re_alignment | [Voice]

Entry tags:

✘ dead space | vandal

[Voice]

[A heavily modulated male voice crackles over the network. Each word is broken up by heavy breathing.]

Can you hear me? Is this working?

This is RIG number 438642. My name is-

This is Vandal.

Please. Someone who isn't a freak in a cloak, please respond.

I need to get back to the sprawl. I need- Oh fucking shit I can see the bone. God damn it stop bleeding.

Please help. I need to get back to Titan Station. I'm. Hurt. Badly. Bleeding.

Please.

[Click.]

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Hey-- hey! Hang in there. Someone's going to make it.

Ahhhhhhh shit. Yes. Please. I can't run anymore...

On my way.

[ Wee-oh wee-oh there's an ambulance headed to where you are. ]

I'll try to get someone to help you, just don't die.

Nnnnnnnnnnngh. Awesome.

Hey. you're not with the church, are you?

Uhf. Trying.

[What is this? Someone in trouble. And Ratchet had told him to take it easy but some things override even the Wrath of Ratchet.]

I don't think you can stop something bleeding by telling it to stop.

[It would sure have come in handy for Drift earlier. 'stop leaking on everyone'. SORTED. Unfortunately, not.]

Coordinates?

Uhf... according to this thing.... 35, 526.... whatever the hell that means.

[A VERY PREGNANT PAUSE.]

What's with the suit? Or have I just gone crazy.

.... [Not helpful.] Any landmarks around you?

[HAHAHAH probably not, who is he kidding?]

Suit? What suit?

Hold on... let me see if I can get my Rig to transmit through this thing...

Ah! There! Ahhhgg fuck that hurts.

[There, you get a coordinate locale.]

What's with the like... robot getup? You look like some goddamn cartoon character.

Stay with me, I need your coordinates.

And I'm unaffiliated with any religious institutions.

Transmitting now.

Oh, thank fuck. You got a name? Can you tell me where the hell I am?

....

Got it.

[Who is Rig? Don't tell him it's another one of those Gunbike things.]

[Blink.]

'Get up'? You mean the armor, right? [Right?] It's...what armor's for. Protection.

[The scenery behind him changes, if she's watching. Someone's making a break for it from the Healing Gulag, Ratchet.]

Seriously? They're making mech suits now? And nobody told me. Figures. Nobody tells me shit.

Whatever. It looks cool. Ghk-

[There's a gargling sound as she coughs blood into her helmet, though with the voice modulator it sounds like sick static.]

Hurry... please.

Got it. Be there in a tick.

And I'm Ratchet and you're currently on Cybertron.

[ Short, sharp words, because he's focussed on driving out, getting to this newcomer ASAP. ]

Edited 2012-07-20 05:12 (UTC)

Well I guess that beats out "Vandal" as far as names go...

I'm-

Wait what?

Cybertron. A planet within the vicinity of the Alpha Centauri cluster. Home to an autonomous robotic race known as the Cybertronians.

[ And up vrooms an ambulance which then transforms into one of said Cybertronians. ]

And I see that you're a human? Is it acceptable for me to pick you up?

[ He's already scanning as much as he can, but it's hard to tell through the armour and the relatively obvious voice modulation. ]

Wait what the fuck is-

[And then there he is and holy shit.]

WHAT.

WHAT?! NO! FUCK! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

I'm not a suit. (?) I'm Drift.

And we're not from the same place.

[That? That's not a good sound. He knows that sound. It is red rust gurgle.]

[A furtive look, off-screen, then a quick nod.]

Be there shortly. Hang on.

[ Ratchet crouches down to get to 'eye level' with the human and starts speaking, slow and calm and clear. ]

This is Ratchet. I'm a Cybertronian, as I mentioned before -- a sentient robotic organism. I'm a medic, the cheif medical officer of my unit, and I believe I would be able to treat you, since I've helped treat humans in the past.

[ His eyes flick to their surroundings, then, uncertain. ]

I'd really rather take you back to my medbay, though. It's got all my supplies, it's cleaner and... well. It's a bit safer, too.

Edited 2012-07-20 05:23 (UTC)

...

Ha-hkkg-ha, good joke, buddy. Pal.

So what is a Drift then?

[That dubious, I must be dreaming or someone is playing a cruel prank voice...]

I'm not in the mood for sass right now, pal I j-

[Okay yeah she'll be seeing you soon. Then this will be obviously sorted out.]

...

H...

Haha.

Hahahahahaha... I'm dead. this is it. I'm dead or dying and this is all a dream. Okay, take me back, robot guy. Ratchet. Wow.

At least this is some great dying wish to have. Fucking childhood fantasies do come true when you bite it, huh?

[She flops over uselessly onto one side.]

[Well, she seems...friendly?]

Drift. Me.

[Unless you're asking this on some weird metaphysical level like 'who are you really?' or something.]

All that matters right now is I'm coming to bring you to get help.

... Alright. Guess I can't argue with that.

[Another pause.]

Look I mean no offense but I'm pretty certain you're not real? So.

Be straight with me. Am I dead?

[It actually sounds like an honest question from the man(?) in the suit. Or at least what sounds like one. I.e. no sarcasm there.]

Good idea. Or, at least, argue with me later.

[His vehicle mode jolts over the rough ground, living up to his name as he moves.]

I'm...pretty real. [At least all the Sharkticons he killed thought he was real enough.]

No. You're not dead. You're on Cybertron.

[Much easier to take, right? And with that, she might hear his engines or see him approach.]

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AUDIO;

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AUDIO;

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[video--AWYISSSSSS]

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[video] BREATHES ON 8)

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