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.
Ratchet had been going on the assumption that Hot Rod was at least partially understanding what he was saying. When the mech had started to talk, he had been expecting the usual come back, a snappy answer, an attempt to seem cool and unphased by what had just happened. Hot Rod was jumping from mood to mood so quickly it was almost hard to follow, and in all honesty, when he opened his mouth to speak, Ratchet hadn’t really been sure just what attitude was going to come pouring out.
This, though, was very unexpected.
He seemed to be talking to himself. Either that, or else someone was talking to him through his communicator, and he was answering openly. But that made no sense either.
And as he spoke more, he made less sense.
A tool? Intended purpose? What on Cybertron was Hot Rod talking abou-
Suddenly, the mech surged forward, grabbing him with a near iron grip. Ratchet staggered back a step, startled and nearly knocked off balance. He had been about to grab the other’s hands and try to pry him loose with an annoyed snap, when Hot Rod lifted his head and met his gaze.
There was so much anger there, and burning hatred. Ratchet knew....wherever he was, Hot Rod was no longer in Omega with him. At least not in his mind.
“Hot Rod, what’s the matter?” Ratchet struggled to keep his voice neutral and keep his hands from grasping at the youth’s, “Calm down, you’re not under attack here.”
All the while readying himself for a possible fist to the face.
"I'm not under attack? What sort of stupid comment is that?!" He continued to bore his gaze into Ratchet, enraged at the words that had been spoken to him. "Calm down?! You want me to calm down? You turned me into a MONSTER! You created me to kill all those people! They didn't deserve to die! You didn't give me an option. There should have been another option than just those two! Burning them alive wasn't any better than having them drained of their life energy! They suffered either way! There should have been another option!" He tensed, almost as if he were going to throttle the mech before him, but he seemed to stagger and his grip began to loosen. He held to the hatred in his optics, but more horrors crept into them as he spoke.
"You told me I could save them, but I didn't. I should... I should have burned with them. Why do I have to live with this? Why do I have to carry this scar..."
Hot Rod buckled, letting go of Ratchet as he crumbled to his knees before the medic. His frame weighed as heavy as his spark did, and his voice was weakening as the temperature around him began to level out. "You lied to me. I didn't save anyone. I'm a cold-sparked murderer, just like Zeta..."
His frame shuddered and the vents on his shoulders hissed as steam poured from them to release the pent up heat that had been building. His energy was drained and his taxed systems screamed at him that he was spent. Somewhere in his conscious mind, in spite of having separated himself from where he was physically, he had enough sense to know something was up and shut himself down. Vents closed with a hard clank, the action being the last he could do before he lulled to the side to collapse, optics shuttered as he shut himself down, one system at a time.