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Guardian Gig - Ratchet > Guardian drone TF

Themes: latex / robotization / armor / mindwipe

Word count: 2,268

Commissioned by: Anonymous

** ———————————————————————————**

Ratchet steps out of his ship, ready for a new adventure. Well, “adventure” might be overselling it… it’s more of a quick job. This dusty old planet wasn’t nearly as difficult to pinpoint as he expected, and this ancient temple sprawling before him… no doubt about it, this is the place.

He strolls toward the temple’s main entrance, casually prying open a dusty old schematic he found a few days ago. It depicts the article he’s after… a mysterious artifact in the shape of a simple, shiny cube. Surrounding it are various speculations about what’s inside of it, most of them quite fantastical. At the least, it’s unanimously agreed upon that whatever’s in there must be truly invaluable.

And Ratchet concurs. Which is why he’s glad it’s falling into his hands, rather than those of someone more unscrupulous!

He stops before the looming archway, knuckles tightening around his omniwrench. A quick scan reveals no lifeforms, nor obvious traps, but he’s not interested in taking unnecessary risks regardless. His sharp ears twitch, ready to pick up on anything through the ominous silence.

Once he’s satisfied that there’s no immediate danger, he clicks on a light, and steps inside. It’s all dusty and decrepit, as expected. The architecture’s nothing he recognizes. The whole place is quite intriguing… But for now, he’s gotta focus on his objective.

After about 15 minutes of exploring, he determines that the whole place is largely empty of any significant findings… save for a long staircase leading down to an underground floor. Once he’s finished combing the upper floor, he finally makes his way down, hoping to have his tenacity rewarded.

Once at the bottom, it takes only seconds to spot it. At the center of a large ritual room of sorts, stands an ornate pedestal; and atop it, sits a shining, silvery cube, about a foot in size.

“I gotcha!” He exclaims with a grin, then winces at the sound of his own echoing voice after spending so long in silence. He marches up to the thing, confidence rising now that his sights are set on his target.

He stops inches away, and takes a brief moment to examine it. Its pristine reflective surface stands out from its dusty, dilapidated surroundings… somehow it’s resisted the rust and decay of, well, however many thousands of years it must’ve been sitting down here. What sort of material or alloy could it be, he wonders…? Perhaps the real treasure here is simply an indestructible new metal. Wow, the possibilities…!

He glances back and forth, just to check for traps one more time. Nothing. Finally, he takes a deep breath, hooks his omniwrench under his thumb, reaches out with both hands… and grabs it.

He immediately feels a shock run through his entire body! He gasps, and tries to pry his hands away… but he can’t. It’s like they’ve been instantly superglued to the cube’s surface! What is happening…?

A low, ominous hum pierces the air… it takes Ratchet a moment to realize that it’s coming from the cube. He watches in mixed awe and horror as the cube vibrates, and opens with a hiss. Each of its faces splits into four identical squares, as the cube separates into 8 symmetrical corner-pieces. The pieces expand outward, revealing a bright white light within that leaves spots in his eyes. It pulses dangerously, as if raging at him.

“Agghhhh, what… s-stop it…!” Ratchet’s beginning to panic. He grimaces, and tries with no luck to pull his hands free. Then he tries to pick the thing up… nope, it’s holding fast to the pedestal too. In the midst of his struggles, his omniwrench slips through his fingers and clatters to the floor, well beyond his reach. He groans desperately, twisting every which way, just trying to get away from this freaky thing, but it seems like there’s nothing he can do…!

He feels another full-body shock, and groans. Now his feet are rooted in place… he can’t even try to pull away. He can only squirm helplessly as the ominous humming grows louder, and louder, and LOUDER…

“Agghhhhh…” His mind’s going… fuzzy… He breathes heavily, trying to calm down, trying to think of any possible way he could get out of this mess. But… so hard to… think…

A strange shimmering energy seeps out from the pulsing light, creeping straight for his gloved hands. It seizes upon them, and… before his eyes, the simple brown leather is morphed into sleek silvery gauntlets of gleaming metal. Bulky, sturdy, and VERY tight! And the shimmering effect still isn’t finished… it spreads down toward the rest of his arms, coating them in sleek black rubber with high-tech cyan accents.

“W-wait, wha-“

SERVE. PROTECT.

The sudden blaring voice in his head would’ve easily knocked him over if he weren’t held fast. It sounds cold, steely and robotic, somehow coming off as emotionless and deeply passionate at the same time. And it is STAGGERINGLY loud.

Ratchet cries out, his composure completely shattered. He goes limp, or rather as limp as is possible while still standing perfectly straight and clutching that freaky box, having never felt so helpless in his life. That voice… it was… was it the box speaking to him?

SERVE. PROTECT.

“Grraaahhhhhh!!” He wails, those two words forcefully pounding their way in. He heaves desperately, only able to watch as the shimmering wave spreads to his main body, converting his explorer outfit into more sterile black latex, reinforced with bulky padding. It feels so… tight…

He doesn’t even know what to focus on… the weird makeover, or the even weirder message being transmitted into his mind. Serve? Protect…? What does it even mean? Is it the box that’s…

SERVE. PROTECT.

This time, he only gasps hoarsely and stares straight ahead, into that blinding light. With the words come subliminal messages, forcing their way directly into Ratchet’s memory banks. It’s becoming a lot clearer now… All his other thoughts become hazy and smudged, but these new thoughts… He finds that even in his thoroughly addled state, those come to him in perfect clarity.

He is to become the cube’s guardian. Wholly committed to preserving and protecting it for… f-for all eternity… He doesn’t know how he knows… but he knows. This is what it demands of him.

His hands finally detach from the cube’s surface, falling limply to his sides. The creeeeeak of latex pierces his ears at the sudden movement, which creates a whole new reaction in him… He only continues to stand straight, staring directly at the harsh light at the cube’s core with a pained, increasingly vacant expression. Whether the cube is still compelling him to remain put, or he’s simply not capable of acting on his own anymore, he sure can’t tell. One thing’s certain… he’s along for this whether he wants it or not.

SERVE. PROTECT.

“S-serve… protect…” Before he knows it, he’s echoing the message that rages in his mind. He can’t tell if he actually said it himself… then again, it’s hard to really tell who “he” is anymore. His memories, his thoughts, and his sense of identity are all in a complete haze… while thoughts of being an obedient, stalwart guardian run rampant in his mind, completely unopposed. All that’s left is the vague notion that he… he was someone… he had an identity, before…

Squeeeeeak, crrrrrkkk… Though he can’t look down, he can feel his body being increasingly rubberized. His back, his waist, his… crotch… g-god, that feels so so tight. His only movements are involuntary responses to the cavalcade of stimuli, but that’s all it takes to get the shiny skintight latex squeaking away in response, a continuous earworm to compliment the…

SERVE. PROTECT.

“Serve… protect…” Repeating those words felt so much more natural this time… and that scares him. He’s worked with enough intelligent machines to understand when his mind starts operating like one. Impassive, analytical thoughts prevail, and emotions become nothing but a dull ebb in the back of his mind. He’s… he’s starting to not care. He’s starting to accept his fate.

Crrrrrkkk… He finds himself moaning helplessly in response as his legs are coated with that pulsing latex, infuriatingly irresistible… His feet are quick to follow, his boots swallowed up and upgraded into massive steely units with thick treading. Seamlessly incorporated into the surface of the latex… of his new skin, for all he knows. His tail is swiftly sealed up in its own layer. And now he feels it encroaching upward, to the last part of him…

The next thing he knows, the shimmering effect overtakes his entire vision, making him feel queasy for a moment. Once it passes, he finds his vision to be faintly tinted cyan… a hi-tech visor, installed directly over his eyes. He feels the transformation overtake his face, converting fur and skin into cold synthetic material. A mouth incapable of emotion… ears attuned not only to surrounding sounds, but the continuous signals straight from the master node.

That’s it… that’s what the thing is called. The master node… a name it does not reveal lightly. And now that it’s shared that confidential knowledge with him…

It’s never going to let him leave with his will intact.

A progress bar appears on the surface of Ratchet’s visor, both inside and out. The moment it starts to fill, he feels his sense of self being DRAINED away. His already fuzzy memories begin winking out one by one. At that moment it truly hits him… he’s about to become a mindless drone. Permanently.

He groans and frantically stumbles about, tugging on his new suit and gear. The fact that he’s able to move again doesn’t even register to him… all that dwindling part of him can focus on is stopping this in whatever way he can. The surface of the suit squeaks and grinds to an obnoxious degree, contributing still further to the feeling of thoughtless acceptance… especially as he futilely attempts to pull it off, stretching the material and causing it to SQUIIIIIRK in protest, before snapping right back into place. It’s not working.

SERVE. PROTECT.

As well as booming in his ears, the words appear in bold text above the progress bar as well. 20%.

SERVE. PROTECT.

It’s growing faster now, every utterance dulling his mind even further. He groans in despair, his struggles no longer guided by conscious thought, but pure instinct. 40%.

SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT.

“Serve… p-protect… serve… protect…” His mouth moves on its own in between frantic huffs and moans, in a far more robot-adjacent voice than before. It’s getting harder to not mean it when he says it. His useless struggles persist, carrying him in a wild path around the room. All he can hear is that booming voice, with relentless rubber sounds providing the perfect ambience to ease his mind into total oblivion. 60%.

SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT.

“Serve… protect. Serve. Protect. Serve. Protect.” His name is gone. He can’t even feel it in the back of his head anymore. He can’t remember anything before this room… this temple. This role is all he is. His voice is taking on the same cold, rigid cadence. He was built for this role. He exists to fill this role for all eternity. 80%.

SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT. SERVE. PROTECT.

He echoes the words in perfect sync now, their weight fully felt. He WILL serve, he WILL protect. Organic desire is replaced with compulsory protocol. He doesn’t know why he’s struggling anymore… that fighter’s instinct is all that’s left of him. Tugging, stumbling, dimly locating the exit… while pulling at his breastplate, he takes one shaky step forward.

100%.

All motion ceases. In one final instant, the assimilation is finalized. The person is gone… only the guardian remains.

After freezing in that desperate lurching position for a few seconds, the guardian slowly, mechanically lets go of its armor, lowers its arms, and stands up straight. Face completely still, posture perfected. A perfect servant of the Master Node.

“UNIT WILL SERVE. UNIT WILL PROTECT.” It slams a gauntleted fist to its chest in a brisk, emphatic salute, facing the cube directly as it slowly closes back up, reassuming its appearance as an unassuming chunk of metal. Even as it goes dormant again, its messages persist in the guardian’s mind. The same two words, the only ones it will ever say or hear again.

It marches toward a more proper position for a guardian, stationed beside the only entrance, ready to activate at the sight of an intruder. Its body squeaks and clanks, pleasing the drone on a deep level… reminders of its proper form.

It stumbles over something… it looks down to see a large metal tool with two prongs, and unknowable design. Irrelevant. Guardians have no need for tools. It is commanded to continue on its way, disregarding the forgotten relic.

As it settles into place ignoring the foreign object, its mind begins to slow in preparation of eons of thankless guard duty. It installs protocols, instructing it to engage in patrols, inspect its exterior, and engage with the node at random intervals.

Vivid images fill its mind, of intruders coming in trying to steal the node, pry out its secrets, even destroy it… this guardian’s imperative will never grow dull.

It will watch with an eternal, unquestioning vigil… It will never presume to do or think anything the node does not allow. That is not its role.

Its role is to serve and protect. Forever.