re_alignment | [Video -> Text] [Transmission Originating From: Vectorian Sector]

Entry tags:

✘ real steel | noisy boy

[Video -> Text] [Transmission Originating From: Vectorian Sector]

[The video is only on for a few moments - long enough to show a purple bot with wide shoulders, a samurai helmet, and glowing yellow optics - before shutting off. After that is a burst of text.]

Many of you exceed WRB height restrictions. You also violate a number of other WRB regulations, including illegal use of weapons and possession non-standard upgrades.

I am not where I should be.

[He would just like to let you all know YOU ARE SO ILLEGAL. SO. ILLEGAL now down to a few extra messages-]

If anyone happens to see Charlie Kenton I would like to be informed. He is a human with short, dark hair and brown eyes. He also has a son, Max. I do not wish them to be alone with unfamiliar bots if they come here.

Gunmax. Thank you for the ride, when we arrived. It was kind of you.

To the bot with the fins on his head: My name is Noisy Boy. 'Soundwave' is a terrible name.

And there was a red and white bot. I apologize if I fightened you somehow.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

... What is the Tyrest Accord?

[Confuuuuuused.]

So it would seem. Unfortunate.

[Oh, right. Not everyone's heard of it. At length. From Ultra Magnus. All the time.]

It's the rule covering not letting Cybertronian technology fall into the wrong hands.

[Like...any hands.]

It doesn't have to be unfortunate, though.

I have been hearing much of these Cybertronians since arriving here. Their technology is so dangerous?

[Because that seems... a little crazy to him.]

How so?

We destroyed our own planet. Twice.

If we can't control it, no one else can.

[It is pretty crazy. ]

It's a start. It has to be. We were brought together and it's...it's fresh start.

[Says the mech who keeps wallowing in his own past. A quiet snort.] The past is one thing but the present, the future...we don't need to be tied to the past.

[Didn't Wing just say this to Drift? He does listen.]

[Wait. What?]

How could you destroy your own planet? And so many times?

[There's a few long moments before he responds to the rest, considering. What Drift doesn't see is the way that Noisy Boy is examining his right arm, so recently re-attached after being ripped off, pistons still not moving properly.]

What if our future is already tied to our past?

[What if he'd expected his future to be being scrapped? Saddening as it is for him to consider.]

The problem with power, in a fight, is that you want an edge. Then your opponent wants an edge. Then you have to counter, then they counter back.

Until both of you fight, standing in the burning embers of the city you were both trying to 'win'.

[Yeah, well, Drift only dispenses wisdom. He's hardly the guy who's got it all figured out.]

That's the future there. This is a new future.

[He hopes.]

Then I suppose I am glad to be what I am. I have not encountered this problem before.

But it sounds terrible. I am sorry for your loss.

[Noisy Boy has seen his future a thousand times, in other bots. The falling into obscurity, the neglect, the eventual scrapping. The idea of their being something else is... strange.]

Perhaps. I am uncertain what to make of it.

And, uh, what are you? Are you like McCrane? One of the [What did McCrane call them? Oh, right,] Brave Police?

[Drift frowns.] Not my loss--the whole planet's. Our whole people. And..we're all to blame for it.

Well. Start with what's different, new. That's something. A direction to go. {That's also how Rodimus navigates the Lost Light, probably.]

I am a boxing bot, from the World Robot Boxing league.

All of you may have lost it, but I have only met you, and you are part of the all. [Noisy Boy can only manage philosophy sometimes, but he does try.]

Everything is different. Even the stars here are not the same. [Which is the strangest part for him, really. They are still there like always but he doesn't recognize them.]

Boxing? Like....[ What?] Putting things in boxes?

[But how is that a sport? Competitive packaging? Wow. There was a lot Drift didn't know about peacetime. ]

[You do this enigmatic wisdom thing better than Drift does!]

I am. And you're right. This isn't your world. I'm sorry you got caught up in this.

[Whatever, really, this is.]

[Drift is failing at being comforting. It is time for a new suggestion!] What do you do when you're not boxing?

I have heard it described by new spectators as "two robots punching each other until one doesn't get up again".

[Which, admittedly, probably sounds terrible. But it's what he does.]

[Well, he's traveled a lot and is fairly old for what he is, really. It's probably a wisdom-age-quiet-reflection thing.]

We will not know what I am caught up in until we learn what this is.

[Drift is trying, which is more than he can say for others in his life.] I spar. Or I am offline and charging. I was only built for boxing.

Though I do enjoy watching the crowds.

Spectators. So people pay to watch you do this.

[That sounds like Clench's arena, the underground games. He frowns at the memory.]

That's true for all of us to some degree, I think. But for right now, you're safe? Do you need, [what did McCrane want again?] gasoline or something?

[Drift gives a soft, wry snort. ] You sound like me. For years. Fighting, preparing for the next fight. Never really looking at anything else. Anything more.

I would not have been designed and built otherwise. You do not like it.

[As a bot used to seeing disapproval on faces without mouths, the frown is shockingly obvious to Noisy Boy.]

I will need to plug in before my batteries run down completely. Electricity. But I am safe otherwise. Thank you for inquiring. [Everyone here - besides that Starscream bot - has seemed fairly helpful like that.]

I have not needed anything else, so long as I could box. What changed for you?

It's not my place to like or not like.

[But yeah, he doesn't like it. It was bad enough when sentient mechs chose willingly to fight in the arenas, out of some fond wish for glory or desperate need of money, but at least they had a choice.]

The question is, do you like it?

Plug in. Is someone working on that?

[He's no medic, or engineer, but someone has to be able to help. ]

[Drift smiles.] Mostly realizing that I'd lost what I was fighting for.

What do you 'box' for?

You are still allowed to have an opinion on it. Plenty of others do.

[He's heard enough of them from reporters that don't approve of it.]

I do like it.

Not yet. But I think I know someone that could help.

[If he doesn't startle the bot again.]

[No one... has ever asked him what he boxes for. It takes him a few moments to consider that.]

For my operator. Most of them want glory.

My opinion can't be valid, because it's not based on your experience.

In my world, mechs fought in an Arena, kind of like your 'boxing'. Until someone died. Some did it for 'glory'. Most did it because...they had nowhere else to turn.

Our war was started by an ex-Arena fighter.

I don't think yours is the same.

[So, his opinion is likely not the same.]

[He nods. Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask around. Death by starvation is a terrible thing.]

....and you want to make your 'operator' happy. [He's putting the pieces together. There's an implied 'why?' in there.]

Bots have been destroyed in matches before, but that is mostly in Underground bouts. We can be repaired after even those matches.

We would not start a war, however.

[They can't, really. Save one of them, they can't fight without an operator. At least Noisy Boy can't.]

Of course. Why would I not? They built us for boxing. To win. [Now he is getting a bit confused.]

Sometimes, my kind can't. Sometimes we're dead and stay dead.

[Gasket, even before the war. And Wing...Wing had died.]

Wouldn't you? What if your operator wanted you to fight outside your arenas? What if he wanted you to commit a crime?

Would you?

[How far does that loyalty go?]

They built you, but that doesn't mean they own you. Not your thoughts, your feelings, at least. Those are yours.

I cannot. It is forbidden by my programming. As well, those are illegal actions that are strictly prohibited by my programming.

[Tak Mashido didn't build no criminal.]

No, they cannot. But we were built for a purpose that I am happy to fulfill.

[He can be bought and sold, which he knows and accepts, but that doesn't change who he is.]

What's forbidden? You can only hit one of your own kind?

[Drift doesn't like the idea of that, either. ]

But that raises the question. We don't have your 'boxing' here. So....what's your purpose now?

I can only be entered into a match with other boxing bots when not training or sparring. And I cannot commit moves deemed illegal by the WRB, or crimes deemed illegal by countries with league matches.

[His programming is pretty tightly-bound in regulations.

And that last question is... awful for Noisy Boy to consider. He doesn't like the idea of not being able to box.]

Then I do not have a purpose.

....how do you fight with so many rules?

[Illegal this and illegal that. Really, it makes the Autobot Code seem reasonable.]

Nonsense.

That means you get to find a new purpose. Maybe a better one.

With punches aimed at the upper torso and head, until one bot is knocked out or five rounds have passed. But I wonder, how can others fight with so few rules?

[This is why he never understands Underground boxing. So much kicking.]

You make it sound as though it is a privilege.

It does not feel that way.

[Yeah, uh, wow. That's...possibly the most inefficient fighting Drift's ever heard.]

A lot faster and uglier, apparently.

[Five 'rounds' however long those are, is too long.]

But we don't fight for entertainment.

[He's still not sure how he feels about that.]

Privileges don't always turn out to be easy. Besides, your league isn't here. What do you intend to do? Just...sit until you run out of charge?

The goal usually is not to tear each other apart, my way.

We are too costly an investment for that.

[Otherwise you end up with a $13.1 million pile of scrap.]

Without my handler I am not certain what I can do. They direct my actions.

[Except here. Another point that disturbs him, really. It's not just being alone, it's being without some kind of direction.]

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