Hello, lovelies.
I am hoping you all are well. I am well, despite the hell week I had just recently. Oi.
Anyway, I reward your faithfulness and just awesome comments and reviews with another chapter! I will get to my responses….eventually. *headdesk*
Hopefully, by now, you are all acquainted with the Cybertronian terminology I use in this fic. If not….
Body parts (all approximate, and the anatomical chart I use for my stories):
Hands = Servos
Arms = Support Servos
Legs = Stabilizing Servos
Tongue = Glossa
Teeth = Denta
Feet = Landing Pads
Shoulders and Knees = Shoulderpads and kneepads, respectively
Eyes = Optics
Fingers = Digits
Hips = Pistons
Lips = Vocal Labi
Mouth = Vocal Receptor
Ears = Audio Receptor
Neck = Chassis Pillar
Torso/Chest = Chassis
Body = Frame/Shell
Skin = Finish
Brain = Processor
Sections of brain = Lobes
And time (all approximate, and the chronological chart I use for my stories):
Any time less than a second = Microklik
Second = Nanoklik
Minute = Klik
8.3 Minutes = Breem
Hour = Cycle
6 Hours = Joor
Day (both day and night) = Solar Cycle
Week = Decacycle
Month = Orbital Cycle
6 Months/Half a Stellar Cycle = Orn
Year = Stellar Cycle
83 Years = Vorn
Approx. 100 years = Megacycle
Hope this helps.
I figured, a little after I put up the new chapter on DeviantArt, I should explain what the fudge my weird chapter titles mean.
A guilty pleasure of mine is REPO: The Genetic Opera, a rock musical. Well, not the gory parts, or the parts where people swear so much, but the music and singing and story…..LOVE it. I had watched it before, but I rewatched the Epilogue part, where Graverobber sings:
Goth opera, blood saga,
sometimes I wonder how we ever got here,
old grudges, scorned lovers,
sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on!
'Cause we all end up in a mighty pine box,
a mighty small clock and a mighty dark plot…
And bing! Wondering what to name my chapter was no longer a problem.
And, if you think about it, while this is a romance fic, the story behind everyone involved in Penumbrais rather….dark. How fitting!
Also, and a big thank you to Ms. Faber for bringing this up:
He doesn't know about the Guild's Projects, or the techno-organic craze that swept scientists on both factions, or the hundreds of experiments resulting in disabled, insane, or offline bots because of that one bot."
Sari's too new, so you mean Black Arachnia?
Well, hon, I wasn't going to make it known until later chapters, but….I'll give you all a basic breakdown.
Cybertronians are surrounded by a number of species larger than themselves, any of which can cause great harm, hence, I think, why they've had to learn how to transform and disguise themselves as mere vehicles. We're smaller than them, and yet, across continuities, certain humans can disarm Cybertronians.
In TFA, most Cybertronians show an aversion to organics, despite Fanzone being the first full organic to ever step on Cybertron. And if bees and wasps are Earth creatures, how did Sentinel even think of those names for the two cadets he named?
My theory: Bees and wasps….and giant spiders, are present in the Cybertronian galaxy, but, just like the spiders that bit Elita-1, these bees and wasps and other creepy-crawlies were also large enough to harm Cybertronians. And since bees and wasps could fly…..poor land-based bots. But…at least in my plot….thanks to the efforts of Beta Magnus, they are now a thing of Cybertron's past.
Now, what does this have to do with the techno-organic 'craze'?
If we remain in TFA canon, Sari is not the first techno-organic of Cybertronian origin. Neither is Blackarachnia. That honor goes to Botanica, a member of the High Council who was, according to the Allspark Almanac, a former 'mover and shaker' in the higher classes. Meaning, obviously she was different and shook up some kind of status quo. She used to, anyway.
Various theories abound on how she turned up that way, and if we borrow the Beast Wars story arc where she was once known as 'Binary', we can all presume one thing: that she was turned that way.
Whatever the reason, we learn, with the help of the Elita-1/Blackarachnia story, that techno-organics, or even organics, cannot be detected on sometimes even the most complicated radars. Which is why, for a very long time, Cybertronians lived in fear of organic species larger and more dangerous than themselves; because they never knew when they were going to attack next.
Techno-organic = invisible robot, at least on scanners. Hence, the craze on both factions to use such technology to their advantages spread like wildfire. And when Botanica's….condition….was known to all Cybertronians, both factions wanted to know how she survived the 'conversion'.
After several bouts of chaos, Autobots and Decepticons alike began undergoing experiments to find a way to make this a possibility for their troops. Then biological and chemical warfare was being explored, and before you know it, things got real ugly and a terrible war broke out.
I cannot remember where I got the fandom theory of Blackarachnia and the possibility of 'invisible' armies, but I know it was on DeviantArt somewhere. Gotta find where, exactly…..
...Eh, excuse my rambling. Go on and enjoy the new chapter!
If you can. This is not my best writing…*wince*
~Ylysha
Disclaimer: Transformers, and anything related to it, is not mine.
REPO: The Genetic Opera is also not mine.
Neither is the pairing. I just ship it hard.
Imagine a building. A tall, vast building, gleaming silver beneath a grid-like sculpture.
Now imagine a bot running, out the arch of this vast building. The entrance...and the exit.
"Moonracer!"
You see, his best friend has found out his darkest secret. That he did use other bots as experiment subjects. That he allowed innocent bots of all factions to be used that way. That he had not just a voice, but a servo, in this atrocity.
Imagine defunct bots, the insane, even offlined shells. Needles and scalpels. Chemical and biological agents. Steroids and paralyzers. Poisons and viruses. For the War. To stop the war. Seeing what could make stronger, faster, better soldiers for the Autobots. What could make weaker, sicker, fewer troops for the Decepticons.
No one else, outside of the projects, knew about these things. About scared, lonely bots in cells, slowly going defunct, slowly losing their minds, slowly dying. Cycle by agonizing cycle.
No, please….no, no, Primus, NO! PLEASE! I have a sparkmate in Kaon and she's sparked and I can't leave her please let me go no one will know please Primus please-you fraggers-YOU SPARKLESS FRAGGERS! AAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!
Most of this information was kept in a secret, locked file on this bot's computer. No bot had to know. No bot had to find out.
But you and I both know nothing happens the way you want it to.
I trusted you! You! With everything that I was! Because of you, innocent bots on both ends are in trouble and could possibly lose their lives! And you know who's spark it's gonna be on? MINE! I can't believe I was so stupid to believe you…..you were just using me! And now others are going to pay for my stupidity! ALL BECAUSE I TRUSTED YOU!
Imagine that she called him a traitor to the Autobot values. Sparkless. His best friend in the entire universe, who knew things about him even he didn't know before…
Shameless. Corrupted. A liar. A filthy liar. Two-faceplated. And, at least in her processor…
…a monster.
Imagine this is all a solar cycle after she found out. Of course she didn't tell him straight to his faceplates. He wasn't there at the time. He wasn't there to explain himself. But he didn't have to.
Imagine screaming, howling, crying, in a video surveillance camera. That's where he found it. Her words. Her hurtful words. It mattered not that she said them only a solar cycle ago. She found out.
But she didn't know. She didn't know everything.
He had to ensure that she did.
Primus, if you are real, please do not let me be too late.
Imagine him transforming and driving out now, wanting to make things right. He's not very fast, but somehow, his endurance makes up for it.
He skids to a stop, and transforms back into bot mode. He looks around, trying to remember where the docks are. Because it's very likely she'd be preparing a ship, with her teammates, to leave Cybertron.
Imagine the agony in his voice as he yells her name. No response, so he runs further out and tries again. No response. His worry increases.
There are some crates in the distance, and he sees an open ship. He runs to it, hoping it's Moonracer's ship. The shipping crates of the docks form a maze, which does not help him-except he doesn't care. If the maze is the only thing keeping him from apologizing to his best friend, for some of the worse choices in life he's made, it's an obstacle he's willing to scale. He is unable to transform due to the narrowness between crates, so he moves as quickly as he can, calling her name all the while.
Moonracer! Please answer me!
Imagine that he isn't alone.
Another bot has heard his cries, his subtle pleas, and stalks the sound of his voice.
The bot is a she, and she has no intention of helping him.
Far from it.
Perceptor…
It's amazing he hears anything, but it's terrifying to hear his name being hissed from an invisible tracker. His energon freezes.
You son of a glitch…
He increases his speed, hoping to find his best friend and confess everything to her, and maybe, just maybe, get away from the voice.
You don't want me finding you….
One klik he's running, the next klik he is being smashed into the side of a crate. Through the pain-induced haze, he registers the sight of a cobalt-blue finish.
Because you won't like what happens if I do.
Imagine his assailant is Chromia. And she is furious.
Chromia…what…..what are you doing?
I was going to ask you the same question.
She's not normally so strong, but when emotions are high and self-control is low, it makes for a dangerous combination. With one toss of her servo, she sends him sprawling into a wider space of the maze.
"Moonracer, oh Moonracer", she mocks his earlier cries, her voice rising in volume. You honestly think my apprentice is just your friend, only your unforgiving friend? She trusted you, and you broke it-
-I know-
Smack.
Don't talk! You've had so many opportunities to say the right things, make everything better. But did you do it? DID YOU? No, you selfish son-of-a-glitch!
Smack smack.
Don't talk anymore, or I swear I'll offline you right now!
Chromia, I only want to speak with Moonie-
-What did I say?
Punch.
WHAT THE FRAG DID I JUST SAY? I'm going to offline you right now!
She picks him off the dirty ground, only to hold him high while she delivers blow after fatal blow to his shell.
Please, I never meant-
You-
-never meant to hurt Moonracer-
-deserve-
-didn't think she'd find out-
-to-
-please, Moonracer-
-die-
-let me at least tell her-
-you-
-everything; why I did it-
-sparkless-
-please, Chromia-
-FRAGGER!
-I LOVE HER!
Imagine the stillness that follows. It stretches for only a few sparkbeats, but it feels like an entire Cybertronian lifetime. It is the deepest silence of a dead moon, the silence heard at the bottom of an ocean on an organic planet, the silence that follows a true confession.
Liar.
The silence of a grave.
No, I swear-
-You dare say that heap of slag! After all you've done, after all you've put her through?
She shakes him with every word, smashing him against the ground. He can do nothing except whimper and pray that she would stop. His struggles, his attempts to pull her servos off of him are fruitless.
After all you've put so many other bots through! Moonracer is just one of 5,000+ bots that suffered because of you! And I ought to put their processors at ease and just kill you now!
Chromia-please-
She glances at his optics and holds his terrified gaze for a few tense moments, then finally throws him on the ground and leaves him there, clutching her head and unleashing an unholy scream.
UUUUUUAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH!
Imagine that she can't kill him. No matter how much he deserves it, she can't find it in herself to do it. Because she's an Autobot? Because of his love for her apprentice, whom she sees and treats like a daughter? Because he isn't the only one? Because murder isn't right? Because he's quintessential to the Autobot cause? Because everyone deserves a second chance? No one knows.
Not even….
…Chromia?
She throws him a look that, if he wasn't terrified already, would scare him to death now.
Just because I can't kill you…..doesn't mean I can't finish the job.Wha-what are you going to…?
His question is cut off by a landing pad being smashed on his faceplates. He tries to scream, but he knows his screams are muffled by Chromia's landing pad keeping his vocal receptor closed. Then he feels it.
A servo pulling off his chassis pillar cover, exposing any vital wiring, all joining at his voice box.
His voice box.
Dear Primus.
Imagine her reaching in and, closing her digits around his exposed voice box, yanking it. Trying to extract it.
His screams rise, even though he knows very well that no bot can hear.
No.
He thinks to himself.
It cannot end like this.
He struggles, feebly, one more time, trying to kick, push, do anything to get her off of so he could get to Moonracer.
Then it stops. The awful sensation stops. He allows himself a silver of hope. If she couldn't go through killing him, perhaps she couldn't go through trying to tear out his voice box. He feels her digits still, but perhaps…perhaps…
If my girls and I ever come back, and she, by some miracle, she remembers you, you fragger….
And his hopes are dashed with her last statement.
Don't you dare touch her.
With one mighty pull, she sets the scene.
He is the convicted, and she the executioner.
She is the deliverer of divine justice, and he is the scum that has to pay for his atrocities.
They will be on the same side, but will forever be in conflict with one another.
Some of his energon flies out in a sickly spray, splattering everything from her chassis down. His energon drips off of her right servo, the servo that holds his now extracted voice box. In the place where his voice box once was, there remains sizzling wires and flying sparks and energon gathers in the gap and gushes out in rivers…
As the rest of his energon flows out of his now weakly spasming body, he has just enough in him to see her hold her right fist just in front of her faceplates, close her optics, and almost breathe in her success of fulfilling her mission. Instead of even a ghost of a smile, her entire faceplate is deep in thought as she stands up straight and watches him.
Imagine the twitching of his body, caused by ruptured nervous wiring in his shell. The energon pooling in the empty space of his chassis pillar and choking out whatever words he could manage to say. The life slowly fading away from him.
Let's see how many lies you'll be able to say now, Scientist.
He looks up at her. As the darkness begins to cloud everything, he manages to move his vocal labi one more time.
I am sorry.
Her once thoughtful faceplates crumple into a frown, and she simply turns around and walks away. Even with the incriminating splatter of shed energon on her stabilizing servos, her one right arm and the severed Cybertronian part in its servo, and the scratches that indicated someone had to struggle against her, she calmly walks away.
Leaving the Scientist in a slowly increasing pool of energon, his vocal receptor hanging open. Left for dead in a maze of shipping crates. Regretting everything.
And if you thought all that could not get any worse, and that your imagination can't take anymore, that is not the worse part.
All this…the pleading, the beating, the screaming, the bleeding, the regretting…
…is not in your imagination.
This happened. All of this happened.
It was all real. Agonizingly real.
Perhaps it is better, then, that he doesn't remember.
She...
…she will never forget.
A Mighty Dark Plot
or
A story of political candidates, a gruesome discovery, a suspicious note, the talk of intellects, barging in, an unexpected friend and the songs she sings, finding the half-truths, echoes of the past, and the thoughts that plague a doctor-who-is-actually-a-scientist.
{Six solar cycles after the return of Chromia Minor and her team to Cybertron }
[Red Alert's Private Laboratories, The Guild Scientius]
"They're considering making Chromia Pro Temporare Magnus."
The only indication of emotion I get from Firestar is a slight widening of her optics. But it's clear between the two of us: neither of us expected it.
"Who?"
"Chromia-"
"-No, I know you said Chromia. I mean, who's considering?"
"The High Council, of course."
"What gave them the idea that 'Mia would be a good Acting Magnus? Her temper, for one, is just as bad as Sentinel's. You've heard them argue-"
"-No, no I haven't."
She gives me a relieved look. "Oh, good. You wouldn't want to, believe me." Despite her high heel struts, as we enter the recovery ward of the Guild Scientius, Firestar gracefully makes her way over to a table where she can place down her elbow joint, plop her chin into her servo, and plant her aft in the nearest chair.
I remove my medic brace off my head with my one good servo, and place it down carefully.
"That makes three candidates in the running for Acting Magnus: Rodimus, Optimus, and Chromia. All young leaders, all students of Kup Minor, all good, upstanding Autobots…this is going to be difficult….deciding who makes it in….."
"Well, Optimus Prime is out of the running", a new voice breaks the quiet of the ward.
"Ironfist. Where'd you come from?"
He looks at me, as if though slightly offended. "Am I invisible? First Wheeljack, now you, Red? Well-"
"Hold it", Firestar interrupts in her fatigue-laden voice. "Now what do you mean, 'Optimus is out of the running'?"
"Just as it sounds. He told me a solar cycle ago. Said he wasn't ready. Whatever that means."
"Primes have a strange process-coding", the red-and-orange rescue bot mumbles.
"You're telling me."
My new office in the Guild Scientius is a fairly large, circular room, pale blue wall against a dark gray floor. It's located next to the recovery ward, which means we're next to Hoist's office.
"You're taking your medic brace off, Red?"
"I'm not working as a medic at the moment, which means I can take it off as long as I keep it close to me."
"Ah."
"Is this your laboratory?", my fire-colored friend murmurs.
"Wha-oh, no, just the recovery ward of the Guild. Would you guys like to come and see?"
"Oh, no, I already did", says Ironfist. "Remember? Some of the stuff in there are my inventions. And then when Wheeljack and I surprise-presented it to you. Remember?"
I allow myself a small smile. "Yeah, I remember. If you're just going to retreat back to your labs-"
"-hmm. Maybe not. I guess I shall come with you guys. If you're okay with it….I mean, I don't really like being a bother to anyone…."
"…..No. No, don't worry about it, Ironfist. Come, join us."
The three of us walk to my laboratory, taking the elevator in lieu of stairs because of 'Star's heel struts. We talk a little, about my time with Team Athenia, Firestar's adventures with her team, Skyfall, the bot that kept taking credit for many of Ironfist's work. We finally come to the touchpad-activated door to my labs, and I dial the correct codes. The white orb in the middle of the red, two-paneled door disappears with the right panel, and a clap from my servos turns on the lights.
"Woah, bright. BRIGHT", 'Star exclaims with a small groan. Her optics shutter once, then twice, adjusting to the light.
Right, I forgot. She's not fond of extremely bright, pale light. Had something to do with her time in Torkulon, she says.
"That's certainly new", says the younger weaponsmith. I would ask what, but he quickly makes his way over to the foremost table in the labs, and picks up a container with a datapad attached to it. I come over to his side, pulling Firestar along, looking at the cylindrical container and seeing that it's clear except for something floating around in it.
"What is it, Red?"
"Here, give it to me."
He gently sets it back on the table and slides it to me.
The table has several drawers, and I take out a disposable scoop with slits, a long pair of tweezers, and some clean blotting sheets. Out of other drawers I quickly take out protective masks for the three of us.
"Red, I highly doubt it's a chemical or biological agent of some sort", groans the rescue bot, but she obediently pulls her mask over her faceplates so that it covers her optics, olfactory sensor, vocal receptor, and audio receptors with a protective, antibiotic, non-corrosive polycoating. Ironfist, having refused the mask as half his faceplates are shielded, places on the ruddy red goggles he usually has on his head and runs to close up the entire lab.
"You bots are crazy."
"Better crazy than sorry", I reply, securing my own mask as Wheeljack's apprentice gives me a thumb-up. The container is very sturdy, so I poke around it and try to find some way to open it. I place my tool-servo on one end, and three prongs spring open and twist it. The lid screws off and pops into my servo, and I scoop out the floating object and carefully place it down on some blotting sheets I laid out. Using the microscopic lenses in my left servo, I observe our little discovery closer.
The object is Cybertronian in nature, that much I can tell. The liquid in the container has not eaten through the blotting sheets, so the acidity level is benign. Using the tweezers, I turn it over and pick at it carefully.
"A Cybertronian part", Firestar concludes. She knows basic medical necessities due to her job, as well as her brief studies at my alma mater, Protihex Medical University.
"Question is: which part? Looking at the size and intricate wiring, I'd say it's any part from the chassis pillar upward. It's too cubical in shape to be a part of a servo or landing pad….is it?"
It is. Ironfist appears to be mildly impressed, though I hardly concentrate on that as the three of us lean it to scrutinize it. I attempt to remember what certain parts look like. Anything from a processor will not have splintered wiring, it's too angular to be an audio receptor, and vocal labi and olfactory sensors are protoplasmic globs that will only take shape on a faceplate.
Anything from the chassis pillar upward….the chassis pillar itself is mostly wires contained in the chassis pillar, or, depending on the body type, covered by a chassis pillar cover. The largest part, really, in the chassis pillar is….
…a voice box.
I inspect the object one more time. If it is a voice box, there should be at least one main Energon wire going through it. This wire is usually the strongest of the bunch. Energon wires in a Cybertronian are usually identifiable by the energon staining the inside, but they can also be identified by the tight spiral design, instead of the usual tube-like appearance of most vital wires.
"Voice boxes are always cubical in shape", I say out loud.
"What?"
"You heard me." I gently scoop it up, drop it back in the container, and tightly close it.
"So is it…?"
"Yes. A severed Cybertronian voice box."
"Nice", Firestar mutters, looking conspicuously at the container and pulling off her mask.
"The biggest question is: Why is there a severed voice box, in a jar of Cybertronian formaldehyde, in my laboratories?"
Ironfist is two steps ahead, having taken off his mask and already reading the datapad that had been attached to the side of the container.
"To whom this concerns, aka the Trustworthy Few of the Guild Scientius,
If you 'geniuses'-offensive much?-haven't already figured it out, what you see floating about in the jar is a voice box. I know that one of your own is missing his own voice box. Don't ask how, for it's a very long story you'll find out eventually. It seems I've actually done you all a favor, or at least for this one bot.
You're probably wondering what I want in return. What do I want in exchange for this completely free, no-wires-attached, working condition, convenient gift? Well, confidentiality would be great. But other than that…..nothing, nothing at all.
At least, nothing material.
I know that one of your own has a Primus-awful case of amnesia. I really wouldn't have given a frag, except that this one bot, having forgotten some of his memories, is also hurting somebot I care about.
And no bot hurts someone I love.
All I demand in return is for you trusted few to find out what the frag happened. Every bot buys the 'deletion of emotions' scrap, but all of you and I know both know there's more to the recipient of this voice box than that. Please….I'm asking you please….find out what's going on.
All pertinent information can be placed on this datapad. I will leave Cybertron, at the least, in a stellar cycle's time. You all have until then to find what you need. You must leave it for me in Trypticon Prison, with a bot designated 'Sureshock'. If you can do that, I would appreciate it.
Also, find out what Wheeljack knows on the subject. He knows something none of us know, not even our voice box-less friend.
I make no threats on the Guild, because I know despite how insane some of you will think I am, I know at least some of the Trusted will help me. You all know who you are.
Good luck with that. Carrying it around for as long as I did was nasty.
Your ally,
The Metallurgist.
…well, that's helpful", the younger weaponsmith mumbles.
"At least we know some psychopath didn't leave it here as a 'warning' parcel. What do you think, Red?"
Out! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY LABS!
"Nothing", I mumble. Firestar bends down on her heels to look at me.
"Sure…" she retorts with an almost bored tone.
Please, Red, PLEASE!
"I'm thinking. Can't I think in my own labs?"
"I've spent approximately one thousand stellar cycles, living in the same ship, with an ill-tempered gunslinger for a leader, an emotional sharpshooter for a repairbot, a soft-spoken singer for a medic, and a crazy jokester for a strategist. Those femmes are the reason I don't recharge too good. Do not try to fool me; I can tell when you're lying through your denta."
Why should I risk my aft to help him? I 'know nothing', according to him. I 'have no spark', according to him. Go find someone else stupid enough to-
-I know he wasn't very kind to you recently, but please, if we don't help him, he'll offline!
"Perceptor called her a 'glitch' once", blurts Ironfist, but the moment it's in the air, he claps one servo over his mask where I assume his vocal receptor is.
My anger flares up. If he were any other bot's apprentice, I would've cracked his head open with my tools-servo by now.
He deserves it!
Firestar is strangely calm about the whole thing. "Is that so?", she asks me with optics that are neither condemning nor comforting, scolding nor soothing, just wanting to know the truth.
We all say things that hurt one another. Is that to say we should all be offlined?
Suddenly the memories flood back. His hurt, my anger, my cracking him across the faceplates so hard he topples and falls to the floor.
"You could lose your job and reputation for that, Red Alert."
"I don't give a frag! I don't care. Fire me if you want, because I quit!"
"You'll have nothing but your friends if you can't get work anywhere!"
"At least I have friends!"
"…..you…..you glitch…..you sparkless GLITCH..."
I had left his labs melting in my fury.
Red, he's losing energon! Please, Red Alert. I'm begging you.
"Sorry-wait, no, I'm not sorry! I mean, I'm sorry that my words hurt, but—AHH! I'm sorry, but I think you acting like this over something that's happened so long ago is ridiculous."
Please.
I let out a deep sigh I didn't realize I had been holding.
"It's not that I'm still mad-it's just-it wasn't pleasant, yes, but….when we had our argument….it was just a solar cycle before….the accident."
…Very well. I will help him just this once.
"You feel whatever happened to him was your fault, in a way", murmurs Firestar from her seat.
"Well-"
"-Unless you actually laid a servo on him, or tore out his voice box, or acted maliciously towards him in any way, you are not to blame."
"Still", I can't help but reply.
Thank you, Red. Thank you.
"It's not like I was much help after the accident."
"What accident?"
What is it with these new voices? And does anyone have the decency to at least make themselves present before intruding in on private conversation? And how did anyone get in when we've locked everything?
"The accident that cost Perceptor his voice box", the fire-colored femme answers automatically, though she does a double take when she sees who the source of this voice is.
The newest voice to our conversation is an organic. Similar in anatomy to the techno-organic Sari Sumdac, her finish is a cool-toned color, somewhat lighter than Sari's complexion. Her optics appear to be a dark brown encased with white, and the pelt on her head is black. Her plating is not very substantial; just a turquoise blue chassis covering, crimson red plating that protected everything from her pistons to the middle of her thighs, and grey landing pad covers. She is pulling off the brown plating of her tiny servos as we speak.
"Oh, hi, Verity", Ironfist says warmly, picking her off the floor and placing her on the table.
"Who?"
"Oh, don't worry 'bout it, 'Fist. Let me. How ya doin', Miss-"
"Firestar. Firestar of Kalis."
"Can I just call ya Firestar? Cool. The name's Verity Carlo, Official Scribe and Ambassador of Technologic-Organic Interspecies Relations, according to Ultra Magnus. But you can call me Verity. Just Verity."
"How did you even get in, Verity? Everything here is sealed in very tightly, so that not even a speck of dust could get in."
"There's a slight crack in one of your windows, Red", she responds, appearing very pleased with herself. I am less so. A crack anywhere in my labs would've resulted badly had I been working with more complex substances and projects.
"Eh, it wasn't my fault, in case you're wondering. It was already there. Is that the voice box thing?"
"Yes." Ironfist carries her closer to the jar, and being taller than it, the Earth organic bends down and peers into the foggy glass.
"Oh, cool. It's got that gory, creepy feel to it."
"Huh?"
"Human talk for 'that looks really awesome'."
"You scare me sometimes, Verity."
"I scare everyone. Whose is it?""It belongs to Perceptor."
"Does it? Hopefully it gives him a better voice. Not that creepy monotone he talks with all the time. I swear, hearing him speak is like having all the energy in a room sucked out through a straw."
A cycle later, the four of us approach Perceptor's shared labs with Wheeljack. I ask for either Firestar or Verity to see if it's okay to open up. Before anyone can say anything else, Verity simply climbs down from her spot on Ironfist's knee joint and slips under a space beneath the paneled door.
It's disturbing, sometimes, just how much she's learned during her very short time here on Cybertron.
"I'm proud of you, Red", Ironfist suddenly says.
Hesitantly I respond. "Whatever for?"
"Well, I know of….your history….with Percy, and thanks to my vocal receptor, so does Firestar. But I'm glad that despite of whatever shells in the closet you've learned to forgive him. Despite of it, you've learned to help him when he needed it."
"Hmmm. Something like that."
The doors slide open, and we see Wheeljack tinkering with something. He looks up at us.
"Hey, all of you. Hey, Verity. What do you need?"
"Where's Perceptor?"
He points to another corner of the labs, where Perceptor is also working on something.
"Perceptor. We need you to drop whatever you're doing."
"I am busy."
"What did I tell you? Energy sucker voice", the only organic in the room mutters.
"You seem to have time to tinker. I'm sure you'll have time for this." I hold the container out in my right servo.
"Is that….what I think it is?" Wheeljack is suddenly standing there, taking the container from me and turning it over in his servos.
"Woah, woah, fragile contents, 'Jack".
"I know, Red, it's just….." The inventor strides over to the scientist, forcibly takes out whatever tool he had in his servo, and promptly holds the container in front of his faceplates.
"Do you know what this is, Percy?"
"A Cybertronian voice box. And please do not call me 'Percy'."
"Yeah, yeah…..Percy."
Was that irritation I just saw on his faceplates?
"Do you realize you are probably the only bot without one of these? What you have in your chassis pillar, Perce, is a fake. An audio synthesizer. Not an actual voice box, not like this one."
"…Are you implying I need this? I have gotten by for approximately one thousand stellar cycles with the voice that I have now. And why was my voice box replaced with a synthesizer? I would think there was no need for that."
He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember? Perhaps that was why he didn't object when the Council placed me back into the Guild.
"What's that supposed to mean? You don't remember….how you lost this?"
"No."
Something's not right.
The engineer looks at me, then places the container on the table. "Hey, Verity, c'mere, and please keep an optic on this. Now, back to you, Red…..how did you even get this?"
I pull him away from his partner and the Earth organic, out of hearing range. I reveal everything, including the datapad that his apprentice brought with him.
"Well, Ironfist is right. There are many metallurgists of Cybertronian origin, both Autobots and Decepticons. Any one of them might know how Percy lost this to begin with."
"Why does Perceptor not remember such a thing? I would think, however traumatic, that one would remember how they lost a part."
Out of the corner of my optic, I see Ironfist fold his support servos across his chassis and fixate his optics upon Wheeljack with an almost angry look.
"I-I can think of one thing. But it's not something any of you would-"
"-Don't you dare touch her."
If it weren't for the familiar monotone, I would've assumed yet another voice intruded the Guild. But the peculiar words come from the scientist's own vocal receptor, and they silence everyone in the labs.
"Sorry?"
Everyone except me.
The scientist does not respond for a nanoklik, instead blankly staring at the container. Verity begins to wave her arms and attempt other wild actions to distract Perceptor, but to no avail. Wheeljack slowly walks over to him, pressing the female organic lightly against her head to make her stop. At the slightest touch of his servo against the microscope's shoulderpad, he snaps out of it and lightly shakes his head to brush his partner off.
"Nothing important. Must've been….", he trails off, obviously not sure what that was.
I'm not too sure, either. But I want to find out.
Another awkward silence fills the air, broken only by the organic's impatient inquiry.
"Well? We stickin' this thing back in your neck or what?"
"What's a 'neck'?"
"-Oh, right!" She smacks her tiny servo against her fleshy faceplates. "Alien robots = different language….um…our word for chassis pillar, 'Fist. Yeah. As for you, you honking microscope, I think a voice change is good for you. You'll still probably sound like a giant nerd, but at least you'll sound like you have feelings."
"But he doesn't have any emotions. He deleted them a very long time ago", I feel inclined to remind Verity.
Ironfist looks over at Wheeljack and folds his support servos across his chassis, the same almost-angry expression from before, except now the lower half of his faceplates is uncovered, an unusual frown crumpled in his vocal receptor. Wheeljack shutters his optics closed. Firestar gives everyone a confused look.
"Is that even possible?"
"Yes", I whisper to her, quiet enough so Perceptor or Verity can't hear. "Perceptor was under a lot of stress, nearing the end of the Great War. I suppose to be a better scientist, to be more productive to the Autobot cause, and…..to avoid hurting others, he did that. He chose to delete them. And no one else is to blame."
"You've forgiven him." The white engineer has a look of incredulity across his faceplates.
No matter how much I'd like to, I find myself unable to retort to that.
"Forgiving and forgetting are two different things, Red. I'm just glad you are able to follow the better path."
"Is it the better path if the one you're forgiving doesn't even know?"
"…Goth opera, blood saga…sometimes I wonder how we ever got here…old grudges, scorned lovers...sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on!"
Everyone looks down.
"Verity, I thought I asked you to watch the container."
"Bah, Percy's doing so well at that already. Look, he's just starin' at it."
"You sing rather nicely. Not like Greenlight, but….it's certainly an interesting song. I've been hearing you sing it all this while."
"Thanks, Firestar. And the song...it's an old song, from an old musical..about the future, set in the future. Saw it when I was 18. Loved it ever since. Old grudges, scorned lovers…sometimes I wonder why we all don't move on! LOVE that part. Didn't necessarily mean to intrude, but your little situation here is similar to the story of REPO: The Genetic Opera. So yeah, I am being nosy and I'm sorry that your lives suck more than mine, but I am not sorry for interrupting with REAL MUSIC."
"Although her little tune's got a point. Why can't you all move on? Forgiveness is not for the forgiven", Ironfist murmurs, looking at the three of us, one after the other. When he pins his gaze on me, there's something that I don't see in a lot of younger bots like him. "It's for the forgiver. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm-"
"-If this is absolutely necessary, then I yield to whatever procedures this will take", Perceptor's voice rings out in the rather long distance between us.
The largest of the present bots tilts his head a little and looks at his partner. "Well, that's a first."
"What is?"
Ironfist leans over to whisper in Firestar's audio receptor. "Yielding to major medical procedures of any sort. Percy doesn't like being touched. Ergo, he finds-or tries to-find some way to avoid medical checkups from Hoist as much as possible. It usually involves 'Jack having to stick a tranq dart in him somewhere and cart him off."
I try not to chuckle. Honestly, had I known Perceptor was afraid of doctors, I would stayed in the Guild a little longer. Oh well.
The white engineer walks over to him and the two begin talking. The fire-colored rescue bot picks up the voice-box container and the datapad that had been attached to it, and looks it all over.
"May I ask you a question, Red?"
"Sure, Ironfist."
"Suppose, just suppose, Percy didn't delete his emotions. He tried to, but he ended up deleting….I don't know, memories. Hence why he can't remember a thing. Just suppose, for a klik."
"That….would make a lot more sense. Perhaps why he isn't so hostile around me anymore."
"So, he doesn't remember a thing. Which I guess would be good as energon, seeing what happened a thousand stellar cycles ago, what with the vicious rumors of corruption and everyone treating him like slag-except for 'Jack, naturally-and Moonracer leaving him and whatnot.
He doesn't remember a thing from, I'm guessing, from the start of the War to about the time of the accident….but only Wheeljackknew this at first. Thanks to my nosiness and big vocal receptor, now you, Moonracer, and Firestar know. And maybe Percy as well.
How did the Metallurgist know about even Perceptor's lack of a voice box? Add that the Metallurgist knew how to access your labs, having returned the voice box in formaldehyde and working condition, and mentioned Wheeljack in his or her note.
Call me crazy, and you probably will, but there was something really bad, and Percy, whether or not he was actually involved, got tangled up in it. Something so bad not even my mentor could know about it. And when the Metallurgist found out about it, they extracted his voice box….by force. Because they thought he was the main source of the problem.
Now they send us that container. He or she says 'I make no threats on the Guild', but that's because the Guild is not their main target. Perceptor is. He is the head of the MoS, and by sending us that, they're saying 'I know where Perceptor works. I know how to get in.' And if metallurgist is their occupation, and not just a designation, then Perceptor could offline at the wrong end of a pistol when no one else is around, since he's practically the only bot that works overtime, all the time."
"Alright then", I reply, running my good red servo on my head. "You are crazy."
"GAHH!", he hisses in frustration. "You're not hearing me out."
"The Metallurgist is our ally", I remind him. "And if they didn't want Perceptor to remember, or, better yet, bother them, they wouldn't have given us back his voice box."
"Maybe they want him to remember. That way, they could get whatever information they wanted to, then offline him. Perceptor's in trouble!"
He stares at me with crazed optics. I stare back as stoically as I can.
"You read too many Wrecker-related things, Ironfist." I walk past him, brushing into him as he lets out another exasperated sound. I walk as if my only concern is returning Percy's voice box to him.
Though I can't help but wonder if he's right.
Rumors and skeptical colleagues are not enough to push a bot over the edge. My angry words could not be enough to make him desire to delete his emotions. And when I had inspected the injury all those stellar cycles ago, I found that the rupturing did indicate that his voice box had been extracted by force.
What I want to know: By who?
And why?
Firestar suddenly holds the container in front of my faceplates.
"Shall we?"
Yes. Let's start getting to the bottom of this.
This is the most long-winded chapter I have ever written. Oi.
Anyway, as a parting note, a metallurgist is anyone that works with guns. They don't necessary have to be gunslingers themselves, but a trade a metallurgist takes part in is the making of firearms.
Knowing is half the battle.
~Ylysha