@madmud2730 @thesoundlessvoid @oneshallstand
You guys are so sweet slkdjfaslkdj ❤
Update: I am no longer on the floor, I have graduated to a chair and am eating a bagel and listening to Act 1 of The Protomen. Thank you so much for the support, it might seem small but it really means a lot to me!
// can i reply to this
((dude if you want to, by all means
Vaccines were getting harder and harder to come by. Megatron himself seemed resistant to this particular strain, his medics crediting it to the fact that he’d suffered through a similar condition in his youth and survived, (or more likely, the dark energon coursing through him. This, however, was not public knowledge.) Even so, he was warned against coming into direct contact with any of the victims. Most of them were going to die within the week anyway, there was no reason to visit them.
Of course, telling Megatron that something is a bad idea is pointless once he’s made up his mind. Perhaps not the entire fleet, but he made a point to check in on those who had fought with him in the arena. These were the strongest of his Decepticons, both in strength and devotion, and out of everyone they should have had the best chance at recovery. It was eerie to see all of them so still, downed by something so microscopic as unnatural oxidation. Blackout was a holdout, old and stubborn, approaching the 10-day mark that so few had reached. If he could just stay awake past then, the plague would run its course and he might survive. Warning or no, Megatron put a servo on his shoulder.
“You will fight this. You will win. Is that understood?”
Megatron was not forged for flight; he felt no call to the sky as some of his troops reportedly did, had no wings or rotors that ever craved the wind against them. Even so, it was the smallest fraction of escape that he allowed himself as a warlord. It wasn’t often anymore that Megatron is able to venture off-ship on his own, without some sort of imminent peril that needed addressing, so he flew at a relatively leisurely pace. As he came to a forested area with signs of a recent crash, it became apparent that imminent peril was indeed at hand. Ah well.
Landing mid-transformation, Megatron waited for his plating to settle completely before walking down the path of destruction. Only a large, military vehicle could have left this amount of carnage, and there had been no human distress signals in the air. Soon enough, the end of the trail dropped down into a ravine, with gouges from claws running down the sides. Definitely not human.
What he hadn’t expected to see was a mech he had thought was long since perished. Megatron dropped down into the cavern for a closer look, to ensure that his optics hadn’t deceived him. Despite the other’s injuries, the warlord approached him with a grin.
“Blackout. So you still function after all… albeit with some difficulties, it seems.” He put in a call for immediate evac and medical assistance. Strong as he might be, Megatron could not lift the tyton out of here on his own.
Fuck his life. Just … fuck it from start to finish, top to bottom, forwards, and upside down running backwards through a cornfield. All of it.
Blackout sidles several feet, plonking his rotormount and back against the side of the ravine, keeping himself mostly in the shade. He is a creature who was born to withstand pain, so the sharp throbbing is nothing he hasn’t felt before (and worse), but that doesn’t mean it’s pleasant. The tyton pulls out a cygar from subspace and lights it, taking a deep drag, letting it out of his nasal vents and mouth as his helm leans back against the protruding mass of his rotormount.
Mismatched optics glare at the exposed strut sticking out of his knee. He’s in no danger of bleeding to death; his internal repair systems are already working on clotting the severed lines. The break itself is too bad for his IRS to repair on it’s own. Blackout supposes he had better call for an evac, or at least some manner of assistance.
But someone beats him to it.
Jumping at the voice, the tyton’s helm twists to see who the speaker is. Oh, bucket of bolts, of course his aft went down (magnificently) in front of Megatron of all mechs. But, after a moment of study and reflection, Blackout realizes that there is something … off about his leader. He still functions? He supposes a mech could have perished from a crash as bad as the one he’d had.
“Seems so,” he drawls in his usual drunk-sounding slur. Long-time deafness and multiple severe head wounds over the course of the war have not helped him speak any clearer. Blackout brushes mud off of one forearm bracer, cygar hanging from his scarred lips. “Wasn’t one of my better landings.”
As he approaches, what strikes Megatron isn’t the severity of Blackout’s injury, but his casual tone. His fellow gladiator had never been particularly formal, but to go for so long without contact, presumed (and if somewhat questionable reports were to be believed, confirmed) offline, to dust himself off and joke? The slurring is new to him too, but he mistakes it as a result of the crash, and makes a note to have the medic check him for a concussion.
“Apparently not. Were you shot down? Soundwave’s readings failed to detect any activity in this sector.” He didn’t even detect you, he neglected to add. This was beginning to look suspicious. Megatron hadn’t forgotten Makeshift, and his particular method of disguise. At any rate, the warlord wasn’t coming within arm’s length of Blackout until he’d worked out the mystery of his miraculously reappeared comrade.
“Why did you make no attempt to contact us, before you crashed?”
20. Open Fracture of Leg
It’s rare that he hits the ground that hard. Every time Blackout flies, he runs the risk of his hallucinations choosing to strike and causing problems, but statistically speaking, he usually okay.
Not today.
Suddenly not being able to tell where the sky and the ground are when one is cruising at five thousand feet is a problem. He’d done his best, resetting everything he could think of, trying not to get lost in the hallucination that served to bend reality out of recognition.
The tyton came back to the real world about two hundred feet from the ground. It was barely long enough for him to right himself and get his legs underneath him before he collided with the ground with a forty-thousand-pound thud that shook the terra for hundreds of feet. Animals and birds fled explosively, cawing and screeching in fear as the ‘Con bounced into a deep, wide, canyon-like ravine, ricocheted off the fucking walls what felt like fifty-seven times, and landed in a titanic heap at the bottom.
Blackout isn’t sure if he’s even in one piece, so for now, he remains still. After a moment, optics still closed, he moves the fingers on each hand, and does the same with the long, curving foot talons that make his kicks so deadly. Pain seems to shoot from everywhere, but, his left leg in particular, provides a white-hot stabbing pain he can’t ignore. Looking down, it becomes clear why.
Megatron was not forged for flight; he felt no call to the sky as some of his troops reportedly did, had no wings or rotors that ever craved the wind against them. Even so, it was the smallest fraction of escape that he allowed himself as a warlord. It wasn’t often anymore that Megatron is able to venture off-ship on his own, without some sort of imminent peril that needed addressing, so he flew at a relatively leisurely pace. As he came to a forested area with signs of a recent crash, it became apparent that imminent peril was indeed at hand. Ah well.
Landing mid-transformation, Megatron waited for his plating to settle completely before walking down the path of destruction. Only a large, military vehicle could have left this amount of carnage, and there had been no human distress signals in the air. Soon enough, the end of the trail dropped down into a ravine, with gouges from claws running down the sides. Definitely not human.
What he hadn’t expected to see was a mech he had thought was long since perished. Megatron dropped down into the cavern for a closer look, to ensure that his optics hadn’t deceived him. Despite the other’s injuries, the warlord approached him with a grin.
“Blackout. So you still function after all… albeit with some difficulties, it seems.” He put in a call for immediate evac and medical assistance. Strong as he might be, Megatron could not lift the tyton out of here on his own.
Megatron's back up 