Author's Note: I am not dead!
For the last several months I have actually been collaborating with another author here at . I've been working with fellow fanfic author Gatekat on several stories, and introducing a few of my other OCs in them. To date, we have written and completed:
Hunters from the Light, a Knights of Light AU. Anyone who's read IDW's four-part Drift miniseries would know about the Knights and their hidden city; I have been writing as Wing, Dai Atlas, Axe, and a few Random Characters, as well as adopting the Knight medic Redline into my crew. My own personal OCs Titanium and his mate GoldenRod (Ultra Rodimus's twin) appear in this story.
Charm and Charmer, a short sequel to "Hunters", a coming-of-age story of Drift and Wing's creation, Striker.
Striker's Thorn and When A Jet Shows Interest, "Hunters" sidestories, the latter introducing my oc Spindrift, one of the oddest mechs in my headspace.
Honor's Demands, a Knights of Light AU in yet another universe. I wrote as Wing, Dai Atlas, Axe, and my own OCs Titanium, GoldenRod, Medic Alert, Spindrift, and Idarassi (Cybertronian but not a Transformer). The last chapter is a Truth or Dare chapter, and it was so fragging fun to write. Also co-written with Starshield over at Livejournal
Darkness and Lightning, a Knights of Shadow mirrorverse AU. Mirrorverse, but not Shattered Glass. I wrote as Dark!Wing, Nightsun, and occasionally as Dark!Dai Atlas, as well as my own character, Master Knight Shogun, and a few Random Characters.
Currently underway is yet another Knights of Light fic, Kneeling to the Sword, but posting will not begin until the writing is finished, so this one won't be posted for a while.
So I'm not dead, nor am I really on hiatus. I've been collaborating on other fics, posted here by Gatekat. They turned out awesome. Go have a look! And don't forget to review!
I am also in possession of a Nintendo Wii, which has proven quite a distraction as well. It's an older Wii, so it will play Gamecube games, and I have found Super Mario Sunshine for it. Now I just need Luigi's Mansion... Don't suppose anyone has a spare copy? Otherwise, the lure of Mario Kart Wii and Super Mario Galaxy have been pulling me away from the computer. And my wireless connection drives me NUTS
Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers. Never did, never will. I'm just borrowing them. Ultra Rodimus, Medic Alert, and Ultimus are my own characters.
Awakening
Chapter 5: Repairs and Upgrades
As Ultimus followed Ultra Rodimus through the corridors of Autobase toward the medical bay, tension began to built under blue and gold armor. Back in the time of gladiatorial arenas and Quintesson rule, very rarely had anything good come of a stay in the hands of the medics. All the medics Ultimus had known had been slaves, and if one of the masters wanted a patient for their experiments, the medics had been unable to refuse. The bays had always been lit sparingly, with old and generally broken-down equipment; the Quints had seen no reason to waste good resources on slaves who were only meant to fight and die in the most entertaining ways possible. Spilled fuel and broken armor had littered the floors. The air had smelled of burnt metal and charred circuits, with the acrid bite of burning energon underneath. It had always taken days to get that smell out of his nasal passages.
To distract himself, Ultimus concentrated on examining the complex as he was led through it. The ceilings were high enough to accomodate his height and wide enough for large mechs to pass each other easily. Bright lights lined the ceilings, leaving no shadows in which trouble could lurk, and the metal was clean and reasonably well-kept. Most intersections had directional markers in several different languages, including the angular characters of modern Cybertronian. Ultimus eyed the script, unable to read any of it. He hoped that, whatever else might happen, he could get the latest language packs. Not being able to understand the world around him was more than a little frustrating.
Ultra Rodimus kept a sensor on the bigger mech, having to strain to hear the sound of Ultimus' footsteps. The ancient warrior moved like a cat, smooth and eerily silent considering his size and sheer mass. The grey Prime was not oblivious to the tension radiating from under Ultimus' armor. He could almost see muscle cable tensing under hard outer armor, practically feel the older mech preparing to either fight or bolt, and Ultra Rodimus guessed that Ultimus had had many unpleasant encounters with mechs called "medics" back when the Quintessons had ruled the planet. Considering what the Quints Ultra Rodimus was familiar with were like, the Prime couldn't blame Ultimus for being nervous.
"This is the medical bay," Ultra Rodimus announced, leading Ultimus through double doors marked with vivid red crosses, the universal symbol of medics.
Ultimus stalked through the doors, expecting the worst, then stopped and just stared.
The medical bay was bigger than he'd expected, and brightly lit. Neat medical berths, each with their own monitoring equipment and tools, lined one wall, while other doors led off to what he presumed were storage and supply rooms, decontamination areas, quarantine wards, and private rooms. Walls and floors were spotless, tools laid out precisely, and the only scents in the air were of disinfectants and cleansers. At the far end, a large one-way window overlooked the entire bay from what was presumably the CMO's personal office. All of the equipment was clearly state-of-the-art and very well maintained.
"Not what you'd expected, I take it?" Ultra Rodimus asked, stopping and waiting for the larger mech to get his mental feel back under him.
"Not in the least," Ultimus admitted, shaking himself to get his processor back in order and looking at the Prime. "Medical bays back in my time were nothing like this."
"They more closely resembled torture chambers, I'm guessing." Ultra Rodimus gave him an understanding look. "I've had enough encounters with those tentacle-dragging pieces of scum to know how they treat captives."
A flask of red and white caught Ultimus' optic. The red and white triple changer, Medic Alert, had emerged from one of the side rooms and was waiting patiently for them. Ultra Rodimus tugged lightly at Ultimus' arm, tilting his head toward the medic.
"Big mechs like us have our own room. The main facility was made for smaller mechs, and those with less complicated internal structures. The private room will also stop the curious from coming in to gawk at you while you're being worked on," the Prime explained.
Nodding his understanding, Ultimus followed the young Prime over to what turned out to be a fair-sized room containing an oversized medical berth, the monitoring equipment lining the wall at the head end, a tool tray and spare parts cart off to one side. There were bins for worn-out parts to be tossed into, and a container for disposing of fluid-stained rags. Everything was clean and ready for use.
The big former gladiator eased into the room, prowling it to get a good look at everything. Ultra Rodimus and Medic Alert waited by the door while Ultimus inspected the room, then sat on the berth.
Yellow optics fixed on Medic Alert's blue. "Exactly what is it you plan on doing to me?"
"I'll be looking for old damage, weak spots or ill-repaired injuries," the triple changer explained. "Because of the time period you're from, your systems are very likely behind the current level of technology, so I am anticipating having to perform significant upgrades to your operating systems and your frame. There are new firewalls and anti-virus programs to be installed, and you're in need of a good defrag. Any existing glitches will be as repaired as possible, then I'll upload the language packs and datafiles you'll need. I have to build a complete medical file for you, since from now on I'll be your CMO and responsible for keeping you well-maintained and healthy."
Ultimus pondered that, then nodded. "Then let's get it over with." Swinging his legs onto the berth, the big redhead lay back, unlocking his armor and settling into medical stasis.
Medic Alert's plating rattled, then the medic let out a relieved sigh, gazing at the supine mech on the berth. "That went much more smoothly than I'd thought it would."
"He's wary, but he's willing to give us a chance to earn his trust," Ultra Rodimus replied. He shifted his weight. "I'll get out of your way, then... I have a pile of paperwork awaiting my attention. Call me when you're done, before you wake him up."
"Will do." Medic Alert nodded, watching the Prime leave. Then he turned all his attention to the mech on the medical berth.
It took more than an Earth week for Medic Alert to complete the repairs. The sheer amout of half-repaired or shoddily-repaired damage had appalled the medic, leading him to wonder just how the big redhead had managed to keep functioning at all, let alone at such a high level. Any other mech would have died long before. Ultra Rodimus shrugged and said it probably had to do with the strength of the spark that powered the badly battered frame. Ultimus had a will as strong as the young Prime's, a spark that would not simply lay down and meekly allow itself to extinguish.
Ultra Rodimus was standing next to the med berth, watching as Medic Alert sealed down blue and gold armor, preparing to wake the big former gladiator. The medic eyed the monitors carefully for a long moment, then began the booting procedure.
Ultimus came online slowly, data scrolling past his HUD. It told him that he had been offline for a considerable amount of time. Most of his insides had that itchy, achy tightness of fresh repairs, and major repairs at that. Opening his optics, he blinked at the ceiling before slowly, carefully sitting up on the berth, taking his time getting used to the new, strange feelings. The itchy ache of new parts aside, he felt better than he had in a long time.
"How are you feeling?" Ultra Rodimus asked, catching his attention.
"I haven't felt this good in a very long time," Ultimus admitted. "Or, at least I will when the new parts finish integrating." He glanced at Medic Alert. "I take it there was a lot of work to be done?"
The red-and-white huffed, his rotor blades flaring out briefly before resettling against his back. "Enough for me to dearly wish there was a way for me to go back in time and thrash some sense into those hacks posing as medics back then. Almost every system in your frame bore half-repaired or shoddily repaired damage. It's a Primus-granted miracle that you survived as long as you have. I had to completely overhaul your motor and electrical systems, not to mention replacing fuel lines and circuit boards. Which was not easy; the complexity of your internal systems is on par with Ultra Rodimus'."
The grey-armored Prime let out a low whistle at that.
"I also had to repair a major glitch in your fuel-processing system, and I admit I am extremely curious about how you managed to survive to your current age while being unable to fully process energon. You weren't getting half of what you needed from your fuel." Medic Alert's blue optics fixed on Ultimus' yellow, waiting for an answer. "It wasn't easy," Ultimus admitted. "I existed on the bare edge of starvation for a long time. It was a pure accident when I discovered that my systems could handle pre-processed energon. Of course, at the time there was only one source of that type of energon."
Medic Alert looked confused, while Ultra Rodimus nodded his understanding. "You became a vampire out of pure necessity."
"Vampire?" the redhead echoed, confused.
"Earth concept," the Prime replied. "From one of the organic worlds we're involved with. A vampire is a being that survives by drinking the blood, the fuel, of others. Your elongated dental plates would be very useful in puncturing the fuel lines in the neck."
Ultimus pondered that, then nodded. "That's pretty much it. In the arenas, with dozens of mechs dying every day to entertain our enslavers, I had no shortage of fuel."
"But you weren't processing enough minerals out of it to give your internal repair system a chance at repairing any of the damage you were constantly accumulating." Medic Alert handed Ultimus a cube of blue-hued medical-grade energon with heavy doses of minerals and metals mixed into it. "I repaired the glitch and replaced most of your processing plant, so you can drink regular energon now. I've made up a supply of energon mixed with minerals and metals for you to consume, to bring your internal repair system back up to full strength."
The redhead accepted the cube, taking a sip. Sulfur-yellow optics lit up as the energon settled into his tanks, tasting better than any of the brews he'd attempted to drink before his long stint in stasis. The next drink was larger, once he was sure his tanks were not going to reject the energon.
"Is he a Transformer?" Ultra Rodimus asked, looking at Medic Alert, one silver eyebrow raised.
Ultimus blinked at him. "Am I a what?"
"He is," Medic Alert answered. "Most unusual for a mech from his time period, since that was before alt modes became standard or were even known at all. He has a fully functional transformation cog and a lot of kibble tucked away under his armor, and probably some in subspace, like your own. But the systems have never been used."
"What's his alt?" Ultra Rodimus wanted to know.
"Alts, plural," the medic replied. "That thicker armor on his back? Wings, folded down in sections to lay flat against his back. He's also got the antigravs of a ground alt, and there are signs of a beast mode as well. He's a quad-changer."
"So, airframe alt, ground alt, and beast alt." Ultra Rodimus noted that. "Interesting."
"Alt modes? Transformer?" Ultimus eyed both of them suspiciously.
"The art of transforming was developed after your time; I'm not surprised you're unaware of it," Ultra Rodimus replied. "Modern Cybertronians are capable of reconfiguring our forms from bipedal to vehicular. Makes it easier for hauling loads and covering terrain. Most Cybertronians are either airframes, fliers, or groundframes. Triple changers, mechs with two alts, are less common. And those with more than two alts are fairly rare."
"You'll have to be taught to transform," Medic Alert added.
Ultra Rodimus tapped Medic Alert on the shoulder. "Please don't crash his CPU from information overload," he told the medic, who subsided. The Prime turned his attention to Ultimus. "While he was working on you, he uploaded all the necessary language packs and information files into your processor. You'll need time to go through them in detail. I'll show you to your assigned quarters, so you can start going through the data."
Ultimus nodded, getting to his feet. He took a moment to test his balance, then followed Ultra Rodimus out of the medical bay.
The corridor the silver-haired mech led him to was clearly the residence wing of the Autobase complex. Other mechs looked up at Ultimus curiously, but no one bothered them. Ultra Rodimus nodded to them, then stopped in front of a door.
"These are your quarters," Ultra Rodimus told Ultimus, sending him a databurst with the access code. "A map of the complex was uploaded to your processor; it will give you directions to anywhere in the base you wish to go. The washracks, the rec room, the training rooms, and anywhere else. Just avoid the science labs. You don't speak Perceptor-ese yet."
The look the redhead gave him indicated that Ultimus would be wanting an explanation for that at some point. Then Ultimus entered the access code into the keypad beside the door, watching as the door hissed open.
"If you need anything, you can comm me anytime," Ultra Rodimus told him. "As a Prime, I'm pretty much constantly on call." With that, he took his leave.
Ultimus watched him go, then entered his quarters. The rooms were sparsely decorated, but comfortably furnished for a mech of his size. There was a couch and several chairs, a vid screen, and several tables. Another door, this one without a lock, led to the inner room, which contained a comfortable berth. The main room had a window overlooking the courtyard, while the inner room didn't. Sparse, but to a mech who'd spent most of his life chained in a tiny, dark, filthy cell when he wasn;t fighting, it was the height of luxury.
The redhead sat on the berth, feeling the thick padded covering adjusting itself to his frame, then lay down, curling up on his side. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.
Tbc...
Poor Ulti; the world is so confusing for him. But he'll adapt; he has to. Still, he's probably going to have quite a few CPU aches before he adjusts to this new time period.
MajinBakaHentai: I did find the TF Wiki sites. I'm just so used to there being fewer Primes. It'll take some time to get my head around.
Oh yeah, Ulti has a lot to adjust to. Cybertron has been through so much, and so much has changed since he last walked the planet, and his head is already reeling. But fortunately, he is the adaptable type; if he wasn't he would never have survived as long as he has.
Evil Bunnies Inc: Roddy's had to cultivate that level of patience. He would love to just step on the little pest, or at least swat him across the room, but it just causes too much of a hassle for it to be worth it. And removing one pest just leaves an opening for a worse pest to show up.
It's the best explanation I've come up with for why Cybertron has no sun. I figure the metal shell was built around an existing planetoid as the core, then somehow lost its sun. If the sun had died or exploded it would have fried Cybertron, so something must have happened to blow the planet out of its orbit.
XD Sideswipe has to meet Ulti first.
Gromia: I'm aware that Earth years and Cybertronian vorns don't add up... 85 million vorns equals over 7,055,000,000 Earth years. Over seven BILLION years. Ultimus predates the planet, basically. I'm just too lazy to bother converting back and forth.
Darth Krande: Yup, poor Primus really took a beating. Good thing he spends most of his time asleep, or he'd be howling in pain by now.