[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Resurrection [Open] May 29, 2020 0:40:16 GMT -5
Post by Virtuoso on May 29, 2020 0:40:16 GMT -5
Episode 3 | Week 2 | Day 4 | Mid Morning
It’s a haze. Dust and freshly spilled energon fills the senses. Fire and false light from artillery struggles to pervade the darkness of raining ash and debris. In the dark it’s a warzone, mecha falling left, right, and centre. There are screams and orders being shouted, falling on the ears of stunned and dead. The exhaustion, it won’t creep up until after it is all said and done. It won’t settle until there is a clear division between the dead and the damned.
Through the haze it is beautiful- because he is there with him.
Artificial light filtered through the slatted window, highlighting motes of dust in their fanciful flight. Cybertron had no sun, but the street lamps worked well enough to paint the dust in silvers and golds. Turning his head and looking over through the blur of freshly opened eyes, Virtuoso could see him there in the shadows, light purple optics staring back in contentment. Frames burdened from too much rest, minds not too pressed to get back to their respective lives; this was Virtuoso’s favourite haze.
Too put it simply, it was bliss, and it was theirs’.
”You should go.” Tired. Content. Their voice spilling into the space between them. Their hand reached out, taking Virtuoso’s offered one. Big enough to crush, yet there was never pain. Not with him.
”Why? Why not just say ‘screw it’? “ Virtuoso’s laugh, it trickles out, something that was not always so world weary. Pressing their servo to his lips, he draws on, mumbling into it. ”I’m certain the masses can handle a day without our services.”
’Virti- our pocket’s certainly won’t be able to handle the loss.’ That’s what he was supposed to say. How many times had Virtuoso replayed that scene? Savouring their humor and the following jab? ’I mean- yours will. ‘Tis why I keep you around’. That shared bout of laughter never came.
”You need to go!” It echoes, panicked and fearful- the kind of tone that makes the pit in your stomach roil. Their mouth doesn’t move. They don’t reciprocate the hand grip, because staring back at Virtuoso are shattered sockets and the ruined remains of his once beautiful lover.
Now the memory is almost right. He’s crouched beside them, just beside the blast crater, no longer kept in the sanctuary of their secret apartment. He’s pleading and praying, swearing a fealty that falls upon the deaf and dead. His ears ring with the blast and their screams- a sound he has yet to forget.
It’s forever burned in his memory.
Yet the scene still does not sit right. Virtuoso’s being pulled away from their corpse. This time the other survivors aren’t there. This time something unseen tugs and dulls. He is alone. Always now.
And it’s not right.
It’s... What is it? The words. They are wrong. They were never used in the singular- it was always ‘we’, never, ‘you’ or ‘I’. No. Never that. They were supposed to be together forever and always.
Auxiliary power depleted. Opening pod door.
The water rushed in before Virtuoso could even process his waking. It forced him back into his stasis pod, pinning and pooling against him. Caught between the stills of sleep and wake, he didn’t so much as fight back until the turmoil of both the physical and mental ceased. When his optics finally started transmitting data, all he saw was darkness yawning back at him.
’I’m being punished. Aren’t I?” Just as the water flooded, the memories poured in- the chase, the blast, the bridge, and the prayer. ’Was it not enough? My efforts? Primus, were they for naught?’ With the pressure equalizing all around him, Virtuoso fell to his knees, fighting for stability against the slanted floor. His last coherent memory started just as he was then, hurting and calling out for his god.
And now he was there in the dark believing himself cast out from the Afterspark.
A million possible sins ran through his processor, each an inquiry without an answer. As Virti fretted over both mortality and morality, his many biolights brightened and illuminated the surrounding area. This drew his attention upwards and then at a pause.
Staring back at him was a pair of beady black eyes that sat upon a flat and whiskered head. A wide mouth cycled between open and closed as it drew water through its gills. The staring in itself was enough.
Virtuoso was up in an instant, genuflecting at the fish. ”If this is hell, it can’t possibly be mine!” With the sudden start, the creature sped off, leaving bubbles in its wake. The mech cowered against the wall, waiting for sensibility to return to him. Fortunately it did, and with dignity in tow.
Looking around from where he stood, Virti was relieved to find some familiarity in the structures surrounding him. All Cybertronian. It was a good start even if it was flooded. What was even better was that everything appeared to be abandoned- Virti included. So in connecting the dots in his slowly waking mind, it suggested that there was a chance at the other Decepticons’ survival. First step however, was getting out of the water.
Tentatively, he began his journey towards the door which stood partly ajar. That explained how the creature got in. The door opened with the slope, prompting an easy push to make room. Virtuoso’s side ached as he pushed, but it did not agonize him- he would have to thank his medic later. He was however, still debating on chewing them out over abandonment. With the door open, the next step was finding a dry pocket.
Using the wall for support, the newly woken mech followed the upwards slant of the hallway, hating how the water moved through and against his frame. On account of the dark, it wasn’t until Virti felt the water rush past his helm that he noted the accomplishment of his first task. On a good day he might have celebrated the minor victory; he was not having a good day at all.
::This is... Patriarch Virtuoso-:: Once fully out of the chilling water, he tried the one Con frequency that he could remember- hopefully it had not changed. Water continued to drain from his plating, prompting a shiver and bristle. ::-Calling from what looks like the Nemesis...:: A brief double check and he was certain about where he was. ::If it is not too much of an inconvenience, a prompt collection would be greatly appreciated.:: There it was- the emphasis and agitation. Unable to completely articulate whereabouts he was located on the sunken ship, Virti included an encrypted locational ping alongside his transmission.