Pistongasket
Apr 6, 2012 10:01:59 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Apr 6, 2012 10:01:59 GMT -5
-Character Info-
Name: Pistongasket, “Gasket”
Age: Pre Cybertronian Golden Age, Early Sixties (~62)
Gender (or human equivalent): Mech, Male
Species: Cybertronian,
Model: Second Age, Titan-class, Original-spec Convoy-capable Strato-Train; Converted for Space Travel, Upgraded for Combat
Faction: Autobot
Occupation/Specialization: Bulk/Long Range Transportation, Heavy Siege Bot
Appearance/Altmode: Standing nearly a chest higher than the tallest mechs remaining (Skyquake as reference), Pistongasket is a towering bot of cast iron and steel with hard lines, blocky plates, and ninety degree edges, all dyed a dark gray by the nanites inhabiting his chassis. Matching the low tech alt-mode he utilizes, his hydraulics are primarily composed of boiler piping while his gears and servos trend toward more simplistic designs with steam pistons, crank shafts, and toothed gears.
Due to Gasket not being designed for combat and despite his weapon’s level of destructive power, this former labor bot’s enhanced implements of war are almost a second thought. Rather than fitting seamlessly with his form or blending when not in use they are mostly mounted on his chassis. When not in use the mechanical “guts” and workings are stored within the body of the coal tender leaving his body slimmed down somewhat when not in combat situations.
Alt: Baldwin 4-8-4 Steam Locomotive, Number 4505; “Manufactured” in 1942
Alt Pre-Earth: Space Train Gasket
History: The history of Gasket is a full one. While he tends to omit any of his activities during the war, the massive bot will always regale any listeners in stories of the good old days; the eras before the great Cybertronian War back when he was a simple labor bot.
Built for strength as a laborer in the lower castes, the young Gasket, then known as Prast Gaskette, quickly became a common sight in the space and strato-lanes of his home planet plying between the major city sectors with long trailing lines of cargo containers stocked with energon. As one of a few remaining bots who were around at the time of Cybertrons build to glory, the then young Gasket remembers little of his time before the golden age. The golden age of Cybertron is among Gasket’s fondest memories; gleaming towers of steel and iron immaculate as the day they were crafted. The impulsive labor bot did everything he could to outdo himself, keeping a healthy competition with the other heavy lifter bots made during his cycles in crafting many of the newest and largest stratoscrapers on the planet. While he never boasted he calculated that he had hauled several fractions of a percent of the total building materials used in their constructions; in those early days it gave him an immense feeling of satisfaction and made his long hours of operation meaningful.
Everything changed quite suddenly, however. Though still reckless, impulsive and always looking for a competition, the beginning of the war saw his memories fall into the darkness that accompanied much of his home in those millennia; most he would rather not remember. He did not choose a side, however. As an old bot when the war began, much of the impulsiveness had gone and though he was often dragged into battle, he did not have a love for it. Being what he was, a bot of little more than brute strength, he underwent a substantial retrofit renaming and remodeling the head strong Prast Gaskette to the impulsive and head sure Pressuregasket. He never counted kills in those days and much of his long years were spent hauling and protecting convoys of energon containers from one front to another at the request of either side, defending himself when necessary. He received much acclaim by commanding brass of either side for rarely being late, always protecting his payload, and never failing to kill in combat. In his computational matrix he justified his actions as “for the betterment of Cybertron” despite his desire to not choose a side. Though he still enjoyed the adrenaline of combat, his internal processes soon steered him away from the bots who destroyed for the sake of destruction; in the later years of the war he tended to work with the Autobots though was never affiliated. As the years wore on, comrades in arms slowly falling in combat, Gasket held strong in his ways and his livelihood until Cybertron was literally on the brink of utter destruction. The realization came in his spark and his matrix far too late when he finally realized nothing he could do would beset the inevitable.
It was an order created in what Gasket would soon come to realize as desperation. Equipped with enough energon to mobilize a small battle fleet the massive transport mech, charged by the Autobots, was tasked with finding a planet suitable to store it, hide it away until a time in which it could be reacquired to turn the tides. In his naivety, Gasket thought he was doing all he could to further the cause of Cybertron’s survival. However, as his optics beheld the shrinking cybernetic planet as he passed out of orbit he bore witness to the mass exodus of bots charged with similar missions scattering themselves to the stars. Turning his optics back to the surface he saw massive explosions, pieces of his beloved planet literally ripping itself to oblivion. A he passed the first moon the words of the last remaining Prime rang over broad frequency telling all who would listen about their plight. Turning from the sight he put his accelerators to use, propelling himself away from his home without looking back twice.
As he traveled, slipping quietly from star system to star system a realization struck the now venerable bot; he had not acted to protect the Cybertron that he loved but had sat on the side lines during its destruction. Soon he began to hate himself, loath what he had become and everything that he had done. His guilt over his own foolishness, his own inactivity dominated his central processes, driving his thoughts and even his anger back in upon himself that he was so selfish not to fight for the only home he knew and loved. His mind, awash in the piercing optic stare of those he killed and those who died, haunted his waking. He took to putting himself into long periods of self-imposed recharge trying to force the images away. However, whenever he awoke the memories would hit again. Aside from those thoughts his only conscious duty, his last order, lingered. Lost in the vastness of space the great mech decided to finds a planet with which to store his cargo so he might never have to end his slumber; fade away with his memories back into the embrace of the All-Spark as his capacitors eventually died away.
The small system he found was quaint enough, peaceful and unassuming. Half the reserves he stored on a planet dyed red from the iron oxidation, the containers stored at the foot of a massive extinct volcano. The other half he pulled to another planet, a small blue and green rock that seemed as good a place as any to rust away into nothing in the mind of the large bot. Where the was water there was rust and, after scattering the cargo containers to splash into the massive liquid ocean he shut down his primary systems and aimed himself at the surface; his mission complete. Little known to Gasket the backup systems on the edge of his troubled cortex detected something unusual on the pale blue dot, something that would change the bot’s existence forever.
As the shell of his entry pod gave way to the massive atmospheric resistance the body of the great hulk shrieked across the sky, plummeting toward the north and east section of one of the primary continents on the planet. Unlike his intent to plunge into the deep dark of the ocean, Gasket missed his target by several hundred miles, impacting in the center of a well lit human city at night. The impact did no lasting damage to him but shattered the roof of a massive factory wreathed in smoke and steel. As his form came to a rest there on the dense concrete floor of a sentient designed structure his eyes cracked open long enough for his detection routines to run a very brief scan…
The humans of the city came to know the incident as the Philadelphia Ice Meteor for despite the fact that the roof of the Baldwin Locomotive works had been shattered to bits and there was nothing left of what caused the impact. The factory foreman was pleased to find the shining form of a 4-8-4 Locomotive off its rails unaccounted for by the daily production queue. To pay for the damages, the engine was sold to the Frisco Railroad in the south central of the United States in the local year 1942. One could only imagine the surprise that ran through the cortex of the massive steam engine as, on the day of its first firing, the immense form of Gasket awoke with a warm content feeling deep in his frame. The heat, the smoke, the strange sights was enough to make the bot jump, shifting up to bot form in his panic. In the confusion, an engine shed was damaged and two men, both pipe inspectors were crushed to death. His fear amplified ten-fold, Gasket forced himself to shift back into his alternate form, trying to block out not only his demons but the death of the small, squishy fleshlings which appeared to inhabit the world he had chosen.
Another mystery, the men were mourned and buried though their deaths were never solved. Gasket, on the other hand, fell into his life as a main-line freight engine. A late production Baldwin model, Gasket was often pulling two mile long trains on his own much to the delight of his driver and fireman who had not thought that such an engine had enough power. The mind of Gasket, unsuccessfully hunting for a way to shut himself down again without taking robot form, was stuck awake in the form of the massive engine. However, as the months passed Gasket grew used to the feeling of organic fire warming his insides, the day to day of pulling massive trains of primitive containers; his existence had meaning once more. Even though he never met his driver or fireman, he grew to enjoy the presence of the fleshlings and even began to share in their worries, their cares.
He soon realized that these beings were also at war with each other using crude chemical kinetic ballistics. While he had no doubt it was easy to kill these beings, he suddenly wanted nothing to do with war just his daily duties; the simple life. This was, however, until one day. Autumn was Gasket’s favorite time of year, the organics changed colors but this one was strange; the date was August 5, 1945. It was more of a feeling than anything, radiating through the earth in a dulcet tone, causing the scanners in his cortex to wail… he recognized the explosion. The fission blast was followed not long after by a second one. It was then that he realized that these beings were no different than he and his fellow Cybertronians; a chaotic, war-like race prone to destroying itself. However, due to the three short years he had been there the massive bot had an investment. He wanted to keep these beings safe.
As the earth’s cycles passed, jobs coming and going, Gasket finally found himself parked, fire extinguished, on a siding in a scrap yard. As he reflected on his life, the chaotic early years, his terrible war-years, and his short stint of peace on this small terrestrial rock he was tempted to shift out and run, get away, take another form. However, something kept him from doing so; the word that he could think of was retribution. Though he would never be able to restore the lives that he took, he knew that for a short time he had done what his prime directive had always been; to help those in need with their own goals. So as they finally let his fire die, he forced his cortex to shut down by an infinite loop command and he let himself drift off into the black; hoping that he would be redeemed for his terrible wrongs in his next life as reforged scrap.
(This is where he is/will be found modern day, rusting away in an American Southwest bone yard.)
Personality: Prior joining the ranks of the Autobots, Gasket was an impulsive young bot who was ever eager to complete his duties on time and better than the other bots. The life of war and the passage of time have changed his primary processing systems to resemble something more restrained, something cautious and meticulous.
To say that the modern Gasket is now slow would be an understatement. His halted, deep speech, his plodding movements, results in a slow to rouse demeanor. As he was not built for combat but for heavy lifting he does tend to be a little slow on the uptake. Not dumb by any means of the term he will always give his words significant thought before making them and is always striving to learn even in his old age; he has humanity to thank for that. This makes for a bot that may not appear to have heard a comment when it is made but in fact he is contemplating the best answer. He does not judge others until he has seen their merits but is unafraid to wade into danger to protect those who are meaningful to him.
Likes: Peace, Long Straight Rails, Chess, Hard Work, Earth’s Autumn, Pleasant Conversation, Being Active Again
Dislikes: War, Annoying Chatter, To Hurry, Exploitation of the Weak, Earth’s Summer, Those Who Call Him Old, Feeling Worthless
Strengths/Weapons:
Strength of Steam: Strength for a labor bot is a necessity and combined with the combat bot updates resulted in a bot that can lift several thousand tons and drag/pull several hundred thousand. A true workhorse in both alt and mech mode, this old bot still has some miles left in him and he is not willing to hang up his drive wheels just yet.
Built to Last: As Gasket was built for labor in and around hostile conditions, the body of this behemoth has numerous systemic redundancies; mostly they are built into his back-strut, chassis, and protoform allowing for normally crippling damage to be sustained without a major decrease in performance. This, of course, only means that he can take more damage but it hardly means he is indestructible; he will often complain about glitches, quirks, and rusted bearings in his systems and, though there is nothing medically wrong with him, the old bot is starting to feel his age.
Helm Cracker: His weapons are largely focused around melee combat. Even without his support he can wield his tie rods, two connected together in each hand, as balanced long blades. With his tender his primary weapon is a massive mace composed of three drive wheels in a criss-cross pattern mounted on the end of a thick combination of reinforced tie rods, his drive wheels emplaced along his shoulders and down his back. Size and leverage alone makes this weapon something to be feared by anyone unlucky enough to be hit by it. His offhand with his tender combines the remaining drive wheels as well as several trailing wheels into a block of steel which covers his massive servo-fist and forms a bludgeon large enough to put a hole through most surfaces.
The smaller of his two ranged weapons is cobbled together out of unused boiler piping and is stored in the wrist of his right hand. It is a medium caliber auto-cannon which can ideally punch through smaller bots but fires far too slowly and inaccurately to provide proper cover or to hold out in a ranged fight without his support tender. With the tender this weapon has a larger caliber but a still slow rate of fire.
“Rail” Cannon: The larger of his two ranged weapons is mounted over his right shoulder and requires that his tender be handy. Assembled in much the same mechanical fashion of his drive-wheel mace and fist, this impressive piece of Cybertronian Technology is one of the final items he acquired before his departure into space near the end of the war. Arranged between a pair of drive and trailing wheels and fired from a barrel composed of multiple tie rods, this weapon takes several seconds to charge before it launches a multi-foot long spike of tungsten metal alloy at sub-relativistic speed. The impact is enough to core a small starship but accuracy far greater than he is capable of (aside from luck) is required to hit the smaller, faster bots.
Weaknesses:
Slow and Steady: While yes the massive bot is physically imposing and can crush smaller bots without much effort he is proportionately slower than his smaller counterparts. Even his basic attacks, his mace and steam gaunt, have a low chance of hitting the faster, more mobile bots. In this way, he tends to feint, juke, and bluff in combat. This also goes for much of his movements and workings in and around the base; the job will get done it just might take a little more time than estimated. This has resulted in multiple structural weak points being reinforced to prevent significant risk in combat when other attackers can strike and fall back before he can mount a meaningful defense.
Rule the Rails: Even despite his impressive size and the hover-train form he used to take on cybertron, Gasket’s time on earth has resulted in his attachment to his current alternative form in the Baldwin 4-8-4. As such types of trains are incapable of travelling over roads or even flat terrain normally without destroying the ground itself, Gasket relegates himself to travel on the rails at every opportunity. While this is a very effective way to go about the human world incognito, even transporting his fellow Autobots here and there, it does take time and such a large steam engine is not very common in the modern world.
Over Cautious: His time living with the humans has taught Gasket that even the smallest moment of carelessness can result in an accident, especially with a form as large as his. After the unintentional killing of several humans decades ago from nothing but his bulk he will always look before he leaps or, in most cases, steps. With that, he will not move in some cases unless it is absolutely necessary. His deliberation may seem to be “too safe” in some cases but he would rather not move if it meant he might accidentally trip and injure others.
Tender-Tied: While his melee weapons can be utilized without the support of his trailer, much of his armor and his strongest weapon is tied directly to the tender. If separated the old bot is significantly less effective in combat.
Special skills (that are not weapon related):
Steam-Screen: Though he does not need to consume raw fuel in his biomechanical form he tends to keep his tender stocked whenever possible, the archimedes screw at the base of the cab feeding coal into the firebox automatically. The benefit that this can convey is the ability for Gasket to vent the excess smoke and steam from his boiler in either form to act as a cover mechanism.
Hover-Train: Though not used since he has hit the ground on earth, the hover systems Gasket was built with are still part of his chassis. He has no intent to use it again but should the situation become dire enough it is an option.
Extra Info: A bot of tradition, he utilizes a small metallic device in mech mode which is converted from the Archimedes screw (a hydraulic coal feeding mechanism) as a pipe, smoking anthracite coal for the “flavor” and to reminisce about the older, simpler days of his work under the humans. While the smoke is noxious to humans it leaves him in something of a fog for a significant time after a period of smoking. He will often complain about the quality of coal; “Anthracite has a… fuller flavor than low volatile bituminous. Can’t get but the… high volatile bituminous lately which tastes like paraffin!”
Sample RP (only for first accepted characters):
The cold hulking shadows of the massive machine stood stoic in the pre-dawn light. Every inch of its hull glistened with dew, small drops falling in rivulets ran down its boiler and seeped into the joints between the tie rods and rivets. Somewhere within the miles of steel piping, boiler, hydraulic machinery, and tender lurked a consciousness, however. It was sharp but silent, ever on the watch for the unexpected but not really expecting any; an angular symbol was stamped beneath the rim of is funnel and though no one on that planet knew what it meant, the symbol of Cybertron was held almost as a badge of shame. Little would be made out of it and the great machine’s mind could not have been further from its past. It’s hidden optics had started to pick up color on the far horizon and knew that, soon, the newest working day would begin.
He was anticipating that day for one reason or another even as he easily surpressed an uncharacteristic shiver from running through his frame. Every day was more of the same for the main line freight engine and soon he knew that the stokers would arrive to light his fire, prepare him for a day on the rails. As far as he could tell, all seemed quiet that morning. The Autumn trees were filled with the singing of their early rising inhabitants as the local star dyed the sky a burnt sienna as the first real definitions of the surrounding hills covered with trees became visible, the surrounding valley blanketed in a majestic purple.
From across the yard, the sound of primitive engines could be heard, early combustion type, as the first shift of humans headed for their post. The first was the youngest, the stokers who spread across the yard in a wave, several men reaching number 4505, the dew matted giant, before long. Though some such as he would have been disgusted to have fleshlings moving around inside them, the great engine knew in its cortex that the fleshling’s arrival meant warmth, a fresh fire, a supplementing head of steam to bolster his own impressive strength. Before long a fire was lit, his boiler warming nicely as he allowed a single movement on his own volition, a stretch which caused the iron and steel to creak loudly. He saw the fleshling smile as the human stepped down from his cab and went about his work.
Soon the yard was a bustle of activity as the rays of the star began to creep across hills and down into the valley revealing a massive operation with nearly a dozen warming engines and several hundred pieces of rolling stock. The massive 4505 was the largest there, a true beast on wheels weighing in at just under ten thousand tons but that mattered little to him; he merely wanted to do what he had been built to do. As the activity in the yard came to a peek, the great machine knew he would not have to wait for much longer. From across the yard he saw them, the two fleshlings who had become like de-facto family to him, as they walked from the crew building and out across the numerous lines toward him. One was tall, stocky, and muscled, skin deep black, the other was significantly shorter but also significantly wider and both dressed in cloth decorated by horizontal lines. Though he could not show it the engine anticipated moving out today; he had a crick in his rear brake lines.
“We’re taking the 4505 up to Tulsa today, dropping off a load of construction supplies close to downtown. After lunch we pick up a slow freight, seventy some long I think and run it up to Kansas City before catching a chemical shipment back to Dow chemical; we should get back in by midnight if the signals are right.” The shorter of the two was already sweating, mopping his brow with a handkerchief before climbing into the cab.
“You sure you can handle the Kansas City today? I heard tell that you got a little one due. Won’t do to have th’ new daddy throw out his back.” The taller man chuckled as he climbed in after.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout me, Will; I’ve been shoveling coal since before you were crawlin’. You just try not to push 4505 today; not after that run up to St. Louis last week; I swear you must have cracked a dozen tubes the speed you pulled out of her.”
“You know ol’ 45, Jack; always on time whether we like it or not.”
Both men laughed heartily, enjoying their little joke as they set to preparing the massive engine to move out. Though they never knew the being that rested beneath them, they did know one thing however, the 4505 was unlike any engine either had ever worked on. The engine let off steam; this was going to be a great day indeed just as he liked it. Simple and filled with work.
Titan Frame Tech Spec:
Strength: 9
Intelligence: 3 (With Age: 6)
Speed: 2
Endurance: 7
Rank: 1
Courage: 5
Rail Cannon: 8
Autocannon: 4
Skill: 4 (With Age: 6)
Music:
His Theme: Casualties of War, Christopher Lennertz
Pre-Arrival:Beloved, VnV Nation
Post Arrival:Jingle Jangle Jingle, Kay Kyser
Before Scrapping: Let the Good Times Roll!, Earl King
Name: Pistongasket, “Gasket”
Age: Pre Cybertronian Golden Age, Early Sixties (~62)
Gender (or human equivalent): Mech, Male
Species: Cybertronian,
Model: Second Age, Titan-class, Original-spec Convoy-capable Strato-Train; Converted for Space Travel, Upgraded for Combat
Faction: Autobot
Occupation/Specialization: Bulk/Long Range Transportation, Heavy Siege Bot
Appearance/Altmode: Standing nearly a chest higher than the tallest mechs remaining (Skyquake as reference), Pistongasket is a towering bot of cast iron and steel with hard lines, blocky plates, and ninety degree edges, all dyed a dark gray by the nanites inhabiting his chassis. Matching the low tech alt-mode he utilizes, his hydraulics are primarily composed of boiler piping while his gears and servos trend toward more simplistic designs with steam pistons, crank shafts, and toothed gears.
Due to Gasket not being designed for combat and despite his weapon’s level of destructive power, this former labor bot’s enhanced implements of war are almost a second thought. Rather than fitting seamlessly with his form or blending when not in use they are mostly mounted on his chassis. When not in use the mechanical “guts” and workings are stored within the body of the coal tender leaving his body slimmed down somewhat when not in combat situations.
Alt: Baldwin 4-8-4 Steam Locomotive, Number 4505; “Manufactured” in 1942
Alt Pre-Earth: Space Train Gasket
History: The history of Gasket is a full one. While he tends to omit any of his activities during the war, the massive bot will always regale any listeners in stories of the good old days; the eras before the great Cybertronian War back when he was a simple labor bot.
Built for strength as a laborer in the lower castes, the young Gasket, then known as Prast Gaskette, quickly became a common sight in the space and strato-lanes of his home planet plying between the major city sectors with long trailing lines of cargo containers stocked with energon. As one of a few remaining bots who were around at the time of Cybertrons build to glory, the then young Gasket remembers little of his time before the golden age. The golden age of Cybertron is among Gasket’s fondest memories; gleaming towers of steel and iron immaculate as the day they were crafted. The impulsive labor bot did everything he could to outdo himself, keeping a healthy competition with the other heavy lifter bots made during his cycles in crafting many of the newest and largest stratoscrapers on the planet. While he never boasted he calculated that he had hauled several fractions of a percent of the total building materials used in their constructions; in those early days it gave him an immense feeling of satisfaction and made his long hours of operation meaningful.
Everything changed quite suddenly, however. Though still reckless, impulsive and always looking for a competition, the beginning of the war saw his memories fall into the darkness that accompanied much of his home in those millennia; most he would rather not remember. He did not choose a side, however. As an old bot when the war began, much of the impulsiveness had gone and though he was often dragged into battle, he did not have a love for it. Being what he was, a bot of little more than brute strength, he underwent a substantial retrofit renaming and remodeling the head strong Prast Gaskette to the impulsive and head sure Pressuregasket. He never counted kills in those days and much of his long years were spent hauling and protecting convoys of energon containers from one front to another at the request of either side, defending himself when necessary. He received much acclaim by commanding brass of either side for rarely being late, always protecting his payload, and never failing to kill in combat. In his computational matrix he justified his actions as “for the betterment of Cybertron” despite his desire to not choose a side. Though he still enjoyed the adrenaline of combat, his internal processes soon steered him away from the bots who destroyed for the sake of destruction; in the later years of the war he tended to work with the Autobots though was never affiliated. As the years wore on, comrades in arms slowly falling in combat, Gasket held strong in his ways and his livelihood until Cybertron was literally on the brink of utter destruction. The realization came in his spark and his matrix far too late when he finally realized nothing he could do would beset the inevitable.
It was an order created in what Gasket would soon come to realize as desperation. Equipped with enough energon to mobilize a small battle fleet the massive transport mech, charged by the Autobots, was tasked with finding a planet suitable to store it, hide it away until a time in which it could be reacquired to turn the tides. In his naivety, Gasket thought he was doing all he could to further the cause of Cybertron’s survival. However, as his optics beheld the shrinking cybernetic planet as he passed out of orbit he bore witness to the mass exodus of bots charged with similar missions scattering themselves to the stars. Turning his optics back to the surface he saw massive explosions, pieces of his beloved planet literally ripping itself to oblivion. A he passed the first moon the words of the last remaining Prime rang over broad frequency telling all who would listen about their plight. Turning from the sight he put his accelerators to use, propelling himself away from his home without looking back twice.
As he traveled, slipping quietly from star system to star system a realization struck the now venerable bot; he had not acted to protect the Cybertron that he loved but had sat on the side lines during its destruction. Soon he began to hate himself, loath what he had become and everything that he had done. His guilt over his own foolishness, his own inactivity dominated his central processes, driving his thoughts and even his anger back in upon himself that he was so selfish not to fight for the only home he knew and loved. His mind, awash in the piercing optic stare of those he killed and those who died, haunted his waking. He took to putting himself into long periods of self-imposed recharge trying to force the images away. However, whenever he awoke the memories would hit again. Aside from those thoughts his only conscious duty, his last order, lingered. Lost in the vastness of space the great mech decided to finds a planet with which to store his cargo so he might never have to end his slumber; fade away with his memories back into the embrace of the All-Spark as his capacitors eventually died away.
The small system he found was quaint enough, peaceful and unassuming. Half the reserves he stored on a planet dyed red from the iron oxidation, the containers stored at the foot of a massive extinct volcano. The other half he pulled to another planet, a small blue and green rock that seemed as good a place as any to rust away into nothing in the mind of the large bot. Where the was water there was rust and, after scattering the cargo containers to splash into the massive liquid ocean he shut down his primary systems and aimed himself at the surface; his mission complete. Little known to Gasket the backup systems on the edge of his troubled cortex detected something unusual on the pale blue dot, something that would change the bot’s existence forever.
As the shell of his entry pod gave way to the massive atmospheric resistance the body of the great hulk shrieked across the sky, plummeting toward the north and east section of one of the primary continents on the planet. Unlike his intent to plunge into the deep dark of the ocean, Gasket missed his target by several hundred miles, impacting in the center of a well lit human city at night. The impact did no lasting damage to him but shattered the roof of a massive factory wreathed in smoke and steel. As his form came to a rest there on the dense concrete floor of a sentient designed structure his eyes cracked open long enough for his detection routines to run a very brief scan…
The humans of the city came to know the incident as the Philadelphia Ice Meteor for despite the fact that the roof of the Baldwin Locomotive works had been shattered to bits and there was nothing left of what caused the impact. The factory foreman was pleased to find the shining form of a 4-8-4 Locomotive off its rails unaccounted for by the daily production queue. To pay for the damages, the engine was sold to the Frisco Railroad in the south central of the United States in the local year 1942. One could only imagine the surprise that ran through the cortex of the massive steam engine as, on the day of its first firing, the immense form of Gasket awoke with a warm content feeling deep in his frame. The heat, the smoke, the strange sights was enough to make the bot jump, shifting up to bot form in his panic. In the confusion, an engine shed was damaged and two men, both pipe inspectors were crushed to death. His fear amplified ten-fold, Gasket forced himself to shift back into his alternate form, trying to block out not only his demons but the death of the small, squishy fleshlings which appeared to inhabit the world he had chosen.
Another mystery, the men were mourned and buried though their deaths were never solved. Gasket, on the other hand, fell into his life as a main-line freight engine. A late production Baldwin model, Gasket was often pulling two mile long trains on his own much to the delight of his driver and fireman who had not thought that such an engine had enough power. The mind of Gasket, unsuccessfully hunting for a way to shut himself down again without taking robot form, was stuck awake in the form of the massive engine. However, as the months passed Gasket grew used to the feeling of organic fire warming his insides, the day to day of pulling massive trains of primitive containers; his existence had meaning once more. Even though he never met his driver or fireman, he grew to enjoy the presence of the fleshlings and even began to share in their worries, their cares.
He soon realized that these beings were also at war with each other using crude chemical kinetic ballistics. While he had no doubt it was easy to kill these beings, he suddenly wanted nothing to do with war just his daily duties; the simple life. This was, however, until one day. Autumn was Gasket’s favorite time of year, the organics changed colors but this one was strange; the date was August 5, 1945. It was more of a feeling than anything, radiating through the earth in a dulcet tone, causing the scanners in his cortex to wail… he recognized the explosion. The fission blast was followed not long after by a second one. It was then that he realized that these beings were no different than he and his fellow Cybertronians; a chaotic, war-like race prone to destroying itself. However, due to the three short years he had been there the massive bot had an investment. He wanted to keep these beings safe.
As the earth’s cycles passed, jobs coming and going, Gasket finally found himself parked, fire extinguished, on a siding in a scrap yard. As he reflected on his life, the chaotic early years, his terrible war-years, and his short stint of peace on this small terrestrial rock he was tempted to shift out and run, get away, take another form. However, something kept him from doing so; the word that he could think of was retribution. Though he would never be able to restore the lives that he took, he knew that for a short time he had done what his prime directive had always been; to help those in need with their own goals. So as they finally let his fire die, he forced his cortex to shut down by an infinite loop command and he let himself drift off into the black; hoping that he would be redeemed for his terrible wrongs in his next life as reforged scrap.
(This is where he is/will be found modern day, rusting away in an American Southwest bone yard.)
Personality: Prior joining the ranks of the Autobots, Gasket was an impulsive young bot who was ever eager to complete his duties on time and better than the other bots. The life of war and the passage of time have changed his primary processing systems to resemble something more restrained, something cautious and meticulous.
To say that the modern Gasket is now slow would be an understatement. His halted, deep speech, his plodding movements, results in a slow to rouse demeanor. As he was not built for combat but for heavy lifting he does tend to be a little slow on the uptake. Not dumb by any means of the term he will always give his words significant thought before making them and is always striving to learn even in his old age; he has humanity to thank for that. This makes for a bot that may not appear to have heard a comment when it is made but in fact he is contemplating the best answer. He does not judge others until he has seen their merits but is unafraid to wade into danger to protect those who are meaningful to him.
Likes: Peace, Long Straight Rails, Chess, Hard Work, Earth’s Autumn, Pleasant Conversation, Being Active Again
Dislikes: War, Annoying Chatter, To Hurry, Exploitation of the Weak, Earth’s Summer, Those Who Call Him Old, Feeling Worthless
Strengths/Weapons:
Strength of Steam: Strength for a labor bot is a necessity and combined with the combat bot updates resulted in a bot that can lift several thousand tons and drag/pull several hundred thousand. A true workhorse in both alt and mech mode, this old bot still has some miles left in him and he is not willing to hang up his drive wheels just yet.
Built to Last: As Gasket was built for labor in and around hostile conditions, the body of this behemoth has numerous systemic redundancies; mostly they are built into his back-strut, chassis, and protoform allowing for normally crippling damage to be sustained without a major decrease in performance. This, of course, only means that he can take more damage but it hardly means he is indestructible; he will often complain about glitches, quirks, and rusted bearings in his systems and, though there is nothing medically wrong with him, the old bot is starting to feel his age.
Helm Cracker: His weapons are largely focused around melee combat. Even without his support he can wield his tie rods, two connected together in each hand, as balanced long blades. With his tender his primary weapon is a massive mace composed of three drive wheels in a criss-cross pattern mounted on the end of a thick combination of reinforced tie rods, his drive wheels emplaced along his shoulders and down his back. Size and leverage alone makes this weapon something to be feared by anyone unlucky enough to be hit by it. His offhand with his tender combines the remaining drive wheels as well as several trailing wheels into a block of steel which covers his massive servo-fist and forms a bludgeon large enough to put a hole through most surfaces.
The smaller of his two ranged weapons is cobbled together out of unused boiler piping and is stored in the wrist of his right hand. It is a medium caliber auto-cannon which can ideally punch through smaller bots but fires far too slowly and inaccurately to provide proper cover or to hold out in a ranged fight without his support tender. With the tender this weapon has a larger caliber but a still slow rate of fire.
“Rail” Cannon: The larger of his two ranged weapons is mounted over his right shoulder and requires that his tender be handy. Assembled in much the same mechanical fashion of his drive-wheel mace and fist, this impressive piece of Cybertronian Technology is one of the final items he acquired before his departure into space near the end of the war. Arranged between a pair of drive and trailing wheels and fired from a barrel composed of multiple tie rods, this weapon takes several seconds to charge before it launches a multi-foot long spike of tungsten metal alloy at sub-relativistic speed. The impact is enough to core a small starship but accuracy far greater than he is capable of (aside from luck) is required to hit the smaller, faster bots.
Weaknesses:
Slow and Steady: While yes the massive bot is physically imposing and can crush smaller bots without much effort he is proportionately slower than his smaller counterparts. Even his basic attacks, his mace and steam gaunt, have a low chance of hitting the faster, more mobile bots. In this way, he tends to feint, juke, and bluff in combat. This also goes for much of his movements and workings in and around the base; the job will get done it just might take a little more time than estimated. This has resulted in multiple structural weak points being reinforced to prevent significant risk in combat when other attackers can strike and fall back before he can mount a meaningful defense.
Rule the Rails: Even despite his impressive size and the hover-train form he used to take on cybertron, Gasket’s time on earth has resulted in his attachment to his current alternative form in the Baldwin 4-8-4. As such types of trains are incapable of travelling over roads or even flat terrain normally without destroying the ground itself, Gasket relegates himself to travel on the rails at every opportunity. While this is a very effective way to go about the human world incognito, even transporting his fellow Autobots here and there, it does take time and such a large steam engine is not very common in the modern world.
Over Cautious: His time living with the humans has taught Gasket that even the smallest moment of carelessness can result in an accident, especially with a form as large as his. After the unintentional killing of several humans decades ago from nothing but his bulk he will always look before he leaps or, in most cases, steps. With that, he will not move in some cases unless it is absolutely necessary. His deliberation may seem to be “too safe” in some cases but he would rather not move if it meant he might accidentally trip and injure others.
Tender-Tied: While his melee weapons can be utilized without the support of his trailer, much of his armor and his strongest weapon is tied directly to the tender. If separated the old bot is significantly less effective in combat.
Special skills (that are not weapon related):
Steam-Screen: Though he does not need to consume raw fuel in his biomechanical form he tends to keep his tender stocked whenever possible, the archimedes screw at the base of the cab feeding coal into the firebox automatically. The benefit that this can convey is the ability for Gasket to vent the excess smoke and steam from his boiler in either form to act as a cover mechanism.
Hover-Train: Though not used since he has hit the ground on earth, the hover systems Gasket was built with are still part of his chassis. He has no intent to use it again but should the situation become dire enough it is an option.
Extra Info: A bot of tradition, he utilizes a small metallic device in mech mode which is converted from the Archimedes screw (a hydraulic coal feeding mechanism) as a pipe, smoking anthracite coal for the “flavor” and to reminisce about the older, simpler days of his work under the humans. While the smoke is noxious to humans it leaves him in something of a fog for a significant time after a period of smoking. He will often complain about the quality of coal; “Anthracite has a… fuller flavor than low volatile bituminous. Can’t get but the… high volatile bituminous lately which tastes like paraffin!”
Sample RP (only for first accepted characters):
The cold hulking shadows of the massive machine stood stoic in the pre-dawn light. Every inch of its hull glistened with dew, small drops falling in rivulets ran down its boiler and seeped into the joints between the tie rods and rivets. Somewhere within the miles of steel piping, boiler, hydraulic machinery, and tender lurked a consciousness, however. It was sharp but silent, ever on the watch for the unexpected but not really expecting any; an angular symbol was stamped beneath the rim of is funnel and though no one on that planet knew what it meant, the symbol of Cybertron was held almost as a badge of shame. Little would be made out of it and the great machine’s mind could not have been further from its past. It’s hidden optics had started to pick up color on the far horizon and knew that, soon, the newest working day would begin.
He was anticipating that day for one reason or another even as he easily surpressed an uncharacteristic shiver from running through his frame. Every day was more of the same for the main line freight engine and soon he knew that the stokers would arrive to light his fire, prepare him for a day on the rails. As far as he could tell, all seemed quiet that morning. The Autumn trees were filled with the singing of their early rising inhabitants as the local star dyed the sky a burnt sienna as the first real definitions of the surrounding hills covered with trees became visible, the surrounding valley blanketed in a majestic purple.
From across the yard, the sound of primitive engines could be heard, early combustion type, as the first shift of humans headed for their post. The first was the youngest, the stokers who spread across the yard in a wave, several men reaching number 4505, the dew matted giant, before long. Though some such as he would have been disgusted to have fleshlings moving around inside them, the great engine knew in its cortex that the fleshling’s arrival meant warmth, a fresh fire, a supplementing head of steam to bolster his own impressive strength. Before long a fire was lit, his boiler warming nicely as he allowed a single movement on his own volition, a stretch which caused the iron and steel to creak loudly. He saw the fleshling smile as the human stepped down from his cab and went about his work.
Soon the yard was a bustle of activity as the rays of the star began to creep across hills and down into the valley revealing a massive operation with nearly a dozen warming engines and several hundred pieces of rolling stock. The massive 4505 was the largest there, a true beast on wheels weighing in at just under ten thousand tons but that mattered little to him; he merely wanted to do what he had been built to do. As the activity in the yard came to a peek, the great machine knew he would not have to wait for much longer. From across the yard he saw them, the two fleshlings who had become like de-facto family to him, as they walked from the crew building and out across the numerous lines toward him. One was tall, stocky, and muscled, skin deep black, the other was significantly shorter but also significantly wider and both dressed in cloth decorated by horizontal lines. Though he could not show it the engine anticipated moving out today; he had a crick in his rear brake lines.
“We’re taking the 4505 up to Tulsa today, dropping off a load of construction supplies close to downtown. After lunch we pick up a slow freight, seventy some long I think and run it up to Kansas City before catching a chemical shipment back to Dow chemical; we should get back in by midnight if the signals are right.” The shorter of the two was already sweating, mopping his brow with a handkerchief before climbing into the cab.
“You sure you can handle the Kansas City today? I heard tell that you got a little one due. Won’t do to have th’ new daddy throw out his back.” The taller man chuckled as he climbed in after.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout me, Will; I’ve been shoveling coal since before you were crawlin’. You just try not to push 4505 today; not after that run up to St. Louis last week; I swear you must have cracked a dozen tubes the speed you pulled out of her.”
“You know ol’ 45, Jack; always on time whether we like it or not.”
Both men laughed heartily, enjoying their little joke as they set to preparing the massive engine to move out. Though they never knew the being that rested beneath them, they did know one thing however, the 4505 was unlike any engine either had ever worked on. The engine let off steam; this was going to be a great day indeed just as he liked it. Simple and filled with work.
Titan Frame Tech Spec:
Strength: 9
Intelligence: 3 (With Age: 6)
Speed: 2
Endurance: 7
Rank: 1
Courage: 5
Rail Cannon: 8
Autocannon: 4
Skill: 4 (With Age: 6)
Music:
His Theme: Casualties of War, Christopher Lennertz
Pre-Arrival:Beloved, VnV Nation
Post Arrival:Jingle Jangle Jingle, Kay Kyser
Before Scrapping: Let the Good Times Roll!, Earl King