singularityderp | Dark Future Meme (as requested)

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Dark Future Meme (as requested)

DARK FUTURE MEME
[We know who it is we want. We have a collective mind.
We don't miss a single step. We're always right behind.
We know we serve someone else. We have swallowed our pride.
We march to this tune of loss. We take this in our stride.]

Ten years later, humanity and the synthetic life on the station are at odds
Hypatia has inducted as many citizens of Sacrosanct into a private military and launched
an all-out war against organic life and the people of Asphodel.
Some were kept on the station as captives, some escaped down planet-side
to become part of the resistance, and countless others were re-purposed into
Hypatia's willing slaves.

Where will you be?

How this works:
-If you are synthetic or part-synthetic, OR if you have special armor (Looking at you, Spartans, Troncast, EVERY ROBOT EVER) you are a target for re-purpose.
You can still have escaped down to the planet, but she'll be after you. Going to the station is dangerous, once you enter her wide-area-network you are at risk of being hacked
-If you are fully organic, you are either dead, kept prisoner and made to work on the station, or part of the resistance on Asphodel.
-Anything in-between? You decide. Be creative with this.
-Fill out the form below to give us an idea of what your character is up to, what happened to them etc. Thread with each other! RP it out!
-Also, bring in your extra journals! There won't be the same people on the station ten years from now! If you're planning to app someone, or just have something interesting lying around, toss them in!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It was a sacred truth, one he had held on to since first discovering it; Pain was sacred. Pain was holy. Nemesis Prime's doorwing twitches again in subtle anticipation, but he stifles the rest of any reaction.

It has no place here.

He speaks, to recover the perceived break. "Your fuel?" He has never made a secret of how little he thinks of Barricade's jury-rigged refueling system, but Hypatia's is superior only in its lack of containment. It is exactly what he needs to function - little more, little less.

As far as Barricade's perception, pain brings truth. Everyone showed their true colors when Barricade had them on the table, under his claws. One of the few things he missed when he started doing medical work. He can keep some of that in not shutting off his patients' pain receptors, at least. He brushes one hand down the length of the doorwing and starts to work.

Don't think he missed that twitch beforehand; he didn't get where he was by missing things. But it's nothing he'll inquire about.

There's a low chuckle. "Ain't accidentally blown anything up with it yet." He has to mainline it because the taste is repulsive, but it serves his purpose. He's always simply been pleased he could manage it without blowing the zone sky-high; aside from physics, sciences are not his strongsuit. "Survived off worse."

"We'd notice, if you had. She would notice, cameras or not." He doesn't bother adding 'be careful'; it would be an insult. Barricade hasn't earned one of those yet, even if Nemesis wishes he'd get to the deep gear, where the greatest pain can be caused, let it clean and purify and-

-he clicks abruptly, pulling away as he reaches for his helm. No. No, that is not where his processor is to go, they're supposed to keep him from that again, he hisses in sudden anger and warning to Barricade.

He does not wish to hurt the other, but he will damage something in a moment if he cannot correct this loop.

"Know better than that," he assures. If anything goes wrong, he's dead. Another thing on the long list of destruction, but he can control this one.

He can see where this is about to head as soon as Nemesis hisses at him. Surviving the instability of those he works with is something he's done all his life. Thick plating, after all, even if it hasn't been washed and polished in years. And he'd been hurt worse than the infrequent beatings from this mech. But calming unstable mechs is what he does, too.

"Convoy. Focus." Recall what he'd been when Barricade first arrived. All that honor and nobility - things he detested - and calmness. The most important bit.

"Convoy is dead," comes the growl, voice grating like the gears of his doorwing. "Died with the rest of them, they left him, cut me off, lost us in our own Ragnarök-"

Fingers denting in to his helm, he slowly, achingly slows his processor. Not fast enough to his liking, and tension builds in his frame as he forces the loop to slow and stop.

An audible, low thrum builds in Barricade's engine, his natural reaction when trying to bring someone down. It's helped in the past with others, and now he can't help but do it. Other than that, he just waits for a while. Set amount of time +/- a little extra.

Eventually he closes the distance, movements slow and deliberate and obvious as he puts a hand on Nemesis's shoulder. "Calm," he rumbles out.

The time helps. By the time Barricade touches him, Nemesis has calm down enough so that his only reaction is a twitch, and then the slow removing of his hand from his helm.

There are imprints, there. They were there before, and repairs will not keep the metal intact for very long. The pain has become a familiar comfort in its own way, a reminder that he is the one in control, that he controls that pain, he keeps it there only as long as he chooses and he can end it at any time.

Sometimes, the more base appeals are the only ones that truly have an affect.

"...I will be there when she dies," he says softly, finally. "I will watch her die, even if I do not do it myself. I will see it."

Barricade learned a while back that popping the dents from his helm was an effort in futility. Every once in a while he does it anyway, though. A small break from the constant panic that usually whirred through his processor.

"I wanna make sure you are, darlin'." He touches that doorwing again. "Keep you in shape for it." Without Nemesis getting so out of repair that the fixes become noticeable to other parties.

At the very least, he's willing to and completely capable of giving him that pain.

He rumbles at that, somewhere between annoyed at the pet name and accepting of the sentiment. Or perhaps switched. He doesn't know, and right now, he's tired of thinking.

So he simply lowers his hand, allowing Barricade to go back to work.

It's his fallback nickname for everyone. It's just... been a while since he's used it for anyone. Too much of his old self in that. He shakes his head slightly, shifting to get back to repairing those gears.

It won't take him long, but he's deft with his claws and knows where to touch for pain.

There's no further sound from Nemesis. No growls, no signs of pain, no attempts at conversation; just one or two twitches of gears under the skilled servos of the Mustang.

For all the world, he's lost in his own.

Barricade doesn't attempt to bring him out of it. Sometimes it's just better to be somewhere else, even if it's only mentally. And for him, just the presence of real company - real, physical company, not those things that showed up when he finally snapped - is enough for him.

He doesn't even snark off about the twitches as he makes certain they can move easily and more freely than they had.

Edited 2011-06-22 22:39 (UTC)

The snarking would no doubt be returned one of two ways; utter nonreaction, or violence. Barricade's choice is far wiser, because there are sayings about poking the dragon...

When he feels Barricade finishing up - or what seems to be - Nemesis pulls himself back to reality, leaning forwards as he tests the joint. The only sound now is the normal, almost inaudible whrr of smoothly-laced machinery.

Better, he thinks, looking back at Barricade. His optics, with their lack of light and color, are all but unreadable - nuances to posture, however, suggest inquiry.

Barricade is the kind to test his limits, even with those that are extremely dangerous. But these days, it seems smarter to not prod the dragon he knows.

He draws his claws free as he finishes up, listening for that whirr. Ah, good. These old hands haven't failed him yet.

His own 'wings' flick slightly at the look. He's learned to pick up on the nuances of Nemesis's posture... though sometimes smaller ones still escape him. He quirks a tiny smile. "Might not be good as new, but should do you well, now."

A slow nod. If Barricade says it will suffice, he'll accept it. At least unless it breaks down due to damage, but...so far, any such fault has not een Barricade's own.

He almost regrets his inexperience with smalltalk at this point. It may be silly, but at least it would make it last longer.

But then, nowadays, he is poor conversation.

Barricade knows not to think that the repairs will last forever. They never do. It had made this line of work a lucrative business before; wait for the fight to die down, fix the damages, send them out to do it again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Here, it's a shred of normalcy and he's glad for it. Something to focus on.

"Nothing else pressing this go-round?" Barricade's never particularly eager to end this. And he'll try to talk enough for the both of them.

He pauses for a long moment before resetting his vocalizer and speaking, slowly.

"Hypatia." Another long moment. "She is displeased, as of late." He looks down a bit, flexing his hand as his voice lowers, speaking half to himself, half to simply speak. "Scouring the station. Convinced there are things hiding here, more than already are. The station must be pristine, prepared."

A beat, and he raises his voice. "She will order me to find you again. Maybe soon."

"Wouldn't know about that." And he doesn't, truly. Barricade travels by artificial tunnels he dug out and sneaking, in the few instances that he leaves his zone. Anyone else he's seen either belongs to Hypatia or is a Resistance member that showed up during a raid. "Who'm I to say if she's right or wrong?"

He quiets for a moment, shuttering his optics in vertical pairs. Doesn't feel quite right with the missing one. He'll just have to be prepared for that. Somehow. His smile is lopsided and sardonic, and tired "Finally getting tired of throwing those programs at me, is she? Just when I was about to finish up the Eiffel Tower, too."

He doesn't know what the Eiffel Tower is. He assumes it's some diversion Barricade is performing, in order to keep from the madness of enforced idleness.

But as for whether or not she grows tired? He shrugs. The more pressing question is, what are you going to do about it?

Those Programs leave a lot of little blocks scattered when he destroys them. And with the teleporters, their stubbornness, and his boredom... building projects ensued. It's something to do, at least.

He directs his full attention to Nemesis at that unspoken question. "I'll think of something. Didn't get to where I did not being a quick thinker." And if it comes down to it, if Nemesis does get the better of him... he'll rip out his own Spark before he becomes a pawn in a war that isn't his own.

Before bringing Barricade in, Nemesis would kill him himself. It's the least he could do; slavery is by far not an enjoyable situation. Especially if it's not the first time it's happen. One would think that you could grow used to it, and perhaps you can...but you can also grow used to freedom, and to once again be put under another's yoke...

The only thing that makes it palatable are his thoughts of revenge. Hate nourishes him, feeds him, gives him strength. That, and the fact that his mind is his own...mostly.

So he simply nods. If Barricade can think of an excuse, he will try to follow it.

Barricade has been under someone else's thumb for most of his life. He's not going to give up freedom, even for something like revenge. Not anymore. Death is his only option, if it comes down to it. That's something he'd never try to change.

But he'll fight for survival. And if it's anyone but Nemesis that takes him down, he's taking them and the entire garden zone with him. It wouldn't be that difficult to rig his system to explode, and Energon is so unstable anyway...

Survival.

Freedom.

Nemesis stands up abruptly, cycling his vents in a restless sigh as he works his shoulder and doorwing-joint.

"We thought," he rasps, "of bringing a part back, when the order comes. Claiming the rest was destroyed."

Barricade considers that thought, watching Nemesis working that joint. Just to make sure he'd gotten it as functional as he can, with the minimal tools he has at his disposal.

Faking his own death. It wouldn't be the first time.

"You have a part in mind?" It's not like any of them would be confused as belonging to some other mech, but some pieces are more redundant than others.

"A spark chamber."

Hypatia knows how Cybertronians function, or at least how he does. She knows that without the storage of the life force, the chassis is dead and gone. It would be the best proof he could ever offer that Barricade was gone, and for her to turn her attention elsewhere - permanently.

The difficulty would be giving one to her while Barricade is still alive.

But if it isn't his...

Dark Future Meme (as requested)

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