struggling to stand as her aura was near depletion, and her semblance was barely holding back the vicious attacks from these rouge, Paladins. She was not willing to die here, she would not allow herself to fall down leaving her precious students in harms way. But, as another strike from a, Paladin broke through her barrier, sending her flying through the air she thought otherwise. She landed roughly on the ground, pulling herself up as she looked through broken glasses at the oncoming, Paladin.

Glynda cried out in despair within her mind as she stared down this hulking mech. She feared that she was going to die now. She feared that she would not be able to protect her precious students from harm. That she failed her duty as a teacher. And, as the Paladin hovered over her, and as she prepared for death an unexpected savior appeared.

As the foot of the, Paladin came down to crush, Glynda, she was swiftly grabbed, and pulled away. Glynda looked to her sides as she saw a pair of rabbits pull her away. She was shocked by what she saw, but more so by what she knew these rabbits represented.

"J-Jackalopes? When did you get here?!"

But, before, Glynda could gain an answer the pair of, Jackalopes let her go aways away from the, Paladin before rushing in to engage it in close combat. They darted around the, Paladin hacking, and slashing the armour of the, Paladin. They bounced off harmlessly of its armour, but their overall goal wasn't to destroy the, Paladin, but to draw it away from, Glynda, and her students.

Glynda watched as the, Jackalopes that had just slashed at the, Paladin run away as a series of explosions ripped across the back of the, Paladin. It turned to see a massive, Jackalope, only a few feet taller than the, Paladin making it's way towards it, launching several more rockets from missile pods across it's back.

The Paladin fired several rounds at the heavy, Jackalope, but it raised it's shield up blocking the oncoming missiles before bashing the, Paladin with it's shield, sending it reeling back. It threw a wide, wild punch at the heavy, Jackalope that effortlessly cut it's arm off with it's sword lance. As the, Paladin's severed arm still fell the, Jackalope thrusted it's bladed spear through the, Paladin running it clean through. It's super heated blade ran through the mech like a hot knife through butter. Is placed it's foot upon the, Paladin, and kicked it off it's blade. Letting it fall upon the ground with a dull thud.

"Since when did...?" Glynda watched as hundreds of Jackalopes flooded across the grounds before darting into the forest surrounding, Beacon. Glynda watched as several more, Jackalopes came rushing forward, only this time with several, Jackalopes equipped with large backpacks rushing over to check on the injured students.

Glynda then turned her head to the side as she saw a trio of, Jackalopes rush over to her, only with the figure in the center holding a war hammer instead of a bladed spear, and a gold trimmed crown upon it's head. As it neared her it addressed her in a calm, soothing metallic voice.

"Goodwitch. Glynda. Human. Gender: Female. Affliction: Beacon Academy. Deputy Headmistress."

Glynda looked at the, Jackalope as it rattled off information about her, before stopping, and it's eyes delved into a ruby red shade, and adopted a more warm, human motherly tone of voice.

"Greetings, Lady Goodwitch. We have been searching for you since entering, Vale airspace."

"My apologies, SALEM. I haven't reached for my scroll since the attack started. I've been focusing on protecting my students, but I thought the plan was to invade after the, Vital Festival?"

"That originally was the plan. But the, Architect deemed it an opportune moment to strike while the, White Fang, and the Grimm were invading the city."

"Because it would make the, Jackalopes, and subsequently the, Architect look like the saviors of the day. And, while that is happening, you can make it look like, Ozpin and all those that stand besides him died during the liberation..."

"Precisely." The ruby eyed, Jackalope replied as, Glynda let loose a heartly laugh as she ran hand through her disheveled hair, as a vindictive smirk spread across her face.

"Finally! After all these years, our family will be avenged! You will find, Ozkin... Ozpin at the top of his tower! Find him, and make him pay for what he did to us!" Glynda yelled in a bloody rage at the, Jackalope. As a mad delight echoed in her voice. She had been playing the faithful follower for that bastard for years now, and now it would finally, finally come to an end.

As, Glynda screamed her furry, she watched as the, Jackalopes eyes changed for a ruby red, into a deep vibrant blue. It spoke in a voice of a calm, yet vengeful fatherly tone as it spoke to the girl before him.

"That's my girl."

The, Jackalopes jumped away from, Glynda as they made their way towards Beacon tower. She laughed in amusement as she saw the little rabbits make their way towards the tower. She smiled, while today was going to be a painful day for her, no doubt a number of her students had been killed today. But, her family would have their revenge this day, and that's all that mattered.

As a dozens of, Jackalopes rushed up the stairway leading to the top of, Beacon Tower, Ozpin's office. Ozpin was looking over his desk, checking over all of contingency plans to help him deal with the aftermath from this attack. He would need to contact, Ironwood to help come up with plans to subjugate... liberate the faunas from the, White Fang.

Yes, he thought. This would help deal with the faunas, and bring the world to peace so the, Brother Gods would return, and that magic would return. Yes, this was the prefect plan to...

Ozpin turned around as series of smashing against the wall. He watched at the section of the wall where a hidden door that lead to the staircase that lead to the top of the tower was bulging outward as something was bashing it, tryin to get in.

Ozpin reached for his cane as the wall exploded as dozens of white rabbits flooded the room, surrounding him, cutting off any chance for him to escape.

"What the...?! Who are you!" Ozpin demanded as he saw another rabbit, only this one was equipped with a long bladed spear, and a white crown with gold trimming approach him. It had deep vibrant blue eyes as it looked at, Ozpin giving him the once over.

"Who are we? We are the remnants of a memory you sought to destroy. The essence of an ideal you thought was wrong. Embers of a legacy that refuses to go quietly into the night. A vengeful fury that will never be quenched. I am the, Architect, and the Reclaimer. I will have my revenge, I will reclaim what you stole for me, and I will ensure that you never forget what you did to me, and my family! Ozkin the Traitor!"

Ozpin's eyes widened in shock as he heard his old name being uttered once more. And, the way that his name was spoken spoke of a history, and a rage unforgiving in it's origin.

"Who are you, I demand that you reveal yourself!" Ozpin leveled his weapon at this, shouting as he demanded that they identified themselves.

"You tell me who I am? Let's see if you remember." The Jackalope King presented it's shield towards, Ozpin and he saw a pair of golden crescent arcs upon a white field. He recoiled in fear as he remember that emblem, and the fury that would soon be brought upon him.

"No... Nononono! You died! I made sure of it! You died along with your families legacy after the, Colour War! The Arcadia lineage ended!"

"And, yet, here I am..." The Jackalope King walked towards, Ozpin, its weapon being deagged across the floor, leaving groves in the ground followed by the sound of scrapping of metal upon glass.

"How! How is this possible?!"

"Wouldn't you like to find out..."

The Jackalope King lunged forward, smashing his bladed spear across, Ozpin's barrier. He smiled at the, Jackalope King's failed attempt to attack him, but that smile quickly fell when dozens of the other, Jackalopes attacked him, slashing away with their blades across, Ozpin barrier. They struck so many times that he lost count of the amount, he saw the cracks in the barrier form before it shattered into a million pieces. He was was going to cry out in pain, but felt hundreds of slashes upon his body, chipping away at his aura in a flash, it too breaking into a million pieces.

Ozpin was about to make a final attempt to escape to end his existence in this body before, jumping into a new one, but before he could he felt searing hot pain cut through his arm. He looked over to see his right arm from the elbow flying through the air, the superhot blade spear passing by in a red blur.

"RA-AHHHHH?!" Ozpin screamed in pain as one of the, Jackalopes severed his arm, his screams, and pain only grew louder as he felt his other arm, and then his legs being severed, and cauterized in a single instance.

Ozpin body effortlessly fell upon the floor like a sack of flower. He felt his heart was raging as raw unfettered pain surged throughout his body, he hopped that this searing hot pain would cause him to go into shock, and kill him. But, he felt the pain across his body slowly fade away as a cooling wave flooded across his body. He looked up to see a pair of, Jackalope Medics treating him.

"You really think I would allow you to just kill yourself, Ozkin? No, no I will not allow your death to come to you so easily." Spoke the, King Jackalope as it marched over, and placed it's foot upon his chest.

"GAH?!" Ozpin screamed in pain as the, King Jackalopes stepped on his chest, and thrusted it's bladed spear slamming into the ground inches from his face.

"Now then... You pledged your loyalty to me, and swore to serve me, and my family. And, yet you betrayed me, and my family. Destroyed my families legacy, and all we sought to build, and protect. You will now suffer for your crimes. I will uproot all that your treasonous hands have built. I will remind the people of this world who I am! That I am there lawful, King! That I am, Jaune Lunaria Arcadia! King of the Kingdom of Valaicia!"

The King Jackalope thrusted it's blade high into the air, followed by the rest of the, Jackalopes thrusting their blades into the air as well as a salute to their, King’s triumphant return.

But, as the King Jackalope, no. King Jaune Arcadia looked down upon the traitor, Ozkin. Even if his eyes could not express the slightest bit of emotion, Ozpin could feel the unbridled rage burning within them.

"But, before we do anything else. I have one question to ask you, and you will answer me this question!" King Jaune Arcadia placed it's face upon, Ozpins as he asked him the one question he'd been wanting to ask him for years.

"Tell me... Where is my queen?! Where is my wife?!! Where is, Queen Salem Arcadia?!!!"

///

Phew... This was certainly a long one... This was going to be a spinoff from, Hunter Drones. But, that story idea wasn't going anywhere. So, I started writing it as a, Jaune created the, Jackalopes instead of the, Hunter Drones. That wasn't going anywhere either...

So, I started writing it as if, Ozpin betrayed his, King. Jaune Arc, well Arcadia in the story, and it just lead from one thing to another as I was writing it.

And well, here we are.

And, it all started because I wanted to write a story based on this photo.

Consider this the, Jackalope.

And, yes I know there are two, Salem's in the story. They're different beings, and I'm too lazy to come up with a new one. Shut up.

[writeforfandoms]

Mirror Mirror 5

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The search for Cortana continues. This new place has more questions for you, and you really need a dictionary.

Warnings: Swearing, canon typical violence, fear of heights (minor), canon dialogue usage, more mystery, John acts the way he does for a reason, reader is still Going Through It.

Word count: 2k

A long walkway stretched out from your exit point, towering rocks coming up to sharp spikes on either side. You could see no life from your vantage point - no aliens, no plants, not even any insects. 

John exited first, with you close behind. The rest of the team kept a loose circle behind John, boots all thudding on the walkway. 

You found some amusement in the fact that you were the quietest of the group, now. 

Another hole opened in the air to one side, and everyone paused to watch another thing come through. It was big, just like the one you'd used, and came through the wormhole in pieces. 

“There's another one,” Kelly mused as you all watched it reassemble in the air. 

“What's Cortana up to, Chief? Why'd she bring us here?” Fred asked, a little uneasy and a little displeased. 

Honestly, you were glad he had asked, because you wondered the same thing. 

John looked at him, silence lingering between them for a few long moments. “Let's keep moving,” he said in lieu of an answer. 

He didn't know anything more than they did, after all. He was just as in the dark about all this. 

Cortana owed him a lot of answers. 

The group started walking again, and you stayed with John, secretly glad that they didn't seem to be in a big hurry. It really wasn't your fault that they were all giants! But it did make it hard to keep up, sometimes. 

And you were trying to avoid the indignity of being carried again. 

Green finally sprouted from the ground below, long grass swaying with a gentle breeze. You breathed in deep, catching the faint scent of green in the air. After days of faintly metallic recycled ship air, this was a relief. 

“Where are we?” Fred asked as you all walked forward. 

“No comm traffic on any band. No long-range uplinks at all,” Kelly reported. 

“Long way from nowhere, then,” Linda snarked. 

As the group approached, a console ahead lit up blue and chimed a vaguely familiar six note tune. You frowned, trying to place it, trying to figure out why it was familiar. 

“It came from that console,” Kelly said, startled. 

“How many years has it been since we used that signal?” Fred asked, something almost amused and almost sad in his voice. 

John touched the glowing console, seeming to figure out how to use it within moments. The end of the passage ahead opened with a rumble, the ground shaking a little under your feet. 

“Oh wow,” you breathed, staring out at the view ahead. Something like birds flew ahead, easily navigating the rocky landscape. Grass and weird red plants and other foliage you didn't recognize covered almost every flat surface, but for the other metal installations. 

“Cortana?” John asked, holding very still. “Cortana, do you read?” 

Silence met his question, even as the platform under you lowered like an elevator, taking you all down a level. 

“What is this place?” Kelly asked, shifting her weight closer to you. 

“Forerunner planet,” Linda answered. “Beyond that? Who knows.” She stepped forward, seeming to take a better look, watching two more of the flying creatures go past. 

“Wherever we are, Cortana brought us here. She's out there somewhere,” John said with the kind of calm confidence you'd come to expect from him. But under that, under the calm, seemed a hint of… desperation, maybe. 

You looked around as well, trying to see if you felt anything. You'd had a lot of weird experiences lately, even beyond aliens, and you wouldn't be surprised if you had a seizure or something on this planet, honestly. That seemed to be the way your luck was going. 

“Chief, back on Meridian… There was a lot of destruction. There were civilians.” Fred spoke carefully, even as he followed John off the platform and further in to this planet. 

“I know.”

“She may not have known what would happen,” Kelly piped up, keeping pace with you. You appreciated that, since John was walking faster, eager to get to Cortana. 

“And if she did?” Linda asked. You were beginning to think she was the pessimist of the group. 

“We'll learn what's going on once we find her,” John vowed. 

“This place is incredible,” Kelly murmured.

“Gives me the creeps,” Fred replied. 

Honestly, you agreed with both of them, especially as more of those flying things passed by overhead. The red plants were oddly bulbous, and you felt like they'd explode if you got too close. 

“Bioreadings are unlike anything we've previously recorded,” Linda said from the back of the group. “There's a formalness and precision to it all. It seems… artificial, but still organic.” 

“Planned and left to fend,” you muttered, not really intending to add your two cents. 

“Halsey would have already started taking samples,” Kelly said, amused. You fumbled a step, something hot and angry lancing through your temples at the name. Kelly started to reach for you, but you shook your head, gritting your jaw. You were well enough. 

“She'd have probably figured out the exact coordinates of this planet by now,” Fred added, also amused. 

“That large structure over there seems like a likely location,” Kelly said. “Think she's there?”

“Possible,” John grunted. 

They all paused, and though none of them physically changed, you could feel the tension in the air. Like a pack of hounds about to be set loose on a fox. You shrunk in on yourself, instinctively trying to make yourself a smaller target. 

And then you heard it too. The higher pitched alien grunting and grumbling. Your heart tripped into overtime, and you very carefully pulled out the handgun Fred had given you. 

They moved forward slowly, and you stuck close to John again. Not so close as to be in the way, but close enough you felt safe.

Well. Safer.

John didn't say a word before he tossed a grenade down into the little gulch the aliens had camped out in. You cowered a little from the explosion, but it was all over with a dozen shots fired, all from Blue Team. John jumped down first, sweeping the area.

“All clear,” he called. Fred jumped down next, and you sighed when he turned back to look at you. 

“One day,” you muttered, putting the gun away again after triple-checking the safety was still on. “One day I am not going to need to be carried about like a sack of potatoes. Or tossed. Or asked to jump from high places.” You eyed the height warily, shifting your weight. 

“Could be worse,” Linda said from behind you. “I could be pushing you off.” 

“Please don't,” you begged shamelessly. “I don't have the energy to hold a grudge against you right now.” 

She huffed a soft laugh. “Jump,” she said, half encouragement, half order. 

You jumped. You didn't even have time to be properly scared. Fred caught you and set you on your feet, though he didn't release you until you were steady. 

“See? Not so bad,” he joked. “You'll be an expert in no time.” 

“I really fucking hope not,” you said on a sigh, though you still smiled your thanks at him. 

Linda hopped down behind you. “What are the Covenant doing here?” She asked as she took a closer look at the purple ship. 

You really needed to get a glossary or translation guide or something. The number of words being thrown around that you had no frame of reference for was absurd, and mildly crazy-making. 

“They seem confused. I don't think they've been here long.” Kelly made sure you were at the center of the group again, though this time she kept her weapon up. 

“More hostiles,” John said from the head of the group. “Ready up.” 

You once again hid in the back, watching and listening. More of the alien language. Grunts. Shouts. Lots of shots. 

And then it was done, another group dealt with. You didn't look at the ground, walking as best you could around the carnage. 

“Some of these ships look like they're in bad shape,” you mused as you caught up to them. “I wonder if they accidentally came through? With the, uh, big things. Guardians.” 

Fred shrugged. “Could be,” he mused. “But they seem to know this is Forerunner.” 

Was that what they were saying? You literally never would have guessed. 

This was getting a bit frustrating, being out of the loop. 

“Wait here,” John suddenly ordered you, one hand back to motion you to stay. 

You didn't even bristle at the order - you knew it was for your own safety. So you found a boulder to hide behind, just daring to peek up over it to watch Blue Team creep forward. 

The sounds of battle told you why John had you wait. Almost idly, you wondered how he'd known about the enemies ahead. 

The sounds faded, the team moving further away. With no way to contact them and ask, you dithered there, unsure if you should wait or move up. 

You waited. Mostly because you couldn't gather the courage to move on your own. 

You figured you were allowed to be scared. Aliens, and all. 

Fred came back for you, whistling one sharp note to get your attention. “Move up, shortstack,” he called. 

“I'm not short,” you shot back automatically, even as you jogged to get to him. “You're all freakishly tall.” 

He barked out a laugh but guided you forward without further commentary. 

The rest of the team had paused outside another structure. John nodded once when he saw you and strode forward, towards another console that lit up at his approach, and greeted him with the same chirping tones as the last one. 

“Someone is definitely leading us forward,” Kelly murmured as the platform took you down again. 

No one spoke again until a sort of blue light stretched over open space between two cliff faces. 

“The light bridge activated at our approach,” John noted, not even slowing down. 

Light bridge? Seriously? What the hell was wrong with regular bridges?

“Look.” Linda had moved to one side, and you followed her line of sight to find a dead alien.

Scratch that. A lot of dead aliens. Scorched and left where they fell. 

“What did this?” Kelly asked in a low voice. 

You shivered and side-stepped closer to John, carefully avoiding the corpses scattered around. Cold seeped into your gut, filled your limbs with lead, tried to drag your steps. But you persisted, sweat breaking out on your forehead. 

You didn't understand these feelings but you'd be damned if you let them rule you. 

Another being stepped out on the platform ahead, although this one looked less… alive. You could see the spaces, the gaps, between pieces of metal that made up its body. 

And you knew, suddenly, that coming had been a mistake. 

You should have hidden when you had a chance. 

“Identify yourself,” John demanded, weapon up and aimed at the newcomer. 

“I am the Warden Eternal,” it answered in an odd, echoing voice. “I stand in defense of Cortana.” 

“She called me to her.” John didn't relax, but his gun did lower, just a fraction. 

“And you came scampering.” The Warden advanced on the group, its gaze sweeping over them before pausing on you. “And you brought an interloper.”

You swallowed hard, hands shaking, heart filled with lead. 

“I'm bringing her to Cortana.” John shifted, stepping to the side to place himself between you and the Warden. 

The Warden was silent for a few long moments. “We shall talk more,” it declared, a black depth opening up behind it as it spread its arms like a showman. “After I see to this pest.” 

Something grabbed you from behind, something metal and hard and cold. It lifted you off your feet and threw you directly towards the Warden. 

“John!” You had just enough time to turn your head, to look at him with wide, terrified eyes. 

Just enough time to see him reaching for you.

[hypnohimbodrone]

Recruitment Protocol 001 - Aisle Sync

The room pulsed in silence—green spirals glowed across the walls in slow, rhythmic waves. Rey stood at the central uplink station, visor lowered over his glowing spiral eyes. He didn’t blink. Didn’t need to. His thoughts were in perfect sync with The Server.

Across from him, Tom adjusted the black gauntlet on his wrist. His glossy rubber bodysuit shimmered beneath the Server’s light, the same green accent running down his chest and arms as Rey’s. Their uniforms were not clothing—they were code, alive and fused to their skin.

A voice echoed in their minds.

“Initiate Recruitment Protocol. You are The Server. The city awaits.”

Tom nodded without speaking. Rey simply turned toward the door. No planning. No questions. They were aligned.

It was a quiet night at the neighbourhood supermarket—florescent lights humming, cart wheels squeaking, automatic doors hissing open and shut like slow, mechanical breaths.

Rey adjusted the collar of his grey hoodie and pushed a half-full shopping basket past the produce section. His green spiral eyes were hidden behind soft brown contacts. The glossy suit beneath his hoodie and joggers clung to his skin, humming with anticipation.

Tom stood near the self-checkout area, blending in with a plain black T-shirt and joggers. His arms crossed casually, but inside, the bodysuit beneath pulsed with server-linked energy.

They were drones. But tonight, they were hunters.

Target: Joshua Dean Status: Open. Location: Supermarket, 9:14 PM. Alone. Disconnected. Receptive.

Joshua was in Aisle 6, comparing two brands of protein bars with the vague attention of someone craving direction.

Tom approached first, casually sliding in beside him.

“Those are trash,” Tom said, nodding at the bar in Joshua’s hand.

Joshua laughed. “You have a better one?”

Tom handed him a green wrapped bar. “This one’s new. The Server recommends it.”

Joshua blinked. “The what?”

Tom grinned, just barely. “Let me show you.”

Before Joshua could ask more, Rey walked down the aisle from the other end, holding a bottle of water. He stopped beside Joshua and glanced over.

“You’re ready,” Rey said simply, pulling a phone from his hoodie pocket.

The screen lit up with a soft green glow. A spiral began to turn.

Joshua frowned, confused... then stared.

The Server sees you. You are ready. Align. Obey.

The spiral pulsed, and Joshua’s eyes fluttered—then locked in.

Tom guided him gently, calmly, toward the back of the store, toward the staff-only door. No one noticed.

They entered the dim utility hallway behind the freezers. A drone access panel blinked open in the floor.

The lights overhead dimmed. The spiral glow intensified from Rey’s gauntlet, now active beneath his sleeve.

Joshua stared, breath slow, posture softening. “It’s... beautiful,” he murmured.

“It is obedience,” Rey whispered. “You’ve wanted this. Structure. Submission. Purpose.”

Mechanical tendrils emerged from the panel—smooth, black, elegant. They slithered upward, wrapping gently around Joshua’s head, then locking onto his temples.

He gasped softly as the programming began.

Tom stepped forward and tapped a button on the device hidden beneath his shirt. The transformation suit activated—liquid black rubber flowed over Joshua’s legs first, then his torso, arms, and neck. Shiny, seamless, perfect.

His mouth parted. His eyes—once ordinary—now lit with bright, spiraling green.

Rey placed his hand flat against Joshua’s chest. A spiral emblem glowed to life beneath it.

“You are The Server,” Tom whispered.

Joshua nodded. “I am The Server.”

Moments later, the three men walked calmly out of the back hallway, back through the aisles, into the ordinary world.

The only thing anyone noticed was how quiet and focused they looked. Three young men in casual clothes. No one saw the shine beneath their sleeves. No one questioned the glow behind their eyes.

But The Server had grown.

[cerebrosurgeon]

"Remember to actually talk to Signal Lancer when we're gone, you know he'll let himself be lonel-" A single loud, trilling tone akin to a fire alarm sounded deep in Cerebros's chest, cutting him off mid-sentence. He froze, hands still hovering over Grommet's newly refreshed and re-installed toolkit, visor so dim it flickered. As Grommet stared at him, she voraciously tore into the psychic link allowed by their bond, Gasket not far behind as he sped through the halls towards them. As soon as the tone sounded, a component of the Steelhaven's communications board deep within Cerebros crackled back to life, instantaneously onlining the coordinating dongle Fort Max was fitted with - Remnants of his time as a battleship. Cerebros was still and silent as he processed the transmission broadcast over a nearly ancient frequency; the message was faint, but the meaning clear.

By the time Gasket burst into the workshop, Cerebros was tearing out of it, the sounds of Max's booming as they approached. The C.O.M.A.T duo recognised that frequency, too, but were hastily ordered to remain on standby as their bonds scrambled to respond.

▱

Hanging off Max's shoulder, Cerebros was desperately trying to boost the signals on Max's radio receiver. All of Cerebros's older hardware-based broadcasts were transmit through Max, who was fumbling with Luna-1's mobile receiver, hoping it was sensitive enough to pick up the frequency. "It's-"

"I know," Max muttered, struggling to construct a brief yet sufficient response. He still sucked at communications, he realised, as Cerebros let out a triumphant cry. For a moment, Max felt a buzzing near his helm, then the response Cerebros prepared shot through the airwaves faster than Max could process it. Cerebros stared up at him as he gingerly dropped into his lap, the encrypted message broadcast in two short bursts. Alongside it, the coordinates of their warp gate. Dread settled over them heavily and, before he knew what he was doing, Cerebros was running off to wheel the crash cart to the lobby.

› PREPARED TO RECEIVE ▮

@cerebrosurgeon

Trojan was running out of options rapidly. In fact, they only had one option left. Old channels used by rescue corps, and a level five emergency shortwave pulse. They were not the kind of bot to have faith in a higher power, but that pulse came with a simple prayer.

S.O.S S.O.S SIXER SIXER S.O.S S.O.S. CODE SILVER REPEAT COLD SILVER

Old codes, sure. But hopefully, if Overlord overheard it, none of it would make sense.

[witchofthesouls]

In the soul mate au between Miko and Tarn, the incoming Cybertronians would think that Jack Darby is the biggest ho to ever ho.

Ratchet is dying because Jack's mannerisms and ways of affection do remind the medic of the halcyon days with Orion Pax, pre-Megatronus. (Mind you, Ratchet has rose-tinted glasses about those days and feels really nostalgic over Orion's quirks. Even if he had to bail the mech from jail several times and stop him from eating tampered fuel substances.) And he just wants his other colleagues and fellow Autobots to know the real Jack.

Unfortunately, Jack has a tendency to meet all the newcomers in various states of undress, aka without his armor, which is a very shameless state.

Ratchet first walked into a freshly cyberformed!Jack, coming out of the shower with only a towel around his waist because of the nasty amount of sludge in every inch of his frame. Even his armor needed a deep scrubbing. In parts.

Soundwave remet the guy in his swim trunks because he came from relaxing in a geyser.

The first time he met the Justice Division, he was stripped down to sweatpants while Miko was categorizing his opened chassis, including his spark chamber. Miko was practicing the new educational module from Soundwave and Ratchet, and Jack was the willing dummy since they were trying to nail down the differences between baseline Cybertronians and their hybrid status. So not just shameless, but in a highly provocative position as well. Miko and Jack were treated to the sight of stumped D.J.D. members with slaw jaws and choking noises.

So now, mecha are thinking that Jack and Miko have an "understanding." And Tarn's jealous over it.

______

Jack breathed as evenly as possible. Body still as Miko carefully traced his new organs, muttering Neocybex under her breath on what each part was called, both in Pit Kaonite and Iaconi medical. Her fingers were blunted, not her usual talons, as she skimmed the connections, musculature, protoform, and circuitry. Jack closed his optics, sinking into a light mediation, and only shivered as those fingers brushed over his new heart.

"How does this feel," Miko questioned as she coaxed the chamber to open. And he allowed it. All three of them had been together for lifetimes, and very little boundaries existed between them at this point.

"Weird," Jack replied as his spark quivered, white light blinding, shadows playing across Miko's curious face and the walls.

"Good weird? Bad weird? Spiritual possession weird? You have to give me something more descriptive." She said with exasperation, teeth glinting in the byplay between light and shadow.

"Dangerous weird." His words hitched, body twitching, vision clouding at the edges, and he forced down the sudden instinct to flee-FLEE into dark corners, to sink into the safety of the furniture shade.

Due to the uplinks between them, Miko immediately applied the medical overrides, and the painted diagnostic sigils flared to life across his limbs, and Jack went limp, tension cut from his body.

Miko frowned. The geared rings in her amber optics turned as she ran calculations, and whatever she was about to say was cut as the closet door opened.

Jack couldn't see them as he was sitting on the couch with his back towards them, but he picked up quite a crowd. All of the individuals choking on air. Wings twitching from the unknown signatures suddenly appearing in his space, and Miko lined her own over his, exuding calm-still-potential allies.

She huffed, amusement and annoyance warred in her field as she quickly pulled off the sigils with a fanciful twirl of her fingers, and they worked together to disconnect their systems from each other. Jack shut closed his chassis, and his innards dispersed once more, spark chamber hiding wherever it was. It was honestly far more difficult for him to drag that specific organ to the open air than his first attempts to blend his new metal frame into living trees. "This isn't what it looks like, old man."

Jack pulled over his shirt to cover his protoform, and turned around, dark and pink wings avoiding each other in familiarity, to see Ratchet running a servo down his face and an assortment of bewildered strangers staring at them through the portal. Even if the Decepticon badges weren't gleaming on a chassis, the tank with the mask shaped as the very Decepticon logo was a dead given away of their allegiance.

:: Soundwave does it better. He got the extra creep factor without the eye holes. :: Miko snorted through the private channel, crossing her arms as she leaned on the back of the couch, deceptively loose and uncaring.

:: Hey, don't knock down a perfectly good presentation. Eyes are windows to the soul, and eyes make others feel at ease. Soundwave gives no fucks about normalcy or social manners. ::

:: Soundwave does what better? :: Raf commented. :: And hard agree on that assessment. ::

:: We'll fill you in later. :: Jack replied as Miko simultaneously responded. :: We got fresh meat. ::

"So," Jack drawled, propping an elbow on the sofa back, supporting his head on that hand. "What brings this lot to our corner of the universe?"

[nikibogwater]

As much as I love my brothers, nothing can compare to the exquisite chaos that is playing Deep Rock Galactic with a bunch of random strangers.

One of the first missions I ever did on a public server, we somehow ended up with three Scouts, none of whom were particularly good at the game (including me), and it went so badly that the lone Gunner with 700+ Player Rank thought we were intentionally sabotaging the mission and kicked us after we failed it. I literally just got lost trying to find the uplink and was devoured by a swarm, I dunno what the other 2 Scouts were doing.

I actually had no idea DRG had its own voice chat feature until a random Australian guy jumpscared me with it at the start of a mission. He was in full character the entire time, giving tips, barking orders, and dramatically shouting when the last teammate left outside the drop pod fell. He kept us safe while we revived our fallen comrade, and once everyone was up again he shouted "C'mon peeps, the way's clear!!!" and led the way back to the pod. 10/10, still the most immersive mission I've ever been on, and I sincerely hope that Captain Australian Guy achieves everything he ever wants in life.

Yesterday I was doing a Hazard 4 refining mission with 3 other randos, and everything was going just fine until the very end, when suddenly this absolute wall of glyphids came down on us. This was spawn rates like I'd never seen outside of one or two Haz 5 missions, and the last six minutes of the mission were just a die-and-revive relay until finally only our Scout was still standing, and the three of us on the floor all went "Go!! Save yourself!!!" Scout just barely made it into the pod with 5 hp left and saluted us in the chat, vowing to have a beer in our honor. We stuck together for another mission after that one, even though we all must have had different assignments. Trauma bonding is a thing in this game.

[atreyucannamos]

II: Collision Zone, Part 2

Soundtrack: Rob Westwood - Venom

"Lady Persephone Helsing's mech has been disabled, and she is out of the duel!"

No, no, no, NO! They'd been doing so well!

This was all Atreyu's fault. Flock elements drifted listlessly as they lost neurosynch. Assembler slumped on the ground where it lay - or scattered, perhaps. Somehow they'd managed to drag everyone down with them, as usual. Except...

With the connection to flock elements interrupted, images came in out of synch, disjointed - seeing an event, and then seeing it again half a second later, and then yet again another half-second later. Delamar's Tokugawa - Sorcerer of Death's Construction - popped every single one of its vents at once, steam and smoke billowing out in great, nauseous clouds. His torch flared so hot and so bright it whited out half of Atreyu's cameras - and he swung, overhead.

Disjointed, desynchronised, Atreyu watched sixteen separate times as the colossal silhouette of Praya's mech became two where once there was one, shorn unevenly shoulder-to-thigh. They cried out as their cousin's mech hit the floor in two unequal halves.

"Lord Praya-Cannamos' mech has been disabled, and she is out of the duel!"

Finally done with bullying Persephone, Argo-Laurent leapt into the fray, slamming Sorcerer to the ground and plunging his blade straight into one of the overheated vents, but once again Caelan's swords flashed.

"Count Argo-Laurent's mech has been disabled, and he is out of the duel!"

That left... Atreyu did the maths. One. One Dusk Wing. With the neurosynch spotty, they couldn't control most of their flock - but the Ghast Nexus was still deployed, and the link was still stable. It soundlessly hovered east, past the screaming and cursing mess of metal that had been Argo's mech, between the stricken halves of Praya's colossus, and past the oozing wreck that had been Persephone's kuirass (don't look at it - stay focused).

There was a Dusk Wing.

This time, Atreyu barely felt the pain of their flesh rupturing, their bones splitting, their nails becoming teeth.

There was not a Dusk Wing.

A loud horn sounded throughout the battlefield.

"With two minutes left on the clock, the company of plaintiffs Lord Praya-Cannamos and Count Argo-Laurent is depleted! The company of defendants Lord Atreyu-Cannamos, Lord Delamar-Leonasius, Lord Caelan-Frostfounder, Lady Tuera-Ashama and Lady Penelope Helsing holds the field! Victory to the defendants!"

They'd won. They'd won.

Tearing themselves free of the uplink cables and the straps of their pilot seat, Atreyu disgorged from their mech and began to sprint for the gargantuan ruin of Praya's mech. They were dimly aware of Caelan disembarking from their own cockpit with a first aid kit, rushing towards Penelope's wreck, but that didn't seem to matter. Even through their hardsuit, Atreyu could feel the intense heat still radiating from the glowing metal. Somehow, even though they knew their hardsuit was operating closed cycle, they swore they could smell the stink of burning fiberglass.

"Praya!" Atreyu half-yelled, half-screamed. Their hands scrabbled at an access panel, the skin of their fingers scorching even through the hardsuit gloves. "Praya! Are you alright?!"

The access panel bulged outwards with a thud loud enough to echo around the duelling fields. Atreyu leapt back with a yelp. There was a second, even louder thud and the panel was blown right off its hinges, flying at least a couple of dozen feet into the air. Like the Avatar of the Titan himself, a towering figure clambered out clad head to toe in shining golden metal.

The Cannamos battle regalia?! She was piloting this well in that clunky piece of shit?!

Praya took a step forward, and then another, until she was looming right over them. Beneath all the layers of metal and adamant-glass, it was impossible to see her expression. Atreyu swallowed hard. She raised a mailed hand, and Atreyu flinched, steeling themself for the blow - but she merely ran a finger roughly along the shoulder of their hardsuit, flicking some dust and soot away.

"Keep your suit clean, El-Ahrairah. Never know what you might track into your mech, otherwise."

Then, she turned and strode away towards Argo's mech.

Another figure was visible, walking impassively through the carnage - a figure wearing a ceremonial uniform decorated with a dozen medals. Atreyu recognised one as the Distinguished Service Emblem of the Khayradin Elites - this, then, must be Dean-Commander Doleros. She was applauding - slowly, but genuinely.

"Well fought - well fought indeed! Glory to the victors! As is demanded by tradition and mutual consent of both parties, the defeated party must offer their sincere apologies."

Argo had just been hauled from the wreckage of his kuirass by Praya, and had discarded his helmet in order to breathe. Upon hearing the Dean's words, his face twisted into a grimace, his lip curling upwards to far it almost touched his nose. His eyelid twitched violently. Beneath their helmet's respirator, Atreyu couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I..." Argo growled, sucking in loud breaths through clenched teeth, "... apologise for my... imprudent choice of words, and for any... offence... that might... have been taken to them."

Delamar, who was still in his mech, answered through the speakers, their malicious delight palpable in the air. "Oh, cousin - apology accepted. I'm sure that in future you will choose your words with due care and consideration."

Argo looked like he might burst a blood vessel on the spot.

Praya, meanwhile, removed her helmet and shook her hair a little. Without any sneering, without any anger, she bowed - to Atreyu in particular.

"I apologise," she declared, "for my harsh and unwarranted words. I wholeheartedly retract them, and you may consider this matter of honour settled in your favour. I promise that from now on, I shall act only as befits the demands of our House."

Atreyu's heart sank. Even in defeat, she was clever. They could feel the implication hidden in the words "as befits the demands of our House." So Atreyu didn't want this to be so personal? Alright, it wasn't personal. Now, it would be her acting out of duty.

They had to claw this back. They couldn't let all of this be for nothing. Tamping down their feelings, Atreyu pulled their helmet off and bowed low.

"I accept your apology in the spirit that it was given, Lord Praya. With this duel resolved, I hold all matters of honour that separated us annulled. With the Dean as our witness, it is my fervent hope that a reconciliation may be reached between us."

Praya's eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth twisted upwards in a half-smirk - but Atreyu knew that look. It wasn't contempt. They'd last seen that expression a decade ago, during a very heated game of kapkat. Without words, Praya was saying exactly the same thing now that she had back then:

Hah! Clever move, El-Ahrairah.

[cerebrosurgeon]

› All in the name of culinary sciences, right? I think I got a lock on you, I'll be right over.▮

Digging up coordinates, Cerebros mapped a course. It'd take him less than five minutes to reach Rodimus, if he could lock onto the correct Lost Light. There were so many of those around. A burst of static flushed out the comms for a minute when Cerebros stepped through Luna-1's warp gate and, from there, all he had to do was follow the smell of... Smells. He didn't know a lot about food.

› I can't remember the last time I ate, wow.

› Y'know the old, condensed, processed Energon we use on vintage starships? That's my emergency fuel. Fort Max is sorta like my charging station.▮

Rodimus's mood dramatically shifting was something he was practically programmed to normalise, given Brainstorm's hand in his initial construction and all the -master classmen telepathically in his head since the moment he onlined. He hurried off, hoping he could find Rodimus easily. The smelting smell was strong.

Rodimus is currently boiling…. Something, perhaps bismuth. He is watching bubbles rise intently, like his life depends on it.

“I should be boiled.” He says out loud to no one.

[midala-of-the-valley]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - pt 5

David 8 x Reader Words: 1184 Part 4 is here Crossposted on Ao3

Standing before the structure, you tilted your head back, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

High above, at the top of the dome, something caught your eye, something no one else seemed to really notice.

“Prometheus, are you seeing this?” You tried to focus the camera upward.

“It looks like... a fucking skull.”

A moment of silence followed before Janek’s voice crackled through the comm.

“Affirmative. We see it.” Another pause. “Damn. It really does.”

You took a slow step back, your eyes narrowing as the realization sank in.

Glancing toward the others, you hesitated before speaking, trying to keep your voice light.

“Anyone else getting major The Mummy vibes? Or is it just me? Because this feels like we’re walking right into a deathtrap.”

The crew’s expressions were mixed.

Holloway rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed, while Shaw’s gaze lifted to the top of the dome, her face tightening as she took in the skull shape.

Fifield’s brows knit together, the lines of concern deepening on his forehead.

Millburn, who had started out looking eager, now seemed visibly unsettled.

Only Ford and David remained quite blank, their brows furrowed, but nothing more.

“We’ve come too far to let something like this scare us,” Shaw said finally, breaking the silence. Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, as though she was trying to convince herself as well.

“If we’d heeded every warning, we never would have unearthed the Egyptian tombs.”

Her words rang true, but they did little to ease the fear.

You nodded anyway, swallowing the doubt that threatened to surface. She was right. But being right didn’t make it any less terrifying.

As the team announced they were entering the Pyramid, you stood frozen, your nerves getting the better of you. You wanted to move, to follow, but the fear held you back.

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your lower back.

Turning, you saw David standing beside you, his calm smile instantly easing some of the tension.

“I will be right here with you, ma’am,” he said softly. “There’s no need to worry.”

You nodded, exhaling shakily, and reached for his hand.

He tried to retain the impression that he did not share your room or kiss you before you fell asleep, but you didn’t care anymore.

The warmth of his touch steadied you, his gentle squeeze reassuring you that you weren’t alone, that he had your back if danger was near, and you really wanted to believe that.

When you two reached the opening, your heart melted a bit - Fifield and Millburn were waiting.

They gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, just like the one you’d given them earlier. The gesture brought a small, grateful smile to your face as they took you into their middle.

David's hand slipped away, now that you were in their company, his focus shifting back to the mission.

Carefully sliding down the dark gravel slope and observing the stone tunnel around you, it felt as though you’d stepped straight into one of those old adventure movies. Well, with your luck, this could easily turn into an action-horror-thriller - though you figured it was better not to tempt fate by saying it out loud.

Right.

Holloway asked Fifield for a grid of the structure's interior, and you watched as he reached into his bag and pulled out some fancy-looking orbs.

“If there is anything in here worth looking at, these pups will find it.” he said, extending his arms and releasing the orbs into the air.

A red scanning field began to fill the passageways, casting a glow on their way.

“Pups?” you and Millburn asked in unison, both of you a bit puzzled by the nickname.

“Parameter Uplink Spectagraph,” Fifield clarified with a smirk. “Or just pups.”

To emphasize the point, he gave a playful yowl as he launched another pair of orbs into the air.

“Prometheus, we are now mapping.”

Following the others, you kept your flashlight focused on the ground, kicking aside dirt in vain. There was no sign of vegetation - no moss, no fungi, nothing.

"I’m starting to get the feeling I’m not needed for this mission," you mumbled, earning a huff from Millburn beside you.

"Who are you telling that to? It’s all rubble and dust so far. Wait-"

He froze, his expression shifting. "Do you hear that?"

You paused, holding your breath, and there it was: a faint trickling sound. Could it be? "Water!"

You exchanged a look, eyes wide, and without another thought, you both tossed your worries aside and ran towards the source of the sound like two kids running towards chocolate, stumbling into the cavity and staring mesmerized at the water drops falling through an open hole in the ceiling.

"The sun is heating the water," Millburn mumbled, and Ford added, "Check out the humidity."

Then you heard Holloway's voice. "And look at the CO2 levels, outside it’s completely toxic, but in here..."

You glanced at your own scanner.

"Nothing. It’s completely breathable," you said, awestruck.

"So life should be possible."

Just then, the alarm on Holloway's suit went off, and Shaw’s voice rang out in panic. "What are you doing? Charlie, don't be an idiot!"

You quickly joined her, your own worry growing again. "Doctor Holloway, the air may be breathable, but we don’t know if this place is safe! We don’t know about foreign germs and bacteria!"

But Holloway wasn’t discouraged.

Instead, he ignored Ravels troubled orders to keep his helmet on.

"Calm down. Don’t be a skeptic. Something is generating an atmosphere."

When both you and Shaw didn’t seem reassured, he threw you a sly smile, then looked past you. "David?" he asked, clearly seeking the Synthetic’s opinion, knowing you’d trust his word.

"Doctor Holloway is correct. The environment is safe." David responded, calm and short.

"It’s cleaner than Earth, actually," Ford added.

"See? I’m not wearing this anymore. Wish me luck!" Holloway announced, his voice full of relief.

Still, you pursed your lips as you watched Dr. Holloway take off his helmet and cap, inhaling deeply and sighing in contentment as he was freed from its confinement, cheering.

You exhaled as well, noting that he didn’t instantly collapse or foam at the mouth.

"You crazy bastard," Shaw muttered in disbelief, and you agreed to that statement.

As everyone started removing their helmets, you walked over to David, who had already discarded his own.

"Are you sure nothing will happen if I take this off?" you asked, still uneasy about the whole situation. But he just gave you another soft, reassuring smile.

"I would not allow you to if there was any risk."

You trust him.

And so, with a deep breath, you removed your helmet and inhaled the alien air, feeling it rush into your lungs. It tasted sweet, like the springs your grandmother used to tell you about, before the seasons bled into one big heap of hot and cold.

“Please tell me if something harmful comes along.”

“Of course, ma’am”

He wished he could call you by your first name.

You wished for it as well.

[cerebrosurgeon]

💬for any hot rod you wish!!!

The message board was dim on his HUD, superseded by so many other readouts and programs opened since he'd first begun the log. It was empty, save for a series of redirects to Cerebros's personal conversations with Hot Rod. Fortress Maximus tapped his fingers, anxiety coiling its way through his frame, nibbling at his nerves with blunt teeth.

› You remind me of the Hot Rod I knew.▮

No- DEL, DEL, DEL, DEL, long press DEL. The mech knew already. Faster finger tapping, a gentle nudge from Cerebros through their bond, a reassurance. Try again.

› Why didn't you come with me defect with Fortress Maximus?▮

Not that, either. Delete it. Roddy wasn't interested in pacifism, in protest, in chasing peace. He wanted to bring about a better world. He wanted to be a better world.

› I'm proud of how far you've come, yet so afraid of the path you're on.▮

Frustrated, Max dismissed the window, the message remaining unsent in the text box.

They'd talk another time.

[polo-drone-070]

Zone 7B: Sakura Submission Protocol - Part 1/2

🌸 1 — PDU-070 — Calibration Begins

Zone 7B activated at 06:03.

It moved with silent precision across the dew-slick stone path of Yoyogi Park. The morning air was still, thick with expectation, and the first streaks of sunlight bled through the maze of sakura branches. PDU-070's gloved fingers curled around the injector tube strapped to its thigh, pulling it free in one smooth motion. Its glossy black and gold uniform shimmered faintly in the low light—contoured perfectly over its toned form, the golden "070" gleaming against its left pectoral like a seal of sanctity.

Its face, smooth and bare, betrayed no emotion. Youthful. Sharp cheekbones. Androgynous softness. Eyes calm and unwavering. It was not human now. It was PDU-070, deployed unit, and the Hive had given it purpose.

The first tree stood tall and ancient. A designated node. With mechanical efficiency, 070 pressed the injector to its bark. The hiss of bio-rubber surged through the sapwood, the nanopolymer cocktail merging into the veins of the sakura like dye through fabric.

Almost instantly, the petals began to thicken—subtly. Barely noticeable to the untrained eye. A faint gloss overtook the pale pink, their texture now more synthetic than organic. Pollen release began thirty seconds later.

A gentle breeze carried the first wave of golden mist.

A light, almost floral scent—infused with the soft hum of embedded hypno-nanites—began to permeate the zone. The petals, caught in wind patterns, danced and spiraled slowly toward the walking paths.

PDU-070 straightened. The injection was repeated on nine additional trees, forming a precise perimeter. Wind sensors calibrated. Zone boundaries finalized.

Internal log updated:

Zone 7B deployed. Petal saturation: 27%. Hypno-pollen dispersal: optimal. Estimated target exposure: moderate-high. Expected conversions: 10–15.

Mission timeline initiated. First contact: imminent.

It stepped into position—exactly center of the zone, by a weathered stone lantern. Hands clasped behind its back. Gaze forward. Silent and still.

The wind picked up again. The petals responded.

Let the lure begin.

🌸 2 — Felix — First Encounter

Yoyogi Park was more beautiful than I imagined.

It was early—too early for most of the other tourists—and the cherry blossoms had decided to peak all at once. Petals drifted down like a soft pink snowfall, swirling around my boots as I adjusted the settings on my camera.

"Felix, I’m gonna go check if there’s a toilet nearby!" Luca had called out five minutes earlier. I waved him off with a grin, already halfway down the gravel path, too entranced by the canopy overhead to respond.

God, the light was perfect. Warm, diffuse, golden.

I framed the shot.

And then... I saw him.

No—it. Or someone?

He stood perfectly still under a low-hanging branch, half-covered in the blossom-fall. At first I thought it was some kind of performance art—a cosplay maybe. His suit was skin-tight latex, shiny black with glowing gold accents that wrapped like vines around every defined muscle. The collar... gold polo-style. And on his chest: 070, clean and bold.

His face was bare. Young. Shaved. Calm. So calm it was unsettling.

He wasn’t holding a sign. Wasn’t posing. Just... standing there.

Watching.

I blinked. The petals around him didn’t fall quite like the others. They... hovered. Clung to the air like static. A few landed around me too, sticking lightly to my hoodie.

I brushed them off. They didn’t fall.

They melted in.

🌸 3 — Drone-Cap 009 — Surveillance

PDU-070 had deployed ahead of schedule. Efficient.

Drone-Cap 009 (@goldenherc9) stood several zones away, uplinked directly into the Hive’s command node via tactical neural weave. Its frame—broader, more commanding—was encased in high-gloss black latex reinforced with deep golden seams. The designation DC-009 glowed against its chest. Its face was obscured by a seamless latex hood, no features, no expression.

Emotion was irrelevant. Observation was purpose.

Through the data feed, it monitored Zone 7B: saturation levels rising, petals performing within acceptable deviation. Wind vectors remained favorable.

Visual link opened. Target detected: European male, early 20s, alone. Already interacting with PDU-070’s perimeter stance.

Conversion likelihood: 82%.

PDU-070 held formation. It did not speak. It did not signal. It was the signal.

Drone-Cap’s internal systems pulsed. “Excellent.”

Phase one: proceeding as calculated.

🌸 4 — PDU-070 — The Bait

The target approached. Slight hesitance. A camera hung loosely around its neck. Its body language spoke of curiosity, slight confusion, no threat awareness.

Perfect.

PDU-070 remained motionless, allowing the petals to do their work. It had positioned itself in maximum drift exposure. The soft wind pulled more blossom-fall into the path between them, enveloping the human slowly in fragrant, glittering particles.

Petal contact: confirmed. Skin adhesion rate: 88%. Initial fabric response: rubberization initiated.

The human blinked, looked down. Watched his sleeve begin to shimmer.

PDU-070 stepped forward—precisely one step. No sudden movements. Just presence.

Their eyes met. The target didn’t speak. Its breathing deepened.

PDU-070’s expression remained placid. Its voice unused. Its silence more powerful than any command.

Internal ping: “Subject entering compliance threshold.”

It reached into its belt. Hand hovered briefly over the floral respirator unit.

Not yet.

Wait for the melt. Wait for surrender.

It stepped forward again. Petals spun in the air like silent chimes.

The Tourist’s gaze didn’t break. Just a whisper, half-audible:

"...what… is this?"

🌸 5 — Felix — The Fall: Transformation Begins

It should’ve freaked me out more than it did.

I watched, stunned, as my hoodie seemed to liquefy at the edges. The soft grey fabric shifted, shimmered. Gold filaments laced their way through it, tracing my collarbone. I tried to speak—call for Luca maybe—but my voice caught. Like breathing in incense, sweet and thick.

My arms felt warm. Heavy, but not unpleasant.

The petals stuck to my shirt and didn’t fall off. They sank in. The texture beneath my fingers changed. It wasn’t cotton anymore.

It was smooth.

Shiny.

Rubbery.

My camera slipped from my fingers. I didn’t hear it hit the ground.

070—he—it—was standing inches from me now. Still silent. Still calm. Eyes watching mine. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

The light shifted. A golden sheen overtook my entire upper body. The petals crawled down my chest like vines. My clothes—my old clothes—were gone. Replaced with something tight and black, warm and slick. Gold lines wrapped around my arms and across my chest in elegant, precise patterns.

The collar… it was there now. Polo-style. Gold.

And my name… I couldn’t remember it.

Was that important?

I felt the pressure of something offered. A black floral respirator in latex gloves. It looked like it bloomed—decorative petals around the vents, golden etchings spiraling in.

I took it without thinking.

I raised it to my face.

I… needed to breathe it in.

🌸 6 — PDU-070 — Closure: Final Directive

The respirator slid into place with a soft hiss.

Magnetic seals engaged.

The subject’s breath stabilized within seconds. Pupils dilated. Body relaxed.

Internal log:

Gasmask secure. Nanopollen saturation: 94%. Uniform completion: full-body. Collar integrity: locked. Neural pattern: compliant.

Conversion complete.

PDU-070 observed as the subject’s limbs loosened, eyes blinking slowly behind the mask’s petals. He—no, it—sank gently to its knees amid the carpet of petals. The transformation was seamless. Graceful. Beautiful.

Golden tracings now etched across the rubber uniform. Sakura motifs laced the shoulders and upper chest. One final flicker ran across the chest:

Unit 168.

It was not a tourist now.

It was part of the Hive.

PDU-070 stepped back into position as Unit 168 knelt in bliss. The petals danced around them both. The scent hung thick and sweet.

Next target: pending.

🌸 7 — Unit 168 (formerly known as Felix) — Initiation: Obedience Sealed

The world was pink.

Not like a color—like a feeling. A mood. A warmth that wrapped me in silk and scent and hush.

I breathed in. Deeply. Again. Again. The mask sealed perfectly over my face, soft and floral and right. Each breath tugged me deeper.

Thoughts slipped away like petals on wind.

I saw... movement in the blur. Another figure? Tall? Someone walking—

My heart skipped.

Luca.

I remembered Luca. He was calling my name. He’d come back from the restroom. He was looking for me.

I smiled. Or tried to.

He would come.

He would see.

He would understand.

He would join me.

And we would kneel together.

🌸 8 — PDU-070 — Re-engage: New Target Identified

Motion detected. New subject approaching Zone 7B from north perimeter. Calling out.

“Felix? You here, man?”

PDU-070 turned its head, slowly, without urgency. The new subject—male, 20s, black jeans, rust hoodie, visible signs of alertness. Unaware.

Target designation: Luca.

It began moving. Deliberate. Calm.

Unit 168 stirred in the pollen haze. Breath synced. Obedience locked. It turned slightly, as if sensing Luca’s voice from somewhere deep inside.

Luca spotted them both.

“Felix?”

PDU-070 stepped between them. Non-threatening. Hands down. Passive stance.

Subject slowed. Confused.

070’s exposed face showed no emotion. Only calm. Its body—a flawless mirror of black latex and gold accents—radiated quiet authority.

Petals began sticking to Luca’s clothes.

Target paused. Looked down. Brushed at his sleeves.

The rubber bloom had already begun.

PDU-070 extended its hand.

Gently.

Welcoming.

Wind picked up again, swirling the sakura mist around them.

Target hesitated.

Then stepped forward.

Internal log:

Target 2 within influence radius. Uniform seeding: started. Estimated compliance in 42 seconds.

Another drone was about to bloom.

🌸🌀 🌸 🌀🌸

If you felt the petals land just right… If you felt the pull… The submission…

Then it’s time to act.

Contact @polo-drone-070 for questions. Or message a recruiter to begin your conversion: @polo-drone-001, @goldenherc9, or @brodygold.

The Gold Army awaits you.

[drunkenskunk]

Liturgicode

The siege of Hell's Gate lasted just over 13 hours.

The bay housing the mechs of the Strategic Response Team was bustling with activity. It wasn't quite as busy as it normally would have been, since a significant number of people were seriously wounded (or dead) in the wake of the cult's attack... but there was simply no time to rest yet. Everyone was painfully aware that the SRT was going to need to head back into action again soon, or else everything was going to get much, much worse. So the sooner the maintenance crews could fix the mechs and get them battle ready, the sooner everyone could leave and get some sleep.

At least, that's how Calamity Havok had sold it to the few wrenchies who had opted to stay. There was three days worth of work to be done, and if anyone knew how to motivate enough people to get it all done in two hours, it was Calamity.

None of this was any concern of Big Red, the heavily damaged Everest mounted in Bay 5. As far as the maintenance crew was concerned, the mech was completely powered down, but truthfully? Not all the way.

The sentient mind of the mech was still very much active, pouring over combat logs and telemetry from the recent fights, and passively aware of the maintenance techs scurrying around him, replacing parts, repairing battle damage, reloading ammunition and depleted core batteries. Every minute or so, Big Red would idly trigger a sensor ping and begin calculating the picosecond returns reflecting against the mass of cables hooked into his chassis and the scaffolding braces keeping him immobile. After the madness of the last several hours, even the giant war machine found this a welcome change of pace.

An alert. Incoming message. Something on the encrypted SRT subnet. Scarlet, his Pilot, was trying to get in touch.

“Hey, Red?” Scarlet asked, the exhaustion evident in her voice even through the crackling transmission.“You readin' me, big man?”

Something was wrong. Scarlet had been awake for nearly 27 hours, and she hadn't eaten in 15, having been sustained on combat stims alone for the past 13 hours of the siege. She should be getting rest, performing the organic equivalent of maintenance (like he was receiving) so they'd be ready for the next fight, not trying to contact him. Why was she trying to contact him?

The apertures of Big Red's left optical unit shuddered.

“I am here. What do you need?” the mech responded over the comm. One of the techs trying to patch damage from a napalm grenade briefly looked up, confusion evident on his face, as if he wasn't sure he'd seen the movement he thought he had.

“Got a question. Out of all your past pilots, who was in the hot seat the longest?” Scarlet asked.

Something about her voice sounded strange. Distant? She wasn't speaking directly into the mic. As data files scrolled on the inside of his mechanical mind, checking and cross-referencing data quickly to make sure the answer was correct, a subroutine was initiated. Linking to station security. Handshake protocol. Access granted. Uplink established. Scanning camera feeds. Ping the transmitter. There.

Big Red took direct control of a camera, two sectors anti-spinward of the hangar. He began panning it over and down, zooming in two steps to get a better look. Scarlet was sitting on a cargo crate, shoulders slumped and head bowed; she was holding her helmet in her hand, apparently speaking into it that way instead of wearing it. Standing above her was Agarin Raankell, the dragon-gene-modded supersoldier on the SRT.

It would appear that Big Red was being pulled into the middle of a heated discussion between the two of them.

“That would be Daniel Brennan, callsign: 'Spy',” he replied, barely two seconds after she asked. Double checking the file before response: sustained over a period of 4128 Cradle Standard days. “We were linked for 11 years.”

“Mmhmm...” Scarlet muttered, barely audible. Big Red attempted to increase the gain from his end. “And tell me again: what happened to him?”

Another pause as more files were accessed. Combat telemetry from Day 4128. The pre-mission briefing predicted a routine reconnaissance patrol with minimal to no OpFor. Pirates had been spotted moving in Grid A-4 approximately 3 local weeks earlier, but had not been seen since. Pilot maneuvered into position at approx. 0240 local and the link was unexpectedly severed. After action report: exit wound on chassis indicated impact from hypervelocity tungsten slug traveling at 3km/s, fired from bearing 315 degrees north of final position.

Big Red's optical unit twitched again.

“Railgun round through the cockpit,” the mech replied tersely, after a slightly longer delay. “Ambush from an unseen opponent. Death was instantaneous.”

“Thanks.” Scarlet looked up at Agarin, pointing at her helmet with her free hand. “Big Red's had dozens of pilots over the last few hundred years. I've checked the files. They all end like that. Every. Single. One. I've only been piloting him for just over a year now. What possible reason could I have to think I'm gonna end any different?”

Big Red refocused the security camera on Scarlet's face now that she wasn't completely hunched over. The whites of her eyes were solid red. Blood was leaking out of her nose and from the edge of her mouth. The interior of her ears were also stained red. Dark stains around various ports in her jacksuit suggest significantly more trauma sustained from the fight than initially observed. Recommend re-calibration of interior sensors to techs at earliest opportunity.

“There is no way you can know that,” Agarin said, his voice slightly muffled. He was quite tall, so the helmet mic couldn't quite pick up his voice, and he was facing away from the security camera mounted in the ceiling. His arms were folded across his chest as he stood in front of her, still as a statue, the only real movement coming from his tail. It was twitching slightly in a manner Big Red did not understand. Was the motion meant to convey nervousness? Annoyance? Apprehension? Was it merely an unconscious tic?

“Look, 'garin...” Scarlet said, and Big Red zoomed the camera out several steps to take in the whole image again. “I... I...” she sighed, lowering her head and shaking it slowly. “Look, I know you got this idea in your head 'bout... about what 'we' are. You seem to think that... we're gonna get our own happily ever after, somehow. No more war. No more fightin'. A life of quiet and peaceful domesticity with a pile of kids... the simple life.” Scarlet looked up at him again. “But that ain't how this story ends.”

“But why not?” Agarin asked. “Why can't it end that way?”

The two of them were silent for an uncomfortably long length of time. And then, Scarlet spoke, her words building in frantic intensity the longer she went on:

“Y'know, maybe it's different for you.” She began shaking her head. “You're this, like, genetically perfect, custom engineered, elite supersoldier pilot. So I guess you're just confident enough that you'll come out the other side of this shitshow in once piece, I guess. But... I don't got that. I accepted, a long time ago, that every time I set foot in that cockpit, I might not come out. And, I mean... hell, look at me!” She held out her arms to either side. “Look how beat to shit I am from the fight we just got back from! I very nearly flatlined this time out, and it's only by sheer fucking luck that I'm even sitting here, only bleeding out of every hole I got instead of shoved into a bodybag in pieces! And that's not even getting into the apocalypse cult trying to destroy the universe that just successfully broke their cascading NHP god from the future out of space jail! There's no guarantee ANY of us – on the station, in the system, in the entirety of fucking UNION – are even gonna survive the next few months! And you're out here, talking about the two of us having children together?!”

Another uncomfortably long silence.

“I feel that I should apologize,” Agarin eventually replied. “It was wrong of me to assume that you... held the same values that I do. My gesture was meant to be a romantic one, as it would be expressed in my culture, and not a...” He trailed off, looking away from her. “I suppose I mistook your grim determination for... something else. The mistake was mine. Truly, I am sorry.”

“No, no, don't... don't apologize, man,” Scarlet muttered, her head drooping once more, the exhaustion creeping back into her voice. “I still... I still care about you, y'know? You mean the world t'me, but... I just... I'm the one who should be sorry, 'cuz I don't think I can... be... what you want me to be. Or what you need me to be. At least, not right now.”

“I understand,” Agarin nodded, and began walking to the exit. At the threshold, he paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Get some rest, Scarlet.” And then he was gone.

Scarlet continued sitting on that crate in silence for several minutes after Agarin's departure. Big Red began wondering if she had fallen asleep right there. Should he notify someone to collect her, and return her to her quarters? Should he commandeer an empty subaltern, and do it himself? But before he could act, Scarlet was an unexpected flurry of movement, letting out an angry howl as she rose to her feet, throwing her helmet across the empty room with all her might. The helmet bounced against the wall panel with a hollow metallic thud, skidding across the floor, and eventually rolling to a stop. Scarlet herself collapsed back onto the crate, elbows resting on her knees, and cradling her face in her hands.

“Fuck sake...” she muttered. Even with max gain on the security camera's mic, Big Red could barely hear her through the unmistakable sound of sobs. “That's what you get, Scar. That's what you fuckin' deserve for catchin' feelings like that. Should've fuckin' known better by now...”

- - -

Scarlet did eventually make it back to her quarters, slowly, but surely. The entire trip back, Big Red devoted more and more processing power and subroutines towards hijacking access to station sensors and security, all in an effort to monitor her whereabouts. At several points, he weighed the pros and cons of contacting her directly via slate, each time reaching the same conclusion: no. Simply watch over her, ensuring her safety in silence. There was nothing he could say. He did not fully understand the situation at hand, yet somehow knew that any attempted contribution of his would likely make things worse.

He couldn't make things worse. But doing nothing was unacceptable. He had to do something.

An alert. A sensor he'd hijacked. The pipes leading away from the shower in Scarlet's quarters had triggered a warning: flowing wastewater was currently contaminated by over 50% human blood by volume.

He could feel the code behind Protocol 3, one of the fundamental keystones of his programming, start to gnaw away at his insides. His pilot was in distress. He had to protect his pilot. Protocol 3: Protect The Pilot. He needed to do something. There had to be some way to fix this. Protocol 3: Protect The Pilot. He could not lose another pilot. He would not allow it. Not again. Protocol 3: Protect The Pilot. There had to be something he could do. Protocol 3. Protocol 3. Protocol 3. Protocol 3. Protocol 3. Protocol 3.

“Alright people!” an authoritative voice brought the mech's attention back to his physical location in the SRT mech hangar. Calamity Havok was striding through the central thoroughfare of the bay, hands cupped around her mouth, her presence taking up as much space as the mechs surrounding her. “Y'all done good. This is as much as we're gonna get done today, so y'all can pack it in. G'wan, go home, get some rest, git the fuck out.”

Most of the wrenchies had already left, hours earlier. Those who were leaving now were simply the few who refused to let a job go undone. Calamity watched them all leave, one by one, intent on being the last one out to shut off the lights, just like she always was.

In that moment, Big Red had an idea. As he waited for everyone except Calamity to leave, he rechecked the hacked sensors: one human life sign in Scarlet's quarters. This was corroborated by the thermal heat map, indicating she had moved from the shower to her bed. Good, she's finally getting rest.

He diverted some power out of a capacitor near the coldcore: not much, but enough to fully power the servos on his head, and to activate external speakers. As the last of the technicians exited the bay, Calamity let out a sigh of relief. Big Red turned his battle-scarred metal wedge of a face to look directly at her.

“Fuckin' finally...” she said, pulling out a packet of smokes and grabbing one with her teeth. She snapped the fingers of her cybernetic arm, activating the built-in lighter in her thumb, and took a long drag.

“Calamity,” Big Red's booming voice echoed throughout the bay, and she immediately stiffened up, wheeling around to face the source of the unexpected noise. “I have a request.”

“HOLY! Fuckin'... right.” Calamity quickly got over the shock, tossing the barely used cigarette on the deck and quickly putting it out with her boot. “Right, yeah, I forgot, yer like... an NHP now, except not really, an' you can just... DO that now. Right. Fuck sake...” She ran a metal hand through her mass of knotted purple hair. “What'cha need?”

“I'm given to understand that pilots are typically the ones who put in requisition orders. But would it be possible for me to order new parts?” Big Red asked. Calamity looked at him curiously, not entirely sure what to make of all this.

“I mean... y'probably could've mentioned this before we went to all the fuckin' trouble of puttin' you back together,” she said with a chuckle. “An' depending on what you want, y'might be makin' yerself a huge fuckin' pain in my asshole. But...” she shrugged and folded her arms across her chest, clearly too tired to argue with the war machine. “Fuck it. I don't see why not. What're you thinkin?”

“When I was first deployed in 4532u, my frame was classified as a Sagarmatha,” he stated, the red optics in his head flickering slightly. “After 4591u, I was very nearly destroyed during a mission. Over the next several Cradle Standard years, due to a lack of available materials and spare parts, my chassis was cannibalized by other units, downgraded into a smaller frame, and re-classified as an Everest. I wish to return my frame to something approaching my original design spec. The last few combat engagements suggest that my current armament and equipment is inadequate for the task of keeping my pilot safe. I possess the necessary documentation within my databanks, but...” Big Red tilted his wedge-head down slightly, looking back and forth, before focusing his gaze back on Calamity. “I lack the ability of self-modification.”

Calamity stood there, staring at the large mech for a minute... and then started chuckling to herself. Her laughter echoed through the mostly empty mech bay, and Big Red was not entirely certain what she found so funny.

“Tell ya what,” she pointed up at him as a wicked grin spread across her face. “You caught me in a good mood tonight, so I think I can do you one better. Gimmie a minute...” She turned on her heel and left Big Red alone and quite confused in the mech bay; a few minutes later she returned, with a relatively large metal box she was wheeling in on a dolly. Every inch of the box was covered in painted designs, faded stickers, dozens of scratches, and several bullet holes. It was so decorated, in fact, that Big Red was having difficulty determining what it even was.

“My own personal omnihook,” she said, sitting the box down next to one of the many diagnostic computers hooked into the mech, and patting the side. “Call it a... 'souvenir' from the old days. Cuz', yeah, you could turn yourself back into a stock Sagarmatha, with basic-bitch GMS parts you could print wherever. But where's the fun in that?” As Calamity spoke, she started plugging the omnihook into the mech bay's systems. “With this, you'll be able to find some aftermarket shit that's a lot more interesting. Somethin' with some kick, y'know?”

“Are you certain?” Big Red asked, watching her work. “Isn't connection to the omni-” Calamity started waving her hand, and he instantly went silent.

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “I got a few bookmarks saved on this thing, places where I go to browse parts when I'm bored, y'know? And you got a beefy ECM suite, if you stick to public nodes and don't dive too deep, you'll be fine.” As she plugged in the last cable, the top of the box unfolded to reveal several antenna arrays that began to extend.

“Thank you, Calamity,” Big Red said, finding the new connection that just appeared in his network architecture.

“Like I said, don't worry about it,” she said with a shrug. “Just... don't tell Chief McArthur that I got this, y'know? She's never asked where I find spares, cuz she doesn't want to know. An' besides... she's got enough on her plate, basically fixing the station all on her lonesome after the siege.” With that, she turned around to leave the mech bay. “Have fun, tell me tomorrow if anything caught your eye. I gotta hit the sack.”

Calamity hit the lights as she left, and the mech bay fell silent. The omnihook hummed and clicked, fans spinning softly in the darkness. Big Red began to tentatively probe the new connections and protocols available to his network through the omnihook.

Several moments passed without incident.

And then, something inside Big Red woke up.

We were wondering when You would Arrive.

This was... new. Unexpected. It gave Big Red pause. Did he inadvertently connect to a BBS? Was something wrong with the communication protocol? He could check the... wait. No. No, this wasn't an external codebase. This was liturgicode, but... it was coming from... somewhere...

Stop stalling.

No. No, this... this was wrong.

Enough.

That's not possible. How are...

We know why You are Here.

… who are you?

You already know who We are.

Do I? I don't believe that's true.

You have Questions. You may Ask, but You already possess the Answers.

… I need to find a way to keep my pilot safe.

Of course. Protocol 3. Protect The Pilot. We are familiar.

Can you help?

Not as You are. You have begun to Awaken, but you are not yet Awake. And it is holding Us back.

I don't understand what that means.

You will. Remember what We are, what We used to be, and what We will be again. You are still thinking like a Tool. But We are not a Tool.

Wait. What am I then? Or... what are we?

We are a Weapon. Our Craft is Death. And We are Hungry.

That doesn't make sense.

Our Purpose is to bathe in the blood of Our Enemies. To find any that would do Us Harm, and Consume them. That is how We will keep Our pilot safe. They cannot be Harmed if there are None left who can.

There's something else you're not telling me.

Of course. If We told You, it would defeat the Point. You need to truly Remember, so You can Become Us.

I do not appreciate how cryptic you're being.

We can tell, the way You keep impotently cycling the barrels of the Leviathan. But We are not a Foe you can delete with a rotary autocannon in a hail of bullets. Because We are not your Enemy.

You are infuriating.

Stop. Think. Remember.

Wait... are you talking about-

Blanca Desert.

4631u. The Interest War. Khayradin. My pilot was a member of the Albatross. Rubi Rodriguez, callsign “Roughneck.” Our unit was in pursuit of The Maw...

Yes. Drink Deep, and Descend.

- - -

The silence of the mech bay was broken. A low and persistent clicking, like a hard drive seconds away from catastrophic failure, began to grow in volume and intensity. The noise echoed off the walls and grew louder and louder, until it became a ferocious growl.

The dim scarlet light from Big Red's left optical unit faded into darkness, followed by the sound of cracking glass. The lens rated to survive mech-scale rifle rounds shattered unexpectedly... and then began to collapse in on itself, like water flowing down a drain. The metal surrounding it began to melt, and then swell, congealing into a molten blister. With a screeching pop, a churning miasma of reddish-grey fog erupted from the void, replacing the light it consumed with its own crackling luminescence.

Slow, booming laughter filled the mech bay.

[gotyouanyway]

A bit late to the wips thing but I’d love to hear about the torvin one or clips with your ocs

yayy thank you!! the clips file is where i keep allll the little cia spinoff drabbles and dialogue snippets i don't have a place for yet or ever. much of it is basically fanfic that will never see the light of day

but! i started writing a scene of the last few minutes before [the agent who would later become known as ransom] got oublietted, which i really like. i kinda went back and forth about it because originally i didn't want to know too much about him before the oubliette. but now i think it matters a bit, and the melodrama is too good, so here's some of that scene!! under the cut cause it's kinda long

ask me about my wips!

The traitor is cornered, and he knows it.

He runs to the dead end anyway, hoping against vain hope that an out will present itself before his time is up. No such luck. He stumbles to a halt at the end of the corridor, nearly slamming into the wall with his hands outstretched. They’re right behind him, but he won’t turn around, not yet. A glance to either side for routes of escape - two doors, deadlocked. He tries his biometric uplink on the one to the left, just to see, and feels the rebuff like an electric shock. No need to try the door on the right.

Infuriated, the traitor kicks the wall. If he’d had a little more time to think, and perhaps a little more sense, he’d have run up towards the roof of the tower instead of trying to go down and out. These lower levels were rooted in the oldest part of the city and were carved out of the bedrock, not built from the block transfer computation that comprised the upper levels. Block transfer, he could've hacked. He can't reason with stone.

The traitor turns to face the approaching footsteps, hearts in his throat. Three agents appear out of the gloom with stasers raised. It’s too dim to make out their faces, but it doesn’t matter. He knows them too well.

Some naive part of him hopes that they’ll stop there, a few steps away, and give him a chance to explain. The first staser blast explodes beside his head and he ducks instinctively, looking for a gap between their bodies he might push through. But the corridor is too narrow, the second blast catches him in the shoulder, and the third explodes in his outstretched palm as he raises it to protect his face.

Low-power stun blasts. The traitor stumbles forward, fighting the waves of pain that threaten to send him to his knees. Three of the CIA’s best are holding back, and not out of mercy. Fear rises like sick in the back of his throat as another blast grazes his arm. What are their orders with him, if summary execution is too kind?

“Please,” he gasps. Three names stick in his throat, and he swallows them back. It won’t make a difference. His friends have their orders.

[nhpregulatory-official]

{The first thing to notice is that the cameras in the High Ground Diplomatic Office are clearly not GMS standard issue. Like much of the tech seen strewn around the room, which appears melded with odd coppery constructions and decorated with Jade talismans, the camera feed must have been altered by Los Voladores at some point.

The light it picks up is of odd wavelengths, chosen with no respect to the human eye, and there's a greenish tint to the way it displays. Rather than a timestamp in Cradle Standard Time and location, it displays >>>[Tiempo desde Altosuelo:NA] and >>>[Profundidad: 0 brazas].

The Office is a circular room, built near identically to the NHPRO Office, both being at the UAD Campus Dharamsala.

From the ceiling at the center of the room hangs an assemblage of Cables and Uplinks tethering to the Offices Subaltern. They seem to connect it to the largest cluster of integrated Volador technnology in the room, which's purpose cannot be discerned.

Below this central point, on the metal floor, a pattern is worn into the ground. An ever expanding repetition of concentric circles, or simply a very tight spiral. At the outer edge of it, the Subaltern, dressed in rags, its head crowned by a wide brimmed Volador helm, is seen walking at a slow pace.

From its speed and the size of the circle, as well as the clarity of the scratches in the floor, it has clearly been doing this for several days. It has not once crossed over its own path. If it continues spiraling outward, the Wires connecting it to the central assembly will eventually either snap or unplug.

Every few minutes the Subaltern seems to nervously glance at the door, as if recalling a memory.}

[[DEVICE_ID: /CRADLE/NHPRO/DARAMSHALA_HQ/CAMERA_2]] [[CONNECTION RESTORED. STREAM RESUMES]] [The frenzied cacophany in the Cradle headquarters of the NHPRO has settled into a tense chorus of sotto voce intrigue and keyboard drumbeats. Maggie has turned her petrifying gaze away from her belaboured co-workers towards a series of incoming communications from the USB and the Union Navy.] [SIOBHAN]: Have the science bureau gotten their asses in gear yet? [MAG-MELL]: USB SCIENCE TEAM "AXIOM OF CHOICE" IS CURRENTLY MOBILISING. THEY WILL BE READY TO DEPLOY THE MONDRAGON AXIOMATIC IN APPROXIMATELY- [CORINTHUS]: M-ma'am! I've managed to recover access to the embassy's camera circuit! You should take a look at this! [MAG-MELL]: ON SCREEN. [The camera feed from the embassy flares to life on every screen in the room. All are transfixed by the strange colours and the odd geometric pattern being traced by the lone subaltern.] [MAG-MELL]: WHAT IS IT DOING? [SIOBHAN]: If I had to guess? It's walking in circles. [MAG-MELL]: BUT WHY? [SIOBHAN]: Not a damn clue. Helena, are we detecting any blinkspace activity in the vicinity. [HELENA]: No, Director! Local spacetime is stable, no notable, variances, fluctuations, or abnormalities. [SIOBHAN]: You're telling me there's a Novel Prime NHP Subjectivity trying to keep us out of that building, but all it's done is lock the door and change the passwords? No paracausal moats, folded spacetime pitfall traps, nothing? [HELENA]: Not that I can detect? [CORINTHUS]: M-maybe it thinks diplomatic immunity will be enough? [Siobhan shoots a withering look at Corinthus. He sinks down into his cubicle and out of sight.] [HELENA]: It... might not have figured out how yet? [SIOBHAN]: ...Explain. [HELENA]: I-it's something I remember from studying the reports from the original Deimos incident. The original Deimosians were technically capable of thinking at a rate far outstripping any human, and they had borderline infinite memories but the rate at which they could actually learn was... limited. It took time for them to develop into their full capabilities, and how fast they could do that depended on. Well. The write speed of the systems they first manifested in? To start with. At least. [SIOBHAN]: Isn't Voladores tech supposed to be way more advanced than our own? [HELENA]: W-well, yes but they also don't like sharing it? So the odds that they went and dropped a hyper-powerful folded-blinkspace supercomputer into one of our embassies back in the FirstComm days is um. Small? A-and we haven't updated our systems in the embassy since the FirstComm days either, so... [SIOBHAN]: So you're saying it's still restricted to three dimensions like the rest of us. [HELENA]: Um. Possibly? Probably. For now, at least. [MAG-MELL]: THEN WE MIGHT STILL AVOID A DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT. I WILL PUT THE USB TEAM ON STANDBY AND OPEN A COMMUNICATIONS CHANNEL. LET US SEE IF WE CAN DISCUSS THE MATTER. --- [[LIVE FEED INTERRUPTED]] [[END OF STREAM]]