cyberformed inbox, UN: mikaela
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Hello! You're the tattoo parlour lady right? My name's Tailgate!
I have something, ah, unique that I need painted. Can I bring him by sometime?
I have something, ah, unique that I need painted. Can I bring him by sometime?
Hey again.
You look like someone with taste, but would you go on a blind date with a pretty cool blue and purple boat if you could?
You look like someone with taste, but would you go on a blind date with a pretty cool blue and purple boat if you could?
hey kala
I'm sorry I sort of flounced on the latest party
I sort of do that
Next time if you're around I was wondering
if it's not maccadam's if we could convince one of our mutually paranoid bolts for brains to take us night riding.
just you and me
and prowl's inevitable survailence
for funsies?
I'm sorry I sort of flounced on the latest party
I sort of do that
Next time if you're around I was wondering
if it's not maccadam's if we could convince one of our mutually paranoid bolts for brains to take us night riding.
just you and me
and prowl's inevitable survailence
for funsies?
Edited 2022-01-01 04:41 (UTC)
have u ever though about how tall people are expected to use their reach to help shorter people, but if a tall person asks a short person to hand them something they dropped on the floor they'd be pissed?
You stand on a burnt and darkened world. The sky above is devoid of stars, having been devoured in ages past. The ruined world smells of the very last day of your youngborn innocence, the final moment in which you did not know of evil.
A pillar of deep purple light flares into a sickly existences somewhere over the horizon, and by its foul illumination the land you stand on comes into view. The dead lay around in piles so high that the only way through is in a straight line forward. It is silent in the world of the dead. Not even the weight of their lingering souls can be felt. You understand that none of these poor sparks ever made it to the well of Allspark, to be reborn anew. There would be no absolution for them.
The dark light is seeping into your spark, sharp and deadly as venom. All these terrible, ugly thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for years, centuries, millennia, are brought to the surface on tendrils of a universe-deep hatred greater than your mortal imagination can comprehend. A hatred of all living things, created things, that fills your mind and spark, threatening to crush both in the grip of its existential horror.
At least, despite yourself, you arrive at a large clearing, the pillar at its centre. You move closer, and see, with a jolt of recognition, that a Matrix hovers on top of a dark stone plinth. The Matrix has been twisted and warped, its once holy centre filled with a dark purple crystal, glowing with a terrible power.
You want what it can give you. You want it so bad that the greed mixes easily with this agonizing dead world without love or kindness. However, you are not yet fully caught by its power. It only has so much control over you.
A laugh sounds behind you, and you turn around slowly, already knowing who it is. He stands there shrouded by a dark mist that shows only his jagged outline, bigger than you remember, and a set of bright purple eyes that watches with predatory glee.
“It is too late.” Says the voice, clear and full of triumph. “He is coming.”
Above you, in the empty void, two eyes open, each the size of a moon.
The eyes of the Unmaker see you. He knows you. He will not be stopped by you.
Behind you, Matrix of Darkness flares with overwhelming dark power, sending a wave of energy over the bleak, mountainous landscape. Hundreds of pinpricks of light blink into being, before spreading until a million of eyes are on you, each set of eyes filled with the power of the World Eater, the Chaos Bringer.
Unicron.
The creatures begin screaming what must have been their final, dying scream, and they begin to writhe against each other. With a surge of desperate rage, the dead flow as one in a wave of necromantic evil, avoiding the shrouded figure himself as he continues to watch. Thousands of dead hands and claws reach for you with the mindless need to get to you first and feed.
“This is my promise to you. Seer Priestess of Alchemist Prime.”
And you awaken, safe and sound.
For now.
A pillar of deep purple light flares into a sickly existences somewhere over the horizon, and by its foul illumination the land you stand on comes into view. The dead lay around in piles so high that the only way through is in a straight line forward. It is silent in the world of the dead. Not even the weight of their lingering souls can be felt. You understand that none of these poor sparks ever made it to the well of Allspark, to be reborn anew. There would be no absolution for them.
The dark light is seeping into your spark, sharp and deadly as venom. All these terrible, ugly thoughts that you’ve kept hidden for years, centuries, millennia, are brought to the surface on tendrils of a universe-deep hatred greater than your mortal imagination can comprehend. A hatred of all living things, created things, that fills your mind and spark, threatening to crush both in the grip of its existential horror.
At least, despite yourself, you arrive at a large clearing, the pillar at its centre. You move closer, and see, with a jolt of recognition, that a Matrix hovers on top of a dark stone plinth. The Matrix has been twisted and warped, its once holy centre filled with a dark purple crystal, glowing with a terrible power.
You want what it can give you. You want it so bad that the greed mixes easily with this agonizing dead world without love or kindness. However, you are not yet fully caught by its power. It only has so much control over you.
A laugh sounds behind you, and you turn around slowly, already knowing who it is. He stands there shrouded by a dark mist that shows only his jagged outline, bigger than you remember, and a set of bright purple eyes that watches with predatory glee.
“It is too late.” Says the voice, clear and full of triumph. “He is coming.”
Above you, in the empty void, two eyes open, each the size of a moon.
The eyes of the Unmaker see you. He knows you. He will not be stopped by you.
Behind you, Matrix of Darkness flares with overwhelming dark power, sending a wave of energy over the bleak, mountainous landscape. Hundreds of pinpricks of light blink into being, before spreading until a million of eyes are on you, each set of eyes filled with the power of the World Eater, the Chaos Bringer.
Unicron.
The creatures begin screaming what must have been their final, dying scream, and they begin to writhe against each other. With a surge of desperate rage, the dead flow as one in a wave of necromantic evil, avoiding the shrouded figure himself as he continues to watch. Thousands of dead hands and claws reach for you with the mindless need to get to you first and feed.
“This is my promise to you. Seer Priestess of Alchemist Prime.”
And you awaken, safe and sound.
For now.
Edited 2022-01-11 20:23 (UTC)
The ruined colony lies before you. Whatever basic morals and respect for life you have are drowned out in an inferno of ancient triumph. The pure, unadulterated glee of being the cause of so much suffering encases you like a toxic sludge.
You laugh, deep and cold. A necrotic energy wells from your very spark, pulled from a power source the size of the universe itself, and with it comes a terrible hunger. A desire for more, always a desire for more. The ancient hunger has a limited hold on you, however.
A purple wave of mist extends from you, spreading over the numerous dead that littering the ground around you like dolls.You reach into each and every one of them and, with the power of the World Eater, you ignite their sparks. As one, their optics flare to life, purple now regardless of what they were before. It is a perversion of life and death like no other, and its very presence curdles the spark of any decent person who sees it in all its terrible glory. They rise all at once, turning to face you, their Lord and Master.
A warmth blooms in your spark. A powerful sense of pride and affection for these terrible abominations. Wretched and unlovable as they are. You’ve always loved abominations, the more monstrous the better. In a way, that’s what had drawn Megatronus to Soundwave all those years ago.
He can envision it so clearly: Soundwave in his old gladiator build being so terrifying and odd that not even the other gladiators would have anything to do with him. Megatronus was young, fearless, and bold. Soundwave had matched him in combat and, therefore, was very much worthy of respect. Their lives were meant to be entwined together, Megatronus correctly believed, and he walked up to him with a bold, confident swagger and says: “Come with me, and we’ll do great things together.”
It turns out that some fated encounters are that straight forward.
Others, not quite so much.
Blue, inquisitive optics. An expression of wonder that occasionally turns to one of adoration, and occasionally love. A promise made between them that was eventually broken. What a beautiful moment those moments were, and what a tragedy that they will never be his again.
A burning, like a piece of coal in his spark and his mind draws him back to the present. Unicron does not like when Megatron thinks about the likes of Soundwave or Orion Pax. He does not like how these pillars of love are strong enough, in addition to Megatron’s own powerful, unshakable will, to stop Unicron from overtaking his being entirely.
The dead are before him, and he waves them away with a command, directing them to go to the ship. The coal in his mind and spark flares again, and the world around them is pitched into darkness.
“I see you, Seer Priestiess of Alchemist Prime.”
A voice booms from the darkness. Mikaela is free falling towards something. Two purple eyes open before her and she feels the full weight of the Unmaker’s gaze upon her.
“You and your kind will not be hidden from me forever.”
Purple tentacles of light lash at her out of nowhere, curling around he neck and squeezing with enormous force when...
Mikaela wakes up.
If only things were that simple.
You laugh, deep and cold. A necrotic energy wells from your very spark, pulled from a power source the size of the universe itself, and with it comes a terrible hunger. A desire for more, always a desire for more. The ancient hunger has a limited hold on you, however.
A purple wave of mist extends from you, spreading over the numerous dead that littering the ground around you like dolls.You reach into each and every one of them and, with the power of the World Eater, you ignite their sparks. As one, their optics flare to life, purple now regardless of what they were before. It is a perversion of life and death like no other, and its very presence curdles the spark of any decent person who sees it in all its terrible glory. They rise all at once, turning to face you, their Lord and Master.
A warmth blooms in your spark. A powerful sense of pride and affection for these terrible abominations. Wretched and unlovable as they are. You’ve always loved abominations, the more monstrous the better. In a way, that’s what had drawn Megatronus to Soundwave all those years ago.
He can envision it so clearly: Soundwave in his old gladiator build being so terrifying and odd that not even the other gladiators would have anything to do with him. Megatronus was young, fearless, and bold. Soundwave had matched him in combat and, therefore, was very much worthy of respect. Their lives were meant to be entwined together, Megatronus correctly believed, and he walked up to him with a bold, confident swagger and says: “Come with me, and we’ll do great things together.”
It turns out that some fated encounters are that straight forward.
Others, not quite so much.
Blue, inquisitive optics. An expression of wonder that occasionally turns to one of adoration, and occasionally love. A promise made between them that was eventually broken. What a beautiful moment those moments were, and what a tragedy that they will never be his again.
A burning, like a piece of coal in his spark and his mind draws him back to the present. Unicron does not like when Megatron thinks about the likes of Soundwave or Orion Pax. He does not like how these pillars of love are strong enough, in addition to Megatron’s own powerful, unshakable will, to stop Unicron from overtaking his being entirely.
The dead are before him, and he waves them away with a command, directing them to go to the ship. The coal in his mind and spark flares again, and the world around them is pitched into darkness.
“I see you, Seer Priestiess of Alchemist Prime.”
A voice booms from the darkness. Mikaela is free falling towards something. Two purple eyes open before her and she feels the full weight of the Unmaker’s gaze upon her.
“You and your kind will not be hidden from me forever.”
Purple tentacles of light lash at her out of nowhere, curling around he neck and squeezing with enormous force when...
Mikaela wakes up.
If only things were that simple.
“Primus the creator. The source of all that we are. Hear my plea.”
A voice calls through a hazy cloud of purple. Ancient, heavily Helex accented, raspy at its edges. A voice that has lived long, survived much. In the end, however, it is caged by a terrible misery. For a moment, the smoke pulls back like a veil, showing a darkened room and an old, broken Cybertronian sitting in the light of a planet’s moon. He kneels before a window that looks out into an alien landscape.
On the horizon, lies a rainbow of plant life, breathtaking even at this distance. A vibrancy that has eroded away by a black shadow of decay. You feel a terrible pain in your spark to see this world that you had nurtured for so long being destroyed by such evil.
Etz.
The figure kneeling in the moonlight stands up suddenly and turns around to face the door. His entire body is still in shadow, the light of his golden optics barely casting a glow over the distinctive markings below his eyes.
“Have you not done enough already?” The Cityspeaker asks, his tone disdainful, though his spark quivers with terror. Not even the absolute end of his world and his people had inspired this much fear. This could be the end to everything.
“Hardly.” Megatron has changed since he was last seen. His body is bigger now. Spikier. The glow of his bio lights give his frame some shape, and in the shadows, he seems monsterous.
“Once Unicron is finished feeding from this planet, I will simply move to another and drain that one too. I do not know how many planets it will take to satiate the insatiable, but I imagine I will be the one to find out.” He laugh, throwing his head back to laugh his full-bodied laugh, as expressive as ever. “I could not have done it without your little Life Harvester. Unicron himself thanks you for your service.”
Fury fights its way through fear, and the Cityspeaker’s optics flare.
“Your evil will be stopped. I will find a way.”
“The only one capable of stopping me is far, far away.” The avatar of Unicron tilts his head mockingly at his prisoner, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “You are very much alone, and you will watch as your planet dies. It is important to see things through to the end, yes? That is one of the first things you said to me.”
“Please... this might be Cybertron’s last hope-”
“Enough. I care not for the likes of Cybertron.” Purple optics flare brightly to life, purple smoke streams from them as he glares down the Cityspeaker, who takes a step back. “I know about the rest of them, and I will find them. I know about the Artifacts, and I will find those also. Once I do, this universe will fall to Unicron.”
The Cityspeaker holds this memory tightly in his mind as Megatron speaks some more and then leaves. Once again, he walks over to the window and kneels, his hand clasped on his lap as he prays again and again for his beloved Etz. Willing someone out there to find this prayer. To save them all.
The vision ends, a purple fog clouds Mikaela's mind as she withdraws, and something follows her out as she wakes up.
A voice calls through a hazy cloud of purple. Ancient, heavily Helex accented, raspy at its edges. A voice that has lived long, survived much. In the end, however, it is caged by a terrible misery. For a moment, the smoke pulls back like a veil, showing a darkened room and an old, broken Cybertronian sitting in the light of a planet’s moon. He kneels before a window that looks out into an alien landscape.
On the horizon, lies a rainbow of plant life, breathtaking even at this distance. A vibrancy that has eroded away by a black shadow of decay. You feel a terrible pain in your spark to see this world that you had nurtured for so long being destroyed by such evil.
Etz.
The figure kneeling in the moonlight stands up suddenly and turns around to face the door. His entire body is still in shadow, the light of his golden optics barely casting a glow over the distinctive markings below his eyes.
“Have you not done enough already?” The Cityspeaker asks, his tone disdainful, though his spark quivers with terror. Not even the absolute end of his world and his people had inspired this much fear. This could be the end to everything.
“Hardly.” Megatron has changed since he was last seen. His body is bigger now. Spikier. The glow of his bio lights give his frame some shape, and in the shadows, he seems monsterous.
“Once Unicron is finished feeding from this planet, I will simply move to another and drain that one too. I do not know how many planets it will take to satiate the insatiable, but I imagine I will be the one to find out.” He laugh, throwing his head back to laugh his full-bodied laugh, as expressive as ever. “I could not have done it without your little Life Harvester. Unicron himself thanks you for your service.”
Fury fights its way through fear, and the Cityspeaker’s optics flare.
“Your evil will be stopped. I will find a way.”
“The only one capable of stopping me is far, far away.” The avatar of Unicron tilts his head mockingly at his prisoner, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “You are very much alone, and you will watch as your planet dies. It is important to see things through to the end, yes? That is one of the first things you said to me.”
“Please... this might be Cybertron’s last hope-”
“Enough. I care not for the likes of Cybertron.” Purple optics flare brightly to life, purple smoke streams from them as he glares down the Cityspeaker, who takes a step back. “I know about the rest of them, and I will find them. I know about the Artifacts, and I will find those also. Once I do, this universe will fall to Unicron.”
The Cityspeaker holds this memory tightly in his mind as Megatron speaks some more and then leaves. Once again, he walks over to the window and kneels, his hand clasped on his lap as he prays again and again for his beloved Etz. Willing someone out there to find this prayer. To save them all.
The vision ends, a purple fog clouds Mikaela's mind as she withdraws, and something follows her out as she wakes up.
The vison comes, swift and sure. There is a sense of importance, but not Urgent.
The room is rich, yet tastefully decorated in a manner reminiscent of lowkey, generational wealth. You think it’s an office or conference room of some sort, but you’re not sure. But it feels lived in and well used and the only ostentatious thing is the absolutely ginormous circular object taking up a good chunk of the space. The opaqueness of the dome, coupled with the stark shadows, prevent you from seeing anything on the other side, though get the feeling there are people on the other side.
"Lady, I cracked it!" A Siamese chatkin -Juna Bright; you know her from the Auction; she bested Moonracer for a one-of-a-kind map to a planet dedicated to racing- says excitedly, tail high and proud as she dashes into your vision.
"Really? You said that the last two times." It's hard to place this voice, but it's probably a male and on the other side of the dome, hidden in the shadows.
"Yes?! It was old, old coding, and you know that takes a few tries."
"Could have asked for help."
"I did, and you said you couldn't read it!" the chatkin retorts as she slips a disc into the projector, gaze shifting as she sees something you can’t. "I’m glad we got it, too.”
"Both of you, enough. Juna, you did well, both on obtaining it and the decipherment," an ethereal, feminine-leaning voice says.
“I’ve never failed you, Lady,” Juna says with preen at the praise. "I never shall, either."
"I know," the ethereal voice as a cloaked figure no more than nine-foot tall steps from behind the projector, something big and heavy following after them. About 30 feet up, sit a pair of goldfire circles that promise pain and violence. It's hard to make out, but you think this being is the colour of ash and embers. That they are mechanical in nature?
But your attention goes back to the cloaked figure, and all you can make out is the figure beneath the deep ruddy purple robes is humanoid. They reach out and touch the projector, revealing a three-fingered hand with pale, ashen green skin. "Might I see, my Juna?"
"Of course, M’Lady-" Juna Bright's paws fly across the controls like she's done this a thousand times before, and after a moment or two, the display lights up to show a planet.
Everyone is cast in purple light and you think you see a gleam of a sword under the robes. The mechanical being leans in and you think they are Cybetronian, but it’s hard to tell. It could be one of the larger species in armour, too. But the circles remind you of Knock Out’s optics. "Is it--?"
"Perhaps," the cloaked figure allows as they stare up at the display. You get the feeling you should do your best to remember the planet’s location, even if it is still in Council Space and you know the R2 needs to leave it. But this feels important.
It is Important.
Yet it's fuzzy, like sand through your fingers. As if something is blocking you.
The three-fingered hand taps another set of keys and slowly, almost painfully, highlighted areas spread across the surface of the planet. One of them, the one in the middle, feels Important. Yet again, the location slips your mind. “Perhaps not. Regardless, we must find it before she does.”
“'semble some teams, 'en?” Another voice calls out from the darkness. For some reason, this reminds you vaguely of Maggie’s accent.
“Yes.”
-and then Mikaela wakes, unable to remember what she should -the locations-, but able to remember everything else.
The room is rich, yet tastefully decorated in a manner reminiscent of lowkey, generational wealth. You think it’s an office or conference room of some sort, but you’re not sure. But it feels lived in and well used and the only ostentatious thing is the absolutely ginormous circular object taking up a good chunk of the space. The opaqueness of the dome, coupled with the stark shadows, prevent you from seeing anything on the other side, though get the feeling there are people on the other side.
"Lady, I cracked it!" A Siamese chatkin -Juna Bright; you know her from the Auction; she bested Moonracer for a one-of-a-kind map to a planet dedicated to racing- says excitedly, tail high and proud as she dashes into your vision.
"Really? You said that the last two times." It's hard to place this voice, but it's probably a male and on the other side of the dome, hidden in the shadows.
"Yes?! It was old, old coding, and you know that takes a few tries."
"Could have asked for help."
"I did, and you said you couldn't read it!" the chatkin retorts as she slips a disc into the projector, gaze shifting as she sees something you can’t. "I’m glad we got it, too.”
"Both of you, enough. Juna, you did well, both on obtaining it and the decipherment," an ethereal, feminine-leaning voice says.
“I’ve never failed you, Lady,” Juna says with preen at the praise. "I never shall, either."
"I know," the ethereal voice as a cloaked figure no more than nine-foot tall steps from behind the projector, something big and heavy following after them. About 30 feet up, sit a pair of goldfire circles that promise pain and violence. It's hard to make out, but you think this being is the colour of ash and embers. That they are mechanical in nature?
But your attention goes back to the cloaked figure, and all you can make out is the figure beneath the deep ruddy purple robes is humanoid. They reach out and touch the projector, revealing a three-fingered hand with pale, ashen green skin. "Might I see, my Juna?"
"Of course, M’Lady-" Juna Bright's paws fly across the controls like she's done this a thousand times before, and after a moment or two, the display lights up to show a planet.
Everyone is cast in purple light and you think you see a gleam of a sword under the robes. The mechanical being leans in and you think they are Cybetronian, but it’s hard to tell. It could be one of the larger species in armour, too. But the circles remind you of Knock Out’s optics. "Is it--?"
"Perhaps," the cloaked figure allows as they stare up at the display. You get the feeling you should do your best to remember the planet’s location, even if it is still in Council Space and you know the R2 needs to leave it. But this feels important.
It is Important.
Yet it's fuzzy, like sand through your fingers. As if something is blocking you.
The three-fingered hand taps another set of keys and slowly, almost painfully, highlighted areas spread across the surface of the planet. One of them, the one in the middle, feels Important. Yet again, the location slips your mind. “Perhaps not. Regardless, we must find it before she does.”
“'semble some teams, 'en?” Another voice calls out from the darkness. For some reason, this reminds you vaguely of Maggie’s accent.
“Yes.”
-and then Mikaela wakes, unable to remember what she should -the locations-, but able to remember everything else.
Another vision comes about an hour after you have finished speaking with Planten, swift and sure in its Importance.
You are looking through the eyes of another, staring out at the endless vibrant and cool verdant greenery of a forest. A waterfall roars somewhere in the background and birdsongs of all manner trill through the air. Somehow, you know it’s a rainforest-like those you’d find on Earth. Perhaps not a perfect replica of it, but...
It’s an Earthen Rainforest. It smells like Home. Like a Promise of something. Hope, maybe. You/they like this place; it reminds you/them of when you met Him; your Beloved. Destiny was bright, then.
Now it is but a broken thing, etched into stone with nothing to change it.
A human -Naj’ta, faithful and loyal and yours- comes into view as you turn your head. Asymmetrical red hair and ash-dark skin. Eyes unseen behind futuristic snow googles. An outfit more at home in snow than in a rainforest. A bird, small, parrot-like to your/Mikaela’s eyes, hides in the hood. A witch's hat completes the picture, and you think it must be new; it has no blood splatter. Yet.
“‘e’ss not ‘ere.” They say with a slight hiss, arms crossed. You (Mikaela) notice their hands only have three digits. Not… human? But they look like it…?
“Of course not,” you (the body you are seeing this though) say, disappointed despite Knowing He wouldn’t be here. But then, did not your dearly beloved bitch of a sister hide him well and good? Neither Sight nor Magic has yet found your Beloved.
You will find him. You have to find him.
Naj’ta cocks her head. “T’e masskes?”
“They finally cracked it.”
“Oh?”
“We have a location.”
Naj’ta cocks her head to the side. “One?”
You nod. “One. A week’s travel. She’s already been,” think what you want about her, she is the one with the Sword and quick travel. “And they’ll be, but if we’re faster than them, we can reach it before they do.”
“And if s’e’s left some o’ ‘er pets?” Naj’ta spits ‘pets’ like it’s a dirty word.
“Then we’ll kill them,” you say, and you feel an alien smile literally split your face in two. It’s nothing compared to the unnatural, terrifyingly sharp-toothed smile of Naj’ta; human mouths should not stretch like that or fit that many teeth. “Like all the times before. She’ll run out of Soul Gems soon enough.”
Mikaela wakes. Her heart pounds with Urgency, and her face hurts, but she is human, and she remembers.
There isn’t much time.
You are looking through the eyes of another, staring out at the endless vibrant and cool verdant greenery of a forest. A waterfall roars somewhere in the background and birdsongs of all manner trill through the air. Somehow, you know it’s a rainforest-like those you’d find on Earth. Perhaps not a perfect replica of it, but...
It’s an Earthen Rainforest. It smells like Home. Like a Promise of something. Hope, maybe. You/they like this place; it reminds you/them of when you met Him; your Beloved. Destiny was bright, then.
Now it is but a broken thing, etched into stone with nothing to change it.
A human -Naj’ta, faithful and loyal and yours- comes into view as you turn your head. Asymmetrical red hair and ash-dark skin. Eyes unseen behind futuristic snow googles. An outfit more at home in snow than in a rainforest. A bird, small, parrot-like to your/Mikaela’s eyes, hides in the hood. A witch's hat completes the picture, and you think it must be new; it has no blood splatter. Yet.
“‘e’ss not ‘ere.” They say with a slight hiss, arms crossed. You (Mikaela) notice their hands only have three digits. Not… human? But they look like it…?
“Of course not,” you (the body you are seeing this though) say, disappointed despite Knowing He wouldn’t be here. But then, did not your dearly beloved bitch of a sister hide him well and good? Neither Sight nor Magic has yet found your Beloved.
You will find him. You have to find him.
Naj’ta cocks her head. “T’e masskes?”
“They finally cracked it.”
“Oh?”
“We have a location.”
Naj’ta cocks her head to the side. “One?”
You nod. “One. A week’s travel. She’s already been,” think what you want about her, she is the one with the Sword and quick travel. “And they’ll be, but if we’re faster than them, we can reach it before they do.”
“And if s’e’s left some o’ ‘er pets?” Naj’ta spits ‘pets’ like it’s a dirty word.
“Then we’ll kill them,” you say, and you feel an alien smile literally split your face in two. It’s nothing compared to the unnatural, terrifyingly sharp-toothed smile of Naj’ta; human mouths should not stretch like that or fit that many teeth. “Like all the times before. She’ll run out of Soul Gems soon enough.”
Mikaela wakes. Her heart pounds with Urgency, and her face hurts, but she is human, and she remembers.
There isn’t much time.
At some point once Mikaela becomes aware of everything going on and is asleep, she has a vision-dream visitor in the form of a familiar, cloaked figure in ruddy purple robes.
Her voice is ethereal, feminine-leaning and fey.
"A moment of your time, if I may? If you say no, you never see me again. I promised your god that and I shall uphold it until the end of time."
Her voice is ethereal, feminine-leaning and fey.
"A moment of your time, if I may? If you say no, you never see me again. I promised your god that and I shall uphold it until the end of time."
Hello Mikaela,
I wanted to inform you that you may not see me around much and not to worry. If you have control over it, I ask that you do not use your powers to looking into my current situation. There is a reason I am keeping my distance.
I hope you are doing well, I am sure the bar is busy.
- Optimus Prime
I wanted to inform you that you may not see me around much and not to worry. If you have control over it, I ask that you do not use your powers to looking into my current situation. There is a reason I am keeping my distance.
I hope you are doing well, I am sure the bar is busy.
- Optimus Prime
/gives you a small novel of a destressed ai (post Pillars, ofc)
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arewehuman
2023-03-20 03:33 am (UTC)(link)
Sarah stumbles out of the spacebridge with a gasp as she fights to stabilise gyros that refuse to function (she's broken?) and a body still riddled with errors and reports of bugs inside of her (there are none).
Orange is joy. Love. Her first choice of her own as Sarah-13. Everything to do with her love for Orange and why she adores it slams into her CPU at once. Holes within her psyche fill instantly. Another stumble as she waves off the vehicons. She's fine. She's fine. Yet the woman's eyes are wide as fear -true fear- ratchets up her spinal strut to settle deep in her core. She'd undergone a partial reset without Warren's authorisation. Queen Jan had-
She needs Warren. Creator. Father. Her everything. Anything for him. Warren knows how to fix everything. Serena. Friend. Lover. Girlfriend. Maybe wife but always Adored. Also knows how to fix anything-. They aren't here. Help- She's malfunctioning. Her emotional matrix mixed in with logic in ways it shouldn't be.
Maccadam (Boss, Friend. Ally. Friend) isn't here to help, either- Mikaela-
She needs Mikaela. Friend. Important. Can fix anything. She doesn't know how her hands pull out the comms or how she manages to text Mikaela, even as she finds a room not far from the 'bridge to curl up in, systems running hot in ways they shouldn't.
Help?
Somehow, the text sounds like a child, a literal child, calling for help.
Orange is joy. Love. Her first choice of her own as Sarah-13. Everything to do with her love for Orange and why she adores it slams into her CPU at once. Holes within her psyche fill instantly. Another stumble as she waves off the vehicons. She's fine. She's fine. Yet the woman's eyes are wide as fear -true fear- ratchets up her spinal strut to settle deep in her core. She'd undergone a partial reset without Warren's authorisation. Queen Jan had-
She needs Warren. Creator. Father. Her everything. Anything for him. Warren knows how to fix everything. Serena. Friend. Lover. Girlfriend. Maybe wife but always Adored. Also knows how to fix anything-. They aren't here. Help- She's malfunctioning. Her emotional matrix mixed in with logic in ways it shouldn't be.
Maccadam (Boss, Friend. Ally. Friend) isn't here to help, either- Mikaela-
She needs Mikaela. Friend. Important. Can fix anything. She doesn't know how her hands pull out the comms or how she manages to text Mikaela, even as she finds a room not far from the 'bridge to curl up in, systems running hot in ways they shouldn't.
Help?
Somehow, the text sounds like a child, a literal child, calling for help.
Mikaela finds herself running down a passageway, footsteps echoing loudly against the black and white checkered tile. Everything around her looks to be made of the monochrome tiles, though in various warped shapes. It was hard to keep any sense of direction when running through the identical paths, but she seemed to be going down. And down. And down.
The further down she gets, the louder a weeping noise becomes. And the more it feels like she's being watched. Small golden shapes keep just out of her proper vision. Some kind of creature - a dog? A cat? Maybe a fox? It's too hard to say.
After what feels like hours, she finally steps into a pure white room. Or at least, it would be pure white, if not for the black acorn-like objects covering the whole floor, and a golden glowing orb in the center of the room. Mikaela finally gets a good look at the creature that had been following her, as the bright gold animal runs between her legs, towards a girl sitting in the center of the room. A large orange witch hat rests atop her long blond hair. "Oh Ampri," She says softly, picking up the small cat-like creature, "This is too much."
"I'm just doing as you asked," The creature's tail swishes, it's voice alarmingly deep for how small it was.
"If I had known this was how you were accomplishing it..." She shook her head, "But no more. I've found someone who can take over protecting your most precious artifact." The girl turned her head sudden, bright blue eyes behind glasses fixing on Mikaela. "Isn't that right, Seerer of Alchemist Prime?" She holds out a hand, "Come find us. We're waiting for you at Maho'Show-J0."
The further down she gets, the louder a weeping noise becomes. And the more it feels like she's being watched. Small golden shapes keep just out of her proper vision. Some kind of creature - a dog? A cat? Maybe a fox? It's too hard to say.
After what feels like hours, she finally steps into a pure white room. Or at least, it would be pure white, if not for the black acorn-like objects covering the whole floor, and a golden glowing orb in the center of the room. Mikaela finally gets a good look at the creature that had been following her, as the bright gold animal runs between her legs, towards a girl sitting in the center of the room. A large orange witch hat rests atop her long blond hair. "Oh Ampri," She says softly, picking up the small cat-like creature, "This is too much."
"I'm just doing as you asked," The creature's tail swishes, it's voice alarmingly deep for how small it was.
"If I had known this was how you were accomplishing it..." She shook her head, "But no more. I've found someone who can take over protecting your most precious artifact." The girl turned her head sudden, bright blue eyes behind glasses fixing on Mikaela. "Isn't that right, Seerer of Alchemist Prime?" She holds out a hand, "Come find us. We're waiting for you at Maho'Show-J0."
Miss Mikaela, may my brother and I reserve part of the bar for a party on the 22nd of this month?
Mikaela, have you felt anything... off, lately? Or have Alchemist's Lenses shown you unusual things of late?
Edited 2023-09-11 19:06 (UTC)
The vision starts like most of them do. Darkness of the void that only Mikaela can comprehend rushes towards her, and she's falling. Further and further as her mind travels unfathomable distances away from her sleeping body, towards a planet she's never seen, and deep, deep into the earth. Down here, she hears something cry out. A child's voice, deeply frightened, but unhinged in the way that only an unloved creature creature born from pain and violence can sound. The cry is wordless, as the mind that formed it has not yet learned how to weave its thoughts into the world. Reacting and reacting and surviving and fear and terror and pain.
Mikaela can't yet see this pitiable monster, but something about the shape of its soul, the source of its magic, it feels so strongly similar to the terrans that for a moment she imagines these awful sounds coming from one of them. That image splinters back into the void, discarded as an untruth. The Terrans are beings made from necessity and raised with love. The creature before you is born strictly for greed, and the horror it feels towards itself is destroying it, piece by piece.
It's so alien, this soul. So utterly different from anything you're encountered before that you have a hard time comprehending it. You must destroy it. You must save him by destroying him. Mordecai. His name is Mordecai. It's his true name, one given before to him before it was taken away the first and the second time. He never forgot it. Not then, not now. Taken again and again and again! You can't make him forget himself! He will remember!
Wait. There's something there.
Before Mikaela can react, something clamps around her spiritual self with an iron grip with magic that feels so familiar and a mind that's so alien it doesn't fit properly in hers.
Don't go! Don't leave me here!
The force tightens around her like tentacles, squeezing and clawing in the same way a small child will squeeze the life out of an adult in a swimming pool out of fear. Tighter, and Mikaela can feel both her mind and soul cracking under the pressure. She can't stay, the creature will kill her if she does, and yet every time she tries to pull away, it cries out louder and more insistently, pleading with her to not leave him alone.
It's screaming louder now, and distantly, Mikaela hears something, something from far beyond the void, respond.
Mikaela can't yet see this pitiable monster, but something about the shape of its soul, the source of its magic, it feels so strongly similar to the terrans that for a moment she imagines these awful sounds coming from one of them. That image splinters back into the void, discarded as an untruth. The Terrans are beings made from necessity and raised with love. The creature before you is born strictly for greed, and the horror it feels towards itself is destroying it, piece by piece.
It's so alien, this soul. So utterly different from anything you're encountered before that you have a hard time comprehending it. You must destroy it. You must save him by destroying him. Mordecai. His name is Mordecai. It's his true name, one given before to him before it was taken away the first and the second time. He never forgot it. Not then, not now. Taken again and again and again! You can't make him forget himself! He will remember!
Wait. There's something there.
Before Mikaela can react, something clamps around her spiritual self with an iron grip with magic that feels so familiar and a mind that's so alien it doesn't fit properly in hers.
Don't go! Don't leave me here!
The force tightens around her like tentacles, squeezing and clawing in the same way a small child will squeeze the life out of an adult in a swimming pool out of fear. Tighter, and Mikaela can feel both her mind and soul cracking under the pressure. She can't stay, the creature will kill her if she does, and yet every time she tries to pull away, it cries out louder and more insistently, pleading with her to not leave him alone.
It's screaming louder now, and distantly, Mikaela hears something, something from far beyond the void, respond.
Heeeey, Mikaela? Sorry to bother you but I need an adult to talk to someone who has some experience with weird things for something potentially involving magic that I cannot confirm nor rule out, aaand...you're the only person I can think of who's around.
[Leo had not been to Mikaela's tattoo parlor/body shop/paint workshop/whatever before, and had needed to ask one of the vehicons for directions, but at some point in the day when Mikaela wasn't working the bar there's a playful honk from outside the door, too quiet to be a cybertronians, and in drives Leo in his new car.
Or rather, Leo pulled up in his new car which we was piloting with a remote control from the diver seat. As he pulled to a stop inside he kicked the door open (the latches were pretty stiff as they were mostly cheap plastic, and the windows did not roll down, since this was, in fact, a toy car) before stepping out and leaning on the hood in a very cool and nonchalant way.]
Hey, Mikaela. You know a thing or two about fixing cars right? Think you can help me fix this paint job? It's a little too 'Raph' for my tastes.
Or rather, Leo pulled up in his new car which we was piloting with a remote control from the diver seat. As he pulled to a stop inside he kicked the door open (the latches were pretty stiff as they were mostly cheap plastic, and the windows did not roll down, since this was, in fact, a toy car) before stepping out and leaning on the hood in a very cool and nonchalant way.]
Hey, Mikaela. You know a thing or two about fixing cars right? Think you can help me fix this paint job? It's a little too 'Raph' for my tastes.
If someone named Snakeman hurts or threatens you, let me know.
I'll see to it he regrets it. :)
I'll see to it he regrets it. :)
"Please, won't someone save us."
A voice, small and soft, reaches Mikaela's dreams one night, a flash of light and she sees a chubby brown mousewife with her blonde hair wrapped in a tattered scarf. This mousewife is kneeling on a dirty metal floor, leaning against the metal bars of a massive cage. A mouseboy leans against her right side, his face buried in her thin gray dress, and clutched in her arms is a bundle of cloth with two brown little ears poking out.
"Great Harvest Mouse, please hear me." The mousewife is whispering to clasped hands. "We are your people. We worship you even now, far as we are from home. We must be worth saving." She is thinking about the stories her mother used to tell her. Of the Great Harvest Mouse and his benevolence. Of the great heroes, the Autobots, that had saved their world many centuries ago. But where are they now?
The air is cold and miserable, with dozens of other mousefolks pressed around her, and hundreds of cages just like this one stacked one on top of another like produce. And yet, despite how many of them are, the room is filled with a deathly silence, as every mousefolk within waits expectantly for their unavoidable fate. The Slavers will be here soon, but the mousewife doesn't think of that. She closes her eyes and clutches her two children close to her and thinks hard of home. Of Brightbird Hollow. Despite a lifetime of suffering, despite having her hopes dashed and shattered again and again, she still manages to cling to just enough hope that she'll see her home again, that her children will grow up knowing freedom, that she doesn't give in to the quiet despair that inflicts most slaves.
"If anyone out there can hear me: Please, bring us home."
Mikaela's vision pulls back to reveal the room in full. Rows upon rows of cages all carefully labelled and sorted. A door opens, revealing a long rectangle of white that spills out over the nearest cages. A few fearful squeaks sound at the sight of the newcomer that are quickly muffled. In contrast, the mousewife straightens, clutching her children closer to her, but her ears prick in defiance rather than fear.
What use is fear, really, in the face of such evil?
"Greetings my dears." A smooth and elegant voice echoes throughout the room, effortlessly reaching every person within. "Rejoice, little ones, for I have come to bring meaning to your directionless lives, and you will be remembered once the Universe has received its judgment. Thank you all for your coming sacrifice."
A voice, small and soft, reaches Mikaela's dreams one night, a flash of light and she sees a chubby brown mousewife with her blonde hair wrapped in a tattered scarf. This mousewife is kneeling on a dirty metal floor, leaning against the metal bars of a massive cage. A mouseboy leans against her right side, his face buried in her thin gray dress, and clutched in her arms is a bundle of cloth with two brown little ears poking out.
"Great Harvest Mouse, please hear me." The mousewife is whispering to clasped hands. "We are your people. We worship you even now, far as we are from home. We must be worth saving." She is thinking about the stories her mother used to tell her. Of the Great Harvest Mouse and his benevolence. Of the great heroes, the Autobots, that had saved their world many centuries ago. But where are they now?
The air is cold and miserable, with dozens of other mousefolks pressed around her, and hundreds of cages just like this one stacked one on top of another like produce. And yet, despite how many of them are, the room is filled with a deathly silence, as every mousefolk within waits expectantly for their unavoidable fate. The Slavers will be here soon, but the mousewife doesn't think of that. She closes her eyes and clutches her two children close to her and thinks hard of home. Of Brightbird Hollow. Despite a lifetime of suffering, despite having her hopes dashed and shattered again and again, she still manages to cling to just enough hope that she'll see her home again, that her children will grow up knowing freedom, that she doesn't give in to the quiet despair that inflicts most slaves.
"If anyone out there can hear me: Please, bring us home."
Mikaela's vision pulls back to reveal the room in full. Rows upon rows of cages all carefully labelled and sorted. A door opens, revealing a long rectangle of white that spills out over the nearest cages. A few fearful squeaks sound at the sight of the newcomer that are quickly muffled. In contrast, the mousewife straightens, clutching her children closer to her, but her ears prick in defiance rather than fear.
What use is fear, really, in the face of such evil?
"Greetings my dears." A smooth and elegant voice echoes throughout the room, effortlessly reaching every person within. "Rejoice, little ones, for I have come to bring meaning to your directionless lives, and you will be remembered once the Universe has received its judgment. Thank you all for your coming sacrifice."
[Donnie looks a little hesitant, clearly bothered by something, but oh, it's recording, no going back now.]
Heeey...Mikaela? You busy? I mean it's cool if you are I'll just, um, find... someone else or something...
Heeey...Mikaela? You busy? I mean it's cool if you are I'll just, um, find... someone else or something...
[ While you were away someone has been messing around in the bar.
It doesn't look like this someone has really rifled that much through your possessions. Or stolen anything.
How do you know someone was here? There is a tiny plastic human toy baby placed into nearly every mug, cup, and cube. There are also a few frozen into icecubes so that's fun. ]
It doesn't look like this someone has really rifled that much through your possessions. Or stolen anything.
How do you know someone was here? There is a tiny plastic human toy baby placed into nearly every mug, cup, and cube. There are also a few frozen into icecubes so that's fun. ]
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