#cyberdroids

Are there any other Cybertronians named "Transit" besides Primax, Uniend and Tyran?

Dear Bus Busybody,

Of course, but they're mostly alike. Transit is little more than a low-level thug, rarely involved in matters of consequence. On Earth, he likes to hide in populated areas, where the threat of collateral damage is enough to keep Autobots from picking a fight with him.

Even amongst the Decepticons, Transit is one of the most sadistic of them all. When approaching a traffic light, he will deliberately slow down just enough for it to change to red. At a bus stop, he'll surreptitiously angle his rear-view mirrors so the driver can't see people running to the doors before they close. He swaps out his route number and destination when in motion. He declines most contactless payments. He drops most luggage from his compartment. Once a month or so, he'll pretend to break down for no reason at all. And worst of all, he isn't wheelchair accessible. There is simply nothing in life that brings Transit greater satisfaction than making people late, and so despite what he may report to the Decepticon leadership, Transit is such a miserably ineffective soldier in the "war on cars" that he may as well be a double agent.

The one incarnation of Transit I can think of who ever did anything of note did so entirely involuntarily. One of the largest Maximals ever sparked, Transit ferried Micromasters and proto-formers around Damaxus, together with his driver, Arrowbolt. With budget slashes, a standard Class-H energon ration wasn't enough to power Transit's frame, and so he was stuck in vehicle mode indefinitely—not unlike many of the Builders.

Now, Damaxus, as you may know, was one of the first cities to be overrun by Vehicons, with most of the population just trying to go about their lives in the unstable climate of the time when the infection began to spread. Transit was on his usual route, when his passengers saw the chaos begin to unfold outside the windows. Fleeing from the drones, a Cyberdroid, Omega, ran alongside the bus, banging on the door—and Arrowbolt ignored the protests of Socket, one of the Micromasters on board, to stop and let him in. One of the motorcycle drones was right behind him, and it was only the quick action of Major Mayhem, a Predacon in one of the front seats, that stopped the Vehicon getting aboard. Major asked Arrowbolt to take Socket's advice: to not stop again for any reason.

Transit's energon-starved chassis turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as his body had such poor internal conductivity that the virus wasn't immediately transmitted to his spark from his exterior. He thundered through the growing mob, as the Vehicons pounded on his windows and piled onto his roof. Major Mayhem ordered everyone to barricade the entrances as the Vehicons began to break in, and they were able to fend off the attackers for a time—but in the claustrophobic interior, their hostility soon turned to the other passengers.

The other riders were Rockbuster and Bound Rogue, both Maximals; and Yardarm, a Decepticon laborer who bristled at the idea of taking orders from a Predacon. Making matters worse, Rockbuster suggested that the Vehicons were the Builders' doing, blaming Socket and Yardarm. From the driver's seat, Arrowbolt tried to keep the peace, but Major Mayhem accused her of condescension and cowardice he saw as typical in Maximals—which in turn led Bound Rogue to brand him a bigot.

you  can’t  actually  touch  someone  on  the  net, even if it feels like it. even if it feels close to it.  it’s not real.  all the same she remembers...  god, she’s not even sure if it’s real but it’s vivid in her mind so it must be.  it’s an alias;  one of many.  mothman; made to watch rather than actively participate and yet he helps her. she’s cracking through this ice but it isn’t enough; she thinks he came to watch her crumble, because she can smell the overheating of her cyberware and yet it’s not stopping. she can’t stop herself. then this entity is next to her breaking the code, warping it to their own needs and allowing her access.      it appears almost like a hallucination, and while she allows the anonymous figure to help her, she sinks against him just slightly.     it doesn’t last long, not before he ( she assumes they’re a he ) disappears into nothingness. as if it hadn’t been there at all.      her brows furrow, and she’s reminded of the white rabbit. the same kind of cold, curious gaze.  ❛  thanks,  ❜  it’s several minutes too late. a message pops up on her heads up display.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 [ ??????? ] [ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃: ████ ]: you were close to neural fry. 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 [ ??????? ] [ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃: ████ ]: you should try to avoid that.

there’s  a  sea  of  borg  walking  by  her  and  her  motorcycle, and the waiting game is always particularly bad. it’s even worse because she wants to meet him, them, whoever they are.  she has a theory; she wants it confirmed.     he looks surreal, even statuesque, as the augmented gang members seem to walk by him, not even acknowledging his existence.   it’s strange, as if they’re in the net but not  —  as if they’re just bits of code fluttering by. it’s the same feeling she got when she saw the white rabbit, mothman, when she realized the whistling spider was here. she nearly shivers when he speaks, cool and collected. a few moments pass, her suspicions confirmed by the android. ‘you’ve caught your white rabbit, now what do you intend to do with him?’ her breath hitches, and as disappointing as it is, shoulders shrug.  ❛  i’m  not  sure,  to  be  honest...  i  didn’t  think  i’d  get  this  far.  ❜  he takes a few moments, his head nods. he’s about to leave when she gently grabs his arm; he lets her grab his arm.  ❛  wait,  i  want  to  see  you  again  ❜  his brows furrow as her white eyed gaze locks with his own.  ❛  you’re  different.  ❜

they  do  this  dance  of  vaguely  meeting, coming close and then pulling away. timing is never quite right. they meet more on the net than anywhere else, and even then there’s little talking. it doesn’t bother her the way it should, she’s been preoccupied since meredith stout had been on the warpath. she doesn’t see him again until the evening before her turn off date. samara isn’t even sure he’ll respond to her when she shouts out the word ‘hey’ from the cabana’s stairs. he comes over, much to her own surprise, and the talk is bleak. it feels stupid, to her, asking for a, all things considered ‘stranger’s opinion on what to do. however, he doesn’t feel like a stranger. the netrunner is aware it might just be a proximity thing, but their hands graze each other’s and when he offers her a way out. even just for a night. she takes his hand, fingers interlinking. she knows there’s nothing more she can do, so she might as well forget. even for just a little bit.

@cyberdroids:  no no- i think sam might be onto something here

@eurosdyne:  everyone can read this JDJXJWKCKW

I ABSOLUTELY A M ONTO SOMETHING HERE, WEST

Andrew u are absolutely valid in that path of thought too

Dear Biggest Battlestar,

Grandus’ mighty size and strength is in fact not the product of his construction, but of his own hard work. Once a Cyberdroid of planet Master, Grandus found the idea of piloting a lifeless Transtector body unsettling, akin to developing a single giant phantom limb.

Dear Vector Vagabond,

Ah yes, the wandering philosopher Dion Vector. The diminutive Guardian of Wayward Sparks has shepherded many non-aligned Transformers from the various conflicts that have plagued Cybertron over the millennia. But perhaps it is time to finally elucidate who this bot truly is.

Born during the reign of Taraxus Prime the Insatiable, Blue Maximus was an Ultra-class interstellar freighter tasked with transporting goods between the various Cybertronian colonies. On a routine trip to Apollonia to deliver solartarium converters, Maximus was walking through the bustling Halcyon Plaza when the very first Arcturan attack happened.

As the war between the Cybertronian Empire and the Arcturan Resistance escalated, Maximus and his family continually found themselves caught up in a conflict they wanted no part of. It wasn’t until Maximus’ eldest son, Gindion, was conscripted and taken against his will that the family decided to flee Cybertron and take refuge elsewhere. In his travels, Maximus heard rumors to the location of the last known spacebridge, supposedly constructed by Mercurian Prime themselves to transport any and all Cybertronians to a secret haven during the days of the Chromatic Wars (a slight misconception, but that’s a tale for another time).

Maximus and his family trekked across the stars for many stellar cycles, meeting colorful characters and avoiding the Cybertron Secret Police along the way. However, when they arrived at the coordinates, they learned their efforts were all for naught. The spacebridge had been damaged by Noirgo the Destructor’s Hand eons ago, and now it was little more than an imposing art installation. Here they were, at the edge of the galaxy, supplies dwindled to their last reserves, and with nowhere to go. That’s when the family was beset by Terrorcons.

Ultimately, Blue Maximus was left alone. Badly injured and mode-locked, he crash landed on the alien world Antilla, a lush paradise world teeming with all sorts of organic life… and Energon. Maximus used a small drone component to scour the area, make minor repairs to his main body, and refine the wild Energon into something his body could use. It was during this period, forced to remain still and do little more than watch the stars and the battles above him, Maximus made a promise: no matter what, no one else would ever feel this pain.

it’s  late  even  for  samara, but when there’s a knock at the door she’s not going to just avoid it. especially when she hears the faintest ‘it’s me’ in the back of her head. opening the door, her head tilts to the side just slightly.  ❛  data  uh  —  hey, ❜  she moves to the side, allowing him to come in,   ❛  i  wasn’t  aware  you  made  house  calls.  ❜