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.
In a quiet corner of the Autobot base, something was blinking.
It had been silent for nearly a week. For five days no light, no sound, no reaction to touch or even to a curious shake indicated that it was at all functional. For nearly a week the mysterious datapad uncovered in the ruins of Kamchatka had lain dormant.
It was a nice datapad at least, sleek and snug to hold. It had probably been an expensive piece of technology once, back on Cybertron. It was well made in a way that was both tasteful and practical. It was the kind of minimalistic design that said about its owner, not only am I wealthy enough to own this nice gadget, I am wealthy enough not to buy into gaudy aesthetics that disguise an inferior product. I like my technology to be simple and efficient.
For nearly a week, its slightly dusty screen had remained dark.
Now, it filled Mirage's quarters with a dim blue light.
Glyphs pulsed on its screen:
ATTN: MIRAGE INCOMING TRANSMISSION ACCEPT?
The two letters glowed on the touchscreen. Either one could be tapped with a fingertip.
The hour was late, and Mirage was no closer to sleep than he had been when he first attempted to recharge two hours ago. It had always been difficult for him to find rest on the nights following a particularly…troubling mission, when the things he saw, or felt, or experienced were still fresh in his mind.
He felt unclean when he thought of what he had discovered two nights prior, as if the ugliness of that laboratory, that crypt, had adhered to his plating, slithered in beneath his armor. He felt was if he had not left that place behind him once he escaped from it, not entirely. Instead a part of it had come with him, and no matter how well he scrubbed his plating he would never be able to wash his hands of it completely.
He supposed seeing a sight as disturbing as that would do that to a fellow.
Seeing as he was having no more luck recharging now than he had the night previous, it seemed advantageous for that datapad of his to light up when it did. Luckily for both Mirage, and whoever was attempting to contact him, he was awake and wanting for something to occupy his troubled mind and restless body.
Without warning, the datapad upon his desk activated itself, bathing the room in a cool blue light. Mirage sat up quickly, his optics zeroing in on the device as he swung his legs off the side of his berth and made haste towards the other end of the room. With little delay he made his way to the datapad, taking it carefully in his hand as he read its message and considered how to respond.
He waited just long enough to make sure his door was locked before pressing his thumb to the touch-screen, selecting “yes” without a second thought.
There was only a curious sense of disconnection, as if he were nothing more than a stray thought adrift in darkness. His body was gone and only his consciousness remained, existing in a vast space without heat or life or stars. Nothing but a vague sense of distant and gentle energy radiated against him.
He had a body again.
His own body. If Mirage looked down at himself he would recognise his own legs, his own hands. Not a stranger's.
He stood in what appeared to be an abandoned Cybertronian biotech laboratory. It was in a poor state, its rows of white dissection tables grimy and its delicate glass shelves and racks cracked. A shroud of gloom lay over the room, which was lit by only a handful of glowing monitors. Some of the work terminals were clearly damaged, their screens dark and their stations shattered. Judging by the tufts of wires that spilled along the floor it looked as if someone was at least making an attempt at repairing the broken tech.
The centre of the room was dominated by a long, flat biobed. Above it lingered a large blue holographic projection of what appeared to be a brain module. Areas of the module were lit up in orange like volcanic hot-spots. It shimmered with scrolling lines of static.
The light it shed illuminated a pair of white robots standing on the other side of the biobed.
One of them looked up at Mirage in surprise.
"Oh, there he is now!" he said. "Mirage, hello! How good to see you again. Thank you for responding so quickly!"
Mirage was uncertain if he would ever become fully accustomed to this mental-plane business. It was a jarring process even now, though at least this time Mirage knew what was going on, and what he ought to expect. A small mercy, he supposed.
The sensation of being without form, without a physical shell to house his consciousness, was blessedly short. It took but a few moments for it to end, and once it did Mirage found himself graced with an even more pleasant surprise - the form he had was his own, rather than that of a stranger. He looked over his hands, curling and flexing his fingers as he appreciated the familiarity of his own frame before looking up to examine his surroundings.
Before he could do so much as glance around his immediate area, a voice called out to him, pulling his attention to the far end of the room. Mirage turned quickly to face the familiar voice, his optics cutting from Soma to his companion and back again.
“Soma.” He replied with a nod, returning the other mech’s greeting with a polite smile of his own.
“It was no trouble, I assure you.”
He walked towards the other two mecha at a casual pace, out of habit rather than any conscious effort to display how a mech of his status did things at his own pace, and others would simply have to work around his schedule.
Once at an acceptable speaking distance, Mirage paused, then glanced once more at the mech at Soma’s side.
“I see we have company today.” He mused out loud, before turning once more to Soma. “I suppose introductions are in order?”