M!a: Robots Don't Have Heats (until They Do) - Blog Posts

Can't sleep the clowns will eat him.

He’s out of options. Everything is too hot and too much, and he knows how to make it all stop.

::Idk who this is but free sex. I’m offering. Just. I’m gonna explode. Interface. Now.::

And lo, it has happened. The weirdest comm. call Dreadwing has ever gotten.

It takes him several seconds to even come up with a response, given he's not doing especially well either.

:: ... Excuse me? ::

@suckmybearings

He exvented when his subverted connection was abruptly cut from the ship's communication channel; an alert of failure flashed across his HUD when he attempted to call back. With a fissure of annoyance, the Wrecker knocked hard against the underbelly a two more times, and then continued to knock as he started walking to the front of the ship. "C'mon, hoss," Wheeljack coaxed in a loud, taunting voice, banging his fist against the steel hull with every step he took. "You're one of my girls, too. I got somethin' y'a need." As he rounded to the front and positioned himself to be seen, full-view, through the ship's windscreen, he reached down and unholstered the grenade from his hip.

"And one way or another, I'm comin' in."

The floor is at least somewhat cool, though it is rapidly heating up as it absorbs the excess off of his frame.

He's already tried the washrack, turning the flow of solvent off in favor of straight water (from the outdoor hookup), as cold as it would go. It felt nice while he was in there, but the second he stepped out, things just got hot all over again. And somehow, it just seems to be getting worse.

The unnatural revving of internal processes has transcended from profoundly needy to painful. Everything hurts, everything throbs -- Primus, even his dermal layer is aching. A breath of breeze feels like sandpaper against the Seekers extremely raw external sensors, and for a while he deeply considers trying to get to the hospital.

That thought is quickly dismissed. What is he supposed to tell them? That something in his head BROKE and he's so horny that it can't even be classified as "horny" anymore and he feels like he's going to have a fuel pump failure and a brain aneurysm all at once?

And what the FUCK is that noise?

"The intruder is still outside, captain," the Sky Claw's AI informs him.

Wheeljack. The rat bastard is outside, pounding on the underbelly of the ship.

Dreadwing groans.

"Captain," it repeats. "The intruder appears to be brandishing an explosive."

He's what. That gets his attention.

Despite his intense desire to just stay on the floor until he dies, the Seeker forces himself to his feet and lurches up towards the cockpit. It takes him four tries to type in the correct code (his hands are shaking something terrible) to unlock the port side quick-access door panel, but when he hears it click and hiss a bit, Dreadwing slams the hatch open, making it rattle on its tracks.

The ladder rungs, normally tucked seamlessly into the ships paneling, pop out when the door is opened.

"WHAT?!"

It's probably the most horrid and aggressive he has ever sounded.

"Wheeljack, if you are stupid enough to even think about setting that off, reconsider. I have enough explosive material in here to level this entire yard and half of the slagging space port across the street. Now, go away."

He'll sleep one day. Sure, he may hallucinate first, but, eh, been there, done that.

There's a heavy pounding from outside the ship; someone is knocking, hard, near the locked entrance. Minutes later, after no response from you, your ship's commline system crackles to life, and a smooth, drawling voice flows through the cabin.

« Open up, chief. »

So much for trying to sleep.

"Sky Claw, I have no idea how he hacked into the comm. systems, but fix it."

"Yes, captain. Trouble-shooting."

Surely a strong warrior, such as yourself, can weather this virus. Right?

"I am WORKING on it."

He curls in on himself, gasping.

There seems to be a certain wrecker femme that could use a loving touch if one knows what one means

( @gladiatorsteamroom )

No.

He can control his urges. Dreadwing is not accepting any messages at the moment.

PANTS.

He locks his ship down and hides in it.

...He doesn't feel so good.

...Why is it so hot in here?

"Sky Claw. What is the temperature in the ship?"

"The current temperature is 12.04 degrees local measurement."

That is not hot.

...Hmph. That's odd.

Oh, wait. He felt this way the other day and never did do anything about it. Oh well. His libido is easy to ignore.