re_alignment_logs | OPENING LOG: Awakening

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OPENING LOG: Awakening

WHO: Everybody!
WHERE: The Junk Pile.
WHEN: Right here, right now.
WHAT: Game opening! Our Heroes find themselves in a strange place not of their own world, however familiar (or not) it may be.

Consciousness is slow, and a struggle to obtain. The moments before darkness are hazy enough; a great vertigo, a twisting, and then, falling. Falling for what seemed like forever. And when you are finally aware of your surroundings, it is most decidedly not where you came from.

Instead, you are now in what appears to be a wasteland. A wasteland...of junk. Debris as far as you can see, heaped in mini-mountains that offer only so good of a view of the world around you. Perhaps in the distance, you can make out some flatter land, perhaps you can just make out what looks like a crevice - but it's difficult at best. The light here is all wrong, the two greatest sources being a white line in the alien sky that doesn't so much give off light as simply have it - and something in the south that glows like a setting sun.

You may or may not notice it at first, but you, too, have something alien - something on your arm, more likely than not. A marking that glows softly, but offers no clue as to how it got there - no pain, no sensitivity. It's simply there, as you are here.

So.

Now what?

((OOC: This is it, you guys! Have a blast! Please remember to keep everything under the first thread for now; we'll be adding the Firstforged in in a little bit...

OKAY There is now a second thread to post in! Feel free to make new threads there to react to the arrival of the Firstforged, or respond directly to the Firstforged themselves.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With all the rumbling from the titans and the runners and the weird creatures and the shifting junk around him, Breakdown was lost in a cacophony. He felt like he was driving through the sound, but kept pushing forward. He felt old fears resurface. He hadn't felt this blindingly afraid in a long time, but he forced himself to keep pushing forward,even as the sound became real, a rain of waves made matter. He had to push forward. Now he couldn't see the jet. He was trapped. His optic patch was glitching feverishly. It was dark. He was scared, because this reminded him so much of... He had to push forward. He revved his engine, and pushed his wheels hard in low gear. He broke out.

Breakdown ran over something bumpy that made a strange noise. His tires were sensitive to running over soft curves of plating and the bend of living metal. He stopped abruptly, hoping he hadn't run into someone again. He transformed, and turned around. Then, his spark exploded.

Knock Out was there. He was covered in garbage, and dirt, and he had a fresh tire-track on his face, and he looked terrible, and terribly alone. But he was alive. Breakdown was aware of yelling his partner's name, and aware of pushing forward one last time to grab onto the smaller red car to never let go. But he felt like he couldn't hear or see anymore. Yet vivid was the picture painted by touch as he held the doctor close and crumpled into the angles of his frame. He laid his head on one high red shoulder, cheek against perfectly sculpted helm. His partner was here. Someone he knew. Something familiar to hold onto in the world that he could now finally admit scared him terribly.

Knock Out was barely on his feet again before he was being charged, and his body reacted before his brain had time to catch up. He lunged backwards, but not fast enough, and then arms were around him and--

And--

And that slam to the helm he'd taken on the way down the junkpile must have done something to his processor, because there was no way that what his systems were telling him right now could be right.

There was no way this was Breakdown.

"No, no, no," he chanted, trying to shove the other mech away. "You're dead. You're dead!"

Those were the last words Breakdown wanted to hear. His arms loosened with shock, and he stepped away reluctantly. For one thing, he wasn't entirely sure he was dead, or had died. He just had the vague idea that his death had been imminent. No, he was alive. He was still alive, very alive.

"I'm not dead, Knock Out. I'm right here." What else was there to say?

Knock Out staggered back when the spectre released him, favoring one leg very obviously. His expression was guarded and wary, his optics darted as he raked them over this mirage claiming to be his dead partner.

But it looked like Breakdown... And it sounded like him, and Knock Out could taste his spark signature even these few steps away.

If it wasn't Breakdown, it was an incredibly detailed illusion of him.

As if drawn, he shuffled closer again. "How?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You went offline. We couldn't find your spark signature!"

"If you say so." Breakdown reached out to slot his fingers through Knock Out's golden grill. "I'm not offline here, wherever here is." He withdrew his hand. It would be terrible if anyone saw that. This was the most awkward conversation he'd ever had. He was having trouble making words. But he knew Knock Out was Knock Out, and acting just like he always did in response to being unhappy, and maybe a bit cornered. Breakdown just had to fall back on what he always did : "just taking it." Get through life, with the ups and downs. No regrets.

"How?" he whispered again, but he also grabbed at that hand as it tried to withdraw, seizing it in both of his own. Yes, that was certainly Breakdown's hand, and it felt real, solid.

Could it really be him?

Finally he looked up, meeting Breakdown's single optic with his own. "Prove it!" he demanded, his voice sharp-- and nervous, which would be easy for Breakdown to hear, although not so much for someone who wasn't familiar with him.

"Prove it? Scrap, Knock Out, how the Pit am I supposed to prove I'm me?" Breakdown was just put off by that. It wasn't like he was a shape shifter. In fact, even as noise kept registering in his audio sensors, he just kept thinking about an answer to that question until he reached what was, for him, a brilliant conclusion : "Hey, my optic patch. You installed it yourself. No one can fake that, right?" breakdown bent down to present his face for inspection, accidentally bumping into Knockout along the way, head to head.

"I don't know! I just--!" But he didn't get a chance to finish because Breakdown was looming down at him. Their helms clunked together and Knock Out jerked back with a little cry.

He was flustered, but he covered it by reaching out and grabbing at the mandibular ridges of Breakdown's helm to hold him still, leaning up to inspect the patch critically. That was undeniably his own work... Would a clone have the patch too, or just have both eyes?

But how could it be a clone? You couldn't clone a dead mech. And he obviously wasn't a terrorcon; there was no taint of dark energon about him (not to mention none of the more obvious signs, like a glowing purple optic or a total lack of sapience). This close the signature of his spark and his EM field were unmistakable.

Sparks couldn't be duplicated, so how could this be anyone but Breakdown? It seemed impossible...

It seemed impossible, but so was waking up on some alien planet in a massive field of junk. So was a telekinetic human with control over dirt and fire. So were Cybertronians who didn't look anything like any Cybertronians Knock Out knew. It seemed impossible, but Knock Out decided then that he didn't care. If it looked like Breakdown, felt like him, sounded like him, then it was him.

His partner, returned from the dead.

Crying Breakdown's name hoarsely, he threw himself at the bigger mech, arms around his neck and clinging fiercely.

Breakdown cried out as well, but in surprise when he suddenly had a sports car stuck to him for dear life. Knock Out pretty much never acted like this, or it was very rare. He was a mech who valued hiding his emotions, and keeping up appearances. Both those goals were being undermined hard and fast now. Luckily, Breakdown didn't give a scrap about appearances, literal or metaphorical. He had no doubts that this was his Knock Out, the mech he'd been searching for since he'd first overheard a snippet of his voice dragged in by the wind.

The panzere let his partner hold him for a long while, where hushed handholds and whispers substituted for exclamations of "I've been looking for you" and "I'm glad you're here". However, as strange noises once again wound through the junkyard from the trembling titans' shadows, Breakdown tightened his hold protectively, and spoke with urgency.

"Knock Out, we're not alone here, but that doesn't mean we're safe. I haven't met a fellow 'Con since I woke up, and this scrap heap's short on energon, and short on shelter. We gotta get outts here. I was following the jet. It's bigger than Jetfire, but following it might bring us to other seekers, and most of 'em are on our side. I think. I mean, it's all I have to go on. You got any plans?"

It felt so damn good to be in his partner's arms again that Knock Out didn't even care how blatantly he was choreographing his emotions. Yes, normally he tried to control himself better than this-- but normally he wasn't so battered and beaten down. All the walls he usually managed to keep between himself and the rest of the world had been so recently torn down, with what felt like violent prejudice, and before he'd even thought to begin rebuilding he'd woke up here.

But now Breakdown was here too, holding him close and whispering in his ears. It was so familiar, so badly needed and so sorely missed, that Knock Out honestly expected at this point to jerk awake on an empty berth on-ship and find out this whole thing had been another nightmare.

But he didn't wake up, and Breakdown didn't fall apart in his arms, or turn to rust, or disappear. No, Breakdown was holding him even closer, and even though it make Knock Out's aching body protest, he didn't complain. He just laid his head on Breakdown's shoulder and listened to his urgent words.

"No," he admitted quietly when Breakdown was done. "I was just hoping to find someone who had some answers. None of the people I've talked to yet have any idea how we got here, or what this place is, or what's going on."

Finally he picked his head up, glancing up at his partner again. "There are Autobots here," he said. "Ratchet and Wheeljack at least, and one of their human friends. And... other mechs too. Strangers."

"I met another mech, too, a lady. I think she had a cloaking device. And..." Breakdown trailed off, still unsure of how to feel about that ONE mech he'd met. "Primus, I don't know how to describe who or what I met. Technically, I guess he's a drone. But he's just like us, I swear. Ahh, I guess that's not that important. We just need to get ourselves safe. Don't leave me, okay? I don't want us splitting up and having to find each other again."

Breakdown patted at Knock Out's shoulder, and spun his wheels. The doctor was really worked up, and Breakdown knew it was best to let emotions come out on their own course.

The mere suggestion of parting ways with his partner so recently returned to him made Knock Out clutch on hard to Breakdown, his claws digging heedlessly into his partner's plating. "You're not leaving me again!" he hissed. Not again. Once had been hard enough.

He was able to force himself to relax an instant later, though; the feeling of Breakdown's fingers on his wheels, so familiar, helped. He released his partner but didn't move out of the circle of his arms. "We need to find out what's happening. See if anybody has any useful information they'd be willing to share with us."

"I'm following the rainbow. I mean the jet." Breakdown quickly corrected himself. At this rate, he'd start up malapropisms again, just when he'd been broken of the habit. But stress brought back those kinds of habits, didn't it? Eh, no time to worry. An no time to worry about the doc's claws in his chest. Wouldn't be the first time. "Keep heading that way?"

Knock Out managed a chuckle; Breakdown's particular sense of humor was one of the things he'd missed badly about his partner. He stepped back again, moving gingerly, and turned to look in the direction of the titans. "It's as good a heading as any, hm?" he said, then nodded decisively. "Yes. That way."

Without waiting, he started off, although he checked immediately to make sure Breakdown was following him. He didn't transform, though, he just walked-- and he was limping noticeably as he went, his usual fluid grace completely absent.

Breakdown rushed to catch up with the sometimes too speedy sports car. That limp couldn't be hidden, and it hit him with a pang of worry. Soon large hands were around Knockout's upper arms, and one arm under his wheels in back. Breakdown walked slow and strong, supporting his partner, while looking down to make sure it was okay.

"I can carry you, if you really want." A little of Breakdown's care shone through even in his voice, past the worried smile. He didn't feel that tired. Not too tired to make sure that the doctor didn't end up getting too hurt. Any field manual, and even Megatron himself would say to make sure nothing happens to the medic. For Breakdown, of course, there was the extra consideration that he didn't want anything happening not just to his medic, but... his medic.

Knock Out stiffened when Breakdown stepped up beside him, like he'd forgotten what it was like to be supported. He hadn't, of course, Breakdown hadn't been dead that long, but it still caught him by surprise. He'd been fighting so, so hard to remember how to rely on only himself, how not to need anyone else's help to make it through his days, his assignments, his missions...

It was a hard change to make. Breakdown had been his assistant for so long that losing him had been like losing a limb that couldn't be replaced.

But he was here, he was here! And after his first tense moment of surprise, Knock Out slumped against him with a sigh, letting his partner take the brunt of his weight. He knew Breakdown could take it.

He wasn't quite willing to go as far as being carried, though... "No need for that," he said with a crooked smile. "My dignity's been damaged enough, thank you; I'd prefer not to aggravate it further." He hadn't had all th pride ground out of him-- not yet, anyway.

Now THAT was the Knock Out that Breakdown knew best. He chuckled. "Doc, you got enough dignity," as in vanity, "for a whole buff-bar." As in, and I like you that way.

And so, with even teasing returned to their relationship, a bright bubble of familiar words protected the two bots as they slowly strolled forward into an unfamiliar horizon of junk piles and looming shadows.

'Divide and conquer', someone had said, long enough ago that he couldn't place where, when, or whom - one of the Refugees, probably? It was a saying that Nexus had taken to spark, in more ways than one.

Because with him, he could do that literally.

This division had a smaller result than he'd done earlier - only about six feet, if that. It was easier for him to navigate through the junk, this way, even if it took a little longer - but nothing like meeting a Refugee on their own ground, eh? Especially the smaller ones.

Or half-falling, half-rolling down a heap to land at the feet of another pair.

"Whoof-!"

"Scrap!" It was one thing to know that there were other people attempting to make their way through the junk; it was another to have one land in a fluffy of sliding detritus at one's feet. Knock Out hopped back a step, clearly alarmed, but Breakdown's unwavering support meant he could go far.

"Watch where you're going!" he snapped at the much smaller stranger. Though having Breakdown at his side again was like a balm, he was still in enough pain to be ornery-- and for the first time in too many cycles he could express it instead of swallowing it for fear of repercussions. After all, he had Breakdown again, and Breakdown had his back.

It felt good (even if he still mostly felt horrible).

"Don't make me be the one to remind someone to cool it," Breakdown hurriedly whispered. Knock Out was on edge, and that ended up in fights that the sports car didn't need. Breakdown could use a tussle right about now, but KO was limping already, and Breakdown ha a duty to keep his partner from offlining. Knock Out had good survival instincts, right? Maybe just self-preservation?

Breakdown then turned his gaze to the newcomer : thankfully a Cybertronian, and one with a rather strong spark, he could already feel.

Staring up-side-down at the two for a moment, Nexus smiled sheepishly at the rebuke. "I'm usually better at getting around than this," he admitted, rolling over and getting to his feet. "Must be the scaling. Now, let me get a look at you two, eh?"

Excuse him while he leans around, trying to get a glance at their shoulder plating. Most Cybertronians have it there, right? And sure enough...

"Hah! You match!"

Knock Out wasn't the only one feeling sheepish, although he was very decidedly not showing it. Still, he knew he ought to be making an effort to at least be civil. It wasn't like he was in any condition to cause a fight, even if he had Breakdown back to support him in it.

"Forgive me; I didn't mean to snap," he said to the little, sounding sincere even if he really wasn't. "I-- what?"

It hadn't even occurred to him to look and see if Breakdown had been branded like he had-- honestly, he was trying to forget about it, at least until he was in a better position to make the unwelcome mark disappear. But he followed the stranger's gaze to Breakdown's arm, hissing through his vents in surprise as he realized that his partner bore the same purple glyph as he did. "We do!"

"Ha! Figures we would. Just wish I knew what the scrap matching meant." Breakdown lowered his arm a little self-consciously to cover the mark and where he'd scratched his plating, almost raw, to get rid of it. "Anyway, I'm Breakdown, this is Knock Out, and we're headed over... somewhere thataway to find that scrap. The meaning, I mean." Breakdown's hand flew up again to point, and then he gave up trying to cover anything. Wasn't worth the hassle.

"The meaning isn't exactly scrap, 'bot. But if you two already know each other, it can make it easier." Nexus made a gesture up towards the sky. "Stars know we've already seen plenty of you come who don't have a familiar thing in the world- anything helps."

A pause.

"Right. I'm Nexus Prime. I'll take you to where you should be going."

The (comparitively) little mech gestured in a clear invitation to follow.

"Well, isn't that cryptic?" Knock Out said, only just managing to rein in the acid in his tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet, glancing briefly over at Breakdown. "I don't suppose you'd be so kind as to tell us where we're going and why you know to take us there first?"

OPENING LOG: Awakening

Re: Oh Breakdown honey.......

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Firstforged you are now welcome to threadjack; thank you for your patience!

Re: Firstforged you are now welcome to threadjack; thank you for your patience!

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