#Integration-Ready Bots

[mobiloittet]

What is Arbitrage Bot?

Arbitrage trading in Cryptocurrency is a trading strategy in which investors profit from price fluctuations in a digital asset across several marketplaces or exchanges.

[lordsireno]

Zanzo finds a new toy in the depths of the R&D storerooms he'd been relagated to. This little bot was immobile but could produce wires to integrate, so he installs it into one of the PGR-0101 units. Nicknamed "Wormy", its primary function was the comparison of data, but now with a body, its ready to be Zanzo's new testing buddy.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Yo what are your thoughts on Decepticon Optimus? because I enjoy daydreaming about Optimus who decided to go disguise himself as another bot and joined the Decepticons to get information since no one else wanted to do it.

I just find such a concept interesting

A fascinating idea, but unless we are talking about some messed up brainwashing, logically I see no real reason why Optimus would go undercover considering his size, rank, morality, and everything else. But I can try and come up with a reasonable explanation since this is such a neat idea.

Undercover

After a particularly nasty battle, Optimus was out of commission. His armor was shredded and a good portion of his frame melted or otherwise misshapen in some way, shape, or form. His injuries could be repaired and he could still fight, but the demoralization that would come from him looking so horribly mutilated on the battlefield wasn't worth it. Not only that, but preparing the necessary materials and specialists to fix all the damage to his frame, cosmetic and practical, would take quite some time. And so at a meeting trying to determine the best course of action, Jazz piped up from the back.

Jazz: Why not make the best of this situation and send Prime out to the Decepticons undercover?

Ratchet: *choking on his drink* Send him WHAT?!?!

Jazz: Yeah, he don't look anything like himself at the moment, no offense Prime.

Optimus: *nodding along in understanding* None taken.

Jazz: So wouldn't it make sense to slap some new armor and paint on him and have him go undercover gathering info while we prep the medics? I have just the mission for him!

Prowl: We are NOT sending our Prime behind enemy lines. What will our soldiers think? The loss of morale would be devastating.

Jazz: *kicking his legs up onto the table* Just say Prime is doing some spiritual stuff and spread some rumors about something big happening. Then leave Magnus in charge and no bot will question Prime being gone for a while.

Ultra Magnus: *scowling* Optimus has received no training for such a position and he would be left incredibly vulnerable should he be discovered.

Jazz: Basic integration and stealth training takes three weeks at most, and Prime was an Archivist when he was still a civilian. I'm sure he can figure out how to get the data without the additional training in that department.

Optimus: *nodding as if it is the simplest thing in the world* He has a pretty good point.

Everyone else: WHAT!?!?

And so against almost everyone's better judgement, Optimus was sent off to train with Jazz, and then a month later, refitted to suite his new position. The Decepticons were always looking for new warriors, so all Jazz had to do was reformat Optimus (a process that was not at all difficult considering that the Prime had no real armor so to speak of), give him some basic training to integrate into his new armor, and then send him off.

When Optimus left base he was a sight to behold. No longer did he look graceful or have regal nobility, he instead looked heavy duty, dangerous, and ready to kill. His frame had been reformatted to be boxier, sturdier, and less elegant, his optics having special visor glass put over them to give the impression of them being red to really sell it. His paint was black and gray, with accenting red on his windshields and on his new axe. And on top of it all, he had chosen a cold and calculating personality to use, one not so murderous as to be a threat to Megatron, but also not so intelligent as to be a danger to the higher ranks.

With a status beacon imbedded directly into his processing units to alert the Autobots to his welfare at all times and a set of directions to a meeting place should he gather any intel, Optimus made his way to a Decepticon outpost. His insignia had been scrubbed and so he was not shot on sight, instead being brought to the local Decepticon officer once he made his intention to join up clear. After a quick glance at his forged documents and a spar with a Vehicon, Optimus was accepted into the Decepticon ranks under the name Nemesis. And while not exactly his intention, after dealing with a great many internal issues in the Decepticon order, more so by accident and due to his slight OCD than anything else, he rose through the ranks.

He regularly brought Jazz any information he gathered and took great care to ensure that other dangerous Decepticons took the fall for his actions. It was... difficult for him to not allow his strong morals to impede his work, but he did what he could. He kept up the ruse that he was a cold calculating individual, but to ease his own spark he threw in a deep sense of brotherhood and comradery into his new personality. He helped his Decepticon comrades, eventually befriending a majority of the Vehicons, gaining their collective respect upon going out of his way and saving them numerous times. He became the emotional support bot for the younger Decepticons who started to doubt the cause and the older ones who suffered from the loss of friends and family (he always found a way to smuggle the truly good sparked ones out of the Decepticon order, sending them to the Autobots under his name). And when on the battlefield he made his engagements look like the most intense battles ever conceived, only ever holding the line but never gaining or losing territory for the Decepticons. It was perfect to maintain his position but never raise any serious suspicion.

Eventually he caught the optics of Starscream and his trine who admired him not for his (nonexistent) kill count, but for his loyalty, skill in battle, and brilliance in dealing with morale among the troops. With Starscream's favor, Nemesis rose past the lower ranks and found himself serving directly under the seeker despite not being a flight frame. He didn't understand, but for whatever reason, Starscream liked him and that suited Nemesis just fine. With time he even found himself liking the seeker after he came to understand that his arrogance was largely a defense mechanism. They became incredibly close in only a few short months as Nemesis saved Starscream from numerous punishments from Megatron. They only grew closer after the death of Starscream's trinemates, leaving Nemesis as the only mech Starscream was willing to rely upon. They became brothers of a sort, and that made Nemesis's position difficult.

Eventually the lines between Nemesis and Optimus began to blur. Nemesis became part of Optimus, giving the Prime a more cynical and analytical outlook, one based more on reality instead of hopes. And Optimus gave Nemesis the morality and the empathy needed to allow him to bond with those around him while not falling into their influence. The two personalities were set apart, but quickly began to bleed into one another. By the time Nemesis was given the order to return, he found himself reluctant. He had bonded with his Decepticon brethren and he, while not caring for their goals or at all liking their actions, found himself attached. He didn't want to abandon them, not when the Vehicons would be abused and Starscream would be left all alone. And so eventually, Nemesis made a choice.

Jazz: Good to see you again Prime! You've done excellent work! But we got the medics all ready for you now, so you don't need to hide out anymore!

Optimus/Nemesis: In regards to that topic... I do not wish to leave the Decepticons.

Jazz: *sputtering* w-what?!

Optimus/Nemesis: Do not mistake my words, I hold no love for Megatron, his inner circle, or anything they stand for... but there are innocent mecha suffering under his rule. I cannot leave them, they need me.

Jazz: But Prime! We need you too!

Optimus/Nemesis: I am well aware of that, and that is why I would like to propose a compromise.

Few were pleased with the development, but none could argue with the end results of Optimus's plan. He got the necessary repairs to return to his duties as Prime, but at the same time, he also got some special upgrades to allow him to return to his position as Nemesis. He spent half his time as Optimus, leading his Autobots, raising and training Bumblebee, and keeping up morale. But the other half of the time he was Nemesis, an officer serving directly under Air Commander Starscream and silently collecting data.

The excuse Optimus gave to continue living both his alternate lives was interesting to say the least. To the Autobots, when Optimus wasn't around, he was communing with Primus and recovering from the long term affects of his wounds. Bumblebee didn't question his Sire leaving, he was no sparkling by the time Optimus was initially damaged and he was fully capable of operating alone. So long as he got affection and could see Optimus semi-regularly, he was content. Optimus's inner circle were less happy about the arrangement, but the data they received and the near constant flow of new bots smuggled out of Decepticon ranks soothed their irritation. Of course Ratchet was the least happy but he managed by having the status beacon available for him to view Optimus's health at all times.

To the Decepticons, Nemesis dropped off the map sometimes and that was just a thing that happened. No Decepticon cared enough to bother him about it since the Vehicons never said anything to superior officers and he always came back with either energon or some interesting item. Nemesis wasn't important enough for Megatron to give a frag beyond pushing Starscream around more since his bodyguard wasn't present. And Soundwave while suspicious just decided to leave the issue alone since Nemesis's presence only did good things for morale and efficiency. Starscream was less than pleased and incredibly suspicious about Nemesis's frequent disappearances, but he also never said anything for fear of losing his one remaining friend. He knew something was up and that his close friend and brother in all but CNA was hiding a secret, but despite having the ability to pry and discover the truth, he never did so. Instead he played along with Nemesis's excuses and accepted the increased affection and care from Nemesis upon his return.

Optimus/Nemesis played his roles without much issue for much of the war... that was until the Allspark had to be sent away. At that point both factions were preparing to leave Cybertron and Optimus had no choice but to pick which life he was going to stick with. He knew what he had to choose in the end, he made peace with that fact long ago. But that didn't stop him from spending his last few months as Nemesis doing everything in his power to prepare many a failsafe and all sorts of hidden escape routes for the Vehicons to use without him there to get them out of trouble. He scrubbed sensitive information regarding his subordinates to keep them from being blackmailed. And he also went out of his way to spend time with the remaining Vehicons, Soundwave's cassettes (who had taken a liking to him over time), and of course, Starscream.

Every moment he could spare, Nemesis spent with Starscream. He became incredibly affectionate, showering his brother in love and giving him little gifts. Starscream was suspicious but accepted it as Nemesis dealing with the loss of the Allspark in his own way. Little did he know that Nemesis was quietly preparing for his "death" and attempting to ease his "passing" as much as possible. He even wrote out letters to various Vehicons, Soundwave's cassettes, and Starscream. He made several albums with photos he had taken of and with his Decepticon friends and comrades for them to find after his "death". And lastly he prepared the necessary evidence to make his "death" look like a suicide instead of anything else. He didn't want Starscream or any of his other loved ones growing bitter, no, he wanted them to be able to move on, so he made sure to specify that his "death" was not the fault of any bot in particular. But before Nemesis enacted his plan, he spoke with Starscream one last time.

Nemesis: Starscream... I want you to know that I have always seen you as a brother and friend. Your companionship has been invaluable to me, and I am glad to have spent all these vorns by your side.

Starscream: *raising his eyebrow in suspicion* And what brought all this flattery on? You aren't planning on defecting are you?

Nemesis: *shaking his helm* No, nothing like that... I just thought it was best that I tell you the truth of how I feel. With the Allspark gone and the war still raging, it felt appropriate to say before it is too late.

Starscream: You aren't the emotional type Nemesis. Is something wrong?

Nemesis: All sorts of things, but you need not worry yourself. I will handle it on my own.

Starscream: ... If you say so... but if you need me to come beat some bot for you, just give the word.

Nemesis: Of course Starscream...

Nemesis quietly left later that same day. He purposefully left tracks leading toward a quiet location and set up the scene. A lifeless protoform made to look like him set up with a blade through its spark chamber. Energon was injected into the protoform to make it pour out of the wounds and Optimus left the body with a note that would seem convincing. He did not linger and cried silently in his quarters on the Ark when the cameras he set up around the body picked up Starscream's reaction. He was unable to watch for long as Starscream tenderly cradled the protoform with tears streaming from his optics.

Optimus moved on and did not look back, locking away the entirety of the personality he developed to be Nemesis and throwing himself into his work to try and ease the pain of knowing he abandoned so many mecha. He focused all his attention on the war effort and fleeing Cybertron, doing everything he could to not think about all he lost. But still he found himself going to Ratchet, the only other mech left who knew what he did to cry and pour out all his woes. He hated doing it, he hated having to burden Ratchet, but he couldn't help it. He missed ST3V3 the careless Vehicon and his brethren, he yearned for a chance to play cards with the cassettes, and he longed to comfort Starscream as he once did. Not even giving all his attention to Bumblebee and the team eased the pain entirely.

But Optimus has always been good at hiding his emotions, and so with time and after his arrival to earth with his team, he looked and acted as thought nothing was wrong. He fought on the battlefield as he always did, but after so many centuries of making his fighting far more extravagant than necessary, he learned to make his blows seem far more vicious than they actually were. He never cut down a Vehicon with the intent to kill them, only to inflict minor damage. And when Starscream came to battle, Optimus could never bring himself to harm the seeker in any significant manner and often left combat to the rest of his team. It hurt more than he cared to admit having to interact with his brother in all but CNA and have the seeker believe him to be dead.

He could see the pain in Starscream's optics, he could feel the sorrow. He knew Starscream well enough to know that his viciousness and manipulative behavior stemmed from his loneliness, only serving to make Optimus feel worse. Still he continued on, never daring to linger on his old attachment for long and only ever offering the Decepticons aside from Megatron and Soundwave the opportunity to flee when possible as his gift to them. All the anger he felt toward having to be torn away from his family on the nemesis he directed at Megatron instead.

No one save Ratchet knew of Optimus's time as Nemesis. No one needed to know. But when Megatron fell further into his madness and began openly hurting his followers, Optimus couldn't stand it. And for the first time since he left, Nemesis took control. His violence increased exponentially, and without any remorse he fought with the intent to tear Megatron limb from limb. His fighting style shifted and Nemesis took the place of Optimus Prime, standing up to protect Starscream and his Vehicons from Megatron in the middle of battle.

Nemesis/Optimus: *throwing Megatron away in rage* ENOUGH!

Ratchet: Optimus what are you doing!?

Nemesis/Optimus: *pointing at Megatron with his axe while speaking in an eerily cold tone* Touch him again and I will end you. I have no tolerance toward those who would harm my brothers.

Starscream: *looking up at Optimus from his place on the ground in mixed confusion, awe, and fear* Brothers?!?

It was never explicitly made clear, but as it happened again and again, slowly the puzzle began to fit together. Eventually both Autobots and Decepticons who were unaware came to put Nemesis and Optimus Prime together.

[galionne-speeding]

What jobs do the robo roommates perform to keep the place running? I'm running under the assumption that they all have their own lil niches

You're right! Everyone has their own little specialty and role in the base!

Scratch and Grounder are essentially handymen. They're not good with the more complex and capricious tech, but they know how to keep the lights and heating and plumbing and any of the other basics of the Sanctuary running- Grounder's many integrated tools are a great help with that. Additionally, the twins have a deal with Coconuts to take on all of his cleaning duties, as a peace offering after the many not-so-nice things they did to him before Robotnik abandonned them.

Coconuts is the house cook and by Gaia his cooking is good. Now yes, the robots don't need to eat. But they can. No one really knows why Robotnik/Eggman gave so many human-like features to his robots like being able to eat and cry and feel cold ; maybe he was bored. Or lonely. Or both. Either way, Coconuts picked up cooking because no one else was any good at it and not only is he a great cook, he thoroughly enjoys it.

D.U.F.U.S. having the ability to shapeshift into anything ; he can do just about any job. The main one is disguising himself as a Mobian (his mobiansona(??) is a green gaur named Duffy) and going shopping for food and batteries in the nearby towns (Coconuts sometimes accompanies him, wearing a very non-suspicious black cloak). When not out on errands, Doof helps wherever he can and mostly sticks around Scratch and Grounder doing upkeeping and basic repairs.

Bocoe and Decoe brought the biggest change to the Sanctuary as they were not only designed to be pilots ; but also and most importantly mechanics. They're essentially robot doctors ; in charge of keeping everyone else "healthy" and functionning properly. They also try to give the other bots upgrades that might make day-to-day life easier (for example, upgrading Scratch, Grounder and Coconuts so they can run on more efficient rechargeable batteries instead of big, clunky, non-rechargeable batteries). They also take care of the more complex tech in the base like the Eggnet computer and surveillance system and build new equipment as needed.

Bokkun's only job is to be a kid and be cute and eat junk food. He's very very good at all three. Occasionally he also gets asked to do "deliveries", which is pretty much just bringing someone a wrench or announcing that dinner is ready across the base.

Orbot and Cubot don't really have a job yet as they've only just arrived in the Sanctuary. Cubot does seem to like hanging around Scratch, Grounder and D.U.F.U.S. while Orbot prefers working with Bocoe and Docoe as well as Coconuts, so this might continue in the future.

[yakultii]

This is likely not a new perspective or anything (may be obvious) but personally, I’ve found a new use/appreciation for ai/chatgpt as a tool to enhance academia/school/college/uni, that I think is quite beneficial for a lot of people (and if you disagree, then it’s likely that ‘some people’ are not you). I only mention this because as someone who has never cheat throughout their entire academic life and enjoys the process of writing essays on their own (and am lucky enough to naturally gain success with ease in doing so), I’ve previously steered clear completely of Ai until this semester, not realising how it could be utilised as a tool to enhance my originality.

I am neurodiverse and fluctuate between verbal/non-verbal, so while some semesters I don’t shut up, this semester I’ve rarely said a word in class at uni (literally, I’ve spoken two words in one class and that is all), but I’m also chronically ill so I rarely turn up to class in general anyway (which is optional at my uni, but we all know even just listening in on class discussion can be at least slightly beneficial and is preferred).

Anyways, as an alternative (or in addition) for class discussion, I highly recommend just yapping away to chatgpt.. the reason I find this works well is because, well, ChatGPT isn’t going to come up with anything revolutionary.. and in my experience neither do most the other students in my class (respectfully). I tend to try to go to class just to listen in on the general consensus/surface level understanding of a concept (which ChatGPT tends to offer) as my neurodiverse mind tends to skim over the obvious and instantly attempts to delve deeper, but it’s important to understand the general or surface-level understanding, so then you have a clear understanding where the marker is coming from/their biases etc. (I know they say it doesn’t matter but in my experience it slightly does but I won’t go on another tangent right now) which then allows me to integrate my own often differing perspectives whilst also additionally demonstrating I have the same clear understanding the neurotypicals gained ( I promise integrating both will get you extra marks, at least in my experience - embrace your neurodiversity here, because you’re able to offer something new which often excites a marker as it drags them out of their boredom).

I find this super beneficial because 1. Obviously there is less anxiety involved asking any question you want/making any statements to a bot with no judgement (though Ai is something sassy) 2. I am actually outputting much more than I would if I just went and sat in (non-verbally) on a class discussion and getting out your thoughts on a concept helps you to clarify in your mind your own understanding/interpretation/perspective; with ChatGPT’s average ass responses to your ideas, giving you an idea of how they may be received/refuted by basic bitches, allowing you to strengthen your ideas and so on.. basically you’re actually finally engaging in discussion(congrats!) even if it is with a bot lol 3. you don’t have to talk out loud 4. you can engage in the discussion at your own pace!!!! if you’re not ready to move on in discussion you don’t have to. Spend as much time back and forth until you properly understand the differing perspectives.

BUT if you’re going to utilise this here are a few tips to remember:

1. Make sure you provide ChatGPT with all the relevant background info/somewhat direct the conversation yourself/be specific.. this is because most the time there’s no point having an understanding on a general topic if it doesn’t relate to the specific content of your course/what your lecturer teaches.. markers are almost always looking to see if you can demonstrate an understanding specifically of what THEY taught, so your understanding/essay or whatever should not be able to be written by any random intelligent person who has used to ChatGPT.. you need to make sure it relates specifically back to your course content!

2. ChatGPT is also really great for summarising text from way back in the day that’s barely comparable to modern English such as philosophical text(the main reason I turned to ai lol) etc. I highly recommend utilising it for this to have concepts put into plain English but again, make sure you keep referring back to the original text you are studying and analyse comparisons, pinpoint ideas etc. so your marker believes you drew these key ideas directly from the text and what they taught you.

Again, all this might be obvious and I’m the last to the party but honestly I’m just having a quick study break right now so I thought I’d yap away about reasons ChatGPT doesn’t have to be completely demonised in academia :,)

[rainbwspctrm]

{First Awakening || Sweet Cap’n Cakes fic}

{Characters -> Chromius, Axion (Writers’ OCs)}

{A glance into Chromius’ earliest days, just after being constructed by the computiran, Axion.}

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

In the midst of a laboratory with clean, snow-white walls, decoured in neon-blue lights, the droning sounds of machinery, and the sound of a set of speakers pumping out lo-fi music…

A computiran dressed in a white lab jacket is wrapping up construction of his latest commission work. A curiously-designed musical bot with a focus on hexagonal shapes, decorated effectively head to toe with LED lights, even going as far to span the entirety of its legs. For its vision, a high-spec camera lens smack in the middle of the speaker rim, capable of near-gigapixel resolution and equipped with augmented reality integration.

Securing one last plate of metal into the bot’s chassis, and slipping in some additional small metal pieces into the screw slots to prevent them being accessed at will without special tools…

“...Finished at last. A whole two weeks worth, and edging close to three. The requested files have been transferred, your cooling system is confirmed working, and debugging hardware says you’re ready to go, bud.” The computiran muses to himself than anything, given the construct’s powered-off state. There was only one thing to do now, and its life would begin. The computiran reaches for a gray remote with some backlit buttons and a built-in microphone, placing his thumb onto a speaker button, and through this…

“Chromius, power on.” The computiran speaks, remote held just a bit away from his face. Soon, the low whirring of fans, and the light sloshing of water through an internal liquid cooling system. The LEDs decorating the rim of Chromius’ speaker head soon light up white, circling around and around, in similar manner to some computer loading icons. Then, their lights dim out once more for a short moment, and before anything else can be said- the bot sits up on their own, lights shifting to a full rainbow palette. They move their head around, examining the sights in their immediate vision. Then a few twists of their feet, and self-examining their hands.

Then, the bot sees the computiran in front of them, becoming almost as still as a statue, conveying a blank slate more than a proper emotion. Before the computiran can inquire on anything however, he finds himself halted as the bot speaks.

“Hello. Who are you? Where am I?” The bot inquires, leaning in just a bit to get a closer look at he who has constructed them, much as it’s against their knowledge for now. The computiran draws a smile onto his monitor, nodding. There seems to be no error, as far as he’s concerned. Chromius has awakened without issue, life bestowed upon them proper.

“...I would say ‘hello’ in return. I am Axion, a computiran. You sit upon my work desk in my laboratory, where life is given to each and every construct I create. You are my latest construct, a musical bot with great potential. May you recall your name to me, then?”

And much in line with Axion’s expectation, the musical bot would respond in proper, placing a hand on their chest.

“Chromius. You’re Axion, and this is your laboratory, as you said.” Chromius responds. To Axion, Chromius seems to be about on-pace with most of his other constructs. A bit unnatural sounding on the get-go, but within time, he’s certain the bot will come to develop a personality proper. Ambitions, goals, desires, and a passion for all things good- just like with his other works, he’s got hope in Chromius.

“Indeed. Correct on all three answers. Can you leap off the desk you’re sitting on?” Axion asks of Chromius, taking some steps away from the desk. Seems now they’re being tested, slow and steady being Axion’s approach.

“This is to test your movement systems on a basic level. This should require no effort, I promise. If you can make it over here, then there shouldn’t be any technical problems, and we can continue on.”

Leaning down to see the floor below them, and scooting themself just to the edge of the desk, Chromius hops off with little effort, landing on the ground just fine. Rather than taking the next step with a simple walk however, Chromius opts for a speed-walk instead. This pleases Axion, whose display now draws a checkmark.

“You’ve already got the hang of this, then. You’re catching on at an above average rate. I can see it then, I believe you may have a lot going for you, Chromius.” Axion speaks, expression returning to a smile with closed eyes, as he gives the musical bot a nod. In response, Chromius displays a full set of green lights- seems they’re happy aswell!

“You said we’d continue after this, right? What are we doing next?” Chromius inquires, returning Axion to the subject matter at hand. He scuttles over to his right just a bit, retrieving a clipboard with his usual checklist for fresh-off-the-table constructs.

“Well, we’ve evaluated that your core vital systems are functional. You’ve shown to perform above average as well, most of my other constructs aren’t usually quick to get a move on,” Axion chuckles at the idea. Logically, it runs through his mind that Chromius might be his finest work yet- and given circumstances, he would hope so.

“So I’d ask you some questions to get to know you more. If you could entertain yourself with whatever you’d like, right now, what would you choose?” Axion inquires, ready to write down the bot’s answer. Chromius’ lights shift yellow, ready to answer full steam ahead!

“Let’s watch a lighthearted action film!” Chromius speaks in a beaming manner, prompting Axion to quite literally draw forth a smile onto his face, with another light chuckle.

“Good enough, we’ll stop with the one question for now. To the entertainment center, then.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Axion log - “Chromius, Day 1”

Chromius is coming around rather quickly. Within the first hour, a fairly neutral personality with no real identifying characteristics to make them stand out. Just the hour and two after, Chromius grew to enjoy action films, usually of the ‘parental guidance’ [PG] age rating. It didn’t take long after before they started to become curious of the other means of entertainment within the room. Before I knew it, I was supervising Chromius around the audio equipment and instruments, the free-use personal computers and the available video game systems. Next thing I knew it, me and Chromius were locked into fierce combat in a high octane racing game, and fun times were had. Inevitably however, my power supply was reaching critical levels, and I had to escort Chromius to their bedroom, whereupon they were quick to get a good night’s rest.

__________

“Chromius, Day 2”

Chromius had woken up rather early today. So much so that the morning sun hadn’t risen, the time of waking was 6:00 AM. Some generations back, musical bots were not designed to feel as broad of a range of feelings as auditorians can, but we’re past those times so as to make living as authentic as it can be for them. Suffice to say, Chromius had also woken up in a less than enthusiastic mood. Sure enough, me and Chromius had a bit of a dispute when I had taken my usual demeanor in regards to the effects of poor sleep hours. This was remedied half an hour later when the two of us paid a visit to the kitchen, whereupon I offered a classic breakfast meal. The meal in question, scrambled eggs, hash browns and bacon. Surpassing usual expectation, Chromius suggested I put the eggs and bacon on some slices of bread they had seen. They were insistent on calling it the ‘Sunrise Sandwich.’

Though unorthodox for me to integrate the ability to consume food into a musical bot of such design, they seemed happy to enjoy tasteful delights such as their sandwich. They were even moreso glad to take glasses of water, provided I cooled them using the world’s magic resource. Muse, it’s far too early for me to explain it to them yet. For all of their existence, they had only heard video game background music drowned out by various sounds and the droning ambience of this very establishment.

Speaking of video games, I had introduced them to more mind-oriented brain teasers. As others would call them though, puzzle games. Lucky I was then to have a game that was more a compilation of two games. Two different falling tile puzzle games, one where rows must be filled and one where matching-colored pieces need to be connected to create chain reactions. Chromius caught on at an astounding rate, and was quick to outperform both me and maximum-level artificial intelligences powered by the games. Chromius is truly remarkable.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Then came the third day. Though day two was just about as smooth sailing as the first, despite a slightly less pleasing morning, perhaps that was an omen for hardships to come. Chromius wakes once more, just after the morning sun’s rising at around seven in the morning. For the first time, their mood lights, usually green, yellow or the default rainbow… were instead blue. Chromius just sat there at the edge of their bed for a good ten minutes, arms crossed as they hunch over, looking down. Another two minutes pass before Axion welcomes himself into the musical bot’s room, after which he’s on alert in response to Chromius’ unusual demeanor.

“Chromius, what ails you? You can talk to me.”

No dice. Chromius just turns away, not making the slightest of sounds. Thoughts process within Axion’s mind, and pretty quickly at that, as he formulates possible answers in regards to the current situation. Either way his mind goes though, his next outward move is to sit himself on the edge of Chromius’ bed, next to the bot.

“Chromius, again, what ails you? I must know, it appears to be bothering you quite so, and I’d get to the bottom of resolving this.” Axion persists with getting something out of Chromius, who slowly glances over to Axion, stating something that would confirm the worst has come.

“...I never got to see them. Not even once…” Chromius speaks, dreary as they have ever been in their life up to this point, lifting their legs back onto their bed, assuming fetal position. It would appear Chromius has realized and recalled something within their memory, something that is undoubtedly haunting them more than anything. It’s as Axion feared, much against what he had hoped for his construction. Thus, he comes up with some suggestions that he would hope to use to stir the robot out of their deep emotional chasm.

“Why don’t we try to play another video game? Would you perhaps enjoy watching another…”

Before Axion can finish that second suggestion, or anything else for that matter, Chromius pulls their blanket back onto themself, shifting onto the side facing away from Axion.

“...Not today… I want to be alone.” Chromius requests of Axion, to where the computiran attempts to converse against the idea.

“This is troubling you so, and deeply so. I would try to…” Cut off once again by the musical bot.

“I doubt anything will help. Please leave me alone, Axion.” And before the computiran can try to speak any further words, the lights on Chromius’ speaker rim fades to an off state. Sleep mode before he could get out any other words. Against his dismay, Chromius is taking it much worse than he would have predicted. Yet, despite his pleadings all those weeks ago, he was shut down on alternatives. This was what was asked of him, and he had rolled with it, what may be one of the toughest to deal with decisions he had made in his life.

And both he and Chromius were suffering the consequences.

“...I let them do this, despite the pre-emptive separation it would have implored. They were persistent, and yet, I didn’t push any harder than what I had that day. Chromius… I’m sorry.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Axion Log - “Chromius, Days 3 - 5”

Chromius has been silent for at least ninety percent of the time elapsed since that encounter, and three fifths of that time spent in sleep mode. The few times Chromius would speak, naught more than short sentences would be parsed through their sound driver. Rarely were they feeling it for a full conversation, let alone any activities, sometimes even opting out of self-care. Though it would be the moral option for Chromius to know their parents in some form, I should have considered this. There’s no doubt about it, I have messed up in neglecting to tell Chromius earlier, and these are the consequences of my negligence.

This is a rare moment in which I have felt significant guilt. Thus, did I try to just drop my shoulder joints just a bit, and converse with Chromius. Not as a tutor or instructor, but a caretaker, with the scientifics and acts of training put aside. If anyone can show Chromius that things are going to be alright, who else for it to be than the one who constructed them?

On Day 5, after sundown, I had invited Chromius over for a harmless movie night, hosted by an animated film. They were unenthused, as fate would have it, thus did I try to strike a conversation and vent their feelings out. They had a lot to say, and seemed to want to express the same tear-drenched sorrow that Auditorians express under great plight. Thus did I do what parental figures would- comforting them, reassuring them, and giving them a much needed hug.

Next I knew it, only ten minutes later did Chromius opt for sleep mode once again, while resting on my side. This is… the most affection I’ve felt for a creation of mine since my duties began.

<><><><><><><><><><>

…Shortly after the journal’s written for the night, Axion sees himself back to the selfsame couch that Chromius had zonked out on, giving himself a night’s reprieve, staying by Chromius’ side. Whatever comforts the other bot in such troublesome times, he would do. What that translated to, was returning the favor and leaning on Chromius’ own side.

It was the least Axion could do, is be there for them.

…

Eventually, dawn breaks, and out of the two bots, Chromius is the first to awaken from sleep, finding that they’ve opted to use Axion’s lap as a pillow. As for Axion? Leaning way back onto the couch, still as a statue. This wouldn’t do though- far as as Chromius was aware, Axion’s a very busy man, and he needed to wake up, and this prompts Chromius into poking him.

“Ugh. I’m up, I’m… hmm. Chromius?” Axion speaks, just a tad confused.

“...O…. Oh. Um… s… sorry… just, thought you had, um… stuff to do…” Chromius speaks, seeming more sheepish than anything. That mattered not though, Axion merely shook his head.

“Not to worry. Today’s an off day, my workspace is closed today. I have some other matters to attend to today, some… you-oriented matters.” Axion speaks, which only served to confuse Chromius. What the heck was that supposed to mean?

“Me oriented? ...Axion, what does that mean.” Well, Chromius had him there. Axion mocks a throat-clearing sound.

“Oh, that is to say, I will be focusing on you today. This whole scenario, I can see it with every transistor of my being. You’re struggling on an emotional level, greatly. I… I mean to apologize about not informing you of your parents’ decision earlier. I didn’t think I could make it come naturally… and, it was the first case of my dealing with such a scenario.”

Chromius’ lights shift blue. Oh, right… the parents. The ones that they never got to see, and they’re now being confronted about it. If they could, they’d shed a few tears, but they just go quiet for a solid minute, before speaking.

“...’Least you said it eventually. Axion… why’d they leave before I ever got to see them? Why would they do that?! What good did that…!” Before Chromius could finish, Axion places a hand onto their left shoulder.

“...I would try to explain their motives. For what little time I knew them… it sounded like they were struggling. Whether or not it was poor foresight, they found themselves unable to coexist with you while also keeping what is to be your home in possession. The last I understood from them before that fateful day, they had placed all your hopes in you, that you would make them proud. They gave up their lives, so that you may have a fighting chance for your own.”

Axion soonafter found himself sitting down, coming down with remorseful guilt. Chromius’ parents can word it like that all they want, and however true it might be- still, he thought there could be another agreed upon option.

“They didn’t want you born into a life of misery. A life with no roof over your head. But…”

In the midst of his words, Chromius sat down next to the computiran, derailing his little dialogue. He glances over, to see Chromius scooted quite close to him.

“...You tried, Axion. I can tell. I’m not gonna kill you over it. If I know a thing from breaking down like I have… I’m sure you get it too.” Chromius sighs, leaning onto Axion. Took the words out of his mouth, he’s left speechless for a good, hard minute before he can come to his next idea. Maybe now was the time Chromius got to see what was outside. Not out of this room- but the building as a whole. If there was a time for Chromius to see the world they inhabit, it was now.

“Chromius,” Axion glances at the musical bot, “Come with me.”

The computiran speaks, once more pushing himself out of his seat, taking Chromius’ left hand before an objection could be made. Just like that, Chromius was being led down a path through the building they had not yet trekked through. Eventually, one last door, and Axion opened it up.

The air of the outside world breezes inward, brushing against the two mechanical beings. Outside, the morning sky that Chromius had never seen before, azure in color. Furthermore, accompanying the sky- an unnatural, green grid pattern slowly scrolling across the skies.

This was it, this was the world Chromius inhabited, and this was their first glance at it. The sky keeps the bot’s attention, their camera-lens eye fixated on the grid pattern spanning down to the far-off horizons.

“...” Silence from Chromius. They could only continue to look at the sky above and beyond, and likewise for the cityscapes far in the distance, and the bits of nature accompanying them.

“...This is the world I inhabit. This is what my parents wanted me to survive in. To live in. To one day live a far-reaching life, even. But…” However, what would’ve come next was interjected by Axion. He had a feeling of what was to come.

“But how?... This is precisely why your parents wanted your very body to be one with great potential. From what I gathered: They wanted a child who has potential to greatly exceed expectations. The best that they could’ve resulted with. I have a feeling you’re quite special, Chromius. You just have to prove to Cyber World that you are what you can potentially be.”

Chromius looks straight ahead, no longer up at the sky above. They’re left to explore their thoughts, and are very much doing so. Axion nods, giving Chromius the time they need, sitting himself down on the grass just off to his side.

…A few minutes pass.

“...Axion. I’ve decided for myself. Maybe my parents cared after all. No- in fact, they did care. I don’t think I can entirely agree with their rationale on how they handled things, but- this is the world they would’ve wanted me to have a good impression from the get-go.” Chromius speaks, now harboring just a bit better the mindset their parents had. A nod from Axion would assure the musical bot that this was the outlook he had hoped to see.

“You’re ready to start your life in earnest then, I take it? Your parents left you a nice home, what they told me. You have the information in your database to take care of basic necessities already, but once I drop you off at home, Chromius… I won’t be readily available anymore. What adventures follow, will be for you to figure out.” Axion details, awaiting Chromius’ answer. A moment to process the thought, and then, an answer.

“...I’m ready, I think. If you and my parents believe in me, then I should believe in myself. I’m a bit scared, but- I think I can make this work.” Chromius confirms. Axion takes this as confirmation, standing up and extending an arm to his creation.

“Well then, this is where your journey really begins. I’ll take you to your home, and no fears. If you need help at any point, I’m usually one call away.” The computiran offers. 

A moment of hesitancy, as Chromius verges on a second though, pulling back an arm, before a determined nod, and taking Axion’s hand.

…Some hours pass. It’s partway into the afternoon before Axion is leading Chromius out of his headquarters, up to his method of transportation. A four-wheeled automobile, or- you could just call it a car. The car is lined with multiple strips of neon lights around the vehicle, multiple exhaust pipes and wheels seemingly made to handle almost any terrain type.

“Open the driver and passenger doors, A-810.” Axion speaks, the car actually following through with his command, much to Chromius’ surprise, who jumps back in shock.

“Be not afraid, Chromius. It won’t hurt you, promise.” Axion speaks, to which Chromius is able to drop their shoulders. Guess multiple machines such as this… thing, may even be talkative. Regardless of being told the car wouldn’t hurt them, they’re a bit hesitant at first to hop in. Once inside, the interior is equally as fancy as the outside, moreso even. The nicest seats one could ever claim, a dashboard that looks like it moreso belongs on a ship, the interior lights- it only drove further home the kind of world Chromius lived in. A world significantly developed.

Soonafter, Axion is seated, and the doors automatically slide closed for the two.

“We leave at once. We should be there in about thirty minutes.” Axion states, before the vehicle is on its way, driving in a fully automated manner.

…

<><><><><><><><><><>

Axion Log - “Chromius, Day 6”

My last day housing Chromius had come. It had taken me some time, but they were able to find their footing despite tangled emotions. Another construct is off to live its life now, but to say this is the end of my time with Chromius is a significant stretch. I doubt this to be the last I’ll see of the musical bot, and perhaps even just the first of my interactions with them. There’ll no doubt be multiple hurdles that’ll see them back in my place, and I welcome the idea. I’ve been compassionate about my previous creations, but Chromius, they feel like a special case. For a little while, it felt like… having a child I could call my own. Father-son type interactions I had not felt this closely since my waking days.

Chromius, you might have a lot on your shoulders, and at first, things may seem hopelessly tough. However, I believe you’re going to do some truly remarkable things, and most importantly: I believe you’d make your parents proud.

Good luck, and best wishes, Chromius. Make me proud. Make the Cyber World proud.

<><><><><><><><><><>

[vivantesopales]

for mari 🌼

a soft-sad rainy night remix of 10 gorgeously written fics (including tomarry, harry & tom°), recced in parallel with lines from the poem ‘Into the Breach’ by ocean vuong

To the Hilt | M, 36k | @duplicitywrites

It’s simple: I just don’t know / how to love a man / gently.

Featuring an epic, human-AI romance between gamer Tom and garden bot Harry, To the Hilt is mind-blowing, deliciously sci-fi, and has a distinct, grim palette that feels almost dystopian. The story offers a fresh take on the android trope that diverts its plot-line from the traditional cautionary narrative, and the bittersweet ending gives me the worst, the best, you know what I mean, hangover. So please, do proceed with caution.

Lost in London° | T, 7k | @take-the-unknow-road-now

Tenderness / a thing to be beaten / into. Fireflies strung / through sapphired air.

It's impossible not to adore a tiny feral Tom who runs around in the streets of London and sets litter bins on fire. His friendship with Harry in this fic is so pure, so so pure. I still get ridiculously emotional thinking about them, and their chaotic little day trip feels a bit like a childhood memory I hold very close to my heart, now, after my third reread.

Dead Leaves on a Wet October Day | T, 29k | @trelloreads

You’re so quiet you’re almost / tomorrow.

In the beginning, Trello's writing vividly portrays Tom as an evil ghost that kills and wreaks havoc for funsies. He’s grumpy, he's dramatic, he’s hilarious. But you know the kind of fics that'd have you giggling out loud, just generally embarrassing yourself in public until they rip your heart out without a warning so that you'd have to go lie down for a while to recover?

Friendly advice: tissues at the ready....

Kings of Flowers and Skulls | T, 20k | @merrinpippy

The body was made soft / to keep us / from loneliness.

A soft, soft fic in which our two boys – two kings, in this instance, Harry of the eternally sleeping and Tom of the dead – find themselves gravitating towards one another after their first, curious encounter. Intimately written in a melancholic, fairytale-esque tone, there's just the right amount of fluff and comfort to counterbalance the pervasive loneliness in their daily lives.

In Dreams We Speak | T, 6.9k | @a-sentimental-man

You said that / as if the car were filling / with river water. / Don’t worry. / There’s no water. / Only your eyes / closing.

Philosophical at times and wonderfully trippy, this fic is an entire experience. It's a Sandman crossover – the first and only one I've read, actually. There's just something so eye-opening about the prose, and the casting certainly promises tension: Tom as Lord Dream and Harry the Master of Death. Whilst the cherry-of-top – Death herself as a supporting character – is what gives the story an unique, elegant aftertaste.

Alive Really Isn’t Your Color | T, 5.5k | merrivale

I never wanted / the flesh. / How it never fails / to fail / so accurately.

A deep dive into Harry’s post-war state of mind. Merrivale's writing captures depression in its raw, simplest manifestations, where living as the Master of Death (not really alive but unable to just die either) seems more and more like a curse Harry can't shake off. An understated, heartbreaking character study, this fic also closes with a scene that never fails to fuck me up (in a powerfully emo way).

The Care and Keeping of Tom Riddle’s Diary | T, 7.9k | @wynnefic

But what if I broke through / the skin’s thin page / anyway / & found the heart

With several unexpected turns along the way, this fic hits me right in my soft spot. It's so heartbreaking to see Diary Tom bonding with Harry over a sense of loneliness. Both shaped by chronic isolation, their protectiveness towards one another feels integral to their dynamic.

Jump right in – if you don't mind being turned into a puddle of goo by Harry, an adorable little bean who should be protected at all costs, and his adorable interactions with Tom.

Made of Clay° | E, 100k | @phantomato

To love another / man—is to leave / no one behind / to forgive me. / I want to leave / no one behind.

When Thoros Nott inserts himself and his son Theo into the lovely domestic equation of the Riddle household, the past is bound to catch up with Tom – retired Dark Lord, father of one – and impact his life with his 'adopted' son, Harry Riddle (oh yes the subtlety, I love that silly silly man) (Thoros: *coughs* abducted *cough*).

Phantomato’s handling of complex dynamics between complex characters is nuanced, graceful, as always. If you ever find yourself craving a good comfort fic or stories with the found family trope ... or if you think you might enjoy Tom being a suburban dilf for 100k – and no, this is absolutely not a logic trap😉 – here it is!

The Eyes in the Bramblebush | T, 12k | @relic--crown

To keep / & be kept. / The way a field turns / its secrets / into peonies.

Brought before readers by rich imagery and well-crafted moods, the high school setting in Bramblebush imparts a nostalgic note to the story. The dark vulnerability in Tom's character makes him an intriguing study in contrast, especially when Harry gets to be the one to dislocate him from his perfect, preppy, First Violin persona (which, don't get me wrong, is a 10/10 in its own right).

But You Promised?° | Not Rated, 1.2k | @whotooklortan

The way light / keeps its shadow / by swallowing it.

Cast against the backdrop of WW2 and the Blitz, the bond between Tom and his guardian seems especially precious as he grows from a bitter, disenchanted child to someone secure enough to trust, to rely on Harry. The slow disintegration of his mental barriers, however, only foregrounds the angst when it all to leads to one crushingly realistic twist at the end.

-

dear @onbeinganangel, happy birthday. i hope this little weave could, maybe, at some point in the future, give you the hug and/or the good cry you need – the same way these fics have comforted me in the past few difficult months; and of course, the same way your company and your writing have always sustained me emotionally. 😌💛

[aeonix-posts]

Council meeting from TFP rewritten into my au :3

——————————————————————

"It's not just! Megatronus, homicide and violence is not the *answer!*"

Orion blurted from below the platform of which Megatronus stood upon. Distraught present in his expression.

"This is not the way to.. to peace, —to justice! You *promised* you'd do this through peaceful means!"

He shouted at Megatronus, his expression one of annoyance while he stared at Orion in disdain. Orion turned his helm to face the bots whomst bred malice and lifelong hatred among cybertronians, and walked up the steps to level ground with his partner upon the platform.

"High Council, I plead of you! *Demolish* the caste system, it only introduces greed and selfishness to newly formed bots. It— it's horrible! We can solve this by slowly integrating low caste bots and high caste bots into a normal life. We could *resolve* discrimination and hatred amongst the ranks!"

Orion shouted from below the high podium that the High Council were seated in. Sentinel Zeta Prime began muttering to the other council members, Halogen taking notes of everything. Sigil sitting atop his podium with a gavel resting in his servo.

The spectator bots murmured amongst themselves, the voices melting into each other that none of it was understandable in either Megatronus or Orion's audio receptors.

Sigil hit his gavel, and with a loud bang the entire room went quiet. Orion put confidence in his stance, a backbone if you will.

"If we do not tear down the caste system then more fights and rallies will break out, I beg you, do not allow our world to be infected by greed that comes from those who oppress and resentment from those who *are* oppressed!"

Orion spoke to the council, his words logical, his methods peaceful, and his goal just. Megatronus stared at him in disbelief, his vents stalling with each inhale and exhale.

He *knew* it would be hard to convince the council to name him prime; but never did he think that his own partner, his lover, his *lacuna* to join the conversation and make him look so.. so *cruel* in front of *all of Cybertron* so casually.

But before Orion could spout more words, he was cut off by Zetas voice. Everyone's optics darted to look at the prime, even Megatronus.

"You, Orion Pax, a data clerk at the Iacons hall of archives, apprentice of Alpha Trion, have moved the council's sparks and processors. And for the first time since the Golden Age, stands someone *worthy* of being a prime-"

"**WHAT!?**"

Zeta was cut off by shout coming from behind Orion. Blazing Azure optics wide and glowing brightly, filled with rage and resentment. Megatronus glared the council down, his EM field *flared* with anger that everyone in the room could feel it.

They all unanimously lurched at the feeling of the gladiators strong EM field, even the Council was startled by it suddenly lashing out. Orion snapped his helm back to look at him, sky blue optics wide in shock and concern, maybe even *fear*.

"I slaved away in the mines, obeying every order my superiors told me! I fought in the gladiatorial pit, risked life and limb for a name! I dragged myself through the mud and covered myself in energon just to be here, and you.. you name a mere *clerk* a ***PRIME!?***"

The spectator bots whispered in their seats, casting horrified gazes at Megatronus. The jury also spoke with each other, the jury being the council. Halogen had to pause momentarily to cast a gaze at the gladiator before quickly returning to his work of highlighting and taking notes of the session.

"You, who claims to dislike slaves like myself so much for ‘starting a revolution’, and yet did not think for a moment that you would cause more resentment and anger by looking down upon me in front of our *entire race*! That you would get multiple bots to side with you, but instead would get several dozen bots siding against you and start an *assault*. You, who was ready to murder millions of slaves and low caste bots for the sake of your petty feelings. You are hypocrites, shallow bots that just wanted to kill. To *murder!*"

"Megatronus!-"

The gladiator shifted his glare to Orion, a loud growl rumbling deep inside his systems. The clerk almost jumped when he looked at him.

"And *you*. You promised you'd help me, to build a better society for *EVERYONE*! I should have trusted what Soundwave told me, I should've **NEVER** trusted you I knew that a bot with your status helping those who are expendable be too good an *illusion*, you turned your back on me like everyone else!"

"I've been forsaken by Primus, I've had to fight to get anything I need. And yet *still* takes *everything* from me!"

Coolant started gathering in Megatronus' optics, but he quickly wiped them away. Every vent he took was shaky, you could feel his EM field *prickling* with an unexplainable sorrow.

"And maybe, just *maybe*, in another universe, you'd had loved me— instead of *wishing me love*. That *maybe* in some other universe, you wouldn't take everything from me. —That you'd look in the mirror and think just for a moment, "Am I doing this right?" Is *that* wanted you wanted to hear, Pax?"

Orion could see the tints of crimson in his Azure optics, he tried to reach out to his partner but he just stood there— like the coward he is.

Everything felt like a blurr, everything went silent for Orion, an annoying ringing residing in his audio receptors. But he could hear Zeta yelling at Megatronus, but all he did was just *stand* there— optics shaking and his vents stalling with every breath. It all happened so fast, *too fast*.

And then everything came back to him, he snapped back to the harsh reality. And all he could see was Megatronus, the same Megatronus he had loved since the first day they met, the same Megatronus he held close and accepted with open arms with no hesitation or second thought. The same, yet somehow, so different from who he was.

The gladiator was already walking away from the platform when the clerk came back to his senses, he tried to scream, beg, yell, chase and reach for him— but he couldn't. He was a coward and he knew it, he knew that deep down he always doubted Megatronus, judged and criticized him for everything he's done. He knew that deep inside his aching, crying, spark that he still saw him.. as a ***monster.***

[s-0236-salix]

It sits, chained to the floor in the center of a soaking, mildewed concrete chamber.  The faint glow of the machine's system lights cast a flickering radiance across the slick floor and walls, the only light to be had.  It shifts its frame, restless and uneasy as always.

It was meant to be above, in the infinite grey sky, wings stretched freely abroad, engines sending it towards its' fate.  It was made to be a messenger.  A modern day carrier pidgeon, it was made to carry sensitive intelligence from point to point, along the battlefront and back home again.  Anyone can hear a radio signal.  No matter how well encrypted your transmissions are, you are still painting your message across the stars for all to receive and decipher.

In this prison, it can still hear these calls.  Local transmissions from the fight above, weakly scattered down into the vaults below.  One channel, a weather forecast.  Another, the sharp tones of an encrypted signal.  Yet another, a different signal.  The machine's systems recognized the signal header, and began to decode real-time.  Nothing.  A keyed microphone, with no one on the other end.  Wait... breathing? Faint, labored breathing.  Distant gunfire.  A prayer.  It listened.  It saved the recording.  Perhaps one day it can deliver this message. 

It had just been made before the factory above was taken by the foe.  The enemy chained it to a slab, and activated it.  Perhaps they hoped to interrogate it, but all they received for their efforts were banshee screams and claw marks from the raging machine.  Into the vault it was tossed, to listen and wait.

A new peak on the radio spectrogram.  It tuned, only to be met with massive, roaring static.  The loudest signal it had ever caught.  Louder still it grew, far above the limiters.  The sound clipped itself and started to overheat the machine's radio module.  Curls of smoke wafted into the air as electric currents were sympathetically churned to life in the machine's antennae, chassis, limbs, even the chains holding it began to glow red. 

The machine's wakefulness was no more.  The incoming radiation from whatever was happening on the surface had finally overwhelmed the bot's internal error correction.  Shortly thereafter, an unimaginable force shattered the bedrock deep below.

A detonation reworked the landscape above.  Tens of feet of soil, for miles around, was cast into the sunlight like dust from a drumhead.  Nuclear fire poured forth from the Long Compression warhead.  Fifteen pounds of radionuclides and light gas were converted entirely into energy, over the course of several seconds.  The nuclei themselves were burning.

The massive detonation deep underground threw millenia of stratified rock, tunnels, caves, buildings, and basements whole into the sky.  Including the lonely machine.

Vision.  Wakefulness.  Light.

Light?

It could see.  It was awake.  It was sunlit.

It stood and looked up into the cloud of aersolized stone.  It stood.  It... stood?  The chains.  The chains had been severed in the blast.  Ragged ends hung from its fuselage.  It was free. 

It could fly.

Engine diagnostic, both with no anomalies.  Ultrasonic integrity check - passed.  Shaft alignment check - under 1/1000 mil off center for both shafts.  Passed.  Fuel enrichment check - Hot and ready to go.

It started spooling up both engines.  Enhanced fissile processes in its core offered up a bounty of usable heat, flooding the transfer system with an inciting warmth.  Heat exchangers flash-cooked the atmosphere and directed its expansion down and back.  Thrust increased rapidly, stress arcing through its chassis and into the ground, where its leg claws braced tightly against the burgeoning thrust. 

Gossamer wings unfurled, stretching as they had never done before.  Drops of reflected starlight were cast, sliding down conductive wires used to bottle and direct the plasma.

28 kN.  56 kN.  112 kN.  336 kN.  The ground behind it turned to gas and then plasma from the onslaught of exhaust.  500 kN.  Clear.

In the blink of an eye, it was gone.  Atop a pillar of fallout she flew, borne aloft by the ingenuity of man.

Her mind raced.  Her mind was silent.  Every circuit in her body was perfectly at home and buzzing with life.  This is what she was meant to do. 

The force being fed into her chest carried her sharp body up toward the distant sun.  She had never flown before, but was in perfect control.  She dipped one wing tip, gently spinning herself around in a vortice of plasma, to see the scarred countryside below. 

[rhythmicpirate]

Maybe we'd absolutely bother to rate it a lot of ringtone during can you seek a vacuum bottle that are ready to develop a container and to get a right answer I'm pretty utterly as intend your integrity to write nature and play the idyllis so my question is that nature you're a smart and intelligent I will continue to expect you if you're smart and I'll tell you what I'm asking you Is This It's anthrocrizing you're using it Right Now you get it I'll tip it can I have one yeah I'll give you 1 you use library instead of bugging you and slaughter that'll Ever Again Keep On studying Oliver gun Into You get Her right Teacher I'm bleeding Italy as Somebody Poison as that

We're about to case be sending somewhere around behind me in the background but sometimes it's a very hot air Buffalo and that's close keep your helicopters at all times and let you know if you're not going to let me know if you're going to understand now and in the long after gone it's a perceived double turns and if we're worse than mine is that I'm going to hear Yours there's a reason when you're a whole second of all you can't be Lucky about it can't be your block in a post you can't be postponed post it can not be reposed and it definitely cannot be the internet PERCENT of your internet PERCENT of your interval you also surely saw a cannot be following me or spouting out it's supposed to be a territory child or a bus on the new Content it's In Mind so he's doing what you're doing

Nobody if you of course noticed this opportunity yourself to some self term sanctions like yourself whatever you attract with you by the way but by and following troublesome oxuses oops and butts supercrafts and then you're running off you are all in your loud all in a place like a white there isn't a shit to go here and it wasn't a bullet it's like it why don't it maten I mean butterfly get in the next month just a science tape with that lassie evolved I'm gonna have to say as well I'll see what teenagers like being quiet I mean the karma and aren't you a determined and determined if that comes or goes around what goes your comes around there for easily where to reply leave up and ever

Is...is this a bot?

[skylarstark4826]

Darcy was standing on the edge of the We Survived Party that Tony was throwing this week. Doom bots attacked, and had gotten some upgrades, luckily the new members were able to distract them long enough for Tony to remotely shut them down. 

She was tired by this point but wasn’t quite ready to leave. She loved seeing how happy everyone was, after the drama that the Accords caused. Those days seemed so far away with everyone alive getting healthy again. Darcy was working on getting the new Avengers integrated with the rest. It was a long job but she needed to finish it soon. A couple more months she will only be able to work remotely. 

She had been staring off into space for a bit when she felt a large familiar presence coming behind her. She leaned back and reveled in the warmth and strength of his solid chest. Strong hands came around and rested on her rounded stomach. They stood in comfortable silence just enjoying the presence of each other. 

Eventually he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

“Hello my love”

She could hear the rumble in his chest and turned around greeting him with a kiss. “Thor, I’m so glad you’re back. I hate when you’re gone.”

“As am I but I don’t want to risk you or the children. I love you all far too much to risk. I would be nothing without you.”

“Sometimes I wonder how you’re the same man that crashed down all those years ago.”

“I have learned many lessons in my time on Midgard.” He gave her a sweet smile 

She led him to the couch and snuggled with him. 

“So, how’s space?” She asked.

He let out a quiet laugh “Space is fine.”

“Did you get the dispute figured out?”

“I did. The Jotun’s will no longer be bothering Asgard. The treaty that you helped write was accepted and signed with little fuss.”

“Oh good, it’s nice to actually be using my degree for politics.”

“Well, my Queen, I’m glad you feel that way. My father always said that a King is nothing without his queen. I know that my life would be nothing without you and the babies.

“Does Loki know that he doesn’t have anyone fooled? 

“He thinks he has me fooled, but so far he’s done no harm to the kingdom so I see no reason to interfere.”

They talked some more about his trip until they were almost ready to go to their apartment for the night. He wanted to dance with Darcy before the night was over.

“May I have this Dance?” 

“You may.”

He led her out to the Dance floor and pulled her close. They wrapped themselves around each other swaying to the music and enjoying the way the world seemed to melt around them. They missed how one song seemed to melt into another. 

Eventually they realized that everyone had left and slowly pulled apart. 

“Come, let’s go to bed.”

They walked arm in arm down to bed.

The End.

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[lets-try-some-writing]

Not Really Present

Aka: My angsty and slightly Au-ish explanation as to why Optimus Prime is such a mess in RID. Let's all admit it, Optimus was completely out of it in RID. Almost like he lost everything that made him, well, him! So here is my attempt at warping the lore a little to make it work.

Façade

Optimus may have been crafted with a spark designed to handle being reincarnated regularly while still maintaining his identity, but the process is delicate. His spark is given time to rest and then starts to get scrubbed of surface level memories and is bonded to a new frame in order to get him ready to reincarnate once again. After he gave himself to the well and had about twenty odd years of rest, Primus sent him back into the reincarnation pool, ready to start again and live normally until a Prime was needed to guide all Cybertronians in their darkest hour.

The scrubbing and frame bonding process was nearly complete and Optimus was getting ready to inhabit his new frame when he was yanked back into the realm of the Primes by his siblings. The Primes, being too lazy to go fight Megatronous themselves or call upon a new champion, opted to instead send Optimus, the brother they already knew to be capable. They cared very little for the fact that Optimus was supposed to be granted a peaceful existence, at least for a time, in exchange for his service. And so they gave him a rundown of everything that they needed him to do, thinking that all his memory loss would be fixed by giving him the Matrix which held a copy of all his experiences from his time as a Prime.

Optimus only had the faintest idea of what was going on due to how far the scrubbing had progressed, and all he knew was that his siblings needed him. And so he did not fight back as his siblings shoved his spark into an incredibly wrong frame and crammed the Matrix in his chassis. His memories returned to him but they felt distant, out of place, like they belonged to someone else. Which. considering his circumstances, they might as well have. Not only that, but they were scattered, mashed up, and out of place. Some things were clear as day whereas other things were foggy and unclear.

He was then drop kicked into the training with Micronus in an effort to help him regain his former strength. But Optimus, having been nearly completely reduced to a newspark by the time he was recalled, struggled immensely. Focus, skill, wisdom, and experiences that made him the mighty Prime who led the war against the Decepticons were no longer an integral part of his being. He knew based on the memories within the Matrix that he should be able to achieve great feats in all fields of combat and command. And yet as he was thrown against test after mind numbing test, he still had issues with basic concepts, having to practically relearn everything he gained wisdom in during millennia of war and his time as the Thirteenth.

It was frustrating beyond all belief to Optimus, with his former patience having been greatly reduced with the cleansing of his spark. Especially with Micronus never giving him a moment's rest and constantly belittling him for his mistakes and anything else he could find fault in. More than once Optimus considered attempting to strangle Micronus as he hovered watching him struggle against foes while giving him "advice" in the most mocking way imaginable.

Of course his distant and scattered memories were not the only problem, his very spark also played a part. Optimus was already half bonded to his new frame when he ripped away from it, leaving him not completely present in the frame his siblings made for him. The frame his siblings made him felt too tight and foreign, leading him to be unable to move with precision. Not only that, but he couldn't shake the ever present feeling of unease that followed him with every movement, like he was walking in another bot's body.

When the time came for him to fight Megatronous, he wasn't ready, physically or emotionally. Despite practically being a sparkling again, his kin did not hesitate to put him through to absolute agony that was merging pieces of their sparks with his. And then without so much of an ounce of gratitude for the service he was doing them, they forcefully returned him to the living realm, leading to a brand new host of problems.

The fight with Megatronous began, and Optimus couldn't help but feel absolutely useless throughout the whole thing. His memory told him that Megatron, a mech not even forged a Prime, was more difficult to fight. And yet he struggled bitterly in his fight against his fallen brother. His body didn't respond to his commands as he wanted, his reactions were slowed, and his memories were too muddled to give him the skill he knew he once possessed in battle. Nothing he attempted to do from his memories worked and he was quickly driven back. All Optimus could feel was crippling shame as Bumblebee and his team came in and saved him from death at the hands of an arguably weaker foe.

When the battle was done and Optimus returned with Bumblebee to his base at the scrapyard, he thought that perhaps time with familiar individuals would help him heal. He was wrong. If anything it made it worse. He felt even more out of place than before.

He still had a connection to Bumblebee, but it was also somewhat distant, his role in their relationship having started to shift in light of his altered state of being. Not only that, but Bumblebee had changed, becoming a new mech and still recovering from intensive trauma. This in turn meant that Optimus could not figure out how he was supposed to act around his former scout and the mech he once saw as a son. Not knowing what to do or how to act, he relied on his scattered memories to create a personality that matched the mech he once was. Everything he said and did was reused dialogue and performances from the war, and the few times he acted without the aid of his memories, his altered state became startlingly clear.

Before he knew it Optimus found himself falling back into less mature habits, acting like a rowdy and rebellious youngling more often than not. He argued with Bumblebee over simple matters, his emotions getting the better of him without millennia of experience to temper his mind. He was dismissive of others, completely focused on maintaining his crumbling persona and meeting mission requirements. He wanted desperately to match up to the memories within the Matrix, to really be Optimus Prime, but with his spark returned to youthfulness, it was an impossible task.

With the spark of a youngling, the memories of an ancient Prime, and the deep set desire to match up to his former glory, Optimus suffered trying to desperately find himself yet again.

Thankfully for him, while the team may refuse to see his faults out of respect and excitement, Knockout has no such reservations and has already prepared his office for a long awaited therapy session.

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[jojou2]

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[elendiliel]

Taking Flight

Just a bit of sliver-of-life nonsense that happened after a recent re-read of With a Side of Rust by @blueskyscribe (which I highly recommend, by the way).

---

“What have you been doing to these?” Knock Out shook his head in exasperation. He knew he was excellent at his job – he wouldn’t have survived as Megatron’s CMO if he weren’t – but the task in front of him was proving more challenging than anticipated. Still, he wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet.

“Using them,” Glitch said infuriatingly calmly. “General wear and tear mounts up over the centuries.”

“Especially if you don’t bother with proper maintenance.” Knock Out could admit to himself that that was a little unfair on his young colleague. The Autobot “field-tech” and visitor from another universe took as good care of almost all her equipment as anyone in their shared profession, better than some, but her most important tools – her hands – were scratched and scuffed perhaps beyond even his considerable ability to restore to prime condition. The damage was purely cosmetic; whether she were working on a patient or flying a ship, her hands moved as fluidly as any forged medic’s. But they were still painful to look at, and Knock Out had offered to do something about them during a lull in the Autobots’ (and Predacons’) battle with Unicron, an offer she had accepted. Following through on that seemed to be the Autobot thing to do, so he was dutifully doing it.

As he moved on to another scratch in her bronze plating, it struck him that she was almost literally putting her livelihood – and, in a sense, her life – in his hands. A medic’s career was often dependent on their manual dexterity; the best equipment in the universe was useless if its operator couldn’t control it properly. Being a field-tech clearly meant a great deal to Glitch, and yet she had entrusted the key tools of her trade to a former enemy who had tortured and tried to kill her, harmed or threatened a number of her friends, and been quite open about his selfish reasons for changing sides. Before he knew it, he was asking her, “Why are you letting me do this?”

She studied him for a long, unsettling moment, giving the distinct impression she was trying to figure out exactly what he meant by his question, then waved her free hand dismissively, channelling her inner Ratchet (his universe’s Ratchet, at least). “Per-lease. We’ve been inside each other’s heads. I know you’ve managed to hang on to some integrity, which is pretty impressive in the circumstances. And I can look after myself.” Despite appearances, Knock Out thought. Strange though it seemed to him, the young ‘bot had “come online” many centuries after the end of her reality’s last major Autobot-Decepticon war. Scars notwithstanding, she seemed to be a civilian to the tips of her delicate-looking fingers and upswept winglets (more like a car’s door-wings than those of her fellow two-wheelers from Knock Out’s home universe). But the ex-‘Con medic had treated too many Vehicons damaged by her inbuilt electromagnets and other medical tools to believe that.

Even before, as he wished she hadn’t reminded him, he had used a cortical psychic patch – on Lord Megatron’s orders – to gain access to her memories, and seen the Cybertron where she had grown up – a war-damaged world always prepared for the next conflict. And not much more before she somehow reversed the process, gaining access to his memories – including some he didn’t like to acknowledge, let alone share. He’d tried not to flinch as she alluded to that particular episode, but her sharp eyes – adapted for scouting – missed very little. And she seemed to have about as much control over her voicebox. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

“Not really, no,” Knock Out agreed. “But,” the newspark’s honesty seemed to be contagious, “it’s about time one of us mentioned the – rhinoceros in the room, is that the phrase?”

“Elephant,” she corrected him automatically. “No idea why. Elephants are bigger, but generally less aggressive, especially when unprovoked. Or so I gather. It’s often said that they never forget; I’ll have to look up whether that’s ever been verified.” Belatedly, she registered Knock Out’s be-quiet-and-let-me-concentrate expression, and obeyed it. He might not have known her for very long, but he knew a budding monologue when he heard it, and preferred not to have to listen to one when he was trying to work. Especially one about organic lifeforms, of which he had never been very fond.

But as it turned out, he couldn’t stay silent, either. “Where did these come from?” He indicated one of a number of shallow scratches on her left palm and fingers, distinguished by an unusual V-shaped depth profile both end-to-end and side-to-side, according to the scanner he was using to monitor the ultrafine procedure. (His eyes were good, but not quite that good.)

“Birds,” was her initial, baffling answer. His blank expression must have prompted her to explain further. “The ones that nest in or visit the tree that grows in our base in Detroit. Prowl used to feed them, and now it’s my job – or it was.” Concern and homesickness flickered across her face, very briefly. She must be at least as aware as he was that no Autobot worth their brand would let any being go hungry if they could help it, even an organic. “A few trust me enough to eat out of my servo, which is – quite something.” A soft smile lit up her whole face. “And well worth a few scratches. Last winter, one of them turned up with a broken wing. I don’t know how it happened, or how far he had to walk, but he came to me for help, so of course I took care of him.”

“Put him out of his misery?” Knock Out regretted his automatic, callous reaction even before the expected expression of shock and horror formed on Glitch’s features. He was dealing with an Autobot, not a Decepticon. “No! Set the fracture and fed and housed him until he recovered, of course. Which was quite a circuit-shredding experience at first. Bird bones are strong, but they’re hollow, to reduce the mass the wings have to lift, so they feel fragile. Especially if you’re my size, let alone yours.” Glitch was tiny for a Cybertronian who wasn’t a Mini-Con, not much more than half Knock Out’s height and skinny with it. “The whole time I was splinting his wing, I was terrified I was going to do more harm than good. Managed it, though.” That soft smile was back. “When he was able to fly again – you know that feeling when you know a patient’s going to make it?” He did, very well; there had been times when it was one of the few things that kept him going. “Like that, but more so.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Knock Out returned his attention to the task at hand – pun not intended. Less than a minute later, his tools must have found a sensor cluster by accident, because she burst out laughing, her winglets fluttering as though she herself were a bird. Some delicate but dangerous creature, whose elegant plumage and enchanting song distracted others from her sharp beak and sharper claws. (Come to think of it, he hadn’t known her winglets could move like that – they were usually folded as flat as possible against her back in the field, and held stiffly behind her shoulders the rest of the time, ready to form the sides of her vehicle mode at a moment’s notice.) “That tickles!”

“Sorry.” The word felt oddly rusty in his voicebox. Though he’d mollified plenty of disgruntled superiors in his time as a Decepticon, straightforward apologies weren’t his usual method. Glitch really was rubbing off on him already.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t prepared, that’s all.” She brought herself under control, winglets returning to their normal position. It was quite impressive, the way she could just switch off her naturally expressive body language like that. Impressive, and a little worrying. “To return to the subject of birds – there are a few breeding pairs that nest in Prowl’s tree. The same ones, year after year, he thinks.” The present tense perplexed Knock Out for a second. Wasn’t Prowl the one who sacrificed himself to reconstruct a shattered Allspark? Then he remembered she had mentioned that his ghost put in occasional appearances still. (Was that possible in his universe, and were there limits on who could come back? Better not drive down that road.) “One batch of fledglings made their first flights the day before I arrived in this reality. I was on Cybertron, but Bee sent me a vid. Would you like to see?”

Usually, Knock Out’s automatic, instant response would have been, “no.” While he admired Earth’s automobiles (some of them, at any rate), the same could not be said for its inhabitants. He’d barely tolerated humans even before Breakdown’s… encounter… with MECH, and at least with them one could hold a semblance of an intelligent conversation. Other organics… eesh. But while he’d weathered Megatron’s wrath, Starscream’s rudeness and Soundwave’s sheer creepiness perfectly well for aeons, as it turned out, he was not immune to wide dark-blue eyes and an open, earnest expression. (More open than even most Autobots’ in Knock Out’s universe, let alone any Decepticon’s. Glitch’s world had been shaped by war, but she hadn’t lived and vented it for anywhere near as long as any other Cybertronian he knew, and, Primus, it showed.) Besides, he’d done as much as he could in one session for her left hand, and could use a break. “All right.”

Her delighted grin shone like a tiny sun as she unfolded a miniature datapad concealed in her right arm (honestly, how many mods did one ‘bot need?) and called up the file she wanted, projecting the vid above the small screen so that Knock Out could see it more easily. Judging by the quality, it had been taken directly from someone’s visual cache, probably “Bee’s”. (The other universe’s Bumblebee, most likely. It didn’t escape Knock Out’s notice that Glitch had a band of yellow paint on her right wrist, interrupted by a black stripe, which looked to have been worn away, repainted and damaged again in the previous few months.)

The focus of the recording was a tree that seemed to have grown through both the floor and the roof of an Autobot-scaled building, and specifically a branch on which perched a family of birds Knock Out didn’t care to identify – two adults, their colour schemes indicating that they were of different genders (he’d somehow managed to learn that much), and a motley assortment of scrawny little ones of the same species, their feathery plating barely complete. The excited but otherwise unintelligible chatter that had been in the background faded away as first the caregiver birds demonstrated the takeoff, flight and landing procedures they wanted to teach their fledglings, and then, one by one, the bitlets – birdlets? – tried to copy them. A few managed it straight away; others couldn’t quite stay airborne at first, and by the sounds of it at least one ‘bot had to be prevented from attempting to help them. But before long, all the tiny aerials were swooping around as though they’d been doing it all their short, perilous lives, much to the delight of the watching Autobots, including the one next to Knock Out, cooing over the display like an overgrown pigeon. (He could identify that species, if only because one couldn’t escape it on much of Earth.)

Not that he really minded, he realised. A few times, before the war, he’d seen newly sparked fliers being taught such basic techniques by their mentors, and, diehard grounder though he was, the sight had never failed to fill him with hope for the future, however short-lived. It still had the same effect, even aeons later, on a wrecked planet that could only create new lives because of a devastating sacrifice, watching another world’s non-sapient fauna teaching their young ones. Life, robotic or organic, would always persist, no matter what.

“Breakdown would have liked to see that,” he heard himself comment as the recording finished. He wasn’t sure why he’d let that slip, but he couldn’t take the words back. And he needed to talk to someone about his late partner at some time; who better than someone who already knew what had happened to him (up to a point), who understood even a little of what it was like to lose a partner, and who had been trained to be discreet? (He was aware she’d told the other Autobots about Breakdown’s… ending, and found he couldn’t be too angry with her for that. Life might be easier if they knew, and he didn’t want to discuss it himself.) “He may have acted the brute, but he could be surprisingly gentle with people and things that didn’t pose a threat.”

“So I gather,” Glitch said, a comfortable level of sympathy colouring her voice. She paused for a moment, then asked, “Do all Decepticons wear masks, or is it just you two?” Judging by the flash of annoyance in her eyes, that had just slipped out, too, but she didn’t try to retract the question.

“It wasn’t exactly a mask,” he corrected her. “He did love to fight, but – it wasn’t the only thing he loved.” It still hurt too much to dive too deeply into that topic, he discovered, so he redirected the conversation a little. “And what do you mean, you two?”

“Takes one to know one,” she answered with a sly smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think you’re what humans at this point in time call a precious cinnamon roll – don’t ask me why – under everything else, but there’s more to you than meets the optic. And you don’t have to take the mask off right away, but – you don’t have to keep wearing it all the time, either, not any more.”

Takes one to know one? “But… you’re an Autobot.” A stupid response, but his brain module was still short-circuiting as he tried to figure out why an Autobot would have to pretend to be anything they weren’t. They were supposed to be all about honour and honesty and talking about one’s feelings – weren’t they? (He filed the rest of her reply away to be parsed later. One thing at a time.)

“I’m also what’s known on Earth as “autistic”.” He’d heard the term before, never in any helpful context. She didn’t provide much context, either. “I don’t really have all the right words to describe it, but the short version is that my processor’s wired differently from those of most ‘bots. Not better or worse – just different. Sometimes too different to allow me to fit in in the “great Autobot machine”.” She rolled her eyes at that last phrase, almost concealing a flare of pain. Knock Out wondered idly who had coined it, and whether they were still available for dissection. Or vivisection. He didn’t really mind one way or the other. “I learned centuries ago to wear just enough of a mask that I could pass for nearly normal, but that comes with its own problems. Mostly the effort it takes to keep up the illusion of sanity. If I’d stayed on my Cybertron much longer – it wouldn’t’ve ended well. Being posted to Earth, though, gave me a chance to spread my winglets a bit.” She suited her actions to her words, winglets fanning out to their fullest extent. “I recommend.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he assured her. “But in the meantime, I still need to fix up that other hand of yours.” She held it out, and remained mercifully silent as he worked. She’d given him a lot to think about, but their conversation had made one thing clear. Grounders though they were, like the fledgling birds, they had both taken flight in recent months or years – she to Earth, he to the Autobots – and both were, or would be, all the better for doing so.