Welcome to the page of whats left of the Excidium Revenant. We were a band of misfit Cybertronians who once were Autobots, Decepticons, or what ever. We'd been re-purposed though after we opened our optics and processors. Its a bit strange how that...
Misfire watched in boredom as he waited for the energon to boil. The worst part of trying to make tea was the wait.
But the burgundy Seeker flinched when he heard something slam from the other end of the link.
::You can still get that bonus, if you want. I’ve got an extra container that’s broken, if you don’t mind getting something that doesn’t like closing right.:: he laughed nervously, turning his helm slightly as if to look at Skyfault even though he wasn’t there.
::Yeah, you’re allowed over. I’m making tea now, I’ll make some for you, too.::
Skyfault had nearly bolted from his living quarters the moment he was give the okay to come over. There was something inside that had slowly begun to crawl its way inside his processor. Something that had drawn him to the burgundy Seeker. It was as though the other were one of the sweetened doses of energon that had him hooked. He'd had a taste, and now he wanted more. He was doomed at this rate, doomed to opening up to the other. Doomed to show Misfire a side of him that only one spark had the opportunity to experience.
But it was not entirely a bad thing. No, it was good. Change in such a case was to be honored. It wasn't often the seeker found someone so trustworthy. ::Alright!:: The response was lively, a litter more than called for before the line would go quiet as the seeker would trip on his way off of the Excidium Revenant. ::O-okay, if I open full thrust, I could be there in a matter of.... oh a while. But it's better than going all grounder on this. That'd take forever.::
[[This blog will resume as normal once I wait one last thing out. Hopefully in a week, things will be good enough to return. Thank you all for sticking it out and especially, to everyone who did and has shared kind words with me.]]
[[R.I.P Onchu, Sept. 8th 2006 to Feb 25th 2015. . . Don't know what I'll do without you anymore when the going gets tough. But here is to hoping I never lose the memories gathered. The good, and the bad.]]
Explosions had littered the quarry, the newest expansion of cave networks being added into the planets core. The project would cut into some small expanses of civilization pockets, the rogue cybertronians, often the outcasts who'd fared better out of the eyes of judgement, out of the eyes of the law. It was here that Draglock had been born. The blasts would strike home, closer to some of the underground compounds, shaking the living space and its inhabitants from the foundations up. Walls would groan, lights would flicker before pieces of paneling would begin to give way under the shifting weight of terra.
Large frames would huddle together, too afraid of climbing to the surface to face the fears of the intruders who were tearing apart their home. But it was here, that the small, frames of protoforms had been gathered, collected for safekeeping. They were a mix of old, and at the time, new technology. Most of them were with bare spark chambers, ready to be outfitted with a spark of their own. And some? Some already had their sparks. The small, forged frames were in mid-process of the nurturing stages, but as their world begun to fall apart before them, the larger mechs sought out their only means of ensuring they'd survive.
The fresh sparks, barely a deca-cycle* [IDW verse deca-cycle is 3 weeks], were ready, but not quite at the same time as the larger mechs worked furiously to seal the spark chambers on the fragile protoforms, making to weld various patches over the coverings in which normal means of plating, and armor of the frame would eventually of been placed.
But they had no time.
No, their world was being torn apart by the astrosecond and every breem spent outfitting the safety of the fresh sparks was vital.
It was here that a small frame would be overlooked, the spark inside weak, and pulsating slowly in and out of life. Upon the small lifeless frame, as with most of the protoforms of sparklings, would be a designation engraved. Draglock, it would read before the soldering of metals fused the rough, thick patch over the dying spark. The older mech would be completing the job when the lights would go out, the walls groaning ever more loudly before the rumble shook over the base.
The walls would buckle, patches of ceiling falling to the floor, bringing with it the grit of dust and dirt. "Fall back to the lower levels!" The mech would command, moving to grab an armful of the small, unaware, cybertronians before making his way through the dark. Optics would scan, illuminating the path on his hud. Upon his visuals, the small rates of the sparks would flicker, most steady, except for some of the smaller, weaker sparks that still needed another deca-cycle at best to stabilize. He needed to get them to safety, get them rehooked to the system in order to keep them running at optimal levels for growth.
But right now, the only thing possibly coming for their future would be a slow, painful end as the hallway's ceiling gave in. Section by section, it'd collapse behind the larger mech who struggled to move any faster. And yet he needed to. The larger mech's engines were screaming, his intakes pulling in more than he could expel and before he could reevaluate the situation, the larger mech would be falling forwards as the world gave way under the blast.
They'd be buried, the hud system being the larger mechs last comfort as he'd curled over the small protoforms. All signals were accounted for. All but one. The smallest of the sparks had been struggling. From the moment they'd pulled them from the system, disconnecting the sparks and the protoforms from their only means of nourishment and stability, the smallest had begun to waver. "No, no, no, no. Hang on little one." The mech's vocalizer would crack as his own frame creaked and groaned. The pain would course through their caretakers frame as the large mech refused to give in to the weight of the planet bearing down on him.
He'd try to shift, screaming out as he'd find himself completely trapped, helplessly stuck and watching the very life fade from the strange, softly lit yellow spark. "No, no, no. Please don't go. Don't go, You'll like life, you need a chance! Please? Primus, please? Don't take this one, not yet! Not when you'd just given them a chance!" Begging, pleading. The mech did it for cycles as they passed, until finally his own spark begun to give out, energon drained from his system.
And for the first time in a while, the world went dark.
When a new dawn came over the surface of the planet, the compound's halls and rooms had been breached, the clearing of rubble being underway after the blasting crew had stumbled upon the massive and unsuspected network of compounds littered with casualties from the project. Dust would fall from the exposed earthen ceiling as the crew worked their ways through the now narrow hallways. All signs of life silent except for their own when they'd stumble upon the worn red paint of a larger mech buried beneath the grit.
"We've got ourselves another one!" The lead would cry out, back to his comrades as he'd begun to pull away the rubble. From beneath the crumpled form, the soft mix of glows would breach the darkness and for a moment, the mechs spark would flit in his chest before servos would begin to furiously work. "We need a medic!" He'd scream out, his partners and fellow workers behind him calling out behind them, to the ranks before the trail would lead to a comm. to the surface.
"Can you get to them Treadspray?" His partner would call from right behind him as the caution yellow mech dug furiously to free the trapped bot. "Just hold on!" Treadspray bit back, servos finally moving to pull at the others frame, pulling up from the ground and back to the cleared portion of the tunnel. He was quick as he'd move to lay the other down before his own mouth would fall in shock, and silence. "GET THE MEDIC, NOW!" He'd bellow, heavy servos pounding down against the earth beside him as he'd lean forwards, untangling the mass of prone sparklings. There were three of seven still going, seemingly aware of their surroundings as the worried and unintelligible chirrups and soft screeches of frightened yet somehow hardly injured younglings pierced through the monotonous chaos of the caves.
Treadspray couldn't believe it. He couldn't of imagined the possibility of such young Cybertronians living, making it through the ordeal of being trapped without proper care for who knew how long. He'd almost been too shocked to notice when the paths were cleared and he would be faced with the medic lightly brushing a servo over his helm in silent gratitude on the find.
All he could do was stare, servos lightly resting over the small forms as the soft, but stable glows of multicolored biolights gave way to the sparks hidden beneath the welded plates.
His world would slow down, becoming motionless as he'd shut down, the medics careful hands at the base of his neck cabling before his own world would go dark.
It wouldn't be long before the large mech would awake inside the infirmary ward that had been installed at the blast location, helm groggy and optical feed fuzzy as he'd make to bolt upright. The sparkling! Quickly, he'd look around, optics instantly falling to the makeshift tables, he red tags marking some of the smaller frames for smelting. But the doctor could be found rather quickly, hunched over the three small sparklings. All of them were so small, smaller than Treadspray wanted to admit he believed sparklings to be. But his optics would focus on the smallest. There was something strange about the small mech curled in the comforting mass of his litter mates. Well, if that's what one wanted to consider them.
"They're alive, you managed to find them before it was too late." The medic's voice was low, deep, and yet soft all at once as the older mech spoke up. Soft blue optics would flash towards Treadspray, a smile, although displayed sloppily, was still ever so present as it grew. "T-they're. . . alive?" He couldn't believe it as he'd move to slip from the table.
Heavy pedes would carry him across the room slowly, moving to rest beside the medic, crumpling to his knees before the three, small sparklings. "How?" He'd ask, looking up at the more experienced bot. His spark would warm at the medics smile before the other one would move to maneuver the small forms apart. They'd begin to stir, the soft whines vocalizing as they craved the closeness of the only things they knew, the closeness of each other.
But the other would move to hold one of them still, the medium sized sparkling to point towards the rough welded path. "That mech, whoever he was, sealed and reinforced the chamber. On these sorts of forms, the chamber is left bare before sealed with the outer makings of the frame." The medic would move to place the other with the smaller of the three before moving to maneuver the largest of the trio. He'd manage to reverse the patch, cutting away a portion to run his tests on the sparkling. The soft glow of blue coming from beneath the peephole.
"The largest one i've learned was designated Whipwire, the smaller one, right here-" He'd move to motion towards the middle sparkling. "This is Stunbox, i'm still trying to uncover the smallest's designation. If you'd like, you are free to watch."
Treadyspray's smile would grow, nodding as he'd move to stand. He'd watch as the medic would move to separate the smallest mech, the soft glow of yellow biolights cutting across the two various shades of blue. "Does that mean anything?" He'd ask, curious. But the medic would shrug. "Sparks are mysterious things. Some are born with mutations, others aren't."
"So this little one is damaged?"
"No- not quite."
"Then what are they?"
"I'm not sure, but we will see."
"Oh-ok."
With that, the large mech went quiet, optics watching with interest and wonder as the doctor bundled the other two sparklings, moving to partially bundle the other, restricting movement of uncoordinated limbs before gathering the right tools. "They may make noise, and fuss. But there is no pain with this."
Slowly, the tip of the laser would be cutting through the welding, the panel being removed slowly as the sparkling begun to whine, the discomfort gnawing at it more than anything. But the medic would stop dead in his tracks when the panel would be lifted away to show the spark chamber bare. "Oh- oh no. This can't be. The spark has to of moved." He'd move to pick the small mech up, noticing the small, tiny nubs against the sides of its spinal strut. "Whats wrong?" Treadspray would ask, worry lacing the others words as an optic widened.
Something struck him inside, he wasn't sparked for caring for the smaller of their kind, no. But it didn't mean he didn't have what it took to feel the protective and worrisome pull of paternal coding deep within. Before he could stop himself, he was moving to take the small protoform from the doctor who'd set it down right after picking it up and walking away from the table. He'd pull the other close, glancing down at the now exposed chamber. There was life to the small form, he knew that. But just- How?
Treadspray didn't know as he watched the doctor come back with a scanner. He'd move to test it over the other two, both positive with the detection of a sparkpulse, but when it came to the smaller form hidden now beneath the folds of soft cloth and the large, protective bulk of Treadspray's arms, there was nothing. Not anything from a spark, at the least. But there was something there, a pulse, although very faint.
"That-that is no Cybertronian!" The small grounder would shout, servos moving to motion from the small to the other"Those two are, but that one is not!"
White servos would run over the doctors helm, his distress becoming apparent. "I'm sorry, but that one should not be permitted to conti-"
"NO!"
Treadspray's voice boomed through the room, it held authority, something to be desired in a leader, and it was turned on the now panicked medic. "You are going to seal the chamber back up. If the young one does not develop as a Cybertronian should, then you will do what you must. But the fact that there is life is proof enough that Primus is looking out for the small one."
"Or Unicron has tainted it!"
"Then leave this one to me. I'm not a miner, my class dictates this to be within means. I am allowed to be given custody of a sparkling." Treadspray was at his ropes end, dangling to the fish below who'd eyed his bait for a moment before giving in. "Fine. Just let me do a proper patch job. But no one, absolutely NO ONE, is allowed to know of this. Alright?"
The smile would return again as Treadspray put himself at ease. The small sparkling could fit between the two of his servo's resting in a ball with the small starts of upright audials relaxed against the tiny forms helm. He'd grow to like this one, he knew it already. As he would with the others. "Also, that one, or even it, isn't the small ones name... Its Draglock."
Make fun of Rekam's pink biolights and optics and it'll get brushed under the rug. Make fun of Brecken's minty fresh paint job and you'll be pummeled into the ground, courtesy of Rekam.
(( I present Flak wearing (from Knee joint down) a pair of G1 Megatron legs/pedes while carrying a Draglock. Yes, Drags feet are bigger than his helm. He is a mass of bad proportions.))
Prowl was in the trees but then one of the branches snaps and he falls to the ground landing right in front of Rekam
There was something strange about mechs suddenly falling from what he’d consider the sky. They’d done it in war, on the battlefield as holes battered their frames and their sparks died out. But this one, this one… was alive. Sure, the war might of been over, so he should of expected no dead bodies falling from the sky. But it still left him speechless. With his mouth opening, then shutting. He’d stand there, looking more like a robo-minnow. Floundering to find his words. What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t war, he wasn’t supposed to shoot others anymore! He wasn’t even allowed to shoot anyone anymore.
Prowl groans and slowly sits up. Rubbing his helm. He wasn’t expecting the branch to break. The last storm must have weakened the branch. He should have tested it before grabbing it.
Blinking he looks up at the mech that he just noticed. “Ah. I’m sorry. I hope i didn’t scare you….or hurt you.”
Rekam was still speechless, his vocoder frozen in his throat as he'd tried to put to words just the mix of confusion he was going through. "I- You- wait. Where? How?" The words would come gushing forth from the larger mech, helm tilting to the side as he gestured from the strange mech and then the ground.
For some reason, he couldn't wrap his processor around anything. "What?"
[[Why I thought it smart to try and draw a group picture of these buttnuggets is beyond me. Talk about exhausting. Fitting 8 bots in one space is insane.]]
Prowl was in the trees but then one of the branches snaps and he falls to the ground landing right in front of Rekam
There was something strange about mechs suddenly falling from what he’d consider the sky. They’d done it in war, on the battlefield as holes battered their frames and their sparks died out. But this one, this one… was alive. Sure, the war might of been over, so he should of expected no dead bodies falling from the sky. But it still left him speechless. With his mouth opening, then shutting. He’d stand there, looking more like a robo-minnow. Floundering to find his words. What was he supposed to do? This wasn’t war, he wasn’t supposed to shoot others anymore! He wasn’t even allowed to shoot anyone anymore.
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