We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
((OOC: Set directly after Online, Off the Grid and rescue threads))
The medbay wasn't what Roulette would call comfortable. She'd never had a fear, per say, of the domain as some mechs had. There was a stigma surrounding Decepticon medics, that they were all insane and just as likely to deal out damage as well as a healing drought. Knockout was hardly the type and Roulette trusted him.
But she hated him right now. She hated this berth. She hated the orders that held her in place as securely as a leash tethered a dog. The door never looked so far away and if she got the clearance she would be gone before anyone could change their minds. She was physically sound, slaggit. But he'd kept her in place for a follow up making sure all the nasty business with MECH didn't mar her permanently.
The medbay sat idly and too quiet for her own tastes. With a stuttering intake, Roulette curled up on her side away from the door and hugged one knee to her chest. She wasn't scared. How could she be scared? Humans, pah. She was just tired and wanted to be alone. If she could but shut herself away in her room she'd be just fine.
There was much Shockwave did not like about the whole MECH affair.
Few things ever troubled Shockwave for long, mainly because he almost always managed to find a way through or around them. However, both those coping mechanisms relied on discipline and routine. Discipline, logic gave him. Routine, however, had been thoroughly disrupted by the human element. At the moment it could not come too soon, his liege lord's order to dispose of the native lifeforms. Granted that most of Shockwave's plans in that regard were on their nascent stages - he had not considered organic clean-sweeping on a planetary scale before. But it gave him a fixed point from where to start analyzing this late debacle.
He had no data on MECH. The files that the 'Nemesis' carried were woefully incomplete, and that was worthy of attention in and of itself because Shockwave knew Soundwave was on board; he knew the information he had was every scrap and ghost of data that could be found by the spy. The lack spoke volumes.
It was, then, time to mine for data personally. That, and it was also time to ensure his routine could be restored. Routines were important, and while replaceable, efficiency percentiles were unfailingly lost in the process.
Thus it was that the scarce staff to be found along the hallways of the 'Nemesis' were treated to the coldfront-in-motion that came wherever Shockwave went. Unsurprisingly, the hallways between him and his objective were soon bereft of any drones.
The medbay door opened easily for him, and he stepped into the brighter environment, head pivoting slowly until he'd found what he was looking for. Her medical file had been readily available to him but no one had debriefed her. Yet.
Contrary creature that she was, Shockwave had to wonder if anyone would actually debrief her successfully without threats. Or bribery. Or both. It was not a thought feeled with irritation, merely a value that he knew showed very little change. Roulette was contrary because it pleased her to be so; tShohreats or bribery would not touch her unless they affected that pleasure. It made some dealings with her refreshingly... honest. Some, it made incredibly irritating.
She also did not like him, which was an entirely logical response, and was at the moment in a vulnerable position after being surrounded by threats from the most unlikely of sources. Shockwave stopped outside of immediate physical reach of her berth, and stood at parade ease. Threats would not acquire what he needed.
"Roulette." Shockwave offered nothing else; he hardly ever even offered an acknowledgement to begin with. He merely stood there, unmovable and present.
You knew he was going to come. Why did you think you would have some time off to yourself to sulk? He's always there, always wanting to know and you can't just tell him to sod off.
She wanted to ignore him, to shut him out but all the ignoring wouldn't move him. The worst part was she couldn't tell him to leave her alone. He wouldn't understand why she wanted isolation. Logic would state she needed time to heal from the trauma, but logic wouldn't explain that all the rest wouldn't repair the mental instability. And thinking like that pissed her off because she officially knew him too well.
"Go away." It was worth a shot. Maybe he'd grow a personality and use it.
Shockwave received the words as he might have a long-awaited report. He took them in, analyzed them, dissected them carefully. Within his calculations there had been the very high possibility that she would throw something at him, but at the moment there was a marked lack of potential projectiles around her. Perhaps that alone safeguarded him.
He understood the medical process that Roulette was going through. There would be repairs, and a physical need to settle such repairs; there would be some percentile of productivity lost while the "emotional" damage was likewise processed, added to deep memory and behavior subroutines, or forcibly forgotten.
But while Shockwave understood the process, he had no deeper relationship to it. His understanding was clinically detached on all grounds but one: Roulette's mental hardship was in the way of the data he required.
Fortunately there was a vastness of procedural research on how to deal with such mental states; the scientist didn't need to relate to the malady, or the cure, in order to use it.
"I have been made aware that you have undergone a traumatic event." The words came out in the same toneless monotone; there was nothing in Shockwave's field that hinted at an emotional bearing. He knew the procedure, but he would not insult either of them by pretending that it was being used as anything but that, exactly: a set of instructions being followed to the letter. "It is possible that your mental status has become uncertain because of it. Healing behavior for such status includes conversational confrontation of the event. I am here to listen."
"It is possible that your mental status has become uncertain because of it. Healing behavior for such status includes conversational confrontation of the event. I am here to listen."
Rolling off of the berth and crawling up under it seemed really appealing. She didn't think she'd fit and he'd likely try to follow. While a humorous thought, it was also a terrifying thought. No matter where she went, he would find her. There was no where she could hide on the ship that he wouldn't be able to reach. She even doubted her abilities to escape him on the planet. Where there was a will, there was a way, and Shockwave had an excess of.
"Did you just call me crazy? It sounds like you just called me crazy. I'm not. I'm fine. I got banged up and now I'm trying to rest. I'm sure you got the memo." She hugged her knees tighter to her chest and refused to roll over to look at him. If she did, if she focused on that large expanse of his chest, she wasn't sure how she was going to react. Because at the moment, she was horrified to find that she didn't want him to leave. She didn't want him to talk, either, but having someone here that at least knew her and would watch her back was stupidly comforting even if it was terrifying. Shockwave wasn't comforting. Or he wasn't supposed to be.
"...ok, maybe I am a little crazy. I don't want to talk about it."
Shockwave's optic refocused briefly, not because of a physical response but as a subconscious mirror to a mental shift of gears that qualified as too abrupt even for the Decepticon scientist.
He was fairly certain he had not used the word "crazy" in any way, shape or form, or hinted otherwise at it. He was also suitably sure that he had not dabbled so far into attempted social interaction as to mistakenly imply such a meaning. Which meant the set of instructions he was following was faulty, or being ignored altogether while Roulette used the interaction to soothe whichever behavioral response she did have to the events with MECH. After a long moment's consideration he added a third possibility: the instructions were not faulty, and Roulette was not ignoring them; she was simply not responding to them in a predictable fashion.
The fact that third possibility barely ranked on the list of expected responses told Shockwave it was (of course) precisely what Roulette would do - even though (or perhaps because) it left him on mental quicksand.
But... Roulette still had the data he needed, and he still needed to get it out of her.
"I do not believe insanity to be a crippling handicap, if a handicap at all. Alternate thought processes have provoked numerous and vast advancements in all scientific fields." He shifted briefly, and decided he'd said enough on that matter. "I do not, however, believe you have reached mental instability at current. Physical damage and the healing process afterwards often provoke self-examinations and self-assessments - a counterproductive event, as either will be grossly inaccurate when compared to a healthy status."
Shockwave lifted his hand and gestured lightly. His field rippled just barely, like the shadow of a fish passing by under the surface of a glacial lake. "You are well aware that I will not leave until you have spoken of what happened. Your refusal becomes either a question of whether you wish me to remain for some reason I am unaware of, or whether you think I will tire of waiting." His hand dropped again. "You are one of the very few not foolish enough to believe the latter."
She groaned. Really, that was the only noise she could make in response to that verbal deluge he'd dumped on her. For Shockwave, that was a light lecture and she'd been subjected to far worse. Once he'd followed her from lab to lab pontificating about the proper use of idle time. That had been in the first cycles with him and she'd stupidly thought he wouldn't leave his lab to make a point. Making him do anything outside of what he considered the norm was always an extremely bad idea.
Wonder if he knows about his compulsive habits? Do I care? Why am I thinking this? Go away. No don't. Just..shut, shut up, shut up.
"Shockwave." She'd never used such a sharp tone with him before and the side of her not battered and bruised, scared of what she shouldn't fear, was done bandying about. Wrapping an arm across her chest to lightly grasp her bicep, she dug her fingertips into the paint. While she didn't have claws or talons like most of the Decepticons onboard the ship, she did have enough of a grip to make an audible noise over the metal.
"I'm not going to tell you what happened. I don't want to say it." If she had to sit there and tell him every awful thing from her very mouth, she really would go crazy. Because she shouldn't be bothered by what had happened. But she was. She couldn't shake the mental morass her mind wanted to settle into.
Perhaps if she just didn't think about it, it didn't really happen...
No! No. You can't do that. You don't get that luxury. So buck up, sister, and face this thing. She shuddered. But I can't. I can't do this. I can't talk myself through this again. I can't pretend-
For one brief moment her field flared tellingly as she startled herself with a thought. Oh...could she really do that? Could she allow him that access?
"...if you really want to know what happened you can use that thing of yours." She gestured at him with the hand over her arm.
Ah, finally a response that fell within the parameters predicted by the listed procedures he was applying to the situation. Anger was understandable, expected, useful. Anger told him a breach had happened. The shape and size of that breach...
She gave him those in the next spark-beat, free for the taking. Anger and denial. At last they had fallen into more scientifically precise values.
His problem now was that the combination of anger and denial made data mining difficult, to say the least. The recommended course of action for the first was to provoke further anger leading to a rushing outpouring, both physical and emotional, while the latter suggested providing both time and space for the target to proceed at leisure. It was also implied on the research he'd found that to use one process where the other was needed would create further obstacles to the mining, rather than remove it.
Even as Shockwave tried to weight his course of action, he noticed the jolt go through her field, drawing his attention back to his proxy. He could only guess from her physical behavior and verbal communication at the full extent of the internal monologue she was likely engaged in, but apparently it had taken her somewhere.... useful. Inasmuch as she could, anyways. Roulette's brand of 'useful' was as ever limited by her lack of logic.
And she did not disappoint. That thing? What thing? There were three dozen pieces of technology applicable to the task at hand, and that was without Shockwave actually putting more than casual thought into it. "You will have to provide a more specific description, unless you wish me to experiment with all tools your vague request allows. I could use the micro-processor drill, or the tertiary node removal grapple, or the data core extractor, or --"
He really could keep going. It was not a matter that had ever escaped his interest, even idly.
Quicker than a viper, she snatched at the nearest object within reach. And missed by a far margin. Her hand splayed on a nearby tray and she stared at it with wide optics, mentally balking at the niggling suspicion that had started during her rescue away from MECH. She was not defective! With a grunt, she snatched up a random tool and flung it with enough force to hopefully knock some sense into the aft behind her. This close she had no chance of missing.
"You know what I mean! The patch. Gods. You are so fragging-" she devolved into moody grumbling and returned to her tucked position.
The tool would ping against the broad chest plates of the scientist, bounce and fall with the clatter and noise one expected of such things. Shockwave did not move, not even to follow the trajectory of the tool.
He was satisfied. His calculations had, after all, been correct: she had thrown a handily available projectile at him as an expression of her mental state.
He had not, however, missed her hesitation. But Roulette's physical repairs and recovery were not his concern; her mental status and ability to provide the data he sought on th--
He refocused again, attention on the resting femme. "Are you authorizing me to use what you know is an interrogation tool, the cortical psychic patch, upon your person? You have otherwise made it very clear that you have no interest in serving as part of my research. You have, in fact, over-stated the fact repeatedly."
Shockwave was well aware that, under optimal circumstances, his ability to predict the pathways that Roulette's mind would follow was about as reliable as those selfsame pathways. At current, it appeared even what little he'd thought he could predict from his proxy was broken beyond repair.
Interesting.
It would be fascinating to see what came out of these wildly unpredictable shifts and twists. Hopefully some measure of that which he knew would return, because while Roulette was valuable as a proxy, that value factored in the meager predictability to her wildcard environmental effect.
It would be just as fascinating to get a glimpse into the illogical workings of her mind, all the more so if he could watch them grow back from the excessive deconstruction the past ordeal with MECH had apparently inflicted on her.
If that was indeed what she was authorizing him to do. At the moment, Shockwave was only one illogical jump in the conversation away from giving up on predicting her altogether, and he'd really much rather have a solid confirmation than to proceed on purely theorized data.
"You have, after all, no fondness for my physical presence. You do understand this would inflict my mental one upon you as well?"
"Are you authorizing me to use what you know is an interrogation tool, the cortical psychic patch, upon your person? You have otherwise made it very clear that you have no interest in serving as part of my research. You have, in fact, over-stated the fact repeatedly.
After a small moment she rolled over to face him. Because despite the cesspool of trauma peculating in processor, she couldn't pass up a moment to poke at him.
"There's a difference with you?" For a moment she almost smiled at him in her normal cheery way but arrested the motion. She didn't feel like smiling. She didn't feel like witty banter. She felt like...well, she wasn't sure what she felt like. If she had to pick one of the many emotions vying for attention inside, she could be sure they were all horrible and useless.
"You have, after all, no fondness for my physical presence. You do understand this would inflict my mental one upon you as well?"
He made a good point. And the fact that he was reminding her of her own cautions was just irritating. He was supposed to be taking advantage of the situation so she could have an enemy to yell at. But he was being understanding and annoyingly calm. Annoyingly collected.
"I don't want my own company right now. And I know what the patch is for. But you're not going to get the information you want in a satisfactory way if you don't use it. I can't give you what you want. You're going to have to just look yourself." She almost rolled over again but thought better of it, because something important occurred to her. "But you damn well better not go poking around where you are not wanted! You go for the incident that happened and nothing more! Or so help me...I'll poison your specimens or something."
He could have explained (again, he was certain) that the cortical patch did not work in the manner Roulette specified. He couldn't pick and choose where the journey would take them; he could influence the trip, and it was an art all on its own to do so skillfully so as to acquire useful information, but if Roulette chose to take them beyond the memories of MECH, Shockwave would be along for the ride as much as she would.
He could have pointed out that there were several gradients for each and every tool he'd developed. Interrogation. Torture. Interrogation and torture. Medical theory. Medical theory and torture. Practical research. Theoretical research. Interrogation and research. The classification was vast, complex and often overlapping. Shockwave also knew Roulette did not have one single, solitary iota of interest on said classification as long as he did not seek to test his tools upon her.
"Your offer is based on flawed conclusions." He offered nothing else, because he was already moving to retrieve the cortical patch from its heavily locked little safebox, isolated to one corner of the medbay. There, without looking further, was proof of the very slim difference in the scientist's mind between medical and interrogative pursuits. "Nonetheless, it is accepted. I will attend to nothing but the information I seek, provided you maintain your focus solely on those events."
Setting the patch aside for a moment, he tended instead to the controls of Roulette's berth and the one immediately near hers. It lain there, dormant and dark like a waiting viper, almost within reach of her hand but not quite, while he secured one end to the empty berth he'd be occupying.
It was tricky, mind-diving with the patch without a third party to supervise the attempt, but Shockwave had done so before, and would do so again at need. It was entirely possible to set the equipment to automatically disconnect, and damage could be negated altogether simply by keeping track of that deadline. Shockwave had ever been accused of being a purely cerebral creature - he found the accusation unfounded, as there was so much of his mind that went unfortunately unused, but comparatively, yes. Yes, he supposed he was. It made using the patch without supervision difficult, but feasible.
Once the berths were settled to his satisfaction, he picked up the free end of the patch. "As I believe it is important to you, I can assure you that, while intrusive and perhaps startling, the process is painless and mostly without risk."
On one of her patrols, Roulette had gotten her first gander at a dog. The leggy, furry creatures that were kept as pets were odd but appealing. They were as sensitive as a cassette and appeared to only have two settings: adoration and guilt. She'd witnessed a human scolding one of the canines for errant behavior and, without missing a beat, the dog had dropped onto its back and bared its belly in supplication.
Roulette only thought of this because, with the glacial front looming over her, she really connected with that dog at the moment. Tucking all of her limbs to her chest and wiggling away seemed like a stellar idea and she was more than certain she'd made a monumental mistake. Shrieking stop, cease, desist, nein was certainly an option but whether he heeded those words was an entirely different manner. In the end, she didn't resist at all. Even if she did tense up at the very thought of him playing "doctor" with her body.
I can do this. I just need to focus. I can focus. I think I can focus.
Going into someone's mind other than your own is a very dangerous business; don't ever let anyone say otherwise.
Shockwave was used to navigating the labyrinthine corridors of his mind; there were plenty of opportunities for it as he waited for the completion of the actual, material section of so many experiments, processes which sometimes tended to overlap. At those times the scientist would simply retreat to the equally pristine and well defined world of his mind, where the research and experimentation continued apace.
He was no less familiar with intruding into the mental world of other mechs; he had, after all, developed the technology for just such a thing. That did not mean he was unaware of the threats to be found in such a space. To invade someone else's mind allowed them to define and describe him in specific fashions outside his control; as his presence was usually not even tolerated, and his intrusion the very definition of unwanted, those limits could be... less than ideal.
Shockwave had to admit, however, that his scientific curiosity was piqued as to what Roulette, who was not under duress, who had invited him into her mindspace, and who held fairly clear and detail physical views on him, would visualize.
Plugging someone in was not hard, despite the fearsome appearance of the cortical patch. A lot of the "teeth" that so unnerved other mechs were necessary safety clamps. Plugging himself in, and off, was a problem Shockwave had considered; a mech could find himself trapped in a purely physical fashion, without the appropriate mental discipline.
And, of course, a time-set automatic arm, found in any halfway decent medbay.
Shockwave was stepping into a world that could be entirely turned against him, and he knew it. He was going on a carefully calculated gamble: Roulette might have the interest, and the sheer contrary spite for it, but he did not believe she had the metal fortitude for such a dedicated effort. Whether she came to realize that the darkness would be broken only by what she chose to show him was entirely up to her.
And so he waited, as the link was established, for a first glimpse into her mind.
Admittedly, establishing a link between the two of them hadn't been that much of an affair. It was painless, quick, and so very awkward. The invasiveness came in a non-physical way. Roulette couldn't feel Shockwave in her mind but she could feel him in her mind. Not like the burr in her mind that the M.E.C.H. aftholes had been. His was an icy presence that didn't feel right but, she'd grown so accustomed to his company out of mind, she nearly overlooked the unnatural feeling.
The whole situation was odd and made her long for the quiet of her room. One never really thought about what the inside of their mind looked like and Roulette was now entirely self conscious about her own thoughts and what she was accidentally going to reveal to him. She didn't have time to dwell on how weird it was to have him this close to her as she was too busy trying not to think. And not thinking was impossible unless you were a guru or had countless practice at meditation. She’d known of clerics in her time who could zen out but she’d never even thought about trying something so tedious.
Was she ever regretting that decision at this moment…
For the life of her, she couldn't settle on one thought without fluttering nervously to another. The whole process was jarring and likely disorienting to both parties as none of the images held still long enough to solidify into an actual solid medium. Out of desperation, she latched onto the memory of the bar she'd worked in eons ago. That seemed to stop her rabbit quick "mental spasms" and she calmed down further trying to picture every solid detail down to the battered counter top and dim, blue lighting.
Really, as she thought about it and settled into the comforting mental place, the easier it was to just let go of worrying for the moment and focus on Shockwave’s annoying presence. She “stood” in front of the bar counter and nearly touched the surface but stopped before contact. As realistic as the memory was, the bar counter wouldn’t be solid under her touch and she was loathe to shatter the illusion.