Chapter Text
And as Ratchet walks through the forest, a heavy sense covers his shoulders and folds over his head, fastening itself across his chest with a kind of foreboding he hasn't felt since he left the war.
He grimaces, tightening his grip on the wrench over his shoulder he nabbed on the way out of the garage. Of course, in an ideal scenario, he wouldn't have to use it — but if war taught him anything, it's to prepare for everything. Besides, even he's not above admitting that something out there (God, the universe, fate, whatever) has a taste for irony.
As he makes his way north in the direction of the river, the whirring sound he heard from overhead before now winds its way towards him between brush and trees, along with the distressingly familiar groans and creaks of settling metal.
A heavy breeze follows the noises a second later. It ruffles Ratchet's hair on the way by, and sends any remaining wildlife into a flurry. Ratchet cocks his head, thinking almost absently that the sound’s similar to that of a sigh.
He then catches himself and pauses to shake his head. He must be losing it. (It is, after all, rather boring out here, and his mind must have finally given up the ghost.)
He grips his wrench tighter all the same.
The scant trail he’s following finally rounds a patch of thick pines — and as he takes in the view, his jaw drops in a display of surprise that hasn't caught him dead in years. There, in front of him, covered in earth, countless branches, and skewered trees, lies a being made of sheer plated metal.
Ratchet pauses to take a second. He shakes his head in disbelief, then blinks once, twice; and shakes his head again. And, well, the view still hasn't changed. He blinks one more time just for good measure, then picks up his jaw from the forest floor.
He mentally starts to assess the scene in front of him with both an engineer's and medic's eye as he steps closer, wrench still held high for (ahem.) reasons.
(And listen, he's still not willing to play chicken with a higher power, alright?)
The majority of the large plates that make up the figure's external armor are severely dented, scuffed to hell, and some are full-on buckling. There's also a strange, luminescent pink sort of liquid dripping from multiple cracks and scrapes, spreading quickly across forest floor and coating its surface in a glowing, iridescent sheen.
He can also hear the telltale crackle of electric currents running unchecked even as he catalogs multiple sparking wires, and he makes sure to avoid those with full caution until he can come back with proper gear. (And, oh, God. He’s already thinking about coming back, isn't he.)
Above it all, the smell of smoke still hangs in the air as it slowly rises off superheated metal.
Upon close inspection, he can make out grey and white paint underneath all the dirt, scrapes, and pink liquid. The colored paint seems to alternate between armor panels here and there to provide some aesthetic effect, and there's yellow accents and teal trim that seem to be faintly glowing, lit from underneath by some internal power source.
Ratchet definitely puts down its overall frametype as humanoid adjacent, as he rounds the figure's side and finally makes out an arm along with a head.
The arm itself looks like it's barely hanging on, a throughly busted shoulder joint leading down to an extended claw-tipped hand, as if to brace itself for the crash. The head, meanwhile, has a series of white finials that frame a dark grey faceplate with shut optics, and a bashed-in nose ridge and open mouth with pink trickling out of both to nicely round off the list.
And with that note, he remembers hearing whispers about a project that had been floating around for months before he left the war (and moved to his chosen place of reclusion.) But he never put much stock in them - the
government was always trying to spread things and elevate itself, constantly fighting a battle with their ever tenuous self-righteous image.
Nevertheless, the thing he's looking at now proves that maybe someone out there did follow through on their promises — and although he does have questions, concerns, and a whole lot of notes, this figure is a thing of ingenuity and marvel. The engineer in him is absolutely thrilled, eager to examine its joints, wiring, and materials — to get deep under plating and find how it ticks.
His eyes widen as he reaches a hand out to carefully examine the being's faceplate with an appraising hum, the material looking softer compared to the hardier metal of its armored frame. It had to be some kind of polysynth mesh, Perceptor had been working on a similar project back whenever he had time in the labs —
The being's left optic cracks open without warning, drowning Ratchet in crimson light as it looks around wildly, trying to orient itself. It zeroes in on him a second later, and he yanks his hand back as he raises his wrench, instinctively retreating a few paces.
The optic moves, looking him up and down, and bathes him in light for a few moments as he breathes in and out, steadying himself, his hands firm as his eyes stare back into unforgiving red.
The being scans him one more time, and lets out a sigh as its optic finally closes. A rush of air escapes its whole frame as it finally settles, sinking further into the ground.
Ratchet slowly pulls himself out of whatever... that was, and after a few seconds of deliberation and warring with himself, he lowers the wrench, reaching forward again to tap on the being's faceplate — more sure that this time it won't wake up.
The metal face is indeed soft underneath his fingers and warm to the touch, with a cool undertone as he gently strokes it. It’s definitely a kind of polysynth material, and as he stands there, wrench at his side and other tools weighing his pockets, stroking the face of a metal figure that, effectively, crash landed in his backyard, he comes to a decision. He’s going to help.
(Oh, he's kidding himself. He was always going to. He’s hardwired for it — and besides, how else is he supposed to get his kicks since he left those slaggers at back at base? Damn if he doesn't miss Orion, though.)
Besides, this is the most exciting thing that's happened since the move, and there's no way he's letting something like this just sit out here, lost among the trees.
He strokes the being's face one more time, and lets out a sigh of his own. "Well, Scrappy, guess I’ll be back," And here, he grins slightly at himself. "Don't go anywhere."
Mind fully made up, he turns and starts to make his way back. He’s got tools to collect, a sandwich to grab, calls to make; and something brand new, just waiting for him to pick apart.