Adventures In Verity’s Outbox!
SPELLING CORRECTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD
Stardate: [composite word including 'f*ck']
To: “Jimmy Pink” squishy@squishyfixesyou.hed
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
Jimmy! What’s it? What’s up? What’s the news? I am dying for the news from my fellow net-hiking, code-cracking, super-klepto squishy-organs-on-the-inside brother!
You’re on Hedonia—according to my dear sweet sugar pie Wreckers, it is the best place in the entire galaxy to get plastered! And guess who just turned 21? Not me, but what does it matter???? (I like question marks!!!!)
Hedonia is in our sights, and IT IS TIME TO BEER. Because I’m 19, and that’s like, legal in Europe and Hedonia. Do they have beer on Hedonia? They have to. Beer! And shots! And… [composite word including 'f*ck'], dude, you know what? I think I forgot the names of Earth alcohol. Vod… something. Vod the Merciless? Everyone’s The Merciless around here.
So, I’m a Wrecker. We wreck things, and classified classified. I asked if I could be codenamed Home Wrecker (you remember Foster Family #9 and Grabby Hands Daddy??). They said no. Now I’m trying to get “Veritron” to happen.
Also, I’m here on a super top-secret mission! Yah! That’s all I can say. Shhhh.
Speaking of top secret missions, I dated an alien. Yep, me and Face Tentacles, otherwise known as K’ghra. He… or maybe she, went by both… we had a whole two days together. And it didn’t work. I’m talking like, anatomy-wise. You’d think those face-tentacles… never mind, bro, this is more than I can even share with Brother Klepto Jimmy.
Uh, is it awkward in here? Maybe my Wrecker name should be TMItron.
Let’s get ******* drunk as [composite word including 'f*ck']!
Stardate: 661: 10356784330
To “Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE yeah yeah got it. Who wrote this auto-script anyway? Bet I could hack it. Oh look, I did!]
Week Three of What Is Prowl Up To, my friend, and I got nothing yet. Your enigma machine is **** for cracking codes, by the way. I had to write a beast of a code myself to crack Springer’s mail. That’s why I haven’t been answering your ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE SERIOUSLY????!!! memos.
You know what I found in Springer-message-land? Nothing, really. Boring-ass speculation. There’s a rumor that Black Shadow wants to make a deal with the Autobots. Springer heard it from… ready for this… Swerve. Decepticons are making a move on those poor Nebulans again. Guys can’t catch a break.
You should be glad he’s not filing reports for once; you might reach new heights of monotony and transform into a special alt-mode: essence d’boredom.
(Although at least Springer’s memos are short. Hint. To the Hint.)
Prowl’s got his fingers in someone, but they ain’t using typical communication channels. You remember when we read about fold-space cell cell communication? Well, I think that Perceptor and that creepy green dude with the briefcase—I think they found a way to install an fold-cell in this place somewhere. And I can’t hack theoretical physics. Prowl is getting no-wait, no-IP, no-headache reports.
Help me out here. Doesn’t Duly Appointed mean anything anymore?! I’m attacking your quality control!!
Stardate: 661: 10356784331
To “Perceptor” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED bitchmonkey OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
Perceptor,
I mean this politely. Like, really. What exactly are you making my food out of? According to Springer, it’s “made from trace elements of protein in organic waste.”
What kind of organic waste are we talking? Like, spoiled food? That’s fine, I guess. I’ll eat old banana peels, but…
Seriously, waste. What does that mean???
Please answer.
Stardate: ProwlIsADick
To “Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord [REDACTED BY ORDER OF Decepticon Spy of the Year 2005-2010]
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF oh for [composite word including 'f*ck']’s sake, I’m kidding, calm down]
Hey, news. Remember how long it took me to crack Springer’s mail? Well, my friend, this little net-hiker from exotic Cleveland has hacked none other than Perceptor, and damn, that was way harder.
Anyway, he sent a message to an encrypted Cybertronian server, and it appears to have totally disappeared from his outbox in the meantime. I couldn’t recover all the text, but here’s what I have. Note this: Rhymes with High Car.
************Erratic behavior is increasing. I’ve made a decision to up the dose. ********* cy-gar’s effectiveness*******manifests itself in erratic and irrational behavior, including an increased desire to take risks… more than usual for a Wrecker. I know that’s hard to quantify******Guzzle’s presence may provoke him, but you know how Springer is about his choices—given the Fisitron situation*******will increase dosage. Please reinforce mission parameters: self-sacrifice if necessary. Need more doses to prevent irregular behavior.
Kup. I thought there was something funny about a Transformer with an oral fixation.
So from this, we deduce that when Prowl rebuilt Kup, he did more than just fix him up. The line was: legendary hero gone nuts, worth anything to save him. The truth is: legendary hero makes good plant.
What do we do now?
Stardate: ThisAintAwkwardAtAll
To: “Jimmy Pink” squishy@squishyfixesyou.hed
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY damn I am hung over still]
So. Bro.
A thing definitely happened there on Hedonia.
A good thing, I mean. Good and… weird. Not that it felt weird. Starting over!
I kind of want to say: Well, sir, congrats. You made a real woman out of this jaded galactic traveler. And I kind of want to say: Oh god, have we destroyed our friendship forever with sexing? A girl has the feelings.
I met a lot of aliens. I’ve seen a lot of, ahem, pieces. But nothing really looked like it was gonna work. And that worked. Dude, did it ever work. What I remember, anyway. That was like, the drunkest of drunk.
(PS- Is that Grekon Vodka stuff really made from alien blood?! Are you shitting me?? Because if you shitted (shatted? shorted?) me then I will [composite word including 'f*ck'] you up, bro.)
(I guess I already ****** you up. Ha.)
Uh… Okay, look. I don’t want to be an ass, but I got this galactic fear of being tied down, you know?
What I’m trying to say is that… that was a good time. One of the best. And maybe we could just kind of make a deal that we will have a good time, no questions asked, next time we see each other. Buddy to buddy? Maybe not one night but like, four days? And no worries about making little Verities. (The Horror!!!) Perceptor seems to have the hang of latex.
See you soon… I can’t call you bro anymore, can I? Creepy? See you soon… best friend? See you soon… you sexy beast.
I miss you. Wink wink. Etc, etc. Your friend, Veritron. (One condition: you call me Veritron. At all times.)
Stardate: YouBatstard
To “Perceptor” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED at least he replies to my ******* emails OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
Perceptor,
Are you feeding me my own poop????!?!!!??!!
Answer me!!!
Stardate: ReallyPerceptor?Really?
To “Perceptor” [REDACTED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD]
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY ORDER of I’m gonna tell the DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER about this!]
Well, I guess I should thank you for actually replying. So… thanks, asshole. It’s not my own poop, it’s the “waste secretions of a space-borne amoeba” and “in its pure form, a delicacy to many organics.”
There are a lot of languages out in space, so I’m going to trust that one of them can fully express the fact that I AM NOT GOING TO EAT ANYTHING’S ****.
Are there no hamburgers in the galaxy? I mean that nicely. I’ve sent a routed link to Wikipedia—from Earth—to explain what a hamburger is. Can we find the closest thing? I know you’ll try I really appreciate the effort, Perceptor. I really do. I appreciate it so much that I promise NOT to tell Ultra Magnus that you’re a Decepticon deep-cover spy… as long as you make me a hamburger.
[ENCRYPTED]
I know you got faith in your regular channel, Magnus, but there is no way this can fall into the hands of ANYONE. I’m sending it as a rider on two different cargo manifests, bouncing it off a dozen spots before it gets to your hailing frequency.
So, I did it. While Kup was recharging, I took a laser scalpel and climbed into his head. It’s a good thing Jimmy showed me how to work one of those scalpels last time I was on Hedonia. (Nearly took my arm off. We were a little drunk.)
Anyway. Inside Kup’s head. I haven’t felt that creeped since I ran into Megatron himself a mile under Nebraska. There’s that Matrix glow that lights up the brain module. Feels like sunrise on my skin. That kind of light that warms you up and makes you alive.
But that light, for Kup, is laced through with these nasty black veins. Oh, it’s hard to see them unless you look close, but they’re there. Kup ain’t all there anymore. He lost a piece of himself. Something’s eating the guy’s soul.
It’s a wonder he’s persisted as long as he has.
I went climbing through as gently as I could, given I was in his freaking brain, and you can’t miss it: there’s definitely a fold-space cell in there, packed in that Pretender layer, and there’s a whole set of brain module circuitry, probably swimming in subroutines. This is what Prowl’s controlling. Kup is his proxy, man. Can’t say how much is Prowl and how much is Kup, with it coming through that fold-space cell.
I yanked some cords. I fiddled with some dials. Best I could do was try and mess up the subroutines Prowl’s programming in there. Problem is, you only get so much time in someone’s brain in recharge. It ain’t like Wreckers are great sleepers anyway. So I did the best I could to [composite word including 'f*ck'] it up in there, and I ran out, because Sleeping Beauty was rolling over and reaching for his cy-gar.
I think he’s going to remember, and he’s going to break Prowl’s control. I can’t say when, or how.
I’m sorry you’re just hearing. This was a while ago, because it wasn’t more than a few minutes after I got back to my quarters and cleaned off Kup-brain-juice that the galaxy went nuts. I’ve been decrypting Decepticon messages for close to a year now, and reading Springer’s email for months, and I didn’t see any of this coming. How did the Decepticons get all this intel? It’s got to be a high-level Autobot leak, but man, if the Wreckers can’t place it, can you?
I don’t know when I’ll get through again. Mission maybe accomplished… don’t get killed.
Stardate: SexyWarriorBeast
To: “Jimmy Pink” squishy@squishyfixesyou.hed
From: “Verity Carlo” [REDACTED BY a big red robot and that is not a euphemism]
Whazzup, sexy. I only get a minute. You have probably deduced, by the trade route freezes, inflation, lack of good booze, presence of dickhead robots and general harassment, that the Decepticons are ahead in our particular game.
So, we are needed. I might not come back from the next super-secret mission. I just wanted to say this: you sure know how to show a girl a good time. I’m still walking crooked.
And I just want to say that I miss you, and I miss Hunter, and I even miss Earth sometimes, and I am going to be thinking of you. Ah! The honesty! It burns!
Seriously, though. Think of me too, if you get a chance. This one is looking like a rough trip.
Stardate: Sorry
To: “Ultra Magnus, Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord” [you’ll never guess what comes next!]
From: “Verity Carlo” [hint: it starts with REDACTED]
Dear Ultra Magnus,
By the time you read this, I’m going to be on a pod to Garrus-9.
Whatever you’re going to say, you brought this on yourself, my friend. Remember our first talk? I… okay, I don’t remember much, except your burning, inappropriate passion for semicolons, but your central, many-times-repeated point, sir, was the Tyrest Accord has never been revised to account for humans. Organic non-combatants, non-contacted races, etc, but I am a willing combatant, so I have always been your lovely little loophole.
And unless Tyrest has decided to rewrite the thing, (teasing your semicolon boner)(don’t ask what that means) I’m still on my own.
It’s time for me to act like a Wrecker, bro. I jumped in Kup’s head and messed around. I crack code for Springer and I help keep the near-dead on ice
That ain’t enough. I spent my whole life on earth as this kind of hanger-on, this thing that was usually a bother and occasionally useful. Sometimes for all the wrong reasons. I learned good how to run away, so much that I can’t help but run away, even from a good thing.
Now I’m living with a bunch of guys who throw themselves into the **** the minute they see it. I keep thinking back to Kup’s brain. Those black veins in the Matrix blue. I want that—I want to live that beautifully, and have some things worth having nightmares about. Make sense? Probably not.
Let me put it this way: I need to learn how it is that people don’t run away.
Will I regret it? Probably. Will I let you say I told you so? Not a chance.
THIS SUBSPACE ADDRESS CANCELLED BY ORDER OF THE DULY APPOINTED ENFORCER OF THE TYREST ACCORD
Stardate: July 26th, 2011
To: “Jimmy Pink” squishy@squishyfixesyou.hed
From: “Verity Carlo” wrecker.forever@gmail.com
Hey buddy. Miss you. You still dating that girl with the four boobs? Way to get something I can’t compete with.
So I’ve been diagnosed with severe Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Ha. Let’s add that to the list: ADD, Bipolar, ADHD, super kleptomania…
Problem is, I tend to agree with this one.
I stopped sleeping, because I was so sick of those nightmares of Garrus-9. Fifty-four hours without sleep, until I checked into the psych ward and they knocked me out with gooooood DRUUUUUUGS.
That long awake, and I start to see Overlord with my waking eyes.
You try having a big scary Decepticon skeleton, on fire, tell you he’s going to kill you. I wish you were here. I wish Hunter were here, but he’s gone, as much as my friends in the Wreckers are gone. I wish you would put your arm around me… and we could steal a car together. Remember when stealing a car was the biggest thrill in the galaxy? Sounds kind of boring now.
Those shrinks told me I was taken advantage of by Ultra Magnus, that he just wanted to use the humans. After Megatron’s rampage through New York most of them hate Transformers.
[composite word including 'f*ck'] humans. I miss Magnus. I really believe that guy, galactic OCD poster-boy that he is, is going to do great things for the Autobots.
One day I’ll tell you everything. One day we’ll sit down and maybe Hunter’s ghost, and the ghosts of all my other friends will come. One day, maybe I’ll even tell you that I was stupid to be so afraid of commitment. The galaxy is full of crazy.
For now, I just wanted you to read this. I wrote it for the Wreckers’ last transmission, but I cut most of it. It hurt too bad to write it down. I ended up cutting the part about me, and pretending it was just about the Wreckers.
But I’m a Wrecker too. Forever.
I miss you, my friend.
This is the story of the Wreckers…
This is the story of a human, too. I guess most of you have figured out that Ironfist couldn’t describe his own death—actually, he probably could invent something to do that. But yeah, I’m a human. I’ve lived for 20 years. In Cybertronian years, that’s one tetra-cycle. I’ve got about three, maybe four more tetra-cycles left in me. By the time I die, most Cybertronians will have had two spark updates from their mainframe. That’s how short my life is.
I’ve seen the entire universe. I’ve seen bravery that should have been impossible. I’ve seen evil that most people on my world never see.
I’ve seen Transformers who lived millions of years, who should have lived for a few million more, die. And I lived on.
I saw Aequitas. Probably the only organic in the galaxy to do so. And I wonder, now, how Aequitas works on survivor’s guilt. Whether it could tell me just how deep it hurts that I’m alive, I’m enrolling in college and eating pho and reading comic books and describing myself as a “reformed klepto” as if that could say it all, and it hurts to my toes that I am all that, and Ironfist, Rotorstorm and Pyro are dead, and Springer not likely to ever recover. It hurts that my friend Hunter is gone and I hate him and love him for fighting to the end.
I think I could break Aequitas with my survivor’s guilt.
I saw into Kup’s head once. That pure, Matrix light, the light that meant a soul was alive, was marred by veins of black—oh, it was his addiction, his time in the darkness, but it was also just all those years of violence. Killing puts cracks in your soul. I can feel the cracks in mine, now. And I know why Kup went on.
I hope that every Autobot or Decepticon or anything else out there—will do whatever the intergalactic version is of eating pho and enrolling in college and reading comics. Because as much as it hurts, as much as I want to slash open my veins (it’s kind of like innermost energon) and join my friends, they lived for what they believed in. I want to live for them. I won’t run away. Not ever again.
I will persist, because they were persistent bastards.
You see, this is one of those stories with a moral. And the moral is simply this:
Life persists.
