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super-ion · 7 months ago

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The Engineer

Part 1

I catch a glimpse of the pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes have that telltale glaze of just having been wrenched out of herself.

I've never spoken a single word to her, but for a moment as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She raises an emaciated arm and her hand almost seems to beckon to me before something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips back into catatonia.

That brief moment of clarity, that piercing gaze, unsettles me. She recognized me.

It's neural bleed. I know it has to be. She doesn't know me, but Morrigan does.

Good god. In the pilot's present state of post combat haze, she probably doesn't even know where she ends and the machine begins.

Does neural bleed work both ways? Is it her head that I'm about to climb into?

My wrist strap buzzes. I have a job to do and I am late.

The pilot is a problem for the med team and the psychs.

The machine is my problem.

I hurry down the corridor, keeping my head down, avoiding the eyes of every passerby.

I don't like people.

I don't like how their eyes follow me. I don't like the whispered gossip that follows me.

One of the techs is waiting for me at the vestibule.

I don't know his name.

All clear, he says to me. Time to work your magic.

He says it without sarcasm. Others have been less kind.

Even so, he can't quite hide the leer as I strip down to the skinsuit. I don't have the physique of a pilot. My body hasn't been subjected to the stresses that ravage their bodies. Unlike them, I have fat and muscle and the skinsuit clings to every curve of my body.

I force a cursory smile and try to forget him as I walk barefoot to my destination.

The vestibule is small, windowless. It's impossible to assess the scale of the machine from here. The only part visible to me is roughly four square meters of pitted and scarred metal plating framing the access hatch and the pilot's cradle beyond.

B0-987T the stenciled lettering reads. And below, in flowing script, is “The Morrigan”.

She's a Javellin class, medium weapons fire support unit. She isn't meant to be on the front lines in a skirmish, but one-on-one, she can hold her own against a Wraith. Which is exactly what happened only a few hours ago.

I place a bare palm on the bulkhead. She thrums with some distant vibration. Her reactor is still online, still in the early stages of drawdown as she transitions to dock power.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to her.

I think of the pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I flinch my hand away.

The tech looks at me, asks if I'm alright. I'm fine, I tell him.

I climb through the hatch and into the cradle.

I feel like an interloper here. The cradle isn't calibrated for my body. Everything still smells like the pilot. Mingled with the smell of the machine is her sweat and her adrenaline and the particular scented soap that she prefers.

There is a faint whirring as her cameras track my movements from a dozen angles. The access ports open to receive me.

Against my better judgment, I imagine eagerness for this exchange.

This is immediately followed by an all too familiar sense of inadequacy. The engineers’ rig is not nearly as all encompassing as a pilots’. It's only the most basic neural interface. No haptics. No neurotransmitter feedback. No access to the suite of sensors studded throughout her hull.

I can't interface with her the way her pilot can.

My rig is a remnant from basic training. The pilot corps wanted me for my exceptional ratings in synchrony and neuro-elasticity, but after serval training exercises, they determined that I didn't have the temperament for the battlefield. I froze up too easily.

A neural rig is a massive investment and removing one will fuck a person up a hell of a lot more than installing one. The selection process is designed to weed out washouts before we even get to installation, but some of us still slip through the cracks. Most end up reassigned to logistics, operating loader mechs or piloting long haul supply frigates. But my aptitudes made me ideal for the engineering corps, so here I am.

Morrigan senses my mood and the cradle shifts slightly, aligning itself to my dimensions. Her eagerness to connect morphs into a sort of tender reassurance. It's a slippery slope, ascribing human emotions to these machines, but she does seem genuinely happy to see me.

I can never be part of what she and her pilot have, but I can be part of something in my own way.

The pilot knows about me, she would even without neural bleed. Does she envy the relationship I have with her mech? Does she envy that I can exist both together and apart with the machine?

Is she jealous of us?

Morrigan slips her jacks into my rig and my mind enters hers and I feel tension leave my body. Some dull ache that I wasn't even consciously aware of ebbs within me.

My senses dull and my visual cortex is fed a series of diagnostic logs and telemetry streams. The techs have access to the exact same data, but Morrigan highlights particular data points that she and the pilot flagged. I log them in the engineering report.

A wireframe schematic of the battlefield spreads out in my awareness. Green markers for our battlegroup. Red markers for the pack of Wraith interlopers.

I hear the ghost of music, strange and ambient, like whale song. The first time I heard it, I asked the techs about it. They had no idea what I was talking about. One even suggested I get an eval for some psych leave.

Later I realized Morrigan was singing to me. Or rather she was interpreting tightbeam comm links as something my brain could process. A human mind can't possibly interpret the full datastream, but with Morrigans's rendition, I can suss out the basic meanings. The battlegroup is a choir and Morrigan is playing me their song.

I caused quite a stir when I first made that connection and started flagging battle events the analysts had missed.

I survey the battlefield before me, reconstructed from feeds from TacCom and all the individual mechs.

Morrigan and I have done this enough times that she knows my preferred display layout, but she holds back, allowing me to pull off the virtual displays on my peripheral vision. There's an odd sort of intimacy to it, her letting me take charge like this.

God-knows how many tons of metal and ceramic and miles and miles of wire and optic fiber and see waits eagerly for me to start the playback sim. She wants to show off. She wants me to assess the actions of her and her pilot and tell them they did well.

Other engineers, few as we are, have mentioned similar experiences with their assigned machines.

“Alright,” I whisper so that only she can hear. “Show me the dance. Sing me the song.”

(Next)

#my writing #writers on tumblr #mechposting #science fiction #scifi #short story #snippet

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luetta · 2 years ago

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i saw someone joke about robot girls as an example of kinks that are just impossible to ever be made reality, like they're completely in the land of fiction. but ... that is just not true!

you can set the mood in your room. turn off the lights but put on some little coloured purple and blue blinkers. sit her down on the edge of your bed and sit down behind her. let her eyes flutter closed since there's no reason to keep them upon in this dark, safe room. softly coo into her ears, she's been such a good robot day! doing so many tasks so efficiently! making everyone around her so happy. but, silly her, she overdid it. so you're just going to have to do a tiny bit of repair work. "will that be okay, dear?" of course it will be. she trusts you completely. you're her admin. you created her. of course she has a safeguard preventing just anyone from powering her down, but she lets you override that with no resistance. such a good girl.

press your finger into the back of her neck, and then drag it down her spine. as she powers down, glide her limp body softly onto the bed. put her feet up so she's lying down completely now. maybe hold her limbs up a bit and let them drop. yep, she's powered down now. she's not unconscious, just mental faculties are capped at 10% and body autonomy is disabled. all you have to do now is find where she's sustained some damage. trace your fingers all along her chassis, poking in with a "screwdriver" to take her outer layer off and examine the wires and joints. hmmm... oil is a bit thin. these wires are too close together, could cause sparking and overheating. goodness, your fan is dusty. you've been working so hard, haven't you? gently turn her over onto her stomach now. it's time to investigate her processing unit, her software.

make sure her arms aren't stuck underneath her. once she's all comfy, you can unscrew her entire back panel. make sure to trace your fingers all around her back and spine as you do, robot girls love that shit. the soft human touch is heavenly to a machine of metal and electricity. and such a well designed chassis too, so beautiful. but off it comes, what's underneath is even prettier! oh, even now, it's still hot to the touch. you've been thinking so much today ... you don't need to think anymore though. just let me explore you. read out her event log for the day. algorithmic neural plasticity score. joint lubricant levels. corrupted data percentage. things like that. they're like scores to her. praise her if she's gotten good ones, tease her if she's gotten bad ones.

i could write so much more and maybe i will...like roleplaying injecting a virus into her neck or chest, and feeling the code flow all down her body...your cock can even be the usb!

also, at some point lay your whole body weight onto them - arms over her arms and legs over her legs. to calibrate pressure sensors or something. bc lets face it if she's a robot girl then she is 100% a neurodivergent cutie who'd love that sm <3

#robot gf #oops i wrote a lot #but i'm passionate about this okay #iridescent

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hellothisisangle · 1 month ago

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This idea came from someone asking me about V’s internal organs and gastro/intestinal workings. I delved into a bit of bio/mechanical research that might make sense in the Cyberpunk world. Follow the jump below!

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SomaTek specializes in manufacturing synthetic organs designed to transcend our organic limitations.

SomaTek GastroPro™ In a world ravaged by toxic food chains, tainted water supplies, and unreliable agriculture, the GastroPro™ synthetic stomach- amply nicknamed “the iron gut”- is a feat of mechanical organ replacement. Capable of digesting virtually any hazardous or non-nutritive substance without harm, while mimicking and surpassing the core functions of a natural biological system.

The GastroPro™ environment utilizes a stabilized industrial-grade acidic solution (SomaTek’s trademarked confidential blend of fluorinated superacids exceeds the hydrochloric acid and pepsin present in an organic stomach) that is non-corrosive to internal components due to reactive smart hydrogel linings. This acid bath breaks down everything: from your home cooked dinner, to food past its expiration, to actual garbage- designed to adapt to a full range of ingested toxicity. After processing, the liquified matter proceeds to a secondary chamber which is programmed with enzymatic nano filters to separate and neutralize indigestible items versus actual processable materials. *Note that the GastroPro™ is incapable of operating in isolation. The following organic systems are required to be enhanced or replaced:

Esophagus (GastroLine™) is equipped with reinforced smart hydrogel lining to withstand both caustic substances and abrasive matter. Peristaltic actuators move matter regardless of shape or size, while micro-blade emulsifiers begin compacting particularly dense or fibrous materials. Anti-reflux valves prevent acid from backing up.

Liver, Pancreas, Gall Bladder (GastroTox™ Subsystem) further supports the GastroPro™ by processing even rarer or complex toxins, capable of converting them into an array of energy for the body dependent on specific inputs. For example: chemical, electrical, first and second generation biofuel, etc. (Optional but highly recommended)

Intestines & Appendix (GastroTract™) serves as the primary absorption and release unit. Lined with nutrient-binding nanites to extract usable calories, vitamins, minerals, or chemicals. Absorption channels direct these throughout the body via embedded villi structures to the bloodstream and lymphatic system. In users with further modifications, waste may be redirected to a bypass port location of their choosing. The most popular choice being via a urinary tract.

Oral Cavity (OraPro™ Subsystem) is a customizable sum of parts that further supports the GastroPro™ with an artificial tongue embedded with gustatory receptors, reinforced cheek/gum lining, and teeth strong as chrome. (Optional but highly recommended)

Brain Chemistry (CraveShard™) the neural implant designed to be installed into the cyberdeck to simulate, regulate, or even suppress cravings. (Optional but highly recommended) The user may override urges based on their schedule and preferences, as well as control serotonin and dopamine feedback. The implant works harmoniously with receptors built into the GastroPro™ to recognize the identity of consumed materials. It can even reproduce the effects caused by ingested alcohol, hallucinogenics, opioids, narcotics, etc.

Advantages over natural digestion include immunity to internal poisoning, pathogens, parasites, and contaminants. Zero indigestion, zero allergic reaction. Accelerated enzyme breakdown. And multi-source nutrition: users can derive sustenance from otherwise indigestible materials.

Please be aware the GastroPro™ is not without its complications. Over-reliance can result in malabsorption issues if the user abuses the capabilities of the GastroPro™. Care should be taken to continuously ingest products with beneficial properties. In the event of nutrient deficits, the user’s deck will receive periodic warnings regarding nutritional supplementation to prevent systemic decline. Psychosomatic disorders may also emerge as a result of losing sensory pleasure of consumption (“digestion dissonance'”- disconnect with satiety) if the recommended OraPro™ Subsystem and CraveShard™ are not installed.

Regular care encompasses monthly detox flushes, filter replacements, nanite reseeding, and pH rebalancing treatments. All of which can be accomplished via a doctor licensed to administer Somatek devices.

#my art #cyberpunk 2077 #vignette #concept art #scifi

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typewritingyip · 1 month ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Three - Deeper Connections

Part Forty Two

Warning: Violence

———

Compatibility is a finicky process, whether it is someone struggling through the written or physical testing, or just the system's lack of reliability. Compatibility is necessary to operate a mech suit based in the current technology.

All pilots, once found compatible, have implants installed at the base of their skull with connectors to their nervous system and the neural pathways of the brain.

It creates an interface between the pilots and the suit that makes it possible to control the suit at large. There is of course the main system a pilot can control by hand, the monitors in front of them and the systems attached to the piloting seat, but some pilots have that deeper connections.

When that deeper connection is established, it is hard to pull away from and remove oneself from said connection. It can cause permanent damage to both pilot and the system, whether from lack of awareness to surroundings or an overload of the system itself during connection.

Pilots that start to experience these deeper levels of connection are generally in one of two situations, pilots that organizations want or pilots that will be reassigned to a new class when possible. Specific types of coding which typically are found in Hunter class and older classes such as REDACTED, are what have been found to cause these deeper levels of connection.

It matters less the level of compatibility initially, but the compatibility with the specific class.

Pilots are often rotated out of their initial class when not immediately assigned to striker class for the safety of the suit, then the pilot. When they remain in the more intense classes for an extended period of time, without disconnection, it can cause severe damage.

Recommendations are offered to the extended mech suit family by the leading scientist in the field, to rotate out their Hunter, Rescue, and older class pilots to striker units after the first five years. Remove the extended coding from both pilot and suit, then refuse transfers back.

Ten percent of pilots survive the reclassifying process.

Severe damage from prolonged use of mecha connection is labeled as the cause on autopsy reports.

Implants are removed upon the death of the pilot, as resources grow scarce and the need for pilots grows.

This deeper level of connection, referred to as over-connection, has been said to cause abnormal situations. Pilots and suits in specific classes have previously been noted as experiencing abnormalities upon the reinforcement of the deeper connection.

Little is known of how the specific side-effects harm both suit and pilot.

—

The thing spoke in some guttural language that Hound could not understand, briefly shorting his translator as it attempted to use the Cybertronian translation it was building to translate. His speakers shrieked in his ears and with a wince he killed it before setting up the next scanning for language.

Shifting his stance, he was still breathing heavily, “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I doubt it’s ‘take me to your leader.’” He almost cracked a smile, almost, this was a worse situation than they were in when they crash landed on Cybertron. Worse still than probably the whole assault on New Kaon.

With a flick of his arm, his gun slid back into his hand and he leveled it at the weird Quintesson, they looked similar enough to know this was just a different type, “Alright then.” And he pulled the trigger as many times as he could as the mega-quint ran at him. Foot coming up to try and kick it off.

His back hit the building outside the ship, a good ten yards from the glass he’d been sent through. Alerts popping up throughout his vision, bright red and screaming at him.

Everything from crush alerts to zero-g and of course impact alerts. More alerts than he got when the building fell on him and his head swam for a minute, “Oh fuck,” dragging his arm under him, he looks down at his destroyed gun.

Shattered beyond repair and hand plating splintered, sharp pain shooting through it. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, thinking of his suit as his body before looking up.

It took several long moments for him to realize his comm wasn’t full of static but shouting, “Hound, answer!” Glancing up towards the ship, Jazz was waving, “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” His head spun as he started to drag his suit up from the ground. Hand grasping at the wall of the building he’d slammed into.

He just managed to dodge the spear thrown at him, it lodged in the wall, “I wish I wasn’t but I’m here. We’ve got a big enemy that is in the process of trying to destroy my suit.” Pulling the spear from the wall, he was still heaving for breath, “God damnit,” He hardly had a moment to get it up before he was stabbing the spear into the executioner.

These things were big and fast, as well as seemed vaguely intelligent to have tools and some sort of language, “Holy shit, what is that thing?” Sideswipe’s voice was strained and Hound could only guess why at the moment, “I don’t know but it's what threw me from the ship.” He only had a moment to respond before kicking out at it, pulling the spear back sharply and stabbing it again.

Green splattered across the ground with a far to satisfying squelch, Jazz looked back over and swore, grabbing hold of Sideswipe’s arm, “Hound needs our help.” With a glance, Sideswipe frowns, “Why?”

“That is what command calls an executioner, if the flying Quints we normally fight are us without a suit then that thing there is their striker.” His voice rang in Hound’s ears, especially as he stabbed it again, kicking it off the end of the spear and jabbing it again, “Oh, that’s just wonderful. Why haven’t we fought one before?” His voice was harsh, he hadn’t meant for it to be so bad but he was grunting with the effort.

Risen from his piloting chair without even noticing, Hound kept jabbing it as the translator whirred somewhere in the cockpit.

Jazz eventually spoke up though he was still panting from the efforts of his own fight, “Because they are few and far between, thankfully and only used when they are close to getting what they want. Whatever the hell that is.” He spun and hit one of the approaching Quints, “Hound, just, hold on. Alright?” Grunting with the effort, he stalks towards the executioner.

”Yeah, I’ve got this.” And his foot collided with the chest of the so-called executioner before spinning the spear, raising it up to point at its chest. He heaved for air, closing his eyes for a moment to adjust his mask, but as soon as he opened them again he was thrown into another wall. Spear clattering to the ground.

It laughed this deep and guttural laugh, then Hound got the ping of a partial translation, quickly turning it on, “What the hell are you?” His voice sounded horrible through the translation, dragging himself back to his feet, “I am your enemy, one who is thrilled to destroy you completely.” He blinked.

That wasn’t exactly the answer he was thinking he’d get, taking a slow breath, Hound crouches, “Yeah, good luck with that.” Then charged at the executioner, slamming into him and kept pushing as hard as he could till they slammed into the side of the ship. It went back to the typical Quintesson shrieking as Hound slammed his fist into it’s side over and over.

Green was splattering up his arm and his hand was able to grasp something inside the body of this thing, so he pulled hard. Plating his knee into its stomach while yanking out its entrails. It screamed and started to bash its fist against the head of his suit, blurring his vision.

The further the damage, the more focused he got and it was just tunnel vision, the comms clicking off instinctually as he methodically starts to tear the thing apart. Warnings flashing through his suit, plating cracking and breaking as it screamed and laughed.

—

He couldn’t see Hound, but he and Jazz were retreating, starting to get overwhelmed by the sheer number of Quintessons crawling out from the remains of their ship, that and Prowl was in Jazz’s ear for the first time since they had started attacking these things.

Nearly as soon as Hound had been thrown from the spaceship, communications had cleared up, whether from something he had done or by preventing whoever was blocking the signals from getting out into Iacon, now there was backup approaching rapidly.

“Fall back to four hundred feet, the seekers are going to hit the ship then we have a unit coming your way from central and will be there in less than five minutes.” Prowl’s voice was smooth, calculating, “We have some heavy craft coming in with bombs to try and eradicate the remaining Quintessons.” Sideswipe paused for half a second, even as he tore tentacles free from the body of a Quintesson.

Glancing towards the sky, he could see seekers streak past, moving to get into position, he blinked even as he hurles the Quint towards the ground and off the ship, “We can’t just carpet bomb this side of Iacon!” Sideswipe’s voice was higher than it typically was.

The chuckle through the line was unsettling, “Believe me, that is far from what they will be doing. It is banned on Cybertron even in times of war, article 468 of the Cybertronian Peace Agreement.” He paused and stared at the Quint in his grasp for a long moment.

”You had to put that in your peace agreement?” With a hum, Prowl disconnected and Sideswipe couldn’t help but shake his head. Cybertronians had all tried to kill each other even more than humans had it seemed.

Jazz almost ran smack into him, shoving, “We’ve got to move.” Swearing, he slid down the side of the ship even as more Quintessons started to peel themselves from inside, breaking open the plating on the exterior of their odd ships.

He collided with the ground hard as a Quint wrapped it’s tentacles around one of his legs, “Fuck!” His head slammed into the monitors in front of him, his connection being yanked hard and he screamed from pain.

His vision blue screened like a computer.

It was like he couldn’t breathe when everything went blue then black, he couldn’t see even the hands in front of his face, but the sensors were still working. He could vaguely feel something grab him under his arm to pull him to his feet, “Sideswipe, we need to move!” Jazz’s voice was still clear at least.

Today really wasn’t going his way and all he really wanted to do right now was cry.

”I can’t see,” His voice broke and he swore as Jazz dragged him away from the ship, stumbling in the dark as he desperately grabbed at Jazz’s arm. If this had happened to Sunny, he didn’t even want to think of how bad it would have been for his brother.

Crashing into the ground again, he groaned and pushed up, breathing far too quickly, hyperventilating, then Jazz’s hands pressed to his shoulders and his back hit the wall, “I’ve got you Sides, disconnect and fix your cameras. Your visor went dead.” Barely able to nod, he disconnects and tears off his helmet for a moment.

The cockpit wasn’t the most well-lit place but it certainly was brighter than the complete darkness his suit had decided to put him into. Dragging a hand over his damp implants, he dragged in slow and deep breaths. He wasn’t particularly scared of the dark, but losing one of his senses while in a fight was terrifying.

It took him a moment to calm his racing heart, grabbing up his water pouch and taking a deep drink, “Oh god, please let this end quickly.” Setting aside the pouch, he picks up his helmet again and puts it on. Adjusting the visor on it for a second until it lit back up before returning to his piloting chair instead.

Taking up his connector for the implants, he holds it for a second, staring down at it. If he lingered he knew his mind would drag him into his past, distinctly where he didn’t want to spend anymore time that particular day. Adjusting his hold, he re-connects and straps back on his oxygen mask.

Seconds dragged on, sitting in the dark, and his breathing shook again. It was nearly a minute before everything came back online and he was shaking again, sighing, “Thank you.” His suit probably needed more maintances than he realized, leaning against the wall in an alleyway.

Jazz was across from him, staring up towards the sky.

“Any sign of our reinforcements?” His voice wasn’t as strong as he had hoped for, but today had been one of the worst days of his life, so for now he’d let it slide. Shaking his head a bit, Jazz continued to stare, “No, but the first round of bombs are gonna fall here in a second.” Nodding a bit, Sides tried not to rub at his neck.

Looking out himself, he could see the Quintessons crawling all over their ship, and then Hound still out there. Tearing the executioner apart like it was nothing, “Damn.” Nodding a bit, Jazz sighed, “And that is one of the many reasons why hunter class is dying out. They lose themselves in the fight.”

He watched before looking around, “Where are BD and Sunny?” Standing on shaky legs, he moves to go out, but Jazz catches his hand, “They’ve moved for cover, like we did, just stay put.” He stared out and tried to look around, to spot the familiar yellow or blue.

It was then that they were blown back, both slamming into the walls of the alley, “Can things stop blowing us up now?!” Sideswipe shouted, slamming his fist into the ground, then the wave of heat hit them, “Run.” Jazz sounded horrified, so he followed suit, scrambling after him.

”Why does everyone want to kill us today?” It was murmured, but Jazz shook his head, “Just run.” Sighing deeply, he followed, exhausted. He wasn’t a soldier, yet he was here on the front lines with everyone else.

Just managing to snag Jazz’s hand, it grounded him, and he kept running.

—

Breakdown thought this was one of the strangest days of his life, he was carrying Hound suit's severed arm while his own suit’s head was creaking with each step. Almost flopping from side to side like when his arm would fall asleep or if he sat on his foot too long.

To his left was Sunstreaker, making their way between buildings and back towards the wreckage of the bar now as that is where their backup would link up. This had to be one of, if not the worst mission they had ever run. This is why the humans were separated, running head first into danger without a plan.

It was likely to get them all killed, stupid, stupid.

“Any word from the others?” Sunny’s comms were growing patchy every handful of seconds, bleating painfully and Breakdown’s seemed to have disconnected at some point, probably when his cannon started to overheat, “No, after we got around that one skyscraper I lost connection.” Sunny’s hand rubbed at his neck, sighing.

They kept walking together, quietly, trying to listen to the sounds of battle behind them.

With the seekers above the main noise, the loud blast that made them both stumble almost gave Breakdown a heart attack, “What the crap?” He spun and tried to bring his cannon back online, it whirred once and promptly died.

Sunstreaker turned and stepped in front of him, both pausing to wait as more explosions happened in the distance. His heart was racing but he rested a hand on Sunny’s shoulder, “They all would have left before the Seekers started to bomb the area, we need to continue to the rendezvous point.”

Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker turned back and kept walking though there was a slight hitch to his step. The poor boy was shaking like a leaf but kept on.

He would never look down upon civilian pilots, they had more guts than most military ones he’d ever known, and he was glad to have Sunstreaker and Sideswipe by his side.

Their record, for how young they were, was incredible and it had made him very glad to have them on this mission. Even if it was their world sending them off to die, for the sake of saving it. This bigger picture was one he’d known his whole life, but this was not how he pictured it going.

Yet, here he was, with their small crew on an alien planet making friends and moving forward with a mission that was given to them thirty lightyears away from their current position. He doubted any of them would blame him if he decided to retire to one of the neighboring organic plants in a nearby system.

Sighing deeply, he shifted the hold he had on Hound’s arm. He’d never actually retire, he would die in this suit, just like M did. He was just glad it was far from the hands of his government, so they could force one of his younger brothers into it next.

They continued to walk in silence and he was grateful for it, glancing around, he sighed a bit. The walls around them were nearly the same shade of grey as the immigration office, he could picture it nearly clear as day. His implants oozed unpleasantly and he swore, trying to blink as he stumbled into the wall.

“Hey, Breakdown, you there?” Sunny’s hand rested on his arm and he tried shaking his head but all it did was knock loose plating off.

The office was cold and grey, there wasn’t much to it but Breakdown kept walking down the alley. Putting his arm around Sunstreaker as he nearly stumbles. The desk was solid in front of him and his paperwork was hard to understand, half of it was in English.

He only sat there for a few seconds before an older man came in, carrying more paperwork and setting it on the desk with a sigh.

”Breakdown, snap out of it.” He blinked hard and tore off his oxygen mask, grabbing up his water pouch to drink deeply. His overuse had never gotten as bad as the others, but it didn’t change; they all still struggled with it from time to time. So long as they lived here and fought for Cybertron it would probably stick around.

Taking a slow breath, he nodded a bit, the head of his suit now lolled at an angle that his cameras had already adjusted for, “I’m alright, thank you Sunny.” They slowed as they came back to the rubble, just as other mecha started to come to it on the other side.

Their colors were still bright and stood out against the grey that had coated this neighbor. Suddenly it hit Breakdown as he raised his hand, which held Hound’s arm, that they might not look their best at the moment, even as Sunny also waved to the approaching reinforcements.

—

Everything ached and it was pretty obvious as to why. The Quint had thrown him through a building just as the bombs hit, then the heatwave made the metal of his suit nearly unbearable to be in.

Hotter than running drills in Death Valley.

Even now he was grappling with the damned thing, even when it should have already bled to death. No, he kept ripping it apart and kicking it every time it got back up. This was worse than the worst fights he’d had anywhere on Earth, this felt endless.

Though this was the end of the fight, kicking the shit out of it as it tried to shriek, “Just shut the hell up.” He was exhausted, almost more tired than he’d been after New Kaon, but it laughed cruelly, “My kind is not done with yours Cybertronian, no, we will not stop till your planet is ours once again.”

He almost stopped, almost listened, instead his foot crushed the things head instead, panting from the effort, “I’m not Cybertronian. I’m human.” And he sat down on the ground, putting his arm on his head to breathe easier.

Outside still looked like hell, bombs exploding and fire roaring, they wouldn’t leave anything left of that damned ship and in a way, Hound was glad. It meant he wouldn’t have to step foot back inside, but it also meant they wouldn’t have anything for Prowl to look at. To potentially figure out past the maybe-hard drive in his cockpit.

Disconnecting, Hound cried out and grasped at his implants. They were oozing and bleeding again for the first time in weeks, his whole body hurt. It felt like he’d been in a car crash, but then again, it was nor dissimilar to how his day had gone.

Collapsing from the weight of his own body, Hound laid on the floor of his cockpit, next to the plating from his suit and the oversized hard drive. The bombs going off outside were still audible even there, in his suit and in the building. Grabbing his water pouch, he removes his oxygen mask then his helmet.

It took a moment to drink slowly and deeply, trying to not drain the pouch but desperate for the water.

“Ah god,” tears sprang to his eyes as he tried to breathe normally, grasping at his overly long hair. What he needed was a haircut, probably a shave too, but now wasn’t the time.

The bar was destroyed, the music his parents coveted had been ripped out from under him like a rug in a cartoon. He hadn’t even thought of bringing music on the Odyssey, unlike the twins, it just had slipped his mind while they trained for being in space.

Quintessons had tried invading Iacon, they had been just outside and nearly killed his friends. They wanted Cybertron and apparently Earth, for what he still had no idea but they wanted to kill everyone and everything.

Including him.

Including his crew.

Including Mirage.

Covering his face, he took a deep and shaking breath, and sobbed. Slamming his fist into the metal flooring of his cockpit, “Oh god, fucking, stupid.” Closing his eyes, he tried to calm down.

It was overwhelming, it was too much, and he needed to pull himself together so he could get back to his team. Whether that was Arcturus or his unit.

Slowly, the bombardment outside lessened and he got up, putting his helmet and oxygen mask back on, picking up his connector and holding it in his hands for a long moment. Tossing it lightly before reconnecting.

His eyes snapped open and he gasped painfully, the feeling in his arm disappearing again with shooting pain into his shoulder, “God damnit, fucking, stupid suit.” Shaking his head, he adjusted his visor and slowly rose, turning back to the executioner to hopefully grab it to bring it in.

Green ooze was what remained where it had been, but there was not nearly enough of it to its remains, “Fuck.” Dragging his hand down his face, Hound groaned, “Alright, find the others and don’t die. Yeah.” Nodding a bit, he steps through the hole he’d initially gone through.

The outside wasn’t much better than the inside, if he had much to say, though most of the ship was burnt to a crisp and what remained was in fact charred remains, there were still Quintessons crawling around. Tentacles whipping out and feeling for its goal.

His foot came down on one and then swiftly turned what remained of its body into green mist with a kick and once he did one, he had to keep going. Grabbing and tearing, kicking, then dispatching. It was one step then the next.

———

A/N

This was meant to be out yesterday, but at 11 last night I did not feel like researching how the brain works or how the world is figuring out how to integrate tech into the human body to be perfectly honest.

But yeah, I hope to still have the next chapter out on Friday, I’ve already started to work on it so we will see how that goes, so wish me luck lol.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

#transformers #maccadam #tf mecha universe #tf mecha au #mecha pilot jazz au #mech pilot jazz au #the arcturus missions #Hound #Breakdown #Sunstreaker #Sideswipe #Jazz #Quintessons

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bitterkarella · 1 year ago

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Midnight Pals: Hackin'

King: i can't believe elon's grok is pretending i'm friends with him King: i need to stop that AI before everyone believes it! King: i've got to hire a hacker King: franz, you've got to help me Franz Kafka: what? me? Barker: steve, no

Kafka: i'm not a hacker King: oh i thought franz was a hacker Barker: what gave you THAT impression? King: you know, with the cat ear headphones and the striped thigh socks Barker: no steve that's something ENTIRELY different Kafka: n-no it isn't, on second thought yes I'm totally a hacker

Kafka: it means i'm a hacker, nothing else Barker: sure franz Kafka: it does! it totally means i'm a hacker! Barker: franz, go play with your blahaj plush, the adults are talking here

Barker: you know who you need? you need william gibson Barker: the best hacker money can buy King: william gibson? how do i contact him? Barker: you don't Barker: he'll contact you

King: can you really hack grok, william? William Gibson: [wearing black duster and fingerless black gloves] my hacker name is shadow gigabyte King: oh sorry Gibson: can i hack grok? listen kid i was cyberbyting the megabyte mainframe when you were just rebooting your motherboard mouse data bandwidth modem email King: wow!

Gibson: my CPU is a neural net processer, a learning computer King: wow he really sounds like he knows what he's talking about! King: that definitely sounds like hacker talk to me Gibson: CD Rom Gibson: internet Joe Hill: dad can i talk to you for a second King: not now joe daddy's hiring a hacker

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] i'll re-index the mega bit blaster cyber codex Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] now we'll cybersecurity the lock box data center King: hey what happens if you push that button? Gibson: what the-- no!! [klaxons sound] King: what's that mean? Gibson: shit Gibson: we've got company

Gibson: sentient cyber virus electronic guard cyberbots Gibson: real high tech Gibson: state of the art in bio-tech wetware neural-data scrapers Gibson: [putting on sunglasses with red laser scope] and they ain't friendly

King: what are we going to do?! Gibson: kid, you keep your hands to yourself unless you wanna become roadkill on the information super highway!!! Gibson: hold on to your CPU (central processing unit)!!!

Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] gotta reconfigure the darkweb logistics for ethernet wavetech Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] upload the memory downloader for dumpware backup Gibson: [wildly slapping keyboard] uncodify the cyberpatch modifer aaaaand Gibson: i'm in

King: wow, you hacked twitter?? how did you do it? Gibson: the greatest hackers never reveal their secrets [earlier] Gibson: [wearing fake mustache] hey elon its me catturd Gibson: could you give me your password? Elon Musk: sure it's "picklerick420"!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #franz kafka #joe hill #william gibson #elon musk

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foxprints · 27 days ago

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Newest version of my design for Murderbot, this time with all sorts of fun details! I just love drawing it so much!! And I have a similar design sheet for Three, though I'm still working on it.

Details about specific parts of the design are under the cut! Because I've spent too much time contemplating how everything works and why and figuring out which parts are organic and which are inorganic and how it's put together...

The ports on its back from the top down: data port, repair valve, external recharge port for primary power supply, resupply valve, and external recharge port for auxiliary power supply.

The light on its chest is a sort of power indicator

The primary power supply in its chest is what's used on a regular basis. It usually has a kinetic self recharging mechanism (sort of like a car battery in that moving helps it stay charged) that is entirely adequate in most circumstances. When the energy weapons are used, or it hooks itself up to a dead system to act as a power supply, or does a lot of intense movement/fighting/processing, the energy levels may drop enough that it either has to manually engage a recharge cycle or its systems force it into a shutdown to recharge. When this sort of recharge cycle is initiated, the power is taken from the auxiliary power supply. These power cells can last an incredibly long time.

Its eyes are inorganic, but not typically noticeable as such unless it's actively adjusting filters etc. They do have a slight glow to them and will reflect light like a cat's eye in the right circumstances

SecUnits eyes produce a saline solution not unlike tears to help clear out debris and keep the lenses moving smoothly. And SecUnits can cry -- the ability to is usually suppressed by the governor module.

Not actually shown here, but it has inorganic filaments throughout its body that help distribute energy from the power cells. They glow yellow and are visible from under the skin during an external recharge (which should be rare) or if there is an unexpected surge of power sent through it

Its insides are a mix of organic and synthetic, with organs being one or the other depending on how easy they are to replace or how much use they get. For example, the endocrine system is biological, the neural pathways and nervous system are mixed, the heart and lungs are inorganic. There's no need for a digestive system, bladder, or liver. It has synthetic organs similar to kidneys that help make sure the fluids -- both blood and synthetic -- are properly filtered and free of contaminants.

The skeletal framework is made up entirely of a metal alloy of some sort. This makes SecUnits and combat units quite heavy compared to a human. ComfortUnits have a lighter synthetic frame that keeps their weight comparable to that of the average human. The metal used in Combat SecUnits is heavier and more dense than that used in regular sec and combat units.

#i posted this without tags omg why #the murderbot diaries #murderbot #secunit #murderbot diaries #tmbd #tmbd fanart #fanart #murderbot designs

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mariacallous · 6 months ago

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The number of people who read for fun appears to be steadily dropping. Fifty percent of UK adults say they don’t read regularly (up from 42 percent in 2015) and almost one in four young people aged 16 to 24 say they’ve never been readers, according to research by The Reading Agency.

But what are the implications? Will people’s preference for video over text affect our brains or our evolution as a species? What kind of brain structure do good readers actually have? My new study, published in NeuroImage, has found out.

I analyzed open source data from more than 1,000 participants to discover that readers of varying abilities had distinct traits in brain anatomy.

The structure of two regions in the left hemisphere, which are crucial for language, were different in people who were good at reading.

One was the anterior part of the temporal lobe. The left temporal pole helps associate and categorize different types of meaningful information. To assemble the meaning of a word such as leg, this brain region associates the visual, sensory and motor information conveying how legs look, feel and move.

The other was Heschl’s gyrus, a fold on the upper temporal lobe which hosts the auditory cortex (the cortex is the outermost layer of the brain). Better reading ability was linked to a larger anterior part of the temporal lobe in the left hemisphere compared to the right. It makes sense that having a larger brain area dedicated to meaning makes it easier to understand words and, therefore, to read.

What might seem less intuitive is that the auditory cortex would be related to reading. Isn’t reading mainly a visual skill? Not only. To pair letters with speech sounds, we first need to be aware of the sounds of the language. This phonological awareness is a well-established precursor to children’s reading development.

A thinner left Heschl’s gyrus has previously been related to dyslexia, which involves severe reading difficulties. My research shows that this variation in cortical thickness does not draw a simple dividing line between people with or without dyslexia. Instead, it spans the larger population, in which a thicker auditory cortex correlates with more adept reading.

Why Size Matters

Is thicker always better? When it comes to cortical structure, no, not necessarily. We know the auditory cortex has more myelin in the left hemisphere of most people. Myelin is a fatty substance that acts as an insulator for nerve fibers. It increases neural communication speed and can also insulate columns of brain cells from each other. Neural columns are believed to function as small processing units.

Their increased isolation and rapid communication in the left hemisphere can be thought to enable the fast, categorical processing necessary for language. We need to know if a speaker uses the category d or t when saying dear or tear rather than detecting the exact point where the vocal folds start vibrating.

According to the “balloon model” of cortical growth, the larger amount of myelin squeezes out left-hemispheric cortical areas, making them flatter but more extended. So while the left auditory cortex may be thicker in good readers, it is still thinner (but much more extended) than the corresponding right cortex.

This hypothesis was corroborated in the recent research. The left hemisphere had generally larger but thinner cortical areas with a higher degree of myelin.

So is thinner better, then? Again, the answer is no, not necessarily. Complex abilities that require integrating information tend to benefit from a thicker cortex. The anterior temporal lobe with its complex way of integrating information is indeed the thickest structure of all cortical areas. An underlying mechanism might be the existence of more overlapping, interacting neurons which process information more holistically.

Phonology is a highly complex skill, where different sound and motor features are integrated into speech sounds. It appears to correlate with a thicker cortex in an area near the left Heschl’s gyrus. While it is unclear to what extent phonology is processed in Heschl’s gyrus, the fact that phoneticians often have multiple left Heschl’s gyri suggests it is linked to speech sounds.

Clearly, brain structure can tell us a lot about reading skills. Importantly, though, the brain is malleable—it changes when we learn a new skill or practice an already acquired one.

For instance, young adults who studied language intensively increased their cortical thickness in language areas. Similarly, reading is likely to shape the structure of the left Heschl’s gyrus and temporal pole. So, if you want to keep your Heschl’s thick and thriving, pick up a good book and start reading.

Finally, it’s worth considering what might happen to us as a species if skills like reading become less prioritized. Our capacity to interpret the world around us and understand the minds of others would surely diminish. In other words, that cozy moment with a book in your armchair isn’t just personal—it’s a service to humanity.

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sweet7simple · 1 year ago

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Mech Pregnancy, Cybertronian biology and the gestation system, and what I like to call the Gestational Protocols

(A sparkling has two parts: The spark and the birth metal).

I have written about mech pregnancy before and that actually went really well! It got over a hundred notes, my most popular post ever.

So I thought, why stop? I love reproductive science. I love science fiction. I want to develop this more.

I spent more than five hours drawing and labeling and I am not fully pleased with it, but I am just pleased enough and tired enough to show you all what I am thinking.

If mech pregnancy, breeding, world building and/or messy hand drawings bring you joy, check below the cut!

(When I say I drew these by hand, I mean I drew them by hand).

(Note: When I mention a CPU, I am referring to a Central Processing Unit, otherwise known as the brain module.)

The codpiece: A goddamn problem. They can transform into transportation, though, so moving a codpiece out of the way surely has to be doable for them.

The valve: It has very large and noticeable exterior energy node and the reason for this is to indicate charge. We see the portus majora, or the larger port from the outside. If we spread these folds, we'll see the portus minora, or the smaller port. The portus minora is where the interior node system begins. Within the portus minora is the valve entrance, which gives way to the valve sleeve.

The spike: It can be modified or replaced, but the design has to be such that it can collapse in on itself and fit inside of the housing. Whatever your personal preference, the plug (the head of the spike) should expand outward in some way for reasons I will explain shortly. The plug is densely populated with small interior nodes while the cord or cable (the shaft of the spike) is sparsely populated with large exterior nodes. This makes the plug more sensitive. When the cable drains of its gel (which is recycled back into the system via a pressurizer fluid reservoir), these exterior nodes sink into depressions within the interlocking segments so that they don't snag on the housing rim when depressurized.

Note: In the diagrams, I call the nodes "energy nodes". There is a reason for that, but it's not necessarily necessary to the system.

Let me explain: I wrote a story where the nodes captured energy from the friction of the spike's external nodes striking against the valve's internal nodes and then that energy was sent to the spark chamber as a backup source of power during spark merging as spark merging dispersed energy and thereby diminished the sparks.

They don't have to be energy nodes, though. Those fun little goodie spots that create so much pleasure don't have to have a dual purpose. They can just be sensory nodes connected to the sensory net, a subsystem of the neural net.

When it comes to spark merging, I use stellar collision to visualize it. Here is a Youtube video that shows the collapse of a binary stellar system that pretty much sums up what I think happens, but on a much smaller scale: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsIMDKMKUWw

The result of the spark merging, however is that a third body is generated from the collision. This third body is created from the intense heat and energy of the spark merging, and from the fragmented copies of life codes duplicated during the spark merge. This is the sparkling. When its creators' sparks retreat to their own chambers, the sparkling will attach to the creator that is receiving transfluid (I will explain shortly).

A form of gestation control includes putting a shunt on the spark chamber to disperse the foreign energy body.

2. The birthing conduit is what it says it is. Once the sparkling has created its own life code, it will descend down the conduit and join with its birth metal, or sentio metallico, in the gestation tank.

3. The gestation tank is where the birth metal is produced from the metal alloy particles carried in transfluid and the energon provided by the carrier. You can also think of it as a crucible furnace, which is used for melting metals in small quantities within a foundry. The crucible is the innermost cavity where the birth metal is made. That crucible is lined with a layer of refractory material, which withstands high heat. That refractory material is going to keep that crucible hot enough to maintain the birth metal as a liquid without melting the protoform layer between the refractory material and the outer shell of the tank.

So the layers from outermost to innermost are :

Outer shell -> protoform layer -> refractory material -> crucible

Also, I move to call the carrier creator a foundry now because I love that word so much. The Google definition for a foundry is a workshop or factory for casting metal. It just sounds so good.

"Hey, First Aid, is Ratchet your foundry?"

"No, but I get that a lot."

I can't think of an equally cool word to replace the term "sire".

4. The valve sleeve is a semi-permeable layer of elastic protoform that can stretch to a certain degree. The interior nodes are within this protoform layer and creates a bumpy texture. As already discussed the sleeve is self-lubricating. I am starting to realize that I labeled this diagram horribly, but please bear with me.

5. Calipers! They in all the sticky sexual interface stories. I just imagine them as these segmented, arm-like extensions that squeeze and relax depending on stimulation. In fanfiction, they have a habit of "cycling down" whenever stimulated. What I love about calipers is that they do set a minimum and maximum range of flexibility for the sleeve. With calipers, there is such a thing as being too small (the calipers can only tighten so much) or too big (the calipers can only loosen so much). They are synonymous to the pelvic floor muscles in a human that makes a vagina contract and relax, but they just make me think of pussy bones. You have to be careful not to break them.

6. THIS IS MY FAVORITE PART. Here is where the valve sleeve meets the gestation tank. There are two orifices: The tank cap and the lockring. The tank cap is where your mech is going to put some kind of seal as a form of gestation control. If a spike can't get into the gestation tank, then there is no birth metal. If there is no birth metal, a signal will be sent to the mech's CPU and then to the spark chamber to disperse the potential sparkling. How the tank cap is removed depends on how you want it removed. If you want a screw-in cap, then that cap will have to be removed via an invasive procedure (otherwise known as we're going to have to stick this instrument up your valve and twist the cap open and then we have to pull out the cap). If you want almost any other kind of seal or door, you can hypothetically just send a signal from the CPU to the neural net attached to the gestation system and have that seal slide out of the way into a depression within the rim of the gestation tank.

BUT THAT LOCKRING, THOUGH. This is why your spike needs to have a plug that expands to some degree.

Once that cap is out of the way, the mech's spike is going to pop through that lockring, sticking their plug directly in their partner's gestation tank. I like to call this "plugging the tank". Once that plug is in that tank, a signal is going to hit the CPU to start up GESTATIONAL PROTOCOLS. More on that at the end.

That lockring is going to cycle down just behind the plug, tight enough that the spike can't pull out without being too tight.

The purpose of this is to ensure that the gestation tank is filled up with transfluid. The lockring will only cycle open once the tank is full or once sensors within the tank indicate that the flow of transfluid has stopped for a certain amount of time (meaning that there is no more transfluid to be had, even if the tank isn't full yet).

It's a reverse knot! Instead of having a spike that knots, we get a valve that locks! I love it so.

7. The energy - or sensory - nodes are part of a positive feedback loop, meaning that "the product of a reaction leads to an increase in that reaction" (https://www.albert.io/blog/positive-negative-feedback-loops-biology/). In this case, pleasure created from stimulating those nodes (such as friction) encourages more stimulation, which creates more pleasure, which encourages more stimulation, until the loop breaks. What breaks this loop is overloading the sensory net or removing the friction.

When we state that the valve is self-lubricating, you can decide for yourself how it does that. The trick is making sure that the mech can can replace their own lubricant when necessary. One system is to have lubricant be a type of consequence from energon circulation.

Humans self-lubricate their vaginas in several different ways and one of them is that the vagina is somewhat permeable. Plasma (the liquid part of blood) is able to discharge from the bloodstream through the walls of the vagina.

Or perhaps your lubricant comes from the same reservoir as the transfluid for your spike. Since the valve sleeve is only somewhat permeable, the metal alloy particles in your transfluid can't get through. What does leak through is the fluid medium that the metal alloy particles reside in.

The plug is itself not an interlocking segment because the plug, as explained, has to expand so that the lockring can tighten between the plug and the topmost interlocking segment. If the plug is smaller than the interlocking segment behind it, then the lockring will either not tighten enough or will tighten too much. Instead, the plug has an outer protoform layer that is expanded with the same pressurizer fluid that fills the spike. In the diagram above, we see the spike, the spike housing that the spike has to depressurize to fit inside of, and at least three different connections at the bottom. One of these connections bundles the wires for the sensory net and attaches to the neural net.

The bottommost connection is to the pressurizer fluid reservoir. When the spike is pressurized, the reservoir compresses and fills the matrix within the spike to give it its form and rigidity. When the spike depressurizes, the reservoir decompresses as it fills with fluid.

The connection that has a dashed line going all the way up the spike connects the transfluid reservoir to the transfluid line (signified by the dashed line) and out the plug. The transfluid reservoir is actually pressed against the outside of the valve!

So it is possible to bang a mech's valve so good that they leak transfluid all over themselves because you are more or less hitting their reservoir with every thrust. You just have to get the angle right or else you're hitting the sleeve calipers and that might not be as fun.

The Gestational Protocols:

This has turned into a very, very long post. I have been working on it for nine hours now between drawing the diagrams, writing the post, and checking with Google to make sure my science isn't horrifically, unforgivably wrong (I could be using the positive feedback loop wrong, but I don't think I am).

So let me wrap this up with the Gestational Protocols. It's like a mech heat fic, actually, except the heat is very short and starts toward the end of sticky sexual interfacing.

For this scenario, Ratchet and Drift want to produce a sparkling. Because Drift is concerned about Ratchet's health, they decide that Drift should be the foundry. Drift has his tank cap removed beforehand.

They're having a great time, creating all the good friction, lighting up their sensory net like a growing fire. Drift is charged up, Ratchet is charged up, and they're about to hit that overload.

Drift's lockring is cycled all the way open. His calipers are trying to pull Ratchet closer. When Ratchet knows he can't hold on any longer, he pushes as deep as he can go. There's a small moment of resistance when his plug meets the lockring and then he pops through. The lockring cycles down and he's stuck. There's no pulling out now.

Ratchet told Drift what to expect from the gestational protocols, but it wasn't enough. The moment Ratchet is locked in place, a signal is sent from his gestation system to his CPU: Gestational protocols initiated...

His cache memory crashes. He has no past or present or future. He has no idea there was a war lasting millions of years. He doesn't even know what a Cybertron is. Programs are halted, tasks are paused, processing units block external input. Hydraulics fall to the lowest power possible. His frame goes completely limp.

Drift no longer exists. He is now a foundry. He is the function of his gestation system. His CPU has a primary and secondary task: Primary is to maintain the protocols and secondary is to reward Drift for maintaining the protocols.

As long as he lays there and lets Ratchet fill him up, he's fulfilling his primary task. Because it's so easy to let Ratchet fill him up, his neural net rewards him with pleasure and feel-good signals. He is riding a type of euphoria that is thoughtless bliss from the tips of his pedes to the tops of his finials.

A task pops up in his CPU, but he doesn't have the processing power to interpret it. He accepts without caring. He experiences his chest plates cracking open without actually seeing it or hearing it. His system rewards him for accepting the prompt, so he still doesn't care. His spark chamber opens next and he is thrown into the intense, beautiful pleasure-agony of having his spark collide with another mech's spark.

He doesn't remember who this other mech is, but Drift loves them. They're filling Drift up so well, both his tank and his spark. He's so full. He's being such a good foundry. He's receiving all those good neural and sensory signals and he's fuzzy/fizzy with joy.

The spark merge ends after several collisions and spirals. Drift loves every moment of it, and also loves it when his spark returns to its chamber. Now his spark feels swollen and his CPU registers a foreign body. There is a potential sparkling attached to his core. Chances are very good that this potential sparkling will not disperse.

His CPU rewards him with another rush of emotional glee and pride. He's sparked! He did so well, laying there and letting himself get sparked. He's a great foundry. He's the best foundry to ever get sparked. No one has ever been or will ever be as well-behaved as he was.

A notification hits his CPU and he doesn't even try to understand it. Apparently, it's the notification for his tank being full. A second notification and his lockring relaxes. He is deliciously, fully aware of a thick spike dragging across his oversensitive interior nodes, sending one last wave of hot, crackling pleasure through his frame.

Another notification. He doesn't read it. A task pops up. He accepts lazily.

The notification was that the gestational protocols had been completed. The task was to enter a soft reboot. Drift slips into recharge feeling like his only purpose in life is to embody pleasure and creation.

He wakes up feeling swollen and sloshy.

Ratchet is smiling down at him.

"Am I...? Are we...?"

Ratchet stroked a servo across his chest plates. "It's early still. The spark might disperse. But chances are looking good. We're sparked, kid."

And that is how I imagine the Gestational Protocols going: You get your tank plugged and then nothing matters but getting filled up with a sparkling.

Thank you for reading my book-length discussion! Please feel free to interact with me.

I have been working on this for ten hours now. I should proofread, but I am not going to at this time.

EDIT: I was in the shower when I realized I forgot something important - where does the protoform's first colony of nanites come from?

@earthstellar explains here (https://www.tumblr.com/earthstellar/659541951144738816/transformers-medical-analysis-essay-what-are?source=share) what Cybertronians use nanites for, including construction and self-repair. So we can readily assume that the protoform needs a nanites colony.

I'll tell you where the new spark's nanites came from: Their foundry's valve.

Humans do the same thing. We pick up friendly bacteria from the vagina we come out of.

That is all I had to add. Remember to start your protoform off right with a healthy nanite colony.

#mech preg #Mech pregnancy #cybertronian biology #transformers #macaddam #tf comics #world building #valveplug

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