Beeps and Buzzes

🌒 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2

　　　　

It turned out the gift was a pair of socks. Expensive socks - those really nice, super thick ones that had sticky grips underneath.

You've had them on since this morning, deciding right away they were superior to anything else you owned. You've been racking your brains trying to figure out what to give Ron and Julie.

Torn between booze or vouchers, dithering around the subject tempted to ask for a second opinion. Even if your only options were two Aliens.

At least Sam now had a job at Accureta Systems, acting as a mail boy. It wasn't much, but he was just glad to have received any kind of work placement at all.

Otherwise he still acted sour towards you. Your grudge wore out awhile ago, yet pain lingered. Neither of you made any attempt to discuss things like adults.

Largely due to having different schedules, or just not in habit of crossing paths.

Still, taking into consideration that you'd no longer be in the immediate vicinity of him, your kind-of-not-really bodyguard service became extremely limited.

Ergo, you'd crafted a Beacon immediately after his first shift.

Existing as a form of unlimited energy, of infinite possibilities; these Allsparks particles within you allowed some elbow room for for creativity reasoning. Even if you couldn't physically access all of it, in spite of it (allegedly) continuously replicating itself on a cellular level forcing undue changes.

Guided by Alchemist Prime, who happily dragged you through an unnecessarily extensive lecture on the capabilities of the Matrix before helping. Turns out, it could create Sparks out of existing energy if the proper raw materials were present!

Your joint efforts resulted in a pair of altered Pagers, disguised long range distress beacons that you hadn't quite grasped the logic of.

Powerful, for it shared a miliscule fragment of Matrix (better known as a drop of your blood), it's communication worked only two ways with only a seven second delay (underground it would become twelve).

During questioning, Alchemist explained that things existed simply being scientific understanding, tapping his helms temple.

Sam had begrudgingly accepted it. Or, more like you had barred him from leaving till the thing was secure upon his belt. Pretty much thrusting it upon him. Paranoid that something was bound to go wrong sooner or later.

Hence - all proper information now provided - how you'd reached this point of mania.

You hadn't exactly prepared for how this signal was to be received. Its screeching caught you off guard. Short, sharp and shrill causing you to cry out in alarm. The pager on the coffee table whipped itself into such a frenzy it vibrated onto the floor.

You weren't proud to admit that, in surprise, your arm shifted into a Cannon and blasted a family photo of Carlys. It took a few seconds to gain some composure, to then check the clunky item that was illuminated in a toxic blue.

Duly informed you the beacon had been lit, with Sam calling for aid, time was of essence.

Fumbling around for your phone, muting the TV (much to the two bots annoyance) and dialling Sam's number with impressive efficency. Waiting for him to pick up, only to discover that the line was occupied, concluding he was contacting someone in the know.

Hurrying to put on decent clothes, finding the most dependable shoes in your arsenal, making a few more attempts at contacting your roommate only to receive the droning automated voicemail message.