2017-07-12 Lost Light Kind of Day

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Lost Light Kind of Day
Date 2017/07/12
Location Cassettes and Soundwave's Habsuite
Participants Rodimus, Cosmos
Plot Topsy Turvy
Summary Rodimus and Cosmos are not having a good time.

As Cosmos wakes, he finds himself in the dark, in an unfamiliar form, but being fed a steady, hardlinked stream of data that suggests all as well: a slow, reassuring feed of biodata of other frames as well as his own, and if the biodata isn't what it should be, at least it's normal. But it is in the dark and he can't move, so -- you know. That's fine. Totally fine. It's just. You know. A LITTLE TERRIFYING.

Cosmos attempts to get up only for his already growing fear to spike up another notch. He can't move. Its not so much he can't move his arms, so much as it seems like they aren't there. It is almost like he is in alt mode, only Cosmos knows his alt mode and this most definitely isn't it! The datastream is telling him all is well but IT IS NOT ALL WELL! Now struggling and beginning to vent rapidly, he desperately calls out for help, "H-hey! Anybody!? What's going on, where am I!?" He feels like he's.. whats the human word for it? Hyperventilating? Yeah, that.

As Cosmos pings panic upstream, the reassurance he receives downstream hiccups -- then breaks, spilling into mirroring panic. Wait. WHAT. Rodimus wakes, and with consciousness comes the intrusion of all the crew that surrounds him, even the ship itself. Senses overwhelmed, he staggers off the recharge slab, and the cassettes are jarred in their dock, rattling. The noise all around him intrudes so deeply on his thoughts that some of that sense of chaos of chokes through the connection he shares with the cassettes. So now it's dark, Cosmos can't move, he can't feel his body, he's been shaken around, and he's being fed a stream of panic and noise.

Feeling that surge of panic in response to his own, Cosmos most definitely is starting to panic. Words now failing him as fear takes over Cosmos wishes he could know what is happening outside. And then suddenly he can hear too much. Too much noise, too many voices, too much- too much EVERYTHING! If he could curl into a fetal position he would... but that is currently impossible in so instead that feedback stream gets a fresh dose of panic to liven it up even more.

That rattle in his chest, that strange, hollow echo -- it pings a memory in Rodimus's files, one scented the cosmic-ray scorched dust of space, and deathly cold. He claws at his chest, then punches at the glass as his half-melted hand scrabbles against it: again, and again until it shatters, causing cassettes to fall free. The ones that linger -- Cosmos -- he grabs, pulling him out. "Stop, stop, stop, stop," he pants in a static-fuzzed monotone.

Cosmos doesnt know what is happening, but suddenly there is light, there is freedom, there is PAIN! Something grabs him and Pulls sending agaonizing pain splitting across every seeming nerve in his tiny cassette body. Again and again the pain comes, as the hand that has him keeps trying to dislodge him from a place he is clearly stuck. "AHH! No!" What is- ARGH- what is happening!?

"Out, stop, please, just get out -- GET OUT." Rodimus's volume lifts the flat of his voice to something with more force, and rejection spirals down the linkages between them to begin breaking the bonds. His body forcibly ejects Cosmos and the others -- literally and metaphorically -- as he drags them from the cavity within his chest only somewhat the worse for wear.

Cosmos can't help but scream as he is forcibly ripped out of what he soon finds out is Soundwave's chest dock, the glass shattered and destroyed. But the mech doesn't have time to take notice of much else before he hits the ground, bouncing and clattering away with a hissed sob as the pain is jolted through his body again at the hard landing. Once he stops he sits there, trembling minutely long after the other cassettes have already seemed to transform and scatter as he tries to process what is happening.

It's too much, mentally and physically for the UFO- no... the cassette to get a handle on. He needs time to process to think, but there are too many voices screaming in his head right now. Too much physical pain. The combination is worse than when he crashed on that asteroid!

They are left, miserable and drowning in sound, as the rest of the crew convulses into their own panicked good mornings.

It's a Lost Light kind of day.

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