Post by Ichor on Dec 1, 2017 16:28:46 GMT
“Pull the trigger and we will know you can be trusted.” The words lingered only a moment before the crack of a null ray drowned out all sound. In the silence that followed there was only the sound of the body dropping. The killer lowered his weapon and looked his superior in the optics, no emotion in his own. He knew who she was, killing her was to be a warning to the DJD that anything they cared about could be taken as well. It told them that the things they cared for could be hunted down as well.
Tirelessly working, Ichor’s optics examined his newest batch, analyzing any possible impurities that the sample might have. It seemed pure enough, minor imperfections wouldn’t ruin it. Loading the sample into a syringe he walked over to the medical table behind him, where a captured neutral was strapped down. Optics were nonfunctional, the disease had clearly taken care of them. His voice cried out in almost silent whispers as his vocoder seemed ruined as well. The disease was working perfectly, in less than a solar cycle it had brought this mech to the brink of system failure. Ichor already knew it would do that, he wanted to test the cure. Administering the sample to the mech, Ichor turned away and watched the monitors to see the vital signs and record results of the sample.
“Your expertise in biology and chemistry will be of immeasurable use to us.” Avernus began, his skeletal face smiling down on the green mech. “As a welcoming gift to the AvaCons, your name from this day forward shall be Ichor.” The name hung in his mind, from this day forward he would be Ichor, the plague builder. Drifting further into his own thoughts the rest of the ceremony went buy in a haze, the only memory from that time was the sudden scream in his mind.
“Betrayer of kin!” the voice screamed once and froze, echoing in Ichor’s mind from that day forward. That evening he had no rest, kept awake by his mind as its decay began. Who he was before died that day.
Vital signs were climbing, the cure was working, a grin formed behind Ichor’s mask as he looked back at the patient who seemed to be far more stable already. Ichor turned back to his monitors and became to record the results of this test as he kept an eye on the vitals. Mixing the cure into a nanite-based carrier fluid seemed extremely effective. The nanites would help with repairs and die off as they worked, clearing themselves from the system naturally. The result was not only an effective cure, but a quick acting one. Ichor figured more nanite based cures should be experimented with. Potentially nanite-based plagues as well.
“Why are you doing this?” A voice came weakly from behind Ichor, it was the patient. The nanites must have repaired his vocoder to some degree already. The question however hung in the silence, as if echoing alongside the scream from long ago. Ichor reached his servos to his helm, wincing as the mental scream burned through his processor again. His optics opened wide and dilated as he stared back at the patient. From behind his mask his raspy voice came. “Find every death…” He drifted, his venting slow and almost painful. “... Find every cure.” Reaching down to his waist, Ichor pulled a sword and ended the mech’s life.
Ichor had dedicated himself to his craft as the headaches constantly bombarded him. He had set himself a goal with his disease and chemical creation, that he would find a cure for everything he made. His superiors approved the decision as they knew it was best to have an answer if the diseases ever infected anyone that shouldn’t be. Over time his library of death and its cures grew, racks from the floor to the ceiling with innumerable samples, each one a plague or a variant of a plague. Some far more lethal than others. Its existence became something of a legend amongst AvaCons who had seen its products in action. Ichor’s lab was something to be afraid of, even Ichor himself became ill over time from it.
Putting his sword back, Ichor removed his facemask. He had felt something wrong behind it while he spoke earlier. Reaching to has face plate he felt it and found the problem. Pulling his servo away he stared at the rusty piece of metal that had once been his cheek. A nearby mirror allowed him to investigate, seeing that his dentas were clearly visible through the hole, giving him a skeletal appearance not unlike Avernus. Ichor sighed as he reattached his facemask and moved the medical bed past the lab equipment and through the library. At the end was a door that no AvaCon save Ichor had gone through since the library began to stock up. Inside was the morgue where this body would go.
After moving the body off the bed and into a drawer of the morgue, Ichor stared at the rows of occupied drawers. Their numbers were nothing compared to the number of Autobots and Decepticons out in the fields that had died to his creations. Finding his secret canteen, Ichor took a ship of Energon. His superiors knew he took some liquid energon for his experiments, but did not know he drank some of it. He knew his body was too far modified to process it well, and he would feel ill from it as it went through his systems. He didn’t know why he drank it, perhaps for a sense of normalcy, something to hold to as his mind seemed clearest in this room. He knew that the moment he left his quarters he would collapse to his madness again.
Walking through the morgue to the very end lay a special coffin. It was at one point meant for Decepticon leaders, but had been stolen and used by Ichor. Pressing a button the glass on it unfogged, revealing her face. It had been so long since he had killed her, but the day still felt as if it were yesterday.
“I will cure your death, sister. The guilt and voices will make sure of it.” His voice lingered as he pressed his servo against the glass, he didn’t know how many times he had been here anymore. Fogging the glass again, he turned and walked away, leaving his quarters. He reached to his comms and spoke quickly. “New plague ready, can’t wait to watch the next Autobot camp die in blind and mute agony!” Avernus on the other end grinned, the plague builder had no end to his ability to create it seemed.
Tirelessly working, Ichor’s optics examined his newest batch, analyzing any possible impurities that the sample might have. It seemed pure enough, minor imperfections wouldn’t ruin it. Loading the sample into a syringe he walked over to the medical table behind him, where a captured neutral was strapped down. Optics were nonfunctional, the disease had clearly taken care of them. His voice cried out in almost silent whispers as his vocoder seemed ruined as well. The disease was working perfectly, in less than a solar cycle it had brought this mech to the brink of system failure. Ichor already knew it would do that, he wanted to test the cure. Administering the sample to the mech, Ichor turned away and watched the monitors to see the vital signs and record results of the sample.
“Your expertise in biology and chemistry will be of immeasurable use to us.” Avernus began, his skeletal face smiling down on the green mech. “As a welcoming gift to the AvaCons, your name from this day forward shall be Ichor.” The name hung in his mind, from this day forward he would be Ichor, the plague builder. Drifting further into his own thoughts the rest of the ceremony went buy in a haze, the only memory from that time was the sudden scream in his mind.
“Betrayer of kin!” the voice screamed once and froze, echoing in Ichor’s mind from that day forward. That evening he had no rest, kept awake by his mind as its decay began. Who he was before died that day.
Vital signs were climbing, the cure was working, a grin formed behind Ichor’s mask as he looked back at the patient who seemed to be far more stable already. Ichor turned back to his monitors and became to record the results of this test as he kept an eye on the vitals. Mixing the cure into a nanite-based carrier fluid seemed extremely effective. The nanites would help with repairs and die off as they worked, clearing themselves from the system naturally. The result was not only an effective cure, but a quick acting one. Ichor figured more nanite based cures should be experimented with. Potentially nanite-based plagues as well.
“Why are you doing this?” A voice came weakly from behind Ichor, it was the patient. The nanites must have repaired his vocoder to some degree already. The question however hung in the silence, as if echoing alongside the scream from long ago. Ichor reached his servos to his helm, wincing as the mental scream burned through his processor again. His optics opened wide and dilated as he stared back at the patient. From behind his mask his raspy voice came. “Find every death…” He drifted, his venting slow and almost painful. “... Find every cure.” Reaching down to his waist, Ichor pulled a sword and ended the mech’s life.
Ichor had dedicated himself to his craft as the headaches constantly bombarded him. He had set himself a goal with his disease and chemical creation, that he would find a cure for everything he made. His superiors approved the decision as they knew it was best to have an answer if the diseases ever infected anyone that shouldn’t be. Over time his library of death and its cures grew, racks from the floor to the ceiling with innumerable samples, each one a plague or a variant of a plague. Some far more lethal than others. Its existence became something of a legend amongst AvaCons who had seen its products in action. Ichor’s lab was something to be afraid of, even Ichor himself became ill over time from it.
Putting his sword back, Ichor removed his facemask. He had felt something wrong behind it while he spoke earlier. Reaching to has face plate he felt it and found the problem. Pulling his servo away he stared at the rusty piece of metal that had once been his cheek. A nearby mirror allowed him to investigate, seeing that his dentas were clearly visible through the hole, giving him a skeletal appearance not unlike Avernus. Ichor sighed as he reattached his facemask and moved the medical bed past the lab equipment and through the library. At the end was a door that no AvaCon save Ichor had gone through since the library began to stock up. Inside was the morgue where this body would go.
After moving the body off the bed and into a drawer of the morgue, Ichor stared at the rows of occupied drawers. Their numbers were nothing compared to the number of Autobots and Decepticons out in the fields that had died to his creations. Finding his secret canteen, Ichor took a ship of Energon. His superiors knew he took some liquid energon for his experiments, but did not know he drank some of it. He knew his body was too far modified to process it well, and he would feel ill from it as it went through his systems. He didn’t know why he drank it, perhaps for a sense of normalcy, something to hold to as his mind seemed clearest in this room. He knew that the moment he left his quarters he would collapse to his madness again.
Walking through the morgue to the very end lay a special coffin. It was at one point meant for Decepticon leaders, but had been stolen and used by Ichor. Pressing a button the glass on it unfogged, revealing her face. It had been so long since he had killed her, but the day still felt as if it were yesterday.
“I will cure your death, sister. The guilt and voices will make sure of it.” His voice lingered as he pressed his servo against the glass, he didn’t know how many times he had been here anymore. Fogging the glass again, he turned and walked away, leaving his quarters. He reached to his comms and spoke quickly. “New plague ready, can’t wait to watch the next Autobot camp die in blind and mute agony!” Avernus on the other end grinned, the plague builder had no end to his ability to create it seemed.