Secondhand Help - [Bumblebee]
Nov 26, 2016 0:00:38 GMT -5
Post by Carbine on Nov 26, 2016 0:00:38 GMT -5
Episode 2 | Week 4 | Day 1
Why was this bothering him?
Death was a common element for Cybertronians at this point in their existence. They meet people, they lose people, they see them get mauled or punched full of holes on the battlefield, or they simply vanish into the abyss to be assumed dead. Names were hollow, and getting too attached to people was a painful double edged sword. Get to know them well, and learn more about them, and you can cooperate better on the battlefield and have a greater chance for survival. But... get to know them better and the inevitable occurs? Well, it just took another chip out of the pock marked ragged remains of everyone's spark.
If someone well known and loved around the team were to die, they would be mourned, words would be passed, or a small marker would be put out to honor them. Carbine had seen what they had done for Cliffjumper, noting the small mound atop the mesa when he was practicing trying to fly higher and higher than he traditionally was comfortable with. He had never met the mech, but his name is still known, and passed around.
What about for the forgotten ones?
At the pinnacle of the war, when it was at its bloodiest and Carbine served on the frontlines of battle, so many people were dying left and right it meant nothing. Statistics. But there were hundreds of thousands of fighters on either side, throwing soldiers at one another to try to overpower. Now when there are so few, it was odd. A death seemed so much bigger now. Worth so much more. Taking away a greater percentage of how many of their species even remained.
Carbine had found a dead Autobot. Sure, Bolo and Thunder may have helped, but in the end it was his find and he was the one to take information from the makeshift grave site to bring forward to Ratchet. The interaction resulted in nothing of value. No records, no ideas, no name, no nothing on who it could possibly have been or what had happened to them. Earth was so remote, that everyone that came in Autobot side had to have checked in, and yet this person didn't. Were they killed coming into orbit? Decepticons or MECH? Whatever the case it left a mystery, and frankly Carbine had some grim thoughts on the matter and didn't want to let what he thought was true come into play.
Walking down the primary hallway of the Omega Outpost, the ex-cop strolled along slowly, eyeing down some of the branching hallways that wove away from his path. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone, but could also be interoperated a him looking out to make sure no one was going to see him do something sketchy. Checking if the coast was clear. Whatever his motivations, he didn't appear to be finding what he was seeking, the rotors on his back flicking out momentarily in annoyance when he came to the Control Room to once again not see what he needed.
Yellow eyes glanced about momentarily, before he reached his hand to the side of his helm, pressing the curved shape of the back of one of his simple jointed fingers onto a small plate there. Instantly his communication system activated. A quick yet awkward flick through his HUD to find the little picture of who he was after later, and he would send a comm to Bumblebee.
::Hey, where͘ y̢ah ͡a̷t? I got to speak to yah. Prefer͝a̡bly alone. But not for funtimes. Carbi̸ne ͜do͟n't roll that way. Actually I d-d̵o̢n't roll at all... no wait I do... skating... technically... WH̶A͞ŢEVE͞R, point be m̵̢̛a̛de!::
Why was this bothering him?
Death was a common element for Cybertronians at this point in their existence. They meet people, they lose people, they see them get mauled or punched full of holes on the battlefield, or they simply vanish into the abyss to be assumed dead. Names were hollow, and getting too attached to people was a painful double edged sword. Get to know them well, and learn more about them, and you can cooperate better on the battlefield and have a greater chance for survival. But... get to know them better and the inevitable occurs? Well, it just took another chip out of the pock marked ragged remains of everyone's spark.
If someone well known and loved around the team were to die, they would be mourned, words would be passed, or a small marker would be put out to honor them. Carbine had seen what they had done for Cliffjumper, noting the small mound atop the mesa when he was practicing trying to fly higher and higher than he traditionally was comfortable with. He had never met the mech, but his name is still known, and passed around.
What about for the forgotten ones?
At the pinnacle of the war, when it was at its bloodiest and Carbine served on the frontlines of battle, so many people were dying left and right it meant nothing. Statistics. But there were hundreds of thousands of fighters on either side, throwing soldiers at one another to try to overpower. Now when there are so few, it was odd. A death seemed so much bigger now. Worth so much more. Taking away a greater percentage of how many of their species even remained.
Carbine had found a dead Autobot. Sure, Bolo and Thunder may have helped, but in the end it was his find and he was the one to take information from the makeshift grave site to bring forward to Ratchet. The interaction resulted in nothing of value. No records, no ideas, no name, no nothing on who it could possibly have been or what had happened to them. Earth was so remote, that everyone that came in Autobot side had to have checked in, and yet this person didn't. Were they killed coming into orbit? Decepticons or MECH? Whatever the case it left a mystery, and frankly Carbine had some grim thoughts on the matter and didn't want to let what he thought was true come into play.
Walking down the primary hallway of the Omega Outpost, the ex-cop strolled along slowly, eyeing down some of the branching hallways that wove away from his path. He seemed to be looking for something, or someone, but could also be interoperated a him looking out to make sure no one was going to see him do something sketchy. Checking if the coast was clear. Whatever his motivations, he didn't appear to be finding what he was seeking, the rotors on his back flicking out momentarily in annoyance when he came to the Control Room to once again not see what he needed.
Yellow eyes glanced about momentarily, before he reached his hand to the side of his helm, pressing the curved shape of the back of one of his simple jointed fingers onto a small plate there. Instantly his communication system activated. A quick yet awkward flick through his HUD to find the little picture of who he was after later, and he would send a comm to Bumblebee.
::Hey, where͘ y̢ah ͡a̷t? I got to speak to yah. Prefer͝a̡bly alone. But not for funtimes. Carbi̸ne ͜do͟n't roll that way. Actually I d-d̵o̢n't roll at all... no wait I do... skating... technically... WH̶A͞ŢEVE͞R, point be m̵̢̛a̛de!::