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@timewxrp-remade / timewxrp-remade.tumblr.com

MOVED.
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Some things happen so fast you can’t comprehend them -- that was the case now. Even though he knew what was happening, he knew how it came to pass, he still couldn’t comprehend the situation at hand.

Nor had he anticipated exactly much it would HURT.

The monitor’s ever-increasing beeps were covered by an agonised shriek from Brainstorm, spinal struts arching to near-painful levels as he rose from the med- berth, dragging a servo across his chassis to pry open the overheating chamber -- tearing at armour plating when he found he had lost control of the unlocking mechanism. Between the ragged vents dragging through his systems and the excruciating pain that turned his limbs to lead, it was a miracle nothing else had shorted out.

Scratch that -- there went his voxcoder. Static erupted from the slack jaw, cutting off the shrieks with a rapid crackle-POP! of overtaxed systems -- oh, and how it HURT! If there were ever a feeling to compare to the metaphorical flames eating away at his insides, he could only hope he didn’t live long enough to experience it all over again. Just as with his escapade through time, once was all he needed.

The engineer’s frame fell back to the berth with all the grace of a ragdoll tossed unceremoniously to the side, vents opened to the max capacity to cool himself down -- as if it would do much good. As soon as Brainstorm’s helm hit the berth with a muffled thump, the pain drew his body rigid once more. His frame hissed, expelling the heat as best it could in such strain. Loose chest plating rattled in time with his spark casing contracting around the glowing orb until the pressure mounted to excruciating measures. All Brainstorm could do was lie there and gasp, optics flickering with the added strain to keep online -- his last sight would not be the ceiling.

With just as little warning that the short-lived tide had given him, it ended just as unannounced -- though, Brainstorm had predicted one last thing incorrect.

Should the jet have been alive to be disappointed, his death was nothing to be excited about.

He hadn’t gone out with the notable BANG he’d hoped.

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oh boy not crying ‘cos you’re about to kill off a year-long muse is a lot harder than it looks folks
it’s officially an hour and thirty minutes past the initial deadline. I’m making the final goodbye post after this one before I move to the new blog
it’s been so cool roleplayign with all you people tho holy shit I fuckin love you guys and I’m keen to try a new/kinda new muse with yous later
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           and here i thought you’d want a movie about you                  something to inflate your ego one last time. ❜ a forced              laugh, visor dimmed; optics not quite meeting the other’s              gaze.  it’s off, brainstorm. it’s off. i just… wanted to say              goodbye. i doubt i’d be able to forgive myself if i didn’t.
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“Dying isn’t really an ego-inflater, on-screen or off.” Brainstorm seemed happy enough to stare at anything but the archivist; his servos, clenching and unclenching in his lap, were the most interesting thing in the room. “..You didn’t have to say goodbye. I’m just surprised you’re here by yourself. Thought you and ‘Dome were still glued at the hip.”

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recordiings
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“Not that I’m trying to stop you from doing your supposed ‘job’ or anything, but if you end up recording this I’m gonna come back from the grave and haunt your aft. This is-- it’s not something to show at movie night. You don’t need this in your databanks.”

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“Seeing as I don’t speak about patients with other patients, your first guess was the correct one,” Rung said with a small frown. “I’m not trying to toy with you, Brainstorm. I just want you to know what’s going to happen if we leave this untouched.”

“And if it’s truly nothing to worry about? Well then, all the more reason to simply let me know now and save us both the embarrassment. But I don’t think it’s inconsequential; you’re not one to hide much.”

Rung sighed and offlined his optics, a servo coming up to rub at the side of his face. “…Apologies if I’m being insensitive about this, but it’s rather important to me that I know my patients’ medical inquiries, big or small. I’m a psychiatrist, not a psychologist. The difference is the medical bit - I need it to fully understand the larger picture.”

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Brainstorm remained quiet for a long moment, covered corners of his mouth downturned into a pouty frown -- his posture was anything but relaxed, stiff- backed and fiddling with his own interlocked servos in his lap. It looked as if his mouth would remain firmly shut, until he relented with no small amount of reluctance.

“I wasn’t lying when I said it was nothing for you to worry about -- sort of. It’s not exactly something I’d like to discuss, but you do deserve to know I guess. It’s personal -- it’s intensely personal.”

Again the weaponsmith delved into uncomfortable silence, flexing taut neck cables as he carefully chose how to word it -- a worry in itself, as he hadn’t bothered to think about his choice of words before. “..In short? I’m- well, I’m dying. No two ways around it. The long version? Tyrest’s killswitch, time- travelling around the cosmos, and carrying around a point-one-percenter for far too long to be healthy have lasting effects -- including my spark eventually guttering out. Did I say it was personal? I meant very depressing.”

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