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Characters: Toolbox, Soundwave, @fixit Location: The Vintage Salvage Depot for the Discriminating Nostalgist Content Warnings: N/A Plot Summary: A little ways into the future, two minicons enjoy a quiet evening to themselves, completely unaware of how their lives are about to be turned upside down.
Toolbox glanced down at the long-range scanner to check (again) that there were no Decepticons in range, before letting out a rare blip of content. All the other Autobots of Team Bee had gone on some mission or another that evening, leaving the two resident caretaker minicons to man the con on their own. While this wasn’t an unusual task for Fixit, this was the first time Toolbox had felt confident enough to join him while the others were away instead of hiding himself away.
The skittish -- but slowly becoming less so as time went by, as he learned how to cope and manage his anxieties -- minicon shot a shy, fond glance in Fixit’s direction. Ever since Fixit had finally figured out a way to get the inhibitor collar off of him and finally rid him of the last physical reminder of his captivity, Toolbox had felt lighter in both the literal and metaphorical sense. He’d forgotten what not having a heavy weight around his neck had felt like, and he’d spent the first few days in a euphoric state of delight… and Fixit had been there beside him the entire time, and together they’d discovered something even more than mere kinship.
He’d never thought he’d find love in his life. In all honesty, he wasn’t exactly sure that minicon prison guards were permitted to have close personal relationships with anyone else, or fall in love, but Toolbox had found himself wondering how such a thing could be so bad if it caused his spark to flutter. What was between them was still so new, fledgling and sweet, and he worried about messing it up.
Tentatively, Toolbox reached over to take Fixit’s servo in his own. It was thrilling just to be able to hold the hand of the other minicon, never mind spending time together. He’d spent months being afraid of his surroundings, but with Fixit close, he felt… less afraid. “... I can’t believe I was worried all this time about helping you in the command centre. It isn’t so bad, is it?”
Neither of them had any inkling of what was about to happen.
Dusk. Quiet. The kind of time that Toolbox seemed worried, but Fixit himself seemed downright cautious most of the time.
He had checked his own scanner, his eyes bright when he saw no Decepticon activity. He tapped at the buttons lightly to make sure that communications were up in case the team needed to communicate back to the base. He seemed to give his own little blip of content. The team was safe so far as he knew, there were no Decepticons in sight. And he could see the sense of relaxation that was starting to wash over Toolbox's own frame.
It had been a long time coming before he managed to get the inhibitor collar off. Finding a resonating frequency had been but one step in a difficult job. The resonating frequency only disabled the security protocols for it that would have drawn Decepticon attention. It had taken multiple tools and actions from there in order to release the collar. But once he had, he still kept it in case. If they found more of their brethren, knowing what to do was half the battle in freeing them from their captors. They knew what they were doing now. And that was a long ways from where he had originally began, alone, lost, overcompensating for his damages. And Toolbox had been there, made him realize there were more. He wasn't alone. Not in his type, and certainly not emotionally.
It had been great relief to find even the faintest blip of love. It wasn't so bad to feel those little flutterings of emotion. The trust that had began as the two discovering ways to help one another. And frankly, Fixit wanted to do it right. He wanted to do it right and do right by Toolbox.
He let his digital flexors seem to mesh slightly with Toolbox's, well, as best as he could manage. That was something he had to learn over time. "No, it's never really all that bad. Most of it is making sure the base doesn't get invaded, and making sure that the team isn't in danger in the field. And they would comm if they were in any danger." That was how it usually worked, anyway.
An essence of dread eloped through the trees as it carried the creator of dread. Silent pedes as the lone stalker crept along the underlying sanctuary of something that blocks so much to see. Matte blue was crafted in long sections of this being. The blue was all but perfect, long scars of survived battles danced across his arms, chest, back, helm. It dragged about the truth that those that fought him may not have survived as much as he had.
This ethereal being strutted along the visage of foliage, reluctant to go into full flight right now due to what he had learned. Prying eyes scour the skies and sharper shooters lay beneath. A dull moment on the ground only kept him moving swiftly, praying that his active signal masking was working in full. Study of captured Autobots allowed for a masking of their bright imagery to be learned of and how their communications could be reasoned with. He thought highly of their ways of speech across huge distances. So different than the Decepticon's sharp tongues across the band widths. To an outside Decepticon looking in, they may detect on their radar a lone Autobot with an unknown signature. To Soundwave, he specifically set up the Nemesis' search patterns to avoid him... He needed the isolation.
What purpose did his isolation and signal masking was needed? Through countless scans and search inquiries he had learned patterns emerged... Dead zones of where Autobots never lurked in accordance to where Decepticons would find them. Here, there, not over yonder. Perhaps he could stalk this forested area and discover hidden Autobots to exterminate all by himself. The silent dread himself was alone on this mission. He alone will find out what lays beyond these trees obscuring his blue being.
Everything was well, and for once his over-reactive systems were miraculously at ease. His thoughts stayed away from the ugly feedback loop of worst-case-scenario induced anxiety, and his mind did not conjure up monsters in the shadows for him to fear. The removal of the inhibitor collar had certainly helped, but it had been Fixit’s patience and stalwart support through this that had helped the most. Fixit had been an anchor, a fixed point to which Toolbox had metaphorically (and, sometimes, literally) clung to through the worst of it.
What they had was so new, so novel, so fledgling, and Toolbox still marveled at it with giddy delight. Being around Fixit made him feel normal. He certainly had a long ways to go yet, but… it felt good to feel like himself again, if only for a little while. He gave Fixit’s stubby digits a squeeze.
A beep from the command console caught his attention -- an Autobot signal had popped up. It was not one he’d seen before, and certainly not one that belonged to any of Team Bee. His tanks roiled when he saw it, but he did his best to quash the feeling and the automatic assumption of danger. “That’s odd,” Toolbox murmured, leaning in to look as the blue dot upon the screen slowly but surely forged a path through the forest nearby. “Who’s that? Should… should we send out a comm?”
Fixit's own loops managed to stay at bay most of the time. And when they wouldn't stop, and he would end up stuttering, it was nice to have the reassuring rub along his back struts that it was okay. It seemed to help almost as much as his self-soothing mechanism to "cough up the words". Perhaps because it seemed to settle his processor, and act as a stimulant to "cough" the words up.
He himself was starting to feel normal, feel brave, feel strong. And feel like he didn't have to always struggle to cough up the words, like he was rushed to speak.
"Of course. Send out a comm first. If it's not a signal we recognize yet, it's best to get them to identify themselves." Fixit nodded. "Standard procedure, actually."
Shifting through the darkest edges of the trees and stealing himself to cover was what he liked on Earth, so much foliage that pulled and distorted visuals in such a way. Yet at the same time it was a hamper for him as well being that what he can see is what they will see as well. These trees reminded him of that one instance back with the Resonance. This time he took greater care in where he stepped, be it vines or an Autobot trap set up for nasty 'cons like himself.
Of course Soundwave was worrying about traps. If he were to remain in an immobile base he would surely fixate a plethora of traps. Some minor for any Decepticons that want to bring along their loud toys and show off. Others more detrimental to one's health. A sudden stop here with an examining look...
Initializing Scans:
Area Scanning Commencing Please Hold
...
Human Object Discovered: Determining Items Identity
A Coolant Unit Designed To Store Consumables... Hazardous To Humans When Consumables Spoil
He stared at the light green fridge with a shiny chrome handle, nearly gagging at the thought of those fleshies eating what could be other fleshy things. Those wing arms of his shivered greatly, creating a slight rattle before he scurries away from this putrid tub of spoiled mayonnaise. Lucky him that it was closed or he would get to enjoy more of Earth's aroma.
From vines to a dumped stove, his feet seemed to have a knack for finding oddities in the ground. At this point he contemplated flying about to avoid the ground all together. This place was a dump! Have the occupants not learned a nearby trash dump was close hand? It irked the Communication's Officer greatly before he kicked the crushed stove several hundred meters! This unwittingly created a loud ruckus that echoed through the trees.
Toolbox peered up at the little blue dot blinking steadily across the screen. “Hmm. Perhaps it’s someone who’s recently arrived on Earth?” Purely speculation, of course, but it helped to soothe his poor, overreactive nerves that saw danger in every minor little detail. This was likely a newly arrived Autobot who was now seeking out their comrades, and he firmly reminded himself of it.
With a quick glance at Fixit (as if to both ask permission as well as to draw courage), the little minicon reached over to hit a button on the console that would broadcast his voice to all open frequencies nearby. “Unknown Cybertronian Signal, this is the Autobot Scrapyard Base. Please state your designation so that we may verify your identification.”
Toolbox waited. There was no response. “Unknown Cybertronian Signal, please identify yourself,” He repeated after several silent moments - and willed the anxiety rising up in his chest to sink back down into the pit from whence it came. Nervously, his stubby little fingers tightened around Fixit’s once more.
BANG. Something soared through the air before noisily clattering across the ground, and the loud, unexpected sound startled Toolbox so thoroughly that his whole body flinched and a small shriek escaped him.
And then-
The proximity alarm, which had thus far been thoroughly fooled by the false Autobot signal, began to scream. On the screen, the blue dot glitched once, twice, before a red warning signal bloomed into being as the blue turned purple. There was a Decepticon, and it was practically on top of them.
Fixit hoped and prayed it was someone new. "Perhaps, but that calls for us asking for them to identify themselves. I sure hope they're friendly, of course. I really don't want to have to be dealing with Decepticons." He himself was starting to feel the nerves rise up in him.
He nodded to Toolbox for a faint moment, then waited. There was no identification. There was no verification. This didn't bode well. This really didn't bode well. This did NOT bode well and it was creating a feedback loop without him even speaking. He felt his digits tighten and loosen weirdly with Toolbox's grasp and tried to steady them, but to no avail. It seemed the feedback loop was impacting the one thing he was communicating with at this very moment.
Hearing the bang made it worse and now the tightening spasm of his digits flexing against Toolbox's was getting worse. The blip on the screen had changed. Not good, not good, not good!
"I don't care who you star--car--are...identify yourself-self-self-self..." Even his normal self-soothing methods and a tap to his chest to get him to cough up the word wasn't helping. Damn it. Being without his innate defenses at a time like this was definitely making him a lot more anxious than he should be.
The kick of the stove was a powerful one and one that rattled with noise. Careless happenings once more, one of which he will need to control himself with later on. Yet for the time being, kicking around Earth tech brought an odd sense of amusement to him. It couldn't fight back, it couldn't damage him, he could let loose his frustrations... his pent up emotions. All without a care to what was around him. It felt amazing! Not even his onboard restriction devices noticed this and allowed a brief respite. A brief respite that felt immediately awkward when he savored the after effects which were so uncommon that it was alien to even him.
What was now an unknown became clear as daylight or at least the dusk all around this place. An open communications request of his identification. This startled him to an immense degree that the metallic sinew that lay beneath his armor plating flexed in tenseness. In accordance to the request he slammed his data vaults inside himself to search for possible voices and speech patterns to convey a sense of realism... That and to explain the loud noise he made!
Search Inquiry Initiated: Please Standby
Autobot Database Under Inspection...
Three Possible Matches For Voice And Actions
Autobot Deadbolt - An Autobot Who Shares The Same Name As A More Famous Autobot And Thus Gets Frustrated Easily - Current Status: Dead By Your Hand
Autobot Matrix - An Old Autobot Decommissioned To An Asteroid Field To Help Process Ores And Minerals, Hates How He Went From Top Of His Squad To A Lonesome One Barely Recognized For His Efforts - Current Status: Unknown
Autobot Link - A Younger Generation Autobot Who Lived On The Outer Regions of Autobot Controlled Space And Claims To Be Devout For The Autobot Cause Leading To Many Of His Older Companions To Try And Persuade Him From Such Dangerous Thoughts - Current Status: Imprisoned On A Decepticon Outpost
He cherry picked his options here and found one that would easily work for him. He was feeling frustrated at the time yet he wanted to be cautious... He sent out Laserbeak to stay low to the trees and whenever a flock of birds were to rise up, he would follow and blend in to give him an aerial feed of the scrapyard. Nothing works to have a backup when something goes awry. Then over the open communication's channel he allowed his computers to alter in Deadbolt's voice. A deep voice that carried a sense of "forget it, it's not worth it", "What? This is an open channel? Are you Autobot? By Primus you had better be an Autobot."
"Deadbolt" stayed within the treeline to conceal himself still, "This is Deadbolt... and no not THE Deadbolt. Just another hauler with the same name as that one. I crashed onto this rocky planet thing and seeking refuge. Though if I have to stumble onto more of these archaic trash I am about to lose it and chuck another!"
As the blip upon the screen changed, Fixit’s stubby digits spasm and tighten against his own, and Toolbox’s own grip tightened in response. The purple signal was within a few hundred metres now, but had stopped moving towards them. Toolbox’s frantic gaze flickered to the treeline, where danger most certainly lurked in the shadows… and completely oblivious to the danger that soared above their heads, watching and gathering information before the calculated strike.
Not again. He would not go back to that terrible place, where minicons were beaten and collared and melted down when they had outlived their usefulness. The unknown Cybertronian spouted off some identity, agitated by their circumstances, but Toolbox could not process the meaning of the words spoken over the sound of energon rushing through his audial tubing.
“That’s n-not an Autobot,” Toolbox wheezed, his voice high pitched and squeaky in his horror. Within his chest, his spark began to whirl fast and faster and faster - ventilating was becoming difficult. “That’s n-not…!” Distressed binary beeps escaped his vocalizer as he shook and trembled, memories of darkness and pain flashing through his processor.
Had he been tracked here? Was this an overseer, come to drag the runaway slave back for due punishment?
“D-d-don’t l-let them t-take me back there…!” He cried, his unadulterated fear spiking in his EM field.
Fixit himself tensed once again. He didn't like what was going on. It was taking too long to get an answer and whoever--whatever--it was wasn't leaving the treeline. Stubby digits flexed at seeing the signal turn purple.
"I won't let them take you. I won't!" He tensed tight, soon gripping around Toolbox's arm. He didn't trust the source of this voice. Deadlock would have been stepping out if he really wanted them to identify him.
"I-I request visual confir-confir-confir..." He tried to force himself through the feedback loop produced by his anxiety without forcing himself to "cough" up the word. "I request visual confirmation." He was determined to expose the lie, and give himself time to hide himself and Toolbox from the Decepticon.
Shoutbox
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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