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.
There was something poking out of it too. At a distance, the glacier seemed punctuated by a set of stark, black points. The ice dripping off the end of an alien looking device. A wingtip. Furthur inspection, and at least moving to different angles revealed a dark spot in the ice. The massive dark shape looked sprawled, broken- yet almost unidentifiable.
The whirring was faint, and inaudible over the sound of the blizzard- but it was there, diligently working.
Thousands of protocalls had been initiated, and all had failed. Startup seemed impossible. Only the vaguest sense of consciousness could be achieved, and it slowly ticked across startup commands. Errors abounded. The shape did nothing.
Hours passed. Days. Weeks. Years. Earth-time drifted past over the whirring without much interruption. Protocalls started and failed, all in slow, excruciating succession.
Then communication protocalls stepped in.
The first signal was insignificant. Barely enough energy to broadcast over the glacier it was encased in. But as more time passed, the signals became more elaborate. Stronger. Coherent. They were old signals, foreign to the strange planet, but efficient enough. Code and wavelengths wove together to form a signal, meaningless at first.
Then a distress signal.
OOC: I’m going to say he’s been signaling for about 2 years now, but probably only coherently (enough) for a month or two.
Just when he thought that finding one Decepticon with a human designed sensor trailer was long enough odds, a second surprise met the old bot when the actual data was inspected. There, buried in the mountain of data, was a very clear distress signal emanating from the most unexpected and inhospitable place; the Earth's northern magnetic pole, the Arctic. The signal was a universal distress signal, lacking faction identification but most definitely Cybertronian.
The discussion as to who would go was tenuous, at best. After a previous excursion into the arctic by the Prime and several of the others, something to do with scraplets, none of them wanted go themselves. Gasket, knowing all too well how it felt to be in exile for a significant amount of time, volunteered to go in their place. Citing his massive size, his simpler mechanical construction, and his ability to keep himself warm through a well stoked coal fire as reasons why he was the best idea for the mission, the Prime agreed.
And thus, there he stood. A massive black form looming over the dark wastelands as the warming green glow from the ground bridge closed behind him. Instantly his tactile sensors indicated freezing cold as his optics were cast into the blackness of the arctic night. Across his optics several readouts swam into view, one for core temperature, one for exterior temperature, and one showing the status of his coal fire. With a little help from Ratchet he had rigged up a sub-space pocket filled with coal that could be opened to add to the burn; it was his life-line in this frozen wasteland. A fourth, connected to a detector rig on his left wrist of his dark gray armor flew to the upper right; it was his path to the distress signal. Over his shoulder, a single lamp clicked on, its beam catching the rare snowflake which fell from the clouded sky.
Prime... He paused for a response from his coms. Bridging successful. Nodding he took a step, the impact softened by the snow causing him to sink in nearly a meter. Moving toward the detection point now.
His attention shifting through each of his read-outs, the great black form of Gasket moved slowly onward in the depth of the arctic night, the powerful beam of light lancing forth, probing the snow for any hint of the beacon he was looking for. His form steamed slightly, a hint of the heat-source within him.
As his trail moved northward, his matrix fell on several things that he might expect to find. The old bot was quite unsure of what to expect but as the beacon loomed ever closer his shoulder-beam scanned back and forth, finding nothing save snow and ice.
Before long he came upon a large glacial ridge, this specific ice "flow" running as far as he optics could detect in the available light. Pausing as his pedes contacted with the bare ice he dropped several more lumps of coal into his firebox, the fire growing to consume them eagerly. Turning at the waist the beam of light scanned the glacier before him looking for any indication of something otherworldly. Seeing nothing he cautiously moved onward, the beacon's signal getting stronger and stronger.
Before long he came to a small ravine. Of course, small was relative. To a human it would have been seventy or so feet deep. To Gasket, however, he could have jumped down quite easily.
The signal emanates from within...
Lightly venting, the act causing massive plumes of steam to rise from his shoulders, he carefully stepped up to the edge. He had just tensed his legs to hop down when the ledge gave way and, with a muffled exclamation, he fell.
The impact was jarring and kicked up a column of snow but, aside from an injured pride, Gasket was unharmed. Groaning he paused, making sure the fall had not extinguished his fire. When he was sure it hadn't he chuckled, slowly pulling himself up and out of the thick loose snow before halting. A smile spread across his face as he stepped back, the light illuminating more and more of the strange sight; in fact, despite all he had seen, this was one of the more unusual.
There, sticking out of the ice, were bits of bot, a shoulder tip, a bit of knee; all nearly encased in ice. Close to what he figured was the head he saw a small protrusion, an antenna.
Gotcha.
Last Edit: May 18, 2012 17:46:55 GMT -5 by Deleted
The proximity of the closest signal was within predetermined, estimated visual distance. The signal changed, becoming more frantic and orienting itself to close range. The whirring noise increased, though it was still inaudible over the snow and ice. The beacon continued its persistent call, searching blindly for the visitor. Protocalls changed, taking full priority to radio transmission and giving some to anything recognized by optics. Slowly, a light began to flash on the form, a soft, red light, blinking steadily. It was covered mostly by ice, but the glow could be seen ever so slightly from above. Protocalls regarding movement attempted to start again, but still failed, as they had over the expanse of Earth time. At least it was all the more to signal that its spark was all but gone out…
How long have you been out here... and still function?
For several moments the old bot simply stood in silence, taking in every aspect of the queer spectacle before him. There, entombed in the ice, was another Cybertronian. Despite the decent level of lighting that his shoulder lamp threw off there were several aspects which his optics were still unable to determine. A single small red light was visible from what must have been the beacon but that only indicated that there was still energy.
The most important thing, specifically, was the faction symbol though one was not visible on the exposed frame. Nodding his servo fell to his drive wheel mace, digits grasping the shaft and drawing it out of the mount on his midsection. Mace in hand his empty servo slowly reached up and detached the lamp from his shoulder, the connections popping audibly as the light source came away between his digits. Stepping away from the entombed form he sat the light in the snow facing the form, the ice reflecting the bright light and filling the fissure.
His coms crackled across the distance to base, filling his matrix with the dulcet tones of the Prime querying about his status.
The beacon was a Cybertronian, Prime. It is... encased in the ice. I intend to remedy that. The next question was one he anticipated but did not have a proper answer for. No indication of allegiance. If this mech is operable I may be able to... ask it myself.
As his coms went silent Gasket looked back up at the form. It was large, very close to his own height, perhaps a bit shorter. His blue optics reflected off the ice as he sized up the task set before him. Allowing another quantity of coal to fall into his boiler he brought his empty servo up to run across his chin-plating.
How to go about this without harming it... Looking down at his mace he shook his helm, upturning the mace and allowing the star of drive wheels to fall from the end into the snow, reverberating with a dull thud. Grasping the end of the tire rod he split it in half, forming his twin blades.
Venting deeply he carefully positioned himself before the ice, gently placing the blades against the ice at an angle. Slowly he slid his arm and leg assemblies through a swing, stopping before he hit. Venting a second time, his optics widening just slightly, he struck.
From the ravine the blows were sharp, repetitive. Each blow knocked shards and bits of ice from the wall as Gasket worked carefully. There was no rush; as long as his heat source held he could work. Before long he had uncovered most of the chest cavity, still covered in several centimeters of ice. Then the shoulders, the neck. It only took a few small blows for the old bot to decide that he would need to thaw the head a different way. Looking over his body he was about to vent infrustration when it struck him.
Steam. Heat. Smiling he stood straight, concentrating as some of the tubing reoriented on his arms, shunting straight to his boiler and the steam and smoke reserves within. Stepping forward he reattached his tie rods to his body and placed his servos against the ice. Straining, he vented hard; a mixture of superheated smoke and steam erupting from several pipes across his upper servos. Before long the ice was melting quickly, droplets of water falling onto the fresh snow below.
In little time at all the entire head of the mech was bare steel and gleaming in the light. Stepping back, building up another gout of steam he spoke in machine basic, hoping this would at least give some form of reaction. With energy flowing through this frozen being's system any major environmental alteration should cause some form of sensory recognition.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, protocalls initiated. The vital processors came first, redirecting energon flow, restoring functionality of vital systems, adjusting the body to external forces. Though not initially apparent, for the first time in many Earth years, he was alive.
The processing power slowly moved to cognitive functions after finishing with survival protocalls. Consciousness came slowly, a groggy, dreamlike feeling. Like his spark was floating in the void, wondering who it was going to be. The biting cold affected some of his functions, and he felt it in a distant, detached way. Slowly the memories came back, a semblance of self coming with it. He was made more aware of the black box programming, an instant replay of his last moments in his previous life.
A curious planet. A unique one. He’d observed life on others, but this one was different. The diversity was astonishing and the climate as intricate as its ecosystem.
But most importantly the energon.
Finding a planet that suited the interests of the war effort and himself was nigh impossible to find. The energon content of this planet was shocking… was that what aided the diversity of life here?
All the queries he could think of were asked as he spent the initial orbiting period around the planet, surveying from high above. Even more astonishingly, there was another self-aware species here as well. A primitive one, but one with potential. He sent the data from the initial investigation period to Kaon and waited approval for landing.
It was a miscalculation. While one latitude might have weather clear as empty space, another had torrential rains and lightning. While one had balmy breezes over smooth ground, the other had scalding heat over searing desert. He and his watchers had been naïve- the climates of this planet were indeed milder than the average desolate rock- but no less formidable.
Indeed, it was the stark differences that had downed him. He knew he should have strayed from the poles, but there was so much to be learned from the ice- and the minerals sealed below…
Jetfire’s optics and sound sensors came online in jagged bursts of white noise. Despite the black box programming and his processors reminders of his self, he still doubted the reality of it. He attempted to speak, but his voice box was rebooting as well, and emitted only static and noise. He shut his optics for a moment, feeling the energon circulating though him. His movement was restricted, and temperature levels were dangerously low- though not as low as when he’d been placed in stasis, it was worth noting.
It took him some time before he noticed his rescuer. The old con was too disoriented to think anything of it… or anything at all. Thinking grated on his processors. Cold was good for it, and startup protocalls fired faster than ever, but the prolonged exposure to the elements had laid the bot flat. He scanned the silhouette looming over him, thinking nothing but of how stiff he was. He shut his optics again and willed at his voice box one more time. “Unnnhh…” he managed, discomfort first and foremost on his mind.
OOC: As far as Decepticon symbol goes, he has it clearly displayed somewhere. Like on the chest or shoulder. Not sure if Gasket has taken enough ice to figure out yet but thought that would be useful.
Though the old mech had to wait several kliks for the response he was hoping for Gasket's scanners soon began receiving cohesive energon readings. As he watched several nigh imperceptible changes took place across the frame, specifically the palling gun-metal gray color leaving the frozen mech's countenance. A small smile ran across the old bot's own face at this. He wondered if his aft looked the same prior to reactivation.
Hesitating no longer he continued with his task, venting the heat across the frozen form until the whole head and neck assembly was free of the encasing ice. From there he went to work on the limbs, the extremities, and what looked like wings; Gasket believed that he had found a flier though, as he freed up to the wrists, the knees, the faction symbol was still not found.
He paused as a small audible sound ebbs forth from the being. It seemed to be coming around at long last. Deciding to use this next salvo of steam to start on the chest he slowly began working through the thin layer of ice over its chest. After several long blasts its chest plate was largely ice free and Gasket removed his servos, only to have a chill as cold as the arctic run up his back strut. The smile fled his face as he opened up the coms to Prime again.
By Primus... the odds were not in my favor... Prime. Faction determined... you're not going to like it.
The guess that followed only received an affirmative and Gasket paused, running a quick scan and recording of the frame before him through his optics as requested by the Prime. The imagery would be invaluable to the Autobots in perhaps identifying the bot before him. Simply seeing the symbol brought back a torrent of memory links in his matrix... it was old. In fact, it was one of the first symbol designs ever used by the Decepticons in the war.
No, do not activate the... ground bridge yet. He paused, looking closer at the symbol he had uncovered. He refocused his optics several times before responding again. Stand by...
From the ice the frozen Decepticon's vocabulator loosed a low moan, a glitched output resulting from what must have been a very rude reboot considering the circumstances. Stepping back toward the form he looked into the glitching red optics of the very nearly interred Con before him. It took him a moment but he finally located one of the older Cybertronian greetings from his memory banks.
Peace upon you friend, child of Primus. He paused, forcing a genuine smile. Welcome back to sentience.
[Gotcha. I was going to have him realize in this post... when he's nearly gotten the whole frame free. Also, make the choice to where he is emplaced.]
Jetfire’s audio input was fully rebooted when his rescuer spoke to him again, but it took him another few kliks to grasp the meaning. His optics struggled to focus on him, and his visuals were interrupted by bouts of white noise.
He felt awful. “S…enti…?” his voice drifted off, willing his processors to think, for Primus’ sake. He had a distinct sense of urgency, but he couldn’t quite grasp why.
His reboot HUD display told him that he should have restored, if restrained, range of movement in his limbs. An alert pinged at him softly about the temperature but he disregarded it, making a few connections between the memories his black box protocols had replayed for him.
The interruptions of noise in his visuals were becoming less frequent and he gained enough control to focus properly. He looked up at his rescuer, finally seeing the bot clearly. Jetfire managed to move his head to get a better look at him, taking a small victory from the simple gesture. The victory was short lived- he felt the rigidity of his body, even the simple movement in his neck sending shuddering vibrations of metal grinding on metal through his frame. He winced, deciding he wouldn’t do that again, at least not for few kliks. It seemed that parts of him were still submerged in the ice anyway. Parts of him felt significantly warmer than the surrounding environment, but the wind and snow quickly sapped at whatever heat was on him. His vital systems worked feverishly against the dangerous temperatures. He’d been built to withstand worse, but certainly not under circumstances like this.
The mech before him had a strange build. The bits of his altmode that were visible were alien structures. If Jetfire hadn’t known any better, he would have suspected that this bot wasn’t Cybertronian at all. He tried to think of a reason he would look so strange, but nothing came- thinking was difficult when his processors were busy keeping his spark alight through the hard reboot. He would have tried to scan his new companion then and there, something he normally did to anything and everything that came within scanning distance of him, but for once, he didn’t feel like it.
The peculiar bot was smiling, but Jetfire was too busy being half-dead to mirror the sentiment. He frowned deeply, wincing as he accidentally moved his head again. He felt the parts down his back shudder against the ice. Jetfire had to say something, but he was hard pressed as to what. He could barely think straight, let alone voice his opinions. Again, the urgency pressed at him, so he decided on the first thing that game to mind.
His voice crackled with static. “Cold,” he said, his tone holding much more disgust than he’d intended.
Despite the ancient greeting the still partially frozen mech still appeared to be mostly within the confusion and dementia associated with long period shutdown. The old Gasket knew that feeling and thus understood that every astro-klik he gave the interred mech to reach his fully booted status the better it would be for a response. However, even as he gave the mech a kind and ancient greeting the faction conflict was fresh in his matrix. He'd fought for so long and to find someone who was as old if not older than he was still operational renewed his drive to see the war end. That this mech was a Decepticon, however, made him anticipate impending conflict.
For the moment he would play it as calmly as he could. Gasket's weapons were at hand and the Con still displayed minor boot dementia. The next partial comment out of the mech's vocabulator killed any combat desire Gasket had...
Senti... Sentinel prime? He paused. Did the other bot mean the last truly great Prime before Optimus or was he merely repeating Gasket's own words. Venting a gout of steam the old bot placed a servo on his helm, allowing his matrix to load several images, audio files from Sentinel Prime himself. The now offline Sentinel's voice was deep, like Gasket's, but much more official and commanding.
It took several kliks but Gasket shook his helm to clear the images as the voice echoed across his audio receptors. Looking back, his smile now much more neutral the old bot reached out to place a servo on the other bot's mostly ice-free shoulder.
Do not fidget, I am in the process of extricating you from this icy tomb. The one word save the first that was clear was one very clearly stating the position of the bot before him.
"Cold." The voice crackled with static, the vocabulator undoubtedly in need of a serious firmware update.
Yes, yes I am aware. Keep your... matrix online, I will soon have you free.
Placing his servos below the shoulder of the mech he vented hard, shunting very high temperature steam against the ice that nearly vanished at the touch. He worked quickly but carefully, hoping that the steam would increase the other bot's overall core temperature through the extremities; sadly this bot didn't have as robust a heating system.
Tell me, brother... what is your designation? Gasket glanced up at the bot's standard red optics. Standard, that is, for a Con. Mine is Pistongasket. Tis a pleasure... He chuckled. Extricating you this breem.
Last Edit: May 21, 2012 23:08:40 GMT -5 by Deleted
Understanding came faster with each passing klik. More alerts pinged as the surge of heat surrounded Jetfire. He felt himself coming loose, but did his best not to move, but he felt himself sagging against the space forming under him, superheated water steaming and dripping over his frame. There was the groan of metal parts grinding against each other, years of inertia wearing off with creaks and uncomfortable vibrations that rattled his chassis like nothing he’d ever felt before. The sensation made him jerk, accidentally ripping a foot clear of the ice. Shards sprinkled over the both of them, and he winced and tensed as he lowered the limbs again. He looked up at Pistongasket, giving him a look that held no malice, but still a hint of irritation at the situation.
The Decepticon was grateful for his rescuer’s help, but given his state, he couldn’t help but be pert with him. “Jetfire,” he responded after several more kliks, vocabulator grating his voice and accentuating his irritable tone. His systems were having a much easier time with the reboot now that Pistongasket was venting under him. It gave the Con some time to finally think. The ice and snow were easily explained thanks to the black box memories, and his whereabouts in the galaxy were slowly coming back to him. His summaries of the planet filled the edges of his optic HUD as he attempted to distract himself from the ‘extricating’.
The records labeled the planet with the typical cataloging system used by the data collectors- a series of numbers and Cybertronian letters forming an incoherent index serial. Jetfire had codenamed the planet “Blue Spark”, based on its color and the volume of life that thrived there. He took a moment to focus on the barren wastes of ice around him, feeling very far from that planet he’d observed.
Mineral levels, core stability, atmosphere pressure. Analysis of life forms, planet classifications, statistics on probabilities of energon locations. He looked it all over with little interest. None of his statistics or observations were solving any of his questions- only bringing up new ones. Clearly Kaon had received his data and had come to investigate the planet, as evidenced by Pistongasket… but surely that wasn’t the end of the story. His rescurer’s alien frame bothered him. He couldn’t predict his altmode without a proper scan, but there were hints of certain scenarios that feared the most...
He wanted to examine the ice for carbon dating, but couldn’t find the energy for it. He took an easier route. “How… many vorn has it been?” It had to be at least quite some time, considering the layers of ice that had been removed, but he wasn’t sure how prepared he was for the answer.
OOC: The end might feel rushed as I finished this up a little quickly. I had to run!
Despite the cold, the long vorns trapped in the ice, and Primus knows how many kilometers migrated as the ice shifted the mech was still able to cogently function. To Gasket this was a day of wonders and they had yet to cease. When the stranger introduced himself, a small burst of still static filled noise, indicated him as Jetfire. Though unfamiliar with the name a single burst of transmission sent the name and as much of the data he could back to the command center. Though he doubted Jetfire was a direct threat, what harm was there in a little preparation? As he was forced to stand back, allowing his steam reserves to build again, he allowed another pile of coal to fall into his fire. With his hesitance, he almost jumped as Jetfire jerked in his confinement, freeing a lower limb and sending up a small shower of ice shards.
Easy now. Your frame is still... susceptible to low temperature strain. Would not do to... nearly have you free only to harm yourself by accident.
Reassuringly he placed a servo in contact with the opposite bot's shoulder plating, nodding at him before venting gently. Taking a knee he began streaming more of the steam against the ice confines against Jetfire's legs. The broken, yet pertinent question did not draw Gasket's gaze but only made him focus more.
A vague question... but if the ice buildup around you is any indication it has been many. He paused, moving from the newly freed leg assembly to the other. Your markings suggest you've been out from Cybertron for hundreds of deca-cycles... a good many vorn if my calculations are correct.
He paused again as the next leg swung free, standing slightly to address the last piece of limiting ice; the waist. His optics hardened as the steam shot forth from his servos
Cybertron... is dead. The war ravaged it to a point where it could no longer sustain us.
As the ice melted away from the waist Gasket could hear the ice snapping, straining at the weight. Keeping one servo on the waist to finish the job he stood as the entire form of Jetfire fell outward. The sheer size caused Gasket to take a step backward to steady himself, catching the form against his own chassis. He was glad he was a labor bot as he didn't know if anyone else, even the Prime, could have caught this massive form.
May I be the first to... welcome you to Earth.
[Just a quick post for me. Didn't know what else to say. If Jetfire knew the war was over I can change Gasket's dialogue. Also, I played his falling out... this is something I can change as well but I doubt he'd be in any state to stand for a few Astro-kliks.]
IC: Jetfire released some exhaust himself, working as a deep, metallic sigh. Hundreds of deca-cycles… who knew what had changed by now… Still, he was glad to see that he was taking it in his stride. He supposed the shock would come later.
Perhaps the war was over and done. It would have made sense- why waste time on a long-lost explorer-bot when there was a war to be won? Still, it wouldn’t hurt to comm back to Kaon. Perhaps there was some protocall or database he would trip… someone would have been prepared for a returned M.I.A. like himself.
He leaned back as Pistongasket slowly worked at his form. There was a sort of melancholy about him, but Jetfire wasn’t in the mood to be concerned about it. He closed his optics and focused on his comm relays. It was several kliks before he got them back online, and a few more before his countdown estimated the time it took the waves to travel the distance had initiated.
He barely heard Pistongasket’s next words as he focused on his message. Cybertron... is dead. The war ravaged it to a point where it could no longer sustain us. It went ignored, Jetfire’s main focus on his countdown until it reached zero.
There was no response from Kaon.
His optics flicked open, and they darted about, defocused as he analyzed his HUD. Where… were his data collectors? Where was any sort of signal from Kaon? It was likely that he’d missed the signal direction… considering the time he’d been away… he hadn’t even taken the time to recalculate his galactic position in relation to Cybertron… still… there were relays for that…
Denial giving him cause to delay understanding, Pistongasket’s words finally settled in his processors, the ideas settling on his mind like a virus. Dead. He was speechless. It was then that the last chunk of ice had fallen away, freeing him and leaving his locomotion protocalls unprepared. He collapsed into his new companion, joints groaning as the moved for the first time in ages.
May I be the first to... welcome you to Earth.”
Jetfire gripped his rescuer’s chassis as if for dear life, damage reports and errors pinging at all corners of his HUD. It was made very clear to him that he could not yet support himself. Even wrapping his fingers around whatever he could hold on to against the other bot sent shudders and error codes up his arms. He vented hard, more cold air than warm escaping, though he was at least warm enough to function, and he was grateful.
Still… Cybertron… “Earth…?” What a strange codename- he assumed a name created from anything but the data he had sent to Kaon, ages ago. Was this where the Cybertronians had fled to? He couldn’t imagine why. It was a remarkable planet, but barely one suitable for a race such as theirs… More questions filled his head, but he was it too much a state of shock to ask them. “I… can’t move,” he decided to say instead, confusion and a new emotion tingeing his broken voice- despair.
Gasket could only nod, his reinforced frame more than capable of holding his new comrade's weight up. It was still something of a marvel, that a bot as old as he and as tall as he was still in operation. Gasket's servos were hooked under Jetfires arm assemblies holding him upright as he dug his still chilled servos into different points around Gasket's frame. The old locomotive could feel the cold from Jetfire but there was nothing for it save time near a source of heating.
Gasket allowed another large pile of coal to fall into his boiler, a small spray of energon getting the fire roaring. Over his shoulders a small gout of steam eased forth from each vent.
“I… can’t move.”
I know. Grunting Gasket shunted extra energy into his arm conduits, his servos getting a good grasp on Jetfire. Let go, I... must shift your weight.
Hoping that Jetfire would comply he shifted the frame of the immobile being up and over, grasping his left arm assembly and, with a great shrieking and grinding of iron and steel, shifted downward and moved the arm assembly across his shoulder plates to allow the old being's weight to fall over his shoulder plating and back strut rather than on his arms. Venting lightly to offset the strain he stepped gingerly onward, allowing his broad pedes to get traction under their gargantuan combined weight.
I do not... want to sit you down in the cold. Try a hard reboot of your leg assemblies, variables set for low temperature. You are in... friendly company.
With Jetfire's body properly propped, Gasket glanced over to him, his blue optics meeting the other bot's red. Nodding he reached his free hand over to place it against his comrade's core, slowly venting the heat across the frame. He hoped that a slow increase in core temperature would not cause undue strain on the now thawing frame. Over his shoulder, he opened the vents, allowing the steam to take the chill out of the air.
I assume that this all... was not expected on your part? Deca-cycles interred in the ice seems an odd choice of... retirement options.
Sighing cold exhaust as he took in the warmth, Jetfire did as Pistongasket said, processors whirling with other thoughts. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that his ‘friendly company’ might be anything otherwise. It might not have been prudent, but he had other things to wonder about.
If Cybertron was dead, was the war over? Who had won? Did it matter? Jetfire had a difficult time imagining Lord Megatronus in a scrap heap with an extinguished spark, but if that was how it had played out…
He couldn’t find the strength to ask anything- he was afraid of all the answers. There were no outcomes he could think of that he could imagine liking. He’d missed Primus-knew-how-long a chunk of history, and here he was on the tail-end of the story. He sagged against Pistongasket, not quite managing to hide the depression drifting out of his EM field as the locomotion protocalls in his legs attempted to re-initiate.
His new companion’s observation didn’t help his mood. “A miscalculation,” he responded solemnly, his crackling vocabulator making his weariness especially clear. “I was… somewhat reckless on the descent on this rock…” he admitted, the memories of his dreadful landing shuffling to the forefront of his processor.
It was another klik or two before his legs came back online, error codes still pinging him, but not nearly as many as before. Adjusting to the cold was getting easier, thanks to his rescuer’s advice. Jetfire shifted his own weight, attempting to stand properly, but not yet confident enough to release his hold on Pistongasket. “Thank you,” he resigned himself to saying as he leaned against the other bot. He was lucky that they were about the same size class. Jetfire could feel that he was considerably lighter than Pistongasket (though still of comparable size)- perhaps his companion wasn’t a flight alt like he was… He couldn’t tell at all. The shapes were all strange and twisted- not at all Cybertronian. This unsettled the old ‘Con as well, but there was no need to try and jump to conclusions… He would find out in his own time. He vented, trying to focus on the heat being transferred from Pistongasket. “I need a klik before I can move,” he said, bringing up status reports in his HUD. “Tell me… of the war…” he added, resignedly.
Glancing down Gasket saw the leg assemblies of Jetfire twitch and he hoped that the old hardware was temperature and water resistant. Enough frozen water in the right places could literally rip a mech apart; he'd seen it during the war, it was quite a gruesome sight. He supposed it was a method of taphonomic preservation of biomechanical components but the thought was far from comforting. Shaking the thoughts from his matrix he vented again, bringing the temperature in the ravine up several more degrees. Water was dripping down the sides of the ice walls and creating some spectacular icicle features which gaily reflected the light from his headlamp... small joys.
Distracted, Gasket only nodded at the description of how Jetfire came to be on earth, only imagining what those astro-kliks were like before he lost control of conscious processes. His optics glanced up at Jetfire again, several processes of his own running through old tech schematics of different frames from both pre- and syn-war trying to determine his characteristics. His alternative was a flight configuration, that was sure but that didn't imply weaponry.
However, his matrix started to regret the action as his companion's EFM came back online, depression showing through an attempt to mask it. Without realizing it Gasket's own EFM changed, changing to relief mixed with sorrow; just how long was he out?
“I need a klik before I can move...”
We have... all the time in the universe, my friend. If my scans are... accurate, your energon levels are healthy and I can generate more than enough BTUs of heat to get you back to nominal functionality.
The question, of course, implied that there was still much about the war that was simply an unknown to him and, as the question was once again vague, Gasket could only shunt his matrix away from his own memories and concentrate on the present...
The war...
Taking the opportunity Gasket vented from his back panels again, this time a cloud of black coal smoke coming with the steam which climbed quickly out of the ravine where it was sucked away by the wind.
It was... a long time ago but I do remember, there was no winning side. I do not think any could have expected the devastation to the very core of Cybertron to be as... drastic as it became. Our numbers were reduced to a shadow of the golden years.
Gasket's own EFM slowly drifted further down into the mire of his old feelings, depression setting into it as he glanced sideways to Jetfire again.
The one remaining Prime ordered... evacuation. Those who could leave did so. With little hope we scattered to the stars.
Reminding himself of the planet he was now astride, his EFM brightened considerably.
Many found this little planet... which the natives call Earth. We now live among them... secretly. Your glances at my frame were only too obvious; it is a form I adopted here.
Looking down he saw that the legs of Jetfire were shifting more and more and he nodded.
It is all but over; that is all I will say about the war for now.
Last Edit: May 27, 2012 19:11:48 GMT -5 by Deleted
His companion gave him many answers, but many more questions surfaced with them. What had they done? How many were lost? What exactly warranted a mass exodus of their home? How had they managed it? And the war… was there a truce formed as they fled? Had all simply fled as they pleased- every mech for himself?
And there was the way he spoke of ‘Earth’. Was his arrival here a mere coincidence? Had Jetfire’s data not been relayed to the proper authorities when the time came? That couldn’t be possible. He and his data collectors had relayed the information all over the capital in the cycles he’d been examining it. It would have been one of the first they would have chosen in dire need- it was too precious.
The remaining Prime… “I find it hard to believe-“ he paused, a crackle of static interrupting him as he shifted, feeling his knees locked as he balanced. “Pardon… I… I find it hard to believe the Decepticons would follow the order of a Prime… especially such a-“ error codes pinged from his right side, sending a zing of pain in his right leg. He grunted, clutching Pistongasket as he attempted to right himself. “-a drastic one,” he finished, pain in his voice as he attempted to distract himself.
He paused, the realization hitting him. Perhaps… perhaps it was only the Decepticons that remained on the broken hulk of Cybertron… was… this perhaps an Autobot? Still, Jetfire’s affiliation emblem was clear on his chest. An Autobot would have shot him on sight. And besides- Pistongasket had said it himself- there were no winners or losers. Jetfire’s previous affiliation seemed to matter little… he hoped.
Still, if this mech was familiar with a Prime… it would make some sense as to why they hadn’t known about Jetfire’s discovery (and tomb). No Autobot would have been given that sort of information.
Your glances at my frame were only too obvious; it is a form I adopted here. Pistongasket continued. It is all but over; that is all I will say about the war for now. Some things were fitting together, but there were too many holes.
Why did the bot have to be so damned cryptic? Jetfire wanted answers… he’d been in this Primus-forsaken ice long enough to see the near extinction of his own species and his companion was here spouting slag about the unbelievable. Perhaps that was it too.. perhaps he was lying to him. Jetfires EM field was tense and angry, and his optics scanned Pistongasket’s face in search of the lie. Maybe he…
Jetfire closed his optics, groaning to himself. Now was not the time to start panicking. He could do that very well later, when he wasn’t a heap of metal draped against a mech that was only trying to revitalize him. “Pardon…” he said, relaxing. “It’s… much to take in.”