Dear heaven, dear readers...four years and finally my muse has returned. Actually, I caught her by the toe and duct-taped her to a chair. These past years have been filled with a quiet despair as I had no inkling of how to proceed. Oh I knew what was going to happen...heck I have an ending written. But this chapter refused to come forth. Perhaps I should stop delving into other Fan Fiction and comparing theirs to mine. I hope this chapter is satisfactory...I've been waiting fir the last line for several years now and FINALLY, it's been said. Italics indicate private comm link speech Chapter the Next There are times when I catch images of the past; snatches and bits and pieces that come and go with little notice. Some times I see a Cybertron as it had been described in vorns gone by, some times figures, old and near-antiquated. Still others are awash in nightmare forms, feelings and fear. I see monsters…A monster…tall, black, pools of fire for optics. I have never found the files where these memories are stored. Primus knows I’ve tried…even Jazz tried, once. So long ago… Now…now I lay crippled, bleeding out, a virus making its way towards my spark and suddenly the images coalesce, flashing in my processors optic…faster and faster…too fast for me to understand, to far away for me to touch. Faces, forms, optics…kind, gentle…violent and red…so terribly red…just like…just like… “Ratchet”, First Aid yelled, “we’re losing her!” With a speed honed fine with millennia of training, First Aid jacked her hard line cable into Spindle’s med-port, while unrolling a wrist cable towards Ratchets position on the other side of the injured femme’s chassis. Immediately medical grade firewalls built themselves around Spindles processor and a rush of healing nanites swarmed towards the encroaching virus. The virus was nearly a visible, palpable, and ugly puss-red miasma of glowing evil. Ever so slowly but inexorably oozing its way towards the hapless femme’s sputtering spark. Ratchet held himself still, as First Aid, his best and brightest student from vorns ago, swiftly and surely built ever changing firewall protections while also uploading healing codes to the femme’s wounded systems. The medical femme’s servos turning into micro-welders, scalpels, injectors with quick efficiency, seemed to staunch the flow of energon from broken and torn lines, but the sickly glow of the Fallen’s virus still made its progressive way towards its ultimate goal, a wavering, fading spark. “Ratchet…I can’t…I can’t stop this!” Aid cried out, her voice cut with static. “It won’t let me.” She commed. “Concentrate First Aid, find its signature, choose your heuristic* carefully. You have Del’s base code, compare, sort and execute to solution.” Ratchet’s steady, sure guidance calmed his second and she shuttered her optics in concentration. Swiftly, a picture of the virus welled up in her processor; its gross ugly form a nightmare of changing shapes; each a spoiled imitation of living code. It was wrong. “It feels alive…almost conscious…but it can’t be…” Ratchet could only shake his helm. It felt…not right. It was something he could not put a servo on, just amiss in ways that were not making sense to him. First Aid began to reconfigure the nanites to counter the ever-changing invader. Yet, even as one small line of viral code was removed, another, slightly stronger one took its place. And it had begun to move with more speed, even now threatening to overwhelm the healing nanites that were rapidly dying. Spindle’s frame began to convulse. Her core temperature rose with each micron the virus crept through her weakening system. Her lines were necrotizing, her armor cracked from the brittleness and decay left behind in its wake. Fractured plates of a once gentle and lovely face, threatened to splinter even further as she grimaced with each wave of agonizing pain. And still the Autobot medics spent their all to save her. And still they were being defeated, losing ground each nano-second. The virus, hungry, angry, near triumphant sped it way to Spindles spark; its pulse slowing, its color fading, its light almost too dim. Ratchet was now adding his enormous skills and knowledge to First Aids efforts, going so far as to jack in to a secondary medical port. Both medics fought valiantly, selflessly against a foe that seemed to have a near-sentient existence. “I NEED SOME HELP HERE!” came a cry that resounded through the broken desert town as both Autobot and NEST members focused on clean-up and repair after the battle. Tom Elting and Aaron Furst, still frozen in disbelief and fear, shook themselves back to awareness. The Voice of Ratchet was not one to be ignored when that tone and volume tore through the air. Aaron fumbled at his side, producing a flare gun, loading it with practiced ease and shot of two flares into the sky. He then squatted down by his comrade to wait for the outcome of this intense drama unfolding before them. Bare seconds passed when they heard the sound of a fine-tuned jet nearing their position. Having reclaimed Jetfire’s offering before the sound of Ratchets plea dissipated, Optimus Prime flew straight and true to the source of the call. He landed several yards from the desperate trio, the Matrix of Leadership still in his servos, almost forgotten. His careful approach was acknowledged only by the two humans as the stood respectfully, their silent greeting earning them a quick nod from the Autobot Commander. As if in response and with an insane thrill, the virus seemed to leap even closer to Spindle’s spark. “There’s no doubt,” Ratchet sent to First Aid, “this Primus-forsaken virus must be sentient. How else could…” But he could go no further. As if privy to the silent communication the virus appeared to take on the image of its creator. The Fallen’s optics stared at the two medics, hundreds of them, thousands; each a viral replica of the dead former Prime. And all First Aid and Ratchet could do was stare back through their shared hard lines, the horror on the face plates visible to themselves only. They had failed, they had lost their patient and they would be the next victims as soon as Spindle’s spark had dissipated. Optimus, seeing only his three fellow Cybertronians before him, sensing an old, familiar evil, called to his CMO “Ratchet…What do you need, what can I…” Spindles violent spasms stopped abruptly at the sound of his familiar baritone. Her optics snapped open, red-green, violent, and greedy. And then they went blank…the color beaching to crystalline white, her arms, held down under the knee joints of both medics suddenly, with unforeseen strength, flung both rescuers away in an effort to reach out to the Prime, their connections now severed. The virus, so recently racing to her spark, began oozing out from between broken plates and severed lines. It encrusted her entire frame and began to pull itself into the semblance of a snake, winding over and around Spindles graying frame and poised itself above her chest plates ready for the last strike. It moved… …and so did the Matrix. Tearing itself from Optimus’ forgotten possession, it hovered over the stricken femme, glowing crystal-blue and blinding. And in response, from somewhere within her ravaged, lightless spark a beam of pure blue-white luminescence broke forth. The light spread, engulfing Spindle’s frame and wresting possession from a now cowering virus. The battle was sudden and one-sided. With swift ease, the light of the matrix melded with its companion. With no place to hide, the virus shattered, splintering in the scorching brilliance of the combined radiance. If the infection made a sound, it was a high-pitched squeal of agony, a realization that the end had come and all hope was lost. Both lights continued to grow in brilliance. They combined, vivid and intense until they appeared as one radiant illumination exploding upwards in a fountain of incandescence. And then…it was gone, and so was the shattered frame of the reluctant Autobot femme. It its place was the frame of said femme who seemed to only be in a heavy recharge. No sign of the tragic wounds left from battle with both Decepticon warriors and the Fallen. No evidence of vital fluids or broken energon lines stained the ground. The only indication that there had been any problem, were two dazed medics, two shocked humans and a bewildered Prime, who found himself, staring at a now quiet Matrix resting in his servo. Nothing was said…nothing was privately commed but both medics found themselves falling into a natural pattern. Reestablishing her hard line connection, that had obviously been broken during the event, First Aid began to scan her patient. A quick, cursory scans proved satisfactory and she began a deeper, more intense and invasive scan. Ratchet deciding to assist, began his scan with Spindle’s processor. A double scan would provide varying opinions and insights as to the health of the femme. Both bots were lost in their duty and would be non-communicative for quite a while. In the meantime, Optimus turned to the young soldiers, offering a servo for both to climb into. With shocked reverence they did so. “Thank-you gentleman,” the Prime spoke somberly, “thank-you for finding our fellow Autobot.” Too awestruck both simply answered, “Yes sir.” their eyes wide in wonder. The Prime chuckled and turned to begin his climb back down the pyramid. He was stopped short when his Chief Medical Officer explained… “Primus on a stick…what are…where did these…How in the Pit did these files get here? And what in Unicron’s left toe are black files?” Optimus was about to ask for an explanation when First Aid spoke… “Dear Primus,” her voice quiet, reverent. She looked up into Ratchet’s optics. “She’s still sparked.” What a wonder Wikipedia can be at times. In trying to find information on virus’ both physical and computer, I found the following…It sounds like something a Cybertronian medic would learn to do… *In computer science, artificial intelligence, and mathematical optimization, a heuristic is a technique designed for solving a problem more quickly when classic methods are too slow, or for finding an approximate solution when classic methods fail to find any exact solution. This is achieved by trading optimality, completeness, accuracy, or precision for speed. In a way, it can be considered a shortcut. Thank-you for your time!
Dang Ano, your writing after a prolonged drought, has become much more descriptive and frankly, this was an amazing update. I could feel everything, and it hurt. Now, don't keep us waiting for so long for the next update. 'K? Was it really 2011 when you did the last 'full' chapter? Wow, time does indeed fly. Yikes.
It has been way too long since I sat down at the keyboard and let Del tell her story. I keep making excuses, wanting things to be just right…the weather, the time, my attitude. This popped in and needed to be written. What is she thinking and why? Reverie It was a surprise really. To be chosen to carry a singular spark. To give life to someone who will one day do great things. It was the most marvelous day in my life. Somehow the air was fresher, the sky clearer, the future brighter. And I had to hold on to that feeling for a vorn…a thousand vorns…a hundred-thousand vorns…or I would go mad. But I did go mad. I did horrible things in my madness; to thieves, murderers, slavers…Decepticons. In the underbelly of Cybertron, in its alleys and hidden back ways; dead-end streets. They called me Nightmare. My total number of victims hasn’t been tallied and was always under-reported anyway. I was good at what I did. I thought I was helping in the war effort. Chase down a couple of Cons, a few double-agents…that would teach them to hurt sparklings…MY sparkling. I hacked computers, ran viruses, stole funds, re-routed energon, slit energon lines, crushed sparks, gouged and slashed and hit and tripped and hurt…always hurt… Always hurt. I Always Hurt And it would not go away. It would not cease the droning of Seeker jets that constantly sounded in my audials. The scorching heat of the flames constantly liked at my armor and protoform. My processor was seared with the picture of dead and dying shells of younglings and their caretakers. It had to end. I had to end it. I tried…several times. The last time I nearly succeeded, until he came. Until he stopped me and saved me and brought me back to the land of those I held nearly as responsible as the Decepticons. Jazz…my friend, my colleague, my almost lover. He brought me back. He brought me back.
