Baffle defense battle
Remember the Output Tube Project? It used a virus to destroy minds, and used miniature machines mixed with energy fluid as a safeguard—which could even directly destroy the body if needed—to achieve the effect of controlling a person.
Could I control Megatron using the same method? I pondered, then had Shockwave open the door to Laboratory Two. His research findings and data were stored there.
My idea to borrow his experimental results came purely on a whim. Therefore, Shockwave had no time to prepare or tidy up the laboratory; various experimental instruments were placed outside, and mechanical parts were scattered around.
Data boards recording recent research plans and experimental data are neatly stacked on a metal table, while more confidential and complex experimental results and data are stored in a computer database.
To achieve my goal, first, I need to find an output channel that can release the virus. Sasser should have made an experimental version, which I can use directly. Second, the virus program's highest privileges are with Sasser; I need to gain those privileges. Finally, Sasser is blocking me; I need to overcome his obstacles.
A purple-toned Cybertronian stood between me and the lab table, his bright red optical glasses pointing directly at me, as bright as ever. His voice was deep and steady, but his tone was urgent, and his slightly outstretched arms protected the table behind him.
He said, "The research is not perfect, and I do not recommend that you apply this plan."
"Then you can use it on me?" Staring straight into the round red mirror, I wondered what he was thinking. Unfortunately, the optical mirror, which didn't even change the brightness in the slightest, rendered me ineffective.
Soon, Shockwave looked away, no longer meeting my gaze.
But why? Why won't you even admit you don't like me? Why continue to pretend we're on good terms after the plan was exposed? Were the flavors of those energy cubes all fake too?
I almost blurted it out.
After clearing the redundant data from my brain module and giving it a deep evaporation, I stood up straight, still holding back. My intuition told me that, most likely, I wouldn't get the answers to these questions from him.
"You have an output tube for testing, right? Hand it over quickly." I asked, sensing with my ability that there was one in the cabinet behind him.
“No…” he said, “all the experimental subjects have been destroyed.”
He's lying.
"Then what is this?" An output tube burst through the cabinet door and flew out, displayed in front of us.
"This is a standard output pipe used as a replacement part for the machine body."
He's lying again.
Enraged, I laughed, raised my wing high, and looked down at his shield, saying, "Then use your output pipe!"
"What?" He was stunned. The optical mirrors brightened noticeably by several degrees, and the antennas on both sides of the head sculpt and the wings on its back also stood up significantly.
Like a fluffy Earth rabbit, I think the only thing that's good-looking about these Decepticons is their appearance.
“I’ll repeat myself, I mean, release the virus using your output tube.” Unable to suppress the smirk, I continued, “Whether you have control or not, as long as I control you, that’s enough.”
After saying that, I grabbed the chain connecting his hand cannon, pulling him forward and causing him to tilt. I also pried open the Cybertronian heavy tank's stubborn fingers that were gripping the table tightly.
Before I dragged Shockwave to the cell where Megatron was imprisoned, I secretly stole an output tube and placed it in the subspace.
...
Back on the Nemesis, I left Megatron in his cell, knocked him down, and gave him some first aid. When Shockwave and I entered the cell, we saw a clean, gleaming silver Cybertronian lying against the wall on a table. However, the circular cuts of the four pillar-shaped outer armor plates, the hastily welded IV tubing inside, and the broken, tangled wires indicated that his limbs hadn't been reattached yet.
The red sports car was still enthusiastically polishing the silver paint with a polisher.
After knocking me down, he packed up his tools and left dejectedly. Wei
Zhentian stared intently at me.
I met their gaze, put my hands on my hips, and announced:
"I'm going to send the shockwave output tube into your interface, release the virus and the secondary energy fluid mixed into the micromachines, and then take control of you."
"Huh?" He stared blankly, revealing his stupid shark teeth, his gaze shifting between me and the shockwave, and finally said, "Your brain module... is it really okay?"
I was annoyed: "The problem is with you."
I pushed the shockwave closer to Megatron, and he turned to look at me, his hand cannon pressed against the table, looking very resistant.
He said, "My Lord Apostle, my relationship with Megatron in the secular sense has not yet reached the point where we can connect."
"What kind of worldly connections are needed for this connection?" I wondered.
“You don’t know?” Megatron raised an eyebrow.
What should I know?
“Generally speaking, docking is an act that occurs between Cybertronians who have confirmed a close relationship with each other. Permission from both parties is required,” Shockwave explained.
“None of these things you’re saying are in the documents!” I said emphatically.
“General worldly consensus is indeed rarely written down, and it’s logical that you have this understanding.” Shockwave stepped away from Megatron and said to me, “My lord, Megatron and I do not have a close relationship that allows us to connect, nor do we have mutual permission.”
“Yes, I disagree,” Megatron interjected.
"So you're unwilling to put your output tube into Megatron's interface?" I asked Shockwave in return.
“In fact, I disagree,” he said.
How long has it been since he last sent the connection request? How can someone who framed me while I was offline be in a close relationship with me? I ask:
"And what about me?"
I remembered him acknowledging himself as my partner. Shouldn't partners support and help each other? That's how it's always portrayed in movies, so why isn't the "partner" in real life, right in front of me, like that?
“Shockwave,” I repeated, “And me? Are we close enough?”
"In the secular sense, yes, Your Excellency the Apostle."
Once permission is obtained and the relationship is sufficiently close, docking can take place.
"Then why is docking considered an intimate act?"
Megatron's expression calmed down. He shifted his torso to find a more comfortable position and said, "The desire for another's body is also part of a person's desires. Madam, don't you have any common sense? Isn't it intimate enough to let another person satisfy your desires with their body?"
Is that so? His reasoning has confused me a bit, but I know that the impulses entrenched in my body haven't disappeared, and that's not the question I really want to ask.
"Dialogue is a recreational activity, so why is putting the output tube into the interface considered harmful to others as part of dialogue?"
"Well... you'll have to ask Shockwave yourself, he's right there." Megatron said, looking at us with an air of anticipation.
The cells in Retribution never had lights; the darkness without light made his figure blurry, and the empty darkness shrouded him in a thick fog—I couldn't see him, nor could I see his inner self. But Cybertronians possess night vision; the darkness without light wouldn't prevent me from seeing things.
On the contrary, I see it all clearly: betrayal after betrayal, and tolerance after tolerance. My patience has its limits, and his offenses have exceeded those limits.
This time, I'm not going to put up with it anymore.
I pulled the output tube I'd taken from the subspace and angrily said, "Megatron, I'm going to shove this output tube into your interface!"
"Oh no!" The two streamlined metal eyebrows pressed against the helmet flared outwards, and the two wide-open optical lenses stared at the prop in my hand. The pupils rolled outwards to both sides. Megatron's expression was neither blank nor more fearful.
Why haven't you given up yet?!
Shockwave's antenna twitched twice, as if trying to understand my logic. He turned his head sculptor and stood further away. I heard him say to Megatron, "I've done my best. Perhaps accepting it will be a good experience."
"Shockwave! Don't take your own actions against me for what happened between the two of you!"
"I didn't!" I retorted instinctively.
As I spoke, I touched his rear panel, my fingers slipping between the panel armor and the purple protoplasm. One side was hard and warm, the other even warmer and more supple. I was focused on finding the hidden clips. But I accidentally touched the abdominal armor, following the smooth curve of the metal armor, my fingers slipping into the seam between the breastplate and abdominal armor, and then, even more accidentally, I touched the breastplate.
It's all Megatron's fault! His chest armor is too big, his abdominal armor is too thin, and his shields are too slippery. My hands kept slipping and sliding when I touched them. It's all his fault!
Megatron arched his back and shifted his torso, trying to avoid my touch.
“You’re stupid and despicable! How can there be someone like you in this universe—uh.” He had to swallow his words to avoid making the instinctive gasp.
After feeling the entire armor, I started to feel the narrower gaps, from top to bottom, carefully, but I still couldn't find the hidden latches on the panels.
When I touched the seam in the armor, my fingertips loosely slipped into the gap, and the machine beneath my hand trembled incessantly. The sensation gradually warmed from icy to hot. The sound of the ventilation fan also grew louder with each touch.
If I couldn't find the front, I'd try the back. I leaned against the edge of the table, flipped Megatron over, and positioned his faceplate against my waist armor, leaving my lower back suspended in the air. I lowered my upper body and examined his body more carefully, the faceplate almost touching his curved back, trying to find the faceplate latch.
My fingers fell to the groin again, pressing against the bottom of the crevice, slowly...
Slowly sliding along the circular arc of the protoplast, he resisted forcefully, and I stopped him even more forcefully. The elastic and resilient purple soft metal showed subtle indentations with the pressure of my fingers, and a fleshy sensation overflowed from between my fingers.
After a smooth, full rotation, I was finally able to confirm that the latch that opened the rear panel wasn't at the base of the leg. Moving upwards, I focused my attention on the area around the hip armor; its slight trembling caused the machine to bump against the metal of the tabletop. In the middle section, a roughly oval piece of armor covered the interface—it turned out I'd been looking in the wrong direction all along.
I followed the metal and quickly found the hidden latch. Just as I was about to open the back panel—he arched his back, jumped violently on the table, and his suspended lower half fell down.
"You only dare to vent your frustrations on me?"
His voice, suppressed and barely audible, was loud enough to drown out all other sounds, including the clanging of metal and the spinning of the ventilation fan.
No, that's not how it works.
My body froze, the lingering sensation on my fingertips turning scalding hot. My gaze shifted from the machine in front of me to the shockwave.
The purple-clad figure took a step back, as if I were really going to do something to him. Why should he be afraid? How could he be afraid? Haven't I been lenient enough with him? He still holds ultimate control over the virus. Even if the virus invades the body, he, as the creator, won't suffer any harm. He's even the chief designer of the space bridge. What can I do to him?
It was like a surge of acidic solution rushing up, rapidly eroding my body. I felt extremely uncomfortable.
I ran out of the cell. The cold, white light in the corridor outside the door was so much like the color of his dark red optical glasses.
"My Lord Apostle?" a fawning voice rang out.
It was Red Spider. He was waiting outside, his face bearing that usual, meticulously calculated smile, his aura emanating from him like a sticky, pervasive magnetism.
nausea!
I pushed him away.
Shockwave stood silently in the cell, the closed door separating me from him, and I was glad he had given me some distance.
Megatron's gaze, Starscream's gaze, Shockwave's gaze—everyone here is urging me to leave in their own way. Every inch of air here is filled with the poison of lies and betrayal; I don't want to stay any longer.
Everyone here is lying to me! Not a single person is telling the truth!
I left the Retribution account.
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