57th Transmission - Open
[Anyone wandering the top deck may, in fact, come across a big, black robot, standing at rigid attention. His optics are fixed on the place in which he spotted the red bird, the last time he was up here. It isn't there any longer, of course, he's simply watching the spot - as if he can make it reappear by sheer force of stubborn willpower alone.
Although, he's not quite certain why. He didn't mean to come up here. The voices are gone, and yet he still can't get them out of his head - whispering his guilt. And there's only one incident he can think of. Only one a disembodied voice on this boat could know about.
The little Autobot.
His failure to save her. Her death in his arms.
He never did find out if it was possible to enter her into the system. And with the first mate gone now... The weapons master rolls his shoulders, as if to physically shrug off the thought, and returns to his vigil, apparently unmoved.]
Although, he's not quite certain why. He didn't mean to come up here. The voices are gone, and yet he still can't get them out of his head - whispering his guilt. And there's only one incident he can think of. Only one a disembodied voice on this boat could know about.
The little Autobot.
His failure to save her. Her death in his arms.
He never did find out if it was possible to enter her into the system. And with the first mate gone now... The weapons master rolls his shoulders, as if to physically shrug off the thought, and returns to his vigil, apparently unmoved.]