Sooo, tragic bot is tragic. I kept the concept of Pharma forced to do horrible things to stay alive under Optimus Prime ranks. Also Ratchet is not very happy of being forced to do bad things, but he actually doesn't care very much of mechs that being tortured or dismantled under his knife.
On the other side, Pharma is deeply traumatized of what he's doing and suffers of loss of color paint, like he's slowly vanishing for stress and pain.
BUT ofc I cannot stop here, so take some more drama and plot:
Before Optimus Prime conquered Cybetron, Pharma works in Ratchet Hospital and helped many desperate mechs... but also was very kind to drones (vehicons) which were even treatened worst than others (HEH this also in Canon Prime if you think of it).
One day he founded a almost deadctivated drone and repair it.
That drone was D-A-111-0-5, then nicknamed by Pharma as Damus and they become friend.
"Casually", that drone guided the rebellion of drones, guiding them in the fight for their rights as individuals and sentient beings. And "casually", that drone will become known as "Tarn", the destroyed city fooled by Autobots, changing its frame (and pick inspiration by Solus became a She) but keep up his old faceplate as mask as symbol of the revolution (drawing Megatronus faceplate makeup).
(Take also a Nickel as gift XD)
Since Ratchet is actually affectionate to Pharma, he managed to contact Tarn (thanks to Megatronus) and planning a Decepticon Justice Division extraction operation for the VERY stressed Pharma. (take a sheHelex and her four arms in the precise moment of "saving a medic")
And now, a soft reunion.
Aaand the end for today.
Always sad that I have no time for "The Shattered\Glass Deal" but always happy when somebody give me an excuse to draw about it :v
"Your assignment: Assume the identity of a high-profile businessman and fitness guru with deep connections to the underworld elite.
Your objective: Infiltrate a high-stakes bodybuilding event where one of the underworld's most influential figures, deeply involved in a clandestine affair, is about to take center stage. A complete physical transformation is your only cover."
On the surface, his existence seems so different from mine. He's deeply entrenched in the world of luxury, surrounded by the glitter and glamour of the upper class.
I lead a life of shadows and secrecy, a chameleon in the backdrop of society. While he basks in the spotlight, I thrive in the darkness.
Yet, as I become more familiar with his life, I realize that beneath the facades, we're not so dissimilar. We both wear masks, albeit of different kinds.
He portrays an image of power and wealth, and I craft identities to delve into the hidden realms of espionage. We're both performers, navigating the stage of our own making, just on opposite sides of the curtain.
Within the covert operations division, our team constituted a rare breed, masters of disguise, each possessing an exceptional talent for the craft of metamorphosis.
We shared an unspoken bond born from the countless secrets we held and the trust we placed in one another.
The intricately crafted muscle suit lay before me like a silent partner in this clandestine masquerade. I'd done this countless times before, but the excitement and tension of the moment never ceased to grip me.
This moment brings a complex blend of emotions to my entire body.
There's the weight of responsibility, knowing that I must seamlessly become another person, thinking, speaking, and moving as they do.
But there's also the thrill of the challenge, the adrenaline rush that comes with immersing myself in a persona utterly distinct from my own.
As I slipped into the suit, the material stretched and molded to my physique. My hands found their way to the attached silicone gloves. The snug fit accentuated every contour, making me look more sculpted than ever.
My team of ingenious innovators had left no stone unturned to make the muscle suit as lifelike as humanly possible. Their unwavering dedication shone through in the meticulous attention to detail.
My pulse quickened with anticipation as the muscles subtly inflated, intensifying the illusion of strength and confidence.
With every stroke, the skilled hands erased my facial hair, and I could almost sense a new identity taking shape.
The skintone had been impeccably matched, with the paintwork skillfully blending the boundary between reality and artifice.
I marveled at their exceptional precision as they carefully placed the snow-white silicone prosthetic skin onto my scalp, deftly concealing the intricate details at the rear.
Each brushstroke they applied infused the blank canvas with a spectrum of shades and tones, gradually merging it with the flesh-colored muscle suit.
The cap clung to my scalp, obscuring any hint of my natural hair. Their unparalleled expertise accomplished an astounding feat, vanquishing visible seams and ensuring a flawless integration with the rest of the suit.
As I rose to my feet, I could feel the muscles discreetly swelling, enhancing my size and making me appear more imposing. Enthralled by this transformation, I locked my gaze onto the mirror, realizing that, except for my own face, the reflection before me resembled that of a complete stranger.
The next phase was even more unsettling. I couldn't help but feel vulnerable, yet excited, as I closed my eyes and immersed myself in embodying the fitness guru's charisma and unwavering drive for power.
Seated before the vanity, I felt the cool touch of silicone on my skin. With each prosthetic piece, I watched myself morph into the figure whose aura and allure I admired and now emulated.
My own features were vanishing, slowly replaced by the chiseled jawline, pronounced cheekbones, and the perfectly shaped nose.
Each adjustment, every little tweak, brought me closer to becoming the fitness influencer I needed to become.
The transformation has reached its halfway point, yet I can't shake the persistent unease that lingers within me. Something feels awry, lacking in authenticity.
This void echoes the emptiness I've felt in past impersonations. The team is well aware of this predicament, which motivated them to develop a new technology aimed at resolving the issue. Although they conducted numerous beta tests, this marks the first field trial.
I stood from my chair and began to don the silicone muscle pants, preparing myself for the next step.
The pants appeared remarkably sophisticated, quite different from the silicone muscle pants I had initially envisioned. Nevertheless, the team assured me that this unique design was intentional, tailored to fulfill its specific purpose.
As I settled into a sleek, state-of-the-art machine, they assured me that it would serve as the catalyst for the forthcoming comprehensive transformation. The team then delved into an explanation of the pants' fabric and the silicone prosthetic pieces they had attached, emphasizing their integration with nanites.
They elaborated on how these minuscule marvels were precisely programmed to discern the unique contours and characteristics of my body, thereby enabling the seamless fusion of the material with my own skin. This intricate process would ensure an astonishingly lifelike and untraceable metamorphosis.
The machine enclosed around my waist with a gentle yet firm embrace. I could feel its mechanisms hum to life as it began its work. A warm, viscous liquid began to flow from the machine's hidden nozzles, gently cascading down my legs and torso.
The sensation was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was as if I were being submerged in a pool of liquid silk. I watched, my heart racing, as the substance encased my legs and torso. It was as if the nanites and the liquid skin were in perfect harmony, dancing a choreography that was breathtaking to experience.
The machine released me, and I fell forward, landing on my hands and knees. The ground was cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the heat that surged within me. As I struggled to regain my footing, I realized that I was sweating, my skin tingling with life.
My skin glistened with sweat as the nanites engulfed my whole body. My senses were on fire as the second skin adapted to the shape of my own body, molding itself to me with an almost sentient understanding. I could feel the air against my skin as I breathed deeply, savoring the newfound sensations.
I stood on my feet, and a tidal wave of power surged through my veins—a breathtaking rush of unearthed strength that sent shivers of exhilaration cascading down my spine. I was utterly captivated by the profound transformation I had undergone.
It was as though this second skin had reshaped the core of my existence. It was no longer just a disguise; it had become a part of my own being.
Overwhelmed by curiosity and newfound confidence, I couldn't resist the urge to explore my transformed physique.
As I flexed my thighs, I could feel their utmost solidity, the sensation of unyielding strength resonating through my body. My legs, once unassuming and lean, now bore the weight of sculpted power.
Running my hands across my chest, I felt the hard contours beneath my fingers, swelling with a sense of pride. My pectoral muscles were now pronounced and firm. I couldn't resist running my fingers over the chiseled ridges of my new washboard abs.
With each movement, I admired the pronounced biceps and triceps, each muscle responding to my command. Flexing my forearms, the veins stood out like a roadmap of my uncovered power.
I had truly become the living embodiment of the role I was about to play.
With the transformation complete, I am reborn in the shadows, ready to dance into the abyss of intrigue and danger, playing my part in a game where trust is a currency of uncertainty, and the truth remains veiled forever.
My girlfriend, Heather, and I liked roleplaying, especially during sex. So you know what she did? She went online to find how to expand our roles. She thought that it would be fun if I played an obscure character. She chose one, Chitose from My Hero. I didn't really like the thought of being a woman but she said it would be fine.
Eventually the suit came and I put it on, sounding just like her... but something else happened. I heard a whisper in my head. I thought it was my imagination. We eventually got down to business and I felt weird during it... my mind was telling me to ask some questions. So I did... Heather thought I was going into too much detail. It was weird... I said I understood but eventually I kept going and we had to call it quits early. I wanted to get out of the suit but when my girlfriend tried to get me out it hurt. I didn't care though as I wanted out but... she really didn't want to see me like this.
The bad part was that there was a time limit on the suit as well. Well figuratively. You can't be out in extreme conditions with it on as it would tighten or get stuck. That was also a bad thing as the rainy season had started. It was coming down pretty bad. I brushed off my own well being again, but luckily my better half called me off from work for a day or two.
I was alone for most of the day. Just... alone. But the whisper came back. It was chastising me for being so lazy. Saying I should go out and get some interviews. What interviews? It wanted me to work... and I didn't disagree. Two days turned into four and eventually I was going crazy stuck in a small apartment with the rain coming down and only video games to keep me busy. I had developed a new habit thought. I clicked pens. Oddly... I cluld never find the pens after only a few hours. I would always find ash or a bit of smoke. Things were starting to get scary. I wanted to tell my girlfriend but nothing... I just always had a nagging little voice in my head telling me it didn't matter.
Another day went by and I couldn't take it anymore. I put on the clothes the suit came with, grabbed an umbrella, and walked out of the apartment. I got to my car and drove allthe way to my office where I was stopped by the front desk woman. She asked for a name. For some reason my head was telling me in hushed little whispers "Chitose~" "Chitose~" but.. that was not my name! I said my name and showed my badge. She looked at me weirdly. Grace, the receptionist I was pretty close with... didn't believe me. She didn't believe me one bit. I got a bit flustered and decided to prove it to her. She seemed almost scared. I mean a blue skinned woman with dark eyes glaring at you... had to be scary for anyone. So in a polite tone I sinply said. "Just speak into the recorder and we'll get all your answers right, Okay Grace?"
I would have never spoken like that before... but something told me that was right. There was a look of fear in her eye and I smelt a little smoke. I had one of the company pens in my hand before. Helped calm me. Where did it go? She promptly called security and I was escorted out by John. I tried to reason with him as well but he just called me a freak and threw me out... into the rain.
I quickly panicked and reached for my umbrella, but as habit I had put it inside ans John was firm in not letting me go inside to grab it. He even snatched the ID off my neck. People were staring at me as I freaked out, the puddle around me feeling dangerous. I ran to my car, eyes all around me. They were all staring. They all knew the pain of someone with a quirk... but...wait what? No that wasn't true... I drove off quickly, getting back to the apartment to see my girlfriend there waiting for me. She looked pissed and I looked broken and scared. "Come on." She pulled me inside our apartment and started to dry me off.
We had a long talk about this. About how we should try rhe suit again. Maybe water would make it easier to come off. I blatantly told her it wouldn't. She got to the zipper and it got stuck as it came down. Halfway down my back... it was like the parts for it were sealing! Quickly she went to look up how to solve this. She was so nice... I wanted to know even more about her.my curiosities were getting the better of me. I grabbed a pen out of the drawer and started to click it. It felt right... until my thumb hit my hand. Where was the pen? My pen was gone? My girlfriend came running to me panicked. I looked surprised. "Wh-What?"
She looked at me horrified. "What the hell was that?!" She shouted.
"What? What was what? I was just sitting here!" I looked at her defensively.
"The big crash! What was that sound?!"
I got a bit angry and my eyes turned to a cold glare. "Babe. There was no crash. I have no clue what the hell you're talking about." A voice chirped in my head. Curiosity. "But... why don't you tell me?" I put down what I thought was a recorder. Where did I get one of tbose. She looked at me like I was insane. Some ash came out of my blue hands. She was even more scared.
"Babe I... I need a bit." She started to walk away and I felt awful. How could I recover from this? What was happening to me? This was... this could be cleared up. This always could. I could just publish my side of the story. Just tell them the fact and they would see... or... I could embelish a bit. Have a clear victim. Show what people with quirks were really facing. Wait... that word... qurik... what the hell was that word? Why did my mind just keep filtering it in? What was I telling myself? I didn't follow my girlfriend. I could hear her talking on the phone in our room. I just sat and watched TV for the rest of the night... I felt bad. I slept there on the couch in these clothes.
The next morning I woke up early, Heather was going to work. I wished her a good day but she didn't really want to speak with me after last night. Another person treating me like scum. But no... no that wasn't quite right... but it would get readers on my side... "What readers?" I said aloud, now just starting to talk with the voice in my head.
Why the ones who read all your posts. That's a start for a fledgling journalist.
"But I'm not a journalist.."
But aren't you Chitose? Are you not Chitose Kizuki?
"No....that's...that's the name of the suit."
Yes it is your name.
This was getting bad. I was starting to realize how bad it was. I needed to take it off. I ran to the bathroom, the voice in my head asking me so many questions. They bombarded me with them. I grabbed the zipper. I started to pull, groaning turned into me trying to cover yelling... it felt like someone was pulling off my skin. That was until I heard it. A crackle then a bang. Not a loud bang but... something heppened. Something made my hand and back warm. Then I felr a trickle... my back was bleeding. I looked in the mirror. The zipper was gone. Dust. There was ash and smoke from where it was. I gasped and tried to hold it all back. I grabbed a towel and ice and held it against my back.
I got my phone and texted Heather.
"Help." "Heather I need help." "Heather please. Something is wrong with me."
I felt the voice again. Asking me how it felt. It was asking me how this entire thing felt. I was now on the floor of the bathroom, interviewing myself. From one question to another.
How did it feel? the curious voice would ask.
I tried to not respond but they demanded I say it out loud. Loud enough for the phone to hear. "It... it hurt... I...I'm not normal. I'm not okay. This isn't normal." I was struggling but the questions kept coming.
How are you not normal? You seem quite upstanding to me.
"No...stop talking. Stop..."
It went on for what felt like hours, but in reality it was only three. Heather had a job that was not too far. She was ignoring me blatantly at first. Angry about last night. She felt like I was gaslighting her, scaring her. I was destroying myself. I was like a ticking time bomb right now.
Eventually she came home though. She found me in the bathroom, conducting a very pained interview with myself somewhat lucid. One eye darted to her as she came in, the other following. "Oh god..."
She got me up, seeing some bleeding on my back. The thing was small. By this point Heather pieced a few things together. While at work she had done some research, it was on her mind. How could it not have been.
There were some things she suspected. One. There was some sort of character put into the suit. Two... I somehow had Chitose's power but without knowing I would use it without meaning to. Three, I was struggling with both sides. On one side I was Chitose Kizuki, world famous journalist and reporter. Ally to the meta liberation front. On the other I was myself, trying to wrestle control away from the other but slipping through. Life would be hard... but she was calming me. Since the zipper was no issue right now we could get a light rinse.
I stripped and got in the shower as did Heather. She helped me wash as I was struggling... it was kind and I asked a few questions. But... she pretended not to answer. I could feel it pissing me off.
We eventually got out. My back cleaned and her bandaging it. This was not good for my status, bleeding through the suit could do some serious damage. All the while we did this she told me about support groups. If she were to stay I would need to join one.
I wanted her to stay, although Chitose could care less. We were going to look into them. They each had a decent sized group as this kind of skinsuit morphing was becomming more prevalent. Heather got me signed up for one. I would be starting in the next week. All the while she called a co-worker of mine. A friend. He came over and was... well... shocked and horrified to see the woman who apparently blew up Grace's mug in front of them.
It was hard to convince them to stay but slowly we got him in. It was important to both have this explained to my boss and to have outside relations. Feeling secluded would just make this worse. Alan, my friend, agreed to tell my boss but never said itbwould go well. Although... my other half tried to turn it into an interview. They ignored it again... I felt the anger.
By the next week I was in a support group, I had been getting information out of each of the others who were like me. It felt invigorating, although some didn't answer. That pissed me off. We went through strategies to help and while I had some, I could tell the instructors and other patients were a bit wary of me. My suit was that of a villain. And it didn't take long for me to show that either. It was a bad day for me. Got in a fight with my friend over my increasingly personal questions.
The voice told me to use my quirk. I didn't. I held off. Then one of the others had mocked me. My curiosity was being mocked. Ao i started to interview him. Others saw this as a hostile interrogation. Now these meetings could get a bit... hostile. They could get a bit bad. But I took it to another level. I finally snapped and used it. I used my power. I detonated a button on their suit. They flew back. I stood there stunned. One half of me was happy to weaken the idiot. The other was mortified.
I was retrained even if I did tell my side of the story. The guy was hospitalized and I was taken to court. The jury deemed me unfit to stand trial... it became controversial. It became a news frenzy. I got to be in the news. It made me feel good. I got to tell my side of the story. People were starting to believe me.
However... the jury did find me fit to go to a facility to be housed. There were people who were like me there. But I wasn't like them. The voice kept telling me I was just in what I was doing. I was right. I was seen as a dangerous woman. Heather still visited because she understood. We still got along but it was strained... I did have an idea.
I was a journalist right? Why not write a book about this. Why not interview both inmates here and people victim to suits like mine. Sure people looked at me like a monster and a freak... but I could spin any tale to be in my favor... I just needed a bit of time.
So, this is a story I wrote today but was hesitant to actually like... post it. I did on reddit but that was because it was supposed to be an RP Prompt originally. Now it's just some long ass story. Hopefully someone likes it cause most people I have seen didn't. Sorry about that if you thought it was bad...
