[ti]Ep 2.5[/ti]From a Dead World [Starscream]
Oct 17, 2018 11:22:31 GMT -5
Post by Coldwind on Oct 17, 2018 11:22:31 GMT -5
Episode 2.5 / Week 2 / Day 6 / Open
Lifeless.
A husk beyond the bleak stars—Cybertron, ruined by centuries of war. The metal world was now a cemetery, the monument to the sins of its inhabitants. Many fled after it fell, but some remained. The majority wasted away. Energon was scarce on a planet unable to sustain life. Those that survived upon the surface of this planet-sized necropolis struggled each passing cycle. Coldwind was one of them. She was a Decepticon of prestige once. She meant something before, during the conquest of this planet.
Now, what was she? Scavenger. Cannibal. Survivor.
Yes, she was all of those at one point or another during her time of solitude. With no moral obligations, she did anything to keep her spark pulsing. But no more.
She stood upon a ledge, reaching high above the barren wasteland sprawling beneath. Behind her, an Autobot corpse kept her company. Coldwind had not killed him. No, not this one. But she did have many victims no different. The cadaver grasped onto a broken communicator with its hand. Coldwind turned her gaze towards it and pried the stiff servo open.
Finally. This one, though damaged, came with the last piece of Coldwind's puzzle intact. She smiled, and with a militant strut, she made her way to the edge. Coldwind placed the item into her chest compartment and jumped, body stiff, eyebrows narrowed. The wings on her back flickered. A transformation. Jet engines roared and pushed her from gravity's embrace. She aimed for the skies, for the towers in the distance. There, she had a base. There, a device which needed but one final modification. There, she would find salvation.
She landed on the tallest tower for miles around. Like a crow, she hoarded items at the balcony near its peak. But they were more than souvenirs or knickknacks. All of them were communication consoles, some stripped bare of their parts, some completely useless. But one of them? One of them was not.
A second transformation. Femme once more, she pulled out the communicator and walked over to the device on the balcony. Oh, she spent a long time repairing it, learning how to repair it. Now, she had the final component and the knowledge needed to install it. It took but a moment and everything was in place. Now, she was ready. All it took was a single press of button. Nearby satellites, carefully positioned at the peaks of the other towers turned in unison. Now, static echoed from the device Coldwind used. This was good, but not a victory. Not yet.
Clawed digits moved over the console's keyboard, entering number after number, lines of code. All of them were Decepticon frequencies Coldwind knew, standardized by the protocol. One of them had to be active. At least one.
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
None of them worked. Not these three, not the many entered before them. Coldwind entered a final set of numbers—her last hope.
//Connecting...
//Connection Pending...
//Connection Estabilished.
Unbelievable. This frequency still remained. One of her leads was true. Coldwind made contact. Quickly, she fed words into the microphone.
"Can you hear me?! I repeat, can you hear me?!" She shouted, voice demeaning, demanding yet reserved. There was no rage, just urgency. Now that she had somebody to contact, Coldwind was more worried about getting the attention of the other side. Impatience, unease. She needed to say more, she had to.
"This is Warden Coldwind of Decagon speaking! I request an immediate space bridge at these coordinates!" She said, entering said coordinates into the device, sending them through to whoever was operating the console. The possibility that the other end could've been some Decepticon vagabond with no space bridge, or worse yet, an Autobot with one did not trouble her. Not now. If it was an Autobot, she could fight them. If it was a vagabond, she could search Cybertronian databanks for other frequencies, handled by somebody who was in possession of a space bridge.
Lifeless.
A husk beyond the bleak stars—Cybertron, ruined by centuries of war. The metal world was now a cemetery, the monument to the sins of its inhabitants. Many fled after it fell, but some remained. The majority wasted away. Energon was scarce on a planet unable to sustain life. Those that survived upon the surface of this planet-sized necropolis struggled each passing cycle. Coldwind was one of them. She was a Decepticon of prestige once. She meant something before, during the conquest of this planet.
Now, what was she? Scavenger. Cannibal. Survivor.
Yes, she was all of those at one point or another during her time of solitude. With no moral obligations, she did anything to keep her spark pulsing. But no more.
She stood upon a ledge, reaching high above the barren wasteland sprawling beneath. Behind her, an Autobot corpse kept her company. Coldwind had not killed him. No, not this one. But she did have many victims no different. The cadaver grasped onto a broken communicator with its hand. Coldwind turned her gaze towards it and pried the stiff servo open.
Finally. This one, though damaged, came with the last piece of Coldwind's puzzle intact. She smiled, and with a militant strut, she made her way to the edge. Coldwind placed the item into her chest compartment and jumped, body stiff, eyebrows narrowed. The wings on her back flickered. A transformation. Jet engines roared and pushed her from gravity's embrace. She aimed for the skies, for the towers in the distance. There, she had a base. There, a device which needed but one final modification. There, she would find salvation.
She landed on the tallest tower for miles around. Like a crow, she hoarded items at the balcony near its peak. But they were more than souvenirs or knickknacks. All of them were communication consoles, some stripped bare of their parts, some completely useless. But one of them? One of them was not.
A second transformation. Femme once more, she pulled out the communicator and walked over to the device on the balcony. Oh, she spent a long time repairing it, learning how to repair it. Now, she had the final component and the knowledge needed to install it. It took but a moment and everything was in place. Now, she was ready. All it took was a single press of button. Nearby satellites, carefully positioned at the peaks of the other towers turned in unison. Now, static echoed from the device Coldwind used. This was good, but not a victory. Not yet.
Clawed digits moved over the console's keyboard, entering number after number, lines of code. All of them were Decepticon frequencies Coldwind knew, standardized by the protocol. One of them had to be active. At least one.
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
//Connecting...
//Connection Error...
None of them worked. Not these three, not the many entered before them. Coldwind entered a final set of numbers—her last hope.
//Connecting...
//Connection Pending...
//Connection Estabilished.
Unbelievable. This frequency still remained. One of her leads was true. Coldwind made contact. Quickly, she fed words into the microphone.
"Can you hear me?! I repeat, can you hear me?!" She shouted, voice demeaning, demanding yet reserved. There was no rage, just urgency. Now that she had somebody to contact, Coldwind was more worried about getting the attention of the other side. Impatience, unease. She needed to say more, she had to.
"This is Warden Coldwind of Decagon speaking! I request an immediate space bridge at these coordinates!" She said, entering said coordinates into the device, sending them through to whoever was operating the console. The possibility that the other end could've been some Decepticon vagabond with no space bridge, or worse yet, an Autobot with one did not trouble her. Not now. If it was an Autobot, she could fight them. If it was a vagabond, she could search Cybertronian databanks for other frequencies, handled by somebody who was in possession of a space bridge.