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ayngelcatTitle: “Undead”
Universe: G1
Rating: PG13
Characters: Moonracer, First Aid
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or any of the characters or scenarios from the series within this story
Prompt: #1 Undead
Notes The femmes had many experiences on Cybertron during the 4 million year period that the Autobots and Decepticons were entombed in the volcano on Earth. One of these was Moonracer inadvertently coming across the imprisoned Combaticons ....
Undead
Moonracer cleared her throat. “You wanted to see me, Elita?”
The femme leader’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Yes. Moonracer. There have been a few errors of late, have there not? I understand you have been – glitching.”
Moonracer nodded. “I apologize for the mistakes,” she said. “There’s something wrong with my recharge systems. I’m not – functioning – properly when I’m offline, and its affecting my online status.”
Elita nodded. “You’ve done our cause no damage, Moonracer. You’ve just seemed a little – distracted, of late, and I guessed it was some such difficulty.”
She sighed, wearily, “We’ve all spent many eons now fighting in isolation. Moonracer. Negotiating with Shockwave, thinking we got somewhere, only to have it all dashed again and back to hiding in the depths. Sometimes I fear the scars to our minds are worse than physical ones from an open battlefield.”
Moonracer nodded. She had seen many such ‘casualties’ herself. She did not, however, think this was to do with their 'situation.'
Elita smiled. “We’re lucky enough to have First Aid visiting for a while,” she said. “He’s been offworld for many eons. Not a fighter, as you know, but he’s agreed to be our medic.” She laughed, “he’ll be useful enough if Shockwave decides to have a crack at us again. In the meantime, I suggest you discuss your - problem - with him.”
…………
The medic was small red and white, attractive and quite ‘delicate.’ But with an ‘edge’ to him which made Moonracer think that in certain circumstances – fighter or not - there was nothing delicate about him at all.
On the table, burned a pleasantly scented aromatic crystal. “Relaxing,” he’d said. “I’ve run a check on your software. There’s nothing wrong with your recharge sequencing. You’ve been under stress. A few soothing scents in your olfactory sensors and a little ‘chat,’ and you’ll feel much better. ”
He was kind, and sincere. But Moonracer had the feeling that neither the scented crystals or the mood relaxant elixir he’d prescribed were going to do any good; and that whilst the psychological knowledge this mech evidently possessed may be an asset in many areas, it was going to be of no use here.
“I don’t have trouble getting into recharge,” she said. “Or staying in it. It’s while I’m in it that’s the problem. Things – happen.”
First Aid nodded, his blue optics regarding her quizzically. “Things?” he said softly.
Moonracer nodded. “I have this – experience. It’s the same every time. “
First Aid leaned forward in the chair, his hands clasped. He nodded encouragingly. "You want to tell me about it?"
She relaxed a little. Maybe he wouldn’t think she was a total looper. She took a deep intake.
“A while back, I went on reconnaissance – in the Decepticon sector. I wound up underground, in this - corridor. I knew where it was. An old storage area. I did some surveillance there towards the end of the fighting - even then, it hadn't been used for eons. And now it was really musty and stale and like no-one had been there since. Except – there was. I could feel them.”
First Aid frowned. “ What,you mean mechs hiding in there? In the shadows?”
Moonracer shook her head. “No. I did all the standard checks. There were no energy signatures.”
She looked away from First Aid, her optics becoming glazed. “But there was - a presence. Not alive, but not dead either. Like – a load of just minds. I felt like they wanted something. And they tried to talk to me - but they didn’t know how.”
A shudder went through the femme, her optics widening . “It frightened me, First Aid!” she whispered. “I've been in tunnels and tight spots under about half of Cybertron I reckon. But this ... them ... "
She paused, running her hands over her faceplates. "I ran," she confessed. "I never ran like that before. I ran straight out past Shockwave’s sentries and they took off after me, but I swear I was moving so fast, they never even got near me.“
She looked back at First Aid, her optics very intense. “But every time I recharge, I’m right there again.”
Moonracer’s intakes had increased, and there was a tremor in the hand on the arm of her chair. First Aid reached across and laid a hand on her wrist.
“There’s been a lot of death here,” he said, gently. “You’ve been in many conflicts, both before and after the Autobots left. You got taken prisoner, I understand? And on at least one occasion during these underground 'missions' you were - trapped?”
Moonracer nodded.
Encouraged, First Aid went on: "This place probably reminded you of where you were trapped. It triggered off an association, and now you’re mind is trying to deal with the initial experience.”
But Moonracer imagined she could see where this was going, and she shook her head. “It's not like that!” she said. "That was different. It was scary - yes. But it was only me and I got myself out and I never sensed no other mechs and I sure as hell never had a nightmare about it since!"
First Aid patted her wrist. “Sometimes our minds react like this. It’s a processors way of categorizing the information ..."
“No!” Moonracer cried, snatching her hand away. “I told you its not like that!” her hands clenched in her lap, twisting.
“You don't understand!" she gasped. "It’s - horrible for them! They’re all crammed together, in a tiny little space. Couped up - like turborats in a box. Except - they can't see or hear or feel or anything! And they can’t get out!”
……………….
First Aid regarded the distressed femme in the consulting chair. He had thought this would be straightforward. He was good at fixing post traumatic stress with his 'open talk' techniques. It was, after all, only to do with fearful recall experiences inhibiting the formation of normal memories. Once a mech had 'talked,' the fear dissipated, recall and memory synchronized.
But Moonracer's fears did not seem to be dissipating. There was an 'unsolved' element, something which compelled her to revisit the event. And that was not all - patients rarely invented, in the initial experience, entities which simply weren't there. Yet First Aid had seen in the scan no cognitive deficiencies to account for this. Because the femme was right: the recall recording had shown her to be completely alone.
Moonracer was looking at him. "I feel like you think I’m crazy," she said. "You’ll tell Elita. I’ll be put on ‘inactive' status.”
It pained First Aid greatly to see such lack of trust. Whatever was her problem, he could not fail so badly as to have that happen.
“I’m a doctor,” he said. "I couldn’t do that – not unless it was an emergency, and so far it is far from that. Please - is there anything else. Anything at all?”
Moonracer sighed. "They've been there a long time," she said, miserably. "It's like they died; cos they lost anything that would make life worth living. But they're not dead, they're kinda - undead." she shuddered. "There were more, too - a lot more. But they really did die. Now there's only these left."
First Aid sat looking at her, his processor clicking over. There was a mind severance technique, an imprisonment and torture process used in the reign of the Quintessons. But it had been outlawed by the intergalactic medical council eons ago – and not all for sentimental reasons: None of the severed minds had ever survived more than a few thousand vorns.
Instant execution was easier and cheaper.
He'd heard rumours of such a technique here. Brutal, illegal; used during the war, to 'store' Decepticon prisoners. Was it possible that some had, against all the odds, survived? That the femme had somehow 'sensed' them?
It was the medic who shuddered this time. He had never ruled out 'extra sensory' perception. But this time, he seriously hoped it was garbage.
The femme was watching him. "I have to go back," she said. “There’s a number which is in the vision, always, eventually. It’s two-one-seven. I have to look for that, I think.”
First Aid nodded. "What happens when you find it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Moonracer whispered. “That’s when I always online.”
TBC ....
Universe: G1
Rating: PG13
Characters: Moonracer, First Aid
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or any of the characters or scenarios from the series within this story
Prompt: #1 Undead
Notes The femmes had many experiences on Cybertron during the 4 million year period that the Autobots and Decepticons were entombed in the volcano on Earth. One of these was Moonracer inadvertently coming across the imprisoned Combaticons ....
Undead
Moonracer cleared her throat. “You wanted to see me, Elita?”
The femme leader’s voice was firm, but not unkind. “Yes. Moonracer. There have been a few errors of late, have there not? I understand you have been – glitching.”
Moonracer nodded. “I apologize for the mistakes,” she said. “There’s something wrong with my recharge systems. I’m not – functioning – properly when I’m offline, and its affecting my online status.”
Elita nodded. “You’ve done our cause no damage, Moonracer. You’ve just seemed a little – distracted, of late, and I guessed it was some such difficulty.”
She sighed, wearily, “We’ve all spent many eons now fighting in isolation. Moonracer. Negotiating with Shockwave, thinking we got somewhere, only to have it all dashed again and back to hiding in the depths. Sometimes I fear the scars to our minds are worse than physical ones from an open battlefield.”
Moonracer nodded. She had seen many such ‘casualties’ herself. She did not, however, think this was to do with their 'situation.'
Elita smiled. “We’re lucky enough to have First Aid visiting for a while,” she said. “He’s been offworld for many eons. Not a fighter, as you know, but he’s agreed to be our medic.” She laughed, “he’ll be useful enough if Shockwave decides to have a crack at us again. In the meantime, I suggest you discuss your - problem - with him.”
…………
The medic was small red and white, attractive and quite ‘delicate.’ But with an ‘edge’ to him which made Moonracer think that in certain circumstances – fighter or not - there was nothing delicate about him at all.
On the table, burned a pleasantly scented aromatic crystal. “Relaxing,” he’d said. “I’ve run a check on your software. There’s nothing wrong with your recharge sequencing. You’ve been under stress. A few soothing scents in your olfactory sensors and a little ‘chat,’ and you’ll feel much better. ”
He was kind, and sincere. But Moonracer had the feeling that neither the scented crystals or the mood relaxant elixir he’d prescribed were going to do any good; and that whilst the psychological knowledge this mech evidently possessed may be an asset in many areas, it was going to be of no use here.
“I don’t have trouble getting into recharge,” she said. “Or staying in it. It’s while I’m in it that’s the problem. Things – happen.”
First Aid nodded, his blue optics regarding her quizzically. “Things?” he said softly.
Moonracer nodded. “I have this – experience. It’s the same every time. “
First Aid leaned forward in the chair, his hands clasped. He nodded encouragingly. "You want to tell me about it?"
She relaxed a little. Maybe he wouldn’t think she was a total looper. She took a deep intake.
“A while back, I went on reconnaissance – in the Decepticon sector. I wound up underground, in this - corridor. I knew where it was. An old storage area. I did some surveillance there towards the end of the fighting - even then, it hadn't been used for eons. And now it was really musty and stale and like no-one had been there since. Except – there was. I could feel them.”
First Aid frowned. “ What,you mean mechs hiding in there? In the shadows?”
Moonracer shook her head. “No. I did all the standard checks. There were no energy signatures.”
She looked away from First Aid, her optics becoming glazed. “But there was - a presence. Not alive, but not dead either. Like – a load of just minds. I felt like they wanted something. And they tried to talk to me - but they didn’t know how.”
A shudder went through the femme, her optics widening . “It frightened me, First Aid!” she whispered. “I've been in tunnels and tight spots under about half of Cybertron I reckon. But this ... them ... "
She paused, running her hands over her faceplates. "I ran," she confessed. "I never ran like that before. I ran straight out past Shockwave’s sentries and they took off after me, but I swear I was moving so fast, they never even got near me.“
She looked back at First Aid, her optics very intense. “But every time I recharge, I’m right there again.”
Moonracer’s intakes had increased, and there was a tremor in the hand on the arm of her chair. First Aid reached across and laid a hand on her wrist.
“There’s been a lot of death here,” he said, gently. “You’ve been in many conflicts, both before and after the Autobots left. You got taken prisoner, I understand? And on at least one occasion during these underground 'missions' you were - trapped?”
Moonracer nodded.
Encouraged, First Aid went on: "This place probably reminded you of where you were trapped. It triggered off an association, and now you’re mind is trying to deal with the initial experience.”
But Moonracer imagined she could see where this was going, and she shook her head. “It's not like that!” she said. "That was different. It was scary - yes. But it was only me and I got myself out and I never sensed no other mechs and I sure as hell never had a nightmare about it since!"
First Aid patted her wrist. “Sometimes our minds react like this. It’s a processors way of categorizing the information ..."
“No!” Moonracer cried, snatching her hand away. “I told you its not like that!” her hands clenched in her lap, twisting.
“You don't understand!" she gasped. "It’s - horrible for them! They’re all crammed together, in a tiny little space. Couped up - like turborats in a box. Except - they can't see or hear or feel or anything! And they can’t get out!”
……………….
First Aid regarded the distressed femme in the consulting chair. He had thought this would be straightforward. He was good at fixing post traumatic stress with his 'open talk' techniques. It was, after all, only to do with fearful recall experiences inhibiting the formation of normal memories. Once a mech had 'talked,' the fear dissipated, recall and memory synchronized.
But Moonracer's fears did not seem to be dissipating. There was an 'unsolved' element, something which compelled her to revisit the event. And that was not all - patients rarely invented, in the initial experience, entities which simply weren't there. Yet First Aid had seen in the scan no cognitive deficiencies to account for this. Because the femme was right: the recall recording had shown her to be completely alone.
Moonracer was looking at him. "I feel like you think I’m crazy," she said. "You’ll tell Elita. I’ll be put on ‘inactive' status.”
It pained First Aid greatly to see such lack of trust. Whatever was her problem, he could not fail so badly as to have that happen.
“I’m a doctor,” he said. "I couldn’t do that – not unless it was an emergency, and so far it is far from that. Please - is there anything else. Anything at all?”
Moonracer sighed. "They've been there a long time," she said, miserably. "It's like they died; cos they lost anything that would make life worth living. But they're not dead, they're kinda - undead." she shuddered. "There were more, too - a lot more. But they really did die. Now there's only these left."
First Aid sat looking at her, his processor clicking over. There was a mind severance technique, an imprisonment and torture process used in the reign of the Quintessons. But it had been outlawed by the intergalactic medical council eons ago – and not all for sentimental reasons: None of the severed minds had ever survived more than a few thousand vorns.
Instant execution was easier and cheaper.
He'd heard rumours of such a technique here. Brutal, illegal; used during the war, to 'store' Decepticon prisoners. Was it possible that some had, against all the odds, survived? That the femme had somehow 'sensed' them?
It was the medic who shuddered this time. He had never ruled out 'extra sensory' perception. But this time, he seriously hoped it was garbage.
The femme was watching him. "I have to go back," she said. “There’s a number which is in the vision, always, eventually. It’s two-one-seven. I have to look for that, I think.”
First Aid nodded. "What happens when you find it?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Moonracer whispered. “That’s when I always online.”
TBC ....
