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Characters: @cyclonus Location: a valley in the rockies Content Warnings: possible description of panic attacks and disassociation Plot Summary: Tailgate awakes from a short nap to find that he's actually been asleep for several million years. A cautionary tale about naps.
Somewhere miles from civilization and people, a battle torn neutral cargo ship scored and scorched the earth as it crash landed. Pillars of dirt and dust rose under its impact, rising into the sky as if its spirit were trying to escape back to the air it was meant to be in, and metal groaned and screeched as it was wrenched apart. In the midst of it all, a single stasis pod, millions upon millions of years old, bounced from its hold in the storage bay of the ship, rolling and careening its way across the ground. It came to rest a ways away a few minutes later, both stopped and knocked open by a boulder in its path.
And a few hours after that, once the dust had cleared and debris had settled, something within it stirred to life.
A round, white minibot blinked blearily up into the sunlit sky, his blue visor flashing with light as he woke. Tailgate felt -- well, Tailgate felt a number of things. Groggy, for one. It was like he’d slept in far too long, with the aching joints and servos that usually came with that, but amplified times a thousand. For another? Confused. His internals blinked warnings at him, telling him he was dangerously low on fuel, though he could have sworn he’d eaten at lunch like usual, and his chronometer blinked a series of question marks at him rather than telling him the time or date. On top of that, his readings were telling him his vents were near to clogged by dirt, which he knew couldn’t be true. The scientists wouldn’t stand for any lab of theirs being contaminated. But even then… He was outside. Why was he outside?
On shaky limbs, and after a few minutes of struggling, the mini managed to push his way up and out, his optics now able to take in his actual surroundings. What he saw was not Cybertron; not in the slightest. What he saw was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, in fact.
And with a squeeze of his spark, coolant flooding to his visor, Tailgate felt a panic coming on.
It was never a good feeling, having such little energon. Although he had long since cut ties with the Decepticons, Cyclonus knew where to find sustenance. He knew how to survive. When he was planning to leave the Decepticons, he had downloaded a map of known energon deposits, and that supply had lasted him this long. But his reserves were running low, and he was going to have to search soon.
With a deep breath, he ran off the edge of his cliff, transforming. The wind roared alongside his form, brushing along his wings, and Cyclonus couldn’t help but dip a wing. With First Aid and his new little human pet hanging around, the purple warrior had not had much time to himself. He hadn’t had much time to just go out and fly. And, while this little mission was important, it was just as important that he managed to have some time to himself.
Unfortunately, that so-called “alone time” was going to be cut short. On the very edge of his radar, something blinked. Something was coming into the atmosphere; something moving very fast, and very hot. But more importantly, something CYBERTRONIAN. Without even so much as a moment’s worth of hesitation, Cyclonus changed his course. He pushed his thrusters faster, until the gentle caress of the wind became a fierce lashing.
Anything to go faster.
When he finally neared the area, Cyclonus transformed. Dirt and dust flew up around his ankles and legs as he made impact with the ground. For a moment, the mech did nothing, simply looked around, before his attention was attracted downward. Red optics found a blue and white mech, on his hands and knees, with his EM field a mess. A low growl escaped the warrior’s vent, and Cyclonus knelt. Though he did not touch the other, he did offer out a single hand. His optics softened.
“You are safe, little one,” he rumbled, and let his field expand just a little, just enough.
That was the question, the real question. Had he been trapped in there for so long that Cybertron had changed into... into this, whatever this was? Had no one found him, or had no one cared? Had they even bothered to look for him? Was he really, truly, that unimportant? And if he was, why was that a surprise to him? Why did it hurt? He was just a waste disposal mech. One of thousands – pit, one of millions, and hadn't even been the latest model! They'd probably sent out for someone newer, shinier, maybe with pretty red accents and a big, happy visor. Someone who didn't talk too much and didn't “smile” too often, someone who did as they asked and didn't cry or panic if they were yelled at and didn't forget to say “yes sir” and “no sir” and–
Tailgate was hyperventilating, hiccuping, his coolant flowing freely down his faceplate. His entire frame was shaking, and he curled in on himself, whimpering pathetically. Primus, he was stupid, so stupid. He should never have gone near the experiments in the first place. It was his own fault for not sticking to his job.
It was a long minute before he realized that someone was next to him now, that he'd been spoken to. As soon as he noticed Cyclonus's hand, Tailgate yelped in surprise, skittering back. He was still hiccuping back sobs, but they'd lessened considerably, now that he had something else to focus on.
“I-I–” Tailgate cycled his vocalizer, a tremor running through him. “I– Who are you? W-where am I? I don't... I'm...”
When the little thing backed away, Cyclonus immediately pulled his field inward. Unlike most Seekers, Textrahexians were not one for emotions. They were not the type to express themselves, not with words and especially not with body language. It was one of the reasons their wings were so small in root mode, and why their speech was often short and clipped— formal. If Vosnians were the pinnacle of art, then Tetrahexians were the same to war and logic.
But instead of shutting down completely, the Warrior Prince decided to change his tactic. He lowered his head, offered a gentle smile. Even if nothing looked off, Cyclonus felt WRONG, smiling after all these years. It was almost as if a smile did not belong on his ever-frowning face, and perhaps that was true. After all, he had spent the last several million years in a war he never wanted, defending a planet that was now in ruins.
“Easy there,” he murmured, and offered his servo once more. After a moment, he changed his tactic and reached, to wipe away some of the tears from the other’s face. “You are on Earth, little one; far from home. You and I both are.”
Gently, Cyclonus shifted, so he was sitting cross legged in front of the other. He rested his servos in his lap, red optics gentle. “My name is Cyclonus of Tetrahex. If you need a moment to vent, please, take it. I understand this can be… UNSETTLING to someone like you.”
post template by Tony
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Please respect the space and don't hesitate to ask questions!
altria : please dont be dead?
Jun 14, 2023 22:40:34 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:02:02 GMT
Partia: Is this still alive?
Dec 17, 2022 6:01:34 GMT
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