Archive of Our Own

The base of the speakermen was often regarded as an almost sacred place of hope and power among the Alliance, particularly for those who did not live within its expansive walls.

Some of the biggest technological advances ever made by the three allied factions originated there, as did one of their largest and strongest armies that served as a guiding light of perseverance and resilience, even among the ever-increasing darkness brought by the alien invaders and their enormous fleet as they continued their conquest of the war-torn world.

Though the sprawling complex that most of speaker, camera, and TV kind called home was certainly impressive, many first-time visitors to the base were taken not with its glowing and cheerful interior, but with the breathtakingly lovely green fields that stretched for kilometers around the base in all directions. It was perhaps how the speakermen had remained so entirely optimistic all these years, wandering through a paradise untouched by war and decay, feeling the long grass tickle the metal of their legs. Chirping in happily surprised static when the season’s first wildflowers pushed themselves up from the ground and expanded into a carpet of colors while the sun shone down brightly through a cloudless sky.

Many of the base’s inhabitants spent much of their time off from fighting in the beautiful meadows, exploring or relaxing in the warmth of long afternoons for hours. Regular-sized speakermen picked bouquets of flowers to decorate the base with, while their large counterparts kept a lazy watch as they basked nearby. Of late, the cameramen who now lived at the speaker base ever since the destruction of their own had begun joining the groups of speakermen, who were more than happy to show their new friends around the wonderful area. Several TVmen too, had ventured out from the darkened areas of the base they called home to explore, though the partially nocturnal creatures preferred being in the fields when dusk had crept over the landscape. Even the newly allied Skibidis seemed to relish in their verdant surroundings, their usually loud chants reduced to almost reverent murmurings as they traversed the landscape.

Today though, the fields were occupied by few members of the Alliance. Because the cameramen had finished upgrading their titan, and he’d needed room to test his system’s new functions without worrying about stepping on anyone in the process. Titan Speakerman had accompanied him outside, and the two brothers spent a couple of hours lightly sparring as Titan Cameraman got used to the slightly clumsy feeling of having new tech and weapons, in addition to finally being able to walk around for one of the first times in months without his left leg missing.

After a while of weapon testing and wandering, the titans had settled down in the middle of the huge meadows, and were currently sitting beside one another as the sun warmed their enormous frames, looking out at the bright green sea of life surrounding them and the base beyond.

Titan Cameraman slowly moved his hands over the comparatively minuscule blades of grass, marveling at the expansive range of color from the hundreds of flowers below and all around him. His sharp lens had little trouble examining them thoroughly, despite how utterly tiny they were to him. The rectangular panels on both sides of the camera titan’s head twitched like ears in his curiosity upon noticing a little patch of bright blue flowers next to his right hand, almost the same shade of cyan as his lens, core, and new warp drive. Cameraman shifted his attention to his hand, raising it in front of him and studying it quietly as he carefully flexed his fingers.

It was strange, having an actual right hand again after so long. Strange in a good way, he supposed, but it would still take some time to get used to. Much like his new leg and upgrades. The titan had been upgraded before of course, as had both of his brothers. He was familiar with the process of adjustment that came with it, the detached and almost disembodied feeling that the new components and functions of his body didn’t quite fully belong to him yet. But still, he hadn’t remembered feeling so. . . odd like he did now. It must have been because of the Astro tech the Alliance had integrated into his upgrades.

The camera scientists had worked wonders, transforming the volatile technology of the invaders into something compatible with their own tech. Cameraman now possessed a bright cyan warp ring that replaced his former jetpack, though his old wing fins remained just in front of the spinning ring on his back, repaired and strengthened for maximum aerial maneuverability. Attached behind the warp drive’s rotating center was the repurposed Detainer claw, folded up and tucked mostly out of sight at the moment, but easily able to extend to catch and rebound Astro artillery fire when needed. On his shoulders sat two massive cameras that could retract and swap with his dual shoulder cannons, much like they functioned before his latest upgrades. But unlike the camera titan’s previous cannon array, his current ones could switch between a powerful gravity function and devastating blue plasma pulses that could melt through any Astro who dared to get close, similar to the glowing railgun mounted to his left arm.

And if the aliens managed to get through all of that, they would meet a most brutal demise via Cameraman’s new hammer, a weapon created with help from the Speaker Armada’s head tech specialists, dangerously huge, with blue energy laced spikes on both broad ends of the melee device.

The camera titan glanced up from his new hand and raised his brightly glowing lens to the sky, gazing absentmindedly at the azure expanse of a cloudless afternoon. A slight breeze gusted, whistling between the smaller cameras on both sides of his long head and tickling his top armored antenna. That wouldn’t do. Cameraman tilted his head, trying to find an angle where the wind didn’t bother him and wiggled his “ears” as he attempted using them to disperse the airflow. The breeze picked up a little more, causing the titan to lower his silver armored head plating partially over his main lens like a visor. A slight bane of his existence, that thing. Though the metal plating would certainly be helpful in shielding his main camera during battles, it had the unfortunate side effect of making him look grumpy, at least according to his speaker siblings.

A bit ironic coming from them, Cameraman reasoned. Those two could look mighty grumpy themselves sometimes, especially when they lowered the helms on their own heads over their deep red optics. Very deceivingly grumpy looking though, as Executor especially was hardly ever in a bad mood.

Cameraman could have predicted the squeaky buzz of laughter from his right as he’d moved the helm over his lens, but still found himself chuffing back softly in amusement as he swiveled his head in the direction of the sudden burst of static, meeting the crimson optic and speakers of his brother who sat beside him.

“First Exey, and now you.” Titan Speakerman transmitted, raising one hand to gesture at the camera titan as his colossal speaker banks let out more giggly chirps. “You look like someone forced you out of recharge too early, Cam.”

Cameraman chuckled, the low murmur of it morphing into his deep voice. “Happens more often than it should, you know. Do your people ever just take a day to rest offline and recalibrate your systems without starting the music as soon as the sun comes up?” He leaned closer and gently bumped Speakerman’s shoulder with his own. “It helps a lot with things, Speaker.”

The speaker titan seemed to consider his brother’s words for a moment, tilting his head to look up at the sky with a sort of contemplative trilling hum, before glancing back at Cameraman. “I’m sure it helps. But also. . . there are millions of songs the humans sang that we have yet to discover. Plus all of this.” He waved both long arms in a wide sweeping motion that encompassed their beautiful surroundings, head speakers bobbing in an open and excitable way, a sign of happiness that Cameraman had been relieved to see slowly returning to him even after everything he’d been through. Even after the Astros had corrupted Titan TVman. The camera titan felt a great welling of sadness from somewhere deep that he couldn’t name as he thought of the Alliance’s third titan, tormented and twisted by the aliens. He deserved to be here with both of them, purring in the warm sun and poking at the flowers curiously. But instead the Astros had ripped him away from his family, broken him entirely, and forced him to fight on their side.

Cameraman realized that Speakerman was talking again and tried to listen, tried to focus on the present, even as his processor painted a near perfect image of his youngest brother sitting beside him, displaying that silly and yet adorably innocent cat emoticon on his many screens. “. . . wanted to ask if you like the fields. And how are your upgrades feeling now, Cam?”

“They’re as spectacular as you described them to me during my repairs. You have a beautiful home, Speaker.” Cameraman felt like his audio was about to glitch out and paused, as if thinking about the other titan’s question. The last thing he wanted was Speakerman figuring out that he was upset, it would only cause unnecessary worry. And Cameraman wasn’t about to ruin his brother’s current and rare pure happiness by mentioning TVman and thus the unspeakable horrors that had happened to him. “I still feel a bit off. But I’m getting used to things gradually, I think.”

“We have a beautiful home. It’s yours and your people’s as much as it is mine now.” Speakerman corrected him with a gentle rumble of his numerous sound systems, then added: “Astro upgrades tend to make you feel weird for a bit, mine were pretty volatile too. It’ll get better though, I promise.”

“That’s honestly a relief to hear.” Despite his newly resurfaced mournful thoughts, Cameraman heard himself emit another amused chuff as he thought of something else. “Maybe the reason Executor is how she is comes from being built with that tech.”

Speakerman laughed. “You mean she’s hyper and unpredictable energy made sentient? It’s possible, I guess.”

“More like probable. She’s the only speakerman I know who can play three songs at once and somehow not overlap the lyrics.” The mirth-filled buzz from the speaker titan at Cameraman’s words all but flattened the grass for dozens of meters around. Cameraman rumbled in his own laughter at his younger brother’s hilarious reaction.

Speakerman appeared to compose himself after a minute, trying to answer. “Just because she can, doesn’t mean she should! It’s. . . grating. Even though we all love music, you’d be hard-pressed to find other speakermen who enjoy that.” He glanced down at the ground briefly, before bringing his vibrant speaker head back up to look at the camera titan again, this time quietly. “Listen. . . I wanted to say something. Something that’s been bothering me for a long time.”

“What is it?” Cameraman asked, voice softening at his companion’s sudden seriousness. “You can tell me anything, Speaker. It’s okay.”

Speakerman stared at him for a moment or two and then shifted himself a little closer to the other titan, reaching out to rest one hand on Cameraman’s shoulder. His transmission came almost silently; a short burst of data and static that hardly registered with the camera titan’s audio receivers. A faint and emotionally charged wavelength known only to the both of them. “When they clear you for fighting. . . I want you to know that I’ll be right there with you. Always. You don’t have to hold the line alone ever again, Cam. Not while I’m here.”

Cameraman was more than a little confused at that. Confused, and taken aback. “We’ve always fought together, and I’ve never been alone. Except for when I led the Astros away from you, which was my own doing.”

“Yes, but. . . I was never able to protect you the same way you protected me. I wasn’t strong enough.” The last part was little more than a sad squeak from Speakerman, as his shoulders slumped shamefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Speaker. . . you did protect me. So many times.” Cameraman heard a few involuntary and upset whirs from his internals punctuate his next sentence. “Vrrrmmm. . . don’t ever think for a second that you weren’t strong.” He reached out and carefully placed an arm around the speaker titan’s shoulders, trying to avoid the energized and spinning red warp ring, but still attempting to comfort him through grounding and familiar touch. “There’s nothing to be sorry for either.”

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Cam. Ever again.” Speakerman murmured. “I can’t. . . lose you.”

That hurt. It hurt Cameraman that his brother was so worried about losing him that he’d bottled up his feelings until he no longer could. But the part that hurt most of all was the truth that they both had to face: There were no guarantees for either of their survivals during the increasingly horrific war, which meant they couldn’t promise each other anything about the future.

So instead of trying to come up with false assurances, Cameraman wrapped his other arm around Speakerman’s back and pulled him into a gentle hug, holding him close as he felt the other titan nuzzle his head speakers against his chest, right above Cameraman’s core. A sign of affection from him, one Cameraman knew meant “I love you” without words. The camera titan voiced his own version of that when he spoke next, resting his head on top of Speakerman’s as he did. “I love you, Speaker. We’re fighting for the world, yes, but also our futures. And it’s a fight I very much plan on seeing through, with you and the rest of our family.” Cameraman raised his arm from where it was resting around Speakerman’s shoulder and brought his hand up to the smaller titan’s left back speaker bank, brushing its armored surface in soothing circles.

Cameraman couldn’t bear the thought of losing Speakerman either. Couldn’t stand thinking about anything even remotely close to it, and yet multiple interpretations and versions of his brother’s theoretical death still found ways to force themselves into his nightmares, visions of Speakerman’s broken and burning body haunting him every time he powered off for the night, making him jolt back into awareness terrified that they were real. Terrified that Speakerman was gone forever, his life snuffed out, after suffering so much at the hands of the Skibidis.

It sometimes seemed to come to Cameraman more in fragmented snatches, rather than in a continuous narrative; the awful events that had befallen the speaker titan over the course of almost the entire war:

Watching him raze a small city with the toilets, his formerly red core a sickening yellow.

Facing Speakerman in the battle that would lead to his successful disinfection, but not before getting a close look into that crazed optic that almost seemed to be pleading for help.

Finding the other titan after he'd run away when the Alliance had saved him, and noticing the holes and rips in his shirt and the sparking of wires beneath. Self-inflicted wounds in utter hatred of himself.

And it had almost destroyed Cameraman, seeing him there, curled up so small on the ground and grieving over something he never could have controlled or even predicted in the first place.

Cameraman recalled the embrace after he’d been there with Speakerman for a long time, respecting his requests for space and waiting for the other titan to be alright with him approaching. When he did, slowly and crouched low to show Speakerman that he wasn’t a threat, and opened his arms in a gentle offer, the speaker titan had all but fallen apart within them, emitting low and stuttering sobs; tears he couldn’t physically shed. Cameraman had tried his best to calm him, even as his own emotional processors overloaded completely in that moment. He remembered it being an alien sensation to him; this level of anguish that left him utterly broken, in mearly a shadow of the way the one who he’d soon come to see as his dear brother, must have felt then.

And none of this was counting the innumerable horrors that had riddled Speakerman’s existence since then either.

All the battles that had gone so terribly wrong for him.

Cameraman’s own brief mind control by the scientist of the Skibidis, who forced him to attack his brother ruthlessly.

Followed later by Speakerman’s very short yet devastating secondary infection. Cameraman didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if Titan TVman hadn’t been there to save him.

The fight with G Toilet that had left Speakerman unable to walk and made him drag his ruined body across the ground towards Cameraman, who’d immediately placed him on his back, trying to help despite his own extensive injuries. Feeling the other titan trembling from pain, even through the layers of metal gear he was clinging to.

Watching him try his best to persevere afterwards, back when they’d both thought the battle was over, and they could finally rest. Speakerman’s people had gathered near him, playing the song they all knew and loved. And he’d tried to dance along with them, sitting there on the big rock Cameraman had found and carefully placed him on top of.

The one TVman had knelt beside when he’d first arrived there, still in shock after seeing what had happened to his brothers in the fight, and insisted on examining the older titan's wounds, even as Speakerman tried to reassure him that he was okay.

The last memory from back then that Cameraman held, was one of the worst of all. Because Speakerman’s agony had been caused by him alone, not by the Skibidis this time. It had been necessary, to give himself up to the Astros to pursue, so the Alliance and his brothers could escape from that wretched place.

But the sound of the camera titan’s name, screamed frantically by Speakerman as he’d left him behind, would forever remain etched in his mind all the same.

Speakerman had thought him dead for months after. And Cameraman knew that forgiving himself for that would take more time then he could even begin to estimate, even though he knew deep down, that he’d had no other choice.

“Oh Speaker. . . I’m here now.” Cameraman thought. “I’m here, and I’ll hold you as long as you want. As long as you need.”

The two titans sat there for a long while, feeling the warmth from the sun wash over them like a blanket. If Cameraman hadn’t been preoccupied with hugging Speakerman and wasn’t wearing all of his gear, he would have taken off his long trench coat to give the speaker titan an actual blanket that he could snuggle in. But for now, the natural heat from the sun as well as from their cores would have to work.

Despite himself and his recent haunting thoughts, Cameraman remembered in amusement what usually happened whenever Speakerman borrowed his coat. His brother would wear it for a while before inevitably discarding it somewhere when he was called to his maintenance hangar so the speaker techs could run diagnostics on his systems. Which then of course, would lead to Executor finding it and either wrapping herself in the coat and resting, or stomping around outside wearing it and brandishing her scythe like she was pretending to be some giant version of that undead guy from human myths. (Which she probably was). The Grim Reaper? She’d told Cameraman about it once, but he wasn’t sure he was remembering the right name for it. Executor spent a considerable amount of time scouring the Alliance databases for information on humans, and honestly? It was challenging to keep track of the almost constant stream of factoids she’d tell him about the odd little creatures of times past.

A few soft hums and buzzes from the titan in his arms immediately returned Cameraman’s attention to his brother and caused his “ears” to twitch again as he peered down at the cuddly speakerman curiously. That was good. Those were happy sounds coming from him. The camera titan quietly rumbled back in response, almost too low for his own audio receptors to pick up. Speakerman though, definitely heard him based on the responding chirp of static, followed by his own playfully mimicked deep rumble, this time entirely unheard by Cameraman with his less attuned audial range than the speaker titan possessed. He could easily see and feel the rumbling in action however; subtle tremors of the other titan’s massive speakers and slight vibrations felt throughout his frame from holding Speakerman close to him while the rumbles continued.

Cameraman chuckled. One of the things he had always enjoyed about being the oldest titan was amusing his younger siblings. His brothers would laugh at the most random things, so too would Executor. It was hilarious and adorable, but also meant that they were happy. And that mattered more to Cameraman than anything; keeping their spirits up during a war that had demoralized many. It was hard now though, since TVman was no longer there, and Cameraman knew that none of them would ever really be alright now that he was gone. But even if it was perhaps impossible to rescue him, the camera titan was determined to try. Even if it cost him his life in the process.

It was then that a much louder than necessary transmission pierced their surroundings, almost making Cameraman flinch if he hadn’t been used to it.

“Hey guys!”

Speakerman huffed a sigh through his vents and slipped out of Cameraman’s arms as they both turned to look at the newcomer, possibly slightly resignedly.

Executor, semi-titan of the speakermen and known creator of completely unnecessary chaos sauntered closer, arms tucked suspiciously behind her back like she was hiding something from them. Her scythe and warp drive were nowhere to be seen, and it looked like she’d only recently woken up from recharging, based on her brighter than usual speakers as well as her partially unfastened tunic that fluttered in the breeze and exposed some of the intricate glowing black and red internals of her upper torso.

Seemingly completely oblivious to her intrusive entrance, Executor continued her approach until she was standing directly in front of the still sitting titans, for once about level with their massive frames instead of far below her brothers’ tall statures like she ordinarily would have been, had they all been standing. The speaker semi-titan leaned forward until her shining optic was staring right into Cameraman’s lens, a low and almost melodramatic murmuring buzz emitting from her many powerful audio ports immediately following the sudden encroachment of space imposed on the camera titan. “Guess what I found?”

Cameraman’s main lens shifted its focus slightly, making his vision blur with his system’s inadvertent reaction to the weird cacophony of sound coming from the semi-titan, quiet enough to be inaudible if she hadn’t been so close to him. And yet there it was; a faint pulsing tempo that only could have come from a song, or possibly many of them, but warped and altered so they blended together in a rhythm that only could have been described as. . . unique and unquestionably Executor. It wasn’t like Cameraman was unaware of the speakermen’s love of music, how it almost seemed to guide them, influenced and linked them harmoniously during battles. But Executor seemed to be almost one with the music, like it was embedded in her servos and wiring. And not just any random song either, but hundreds of snippets and snatches of all her favorites, combined into one long resonating murmur played in her head and occasionally for the whole base to hear as well. And underneath it all: That mysterious and chaotic energy, born of her creation that used stolen unearthly tech belonging to an alien race intent on destroying them all.

In many of the camera titan’s worries about the war and the ones he loved, lay the gnawing concern about his semi-titan sister. There was no denying that her existence was the product of a months long experiment, a desperate act by a people poised to lose the battle for the world if they hadn’t learned the way of the Astros’ technology. . . and integrated it into their own. Speakerman too, had voiced his own concern about the subject with Cameraman before. The last thing either of them wanted was for Executor to feel like she was a mutation of some kind, a strange result of the fusing of power derived from two very different peoples. It had been important to Speakerman then, to make the semi-titan feel at home with the rest of speakerkind when she’d first come into existence. And it was important to Cameraman now too, accepting her as a sibling, much like he had with his titan brothers. It wasn’t like it had been very difficult either, behind her chaos Executor was sweet and adorably tiny compared to the enormous titan of the cameramen.

The semi-titan's question had yet to be answered by Cameraman, prompting her to tilt her head to the right and transmit, quite loudly: “Cam?”

“Hmm? Sorry.” The camera titan rumbled his late response. “What was it that you found?”

“Flowers!” Executor proclaimed, with all the exuberance of someone who put her utmost confidence into nearly everything that left her sound systems. Without further ado, the semi-titan stepped back slightly before whipping both arms out from behind her back, a sea of pastel colors clasped in her hands. Lovely shades of purples, pinks, and whites.

Cameraman stared. Those were. . . certainly not flowers, in the conventional sense of the word. Instead, it appeared that the semi-titan had ripped up an entire grove of midsized flowering trees; trunks, root balls, and all. Cameraman felt an impending chuckle threatening to force its way out, and tried to suppress it as best he could, resulting in a small squeak that Executor definitely heard, based on the slight twitch of her head speakers at the noise. Before she could say anything however, Speakerman’s own audio thrummed from where he still sat beside his cameraman brother.

“Exey.” The speaker titan stated, as flatly as someone with a voice that shook the ground could. “Those are trees.”

Executor just shrugged, with a high and squeaky trill that may or may not have been a little condescending in its tone. “Proportionally to us, they’re flowers, Speaky.”

“True enough.” Cameraman said, pausing as he thought of something brought about by seeing the semi-titan. “So. . . they let you go outside again after the incident?”

Executor shuffled her feet, looking down at her bouquet of “flowers” as she did so, before glancing back up at the camera titan with that bright and fiery center optic. Her transmission was one that spoke of slight regret, but certainly not enough regret to halt her from disobeying orders. “Uhh. . . well they didn’t exactly stop me from leaving!”

“Semi-Titan Executor.” Speakerman cut in, with the forced patience of having to deal with similar situations one too many times before. “You are 40 meters in height. Tell me how many members of the Alliance could actually successfully prevent you from escaping, even if they tried to.”

“Hmm. . . just you and Cam? You guys are excessively tall. . . but you were both outside the base. So you couldn’t have told me not to leave. . .” Executor trailed off, antennas lowering a little. “Oh.”

Cameraman honestly hadn’t expected the semi-titan to remain inside, especially on today of all days. It was beautiful and warm out, and anyone would regret not taking a little time to enjoy the fields.

But he also remembered why Executor wasn’t supposed to be outside, at least not without supervision. The order had come from none other than the head scientists of the speakermen, who took the direct fallout from her last disastrous adventure outdoors. No one was still entirely sure what had possessed the semi-titan to start rolling around in the grass, (though Cameraman suspected it must have felt good to her after all the recent fighting, to just relish in being carefree for once). But everyone who lived at the base was certainly sure of what had happened next; the almighty crash of something massive smashing partially through the rear base walls. When the dust had settled, the speaker scientists who’d been up until that very moment peacefully at work in their lab, saw what caused the sudden exposure of their workstations to the sky. It wasn’t an Astro, no not even close. Instead, it was none other than their own creation, looking guilty as anything despite the fact that she didn’t exactly have many expressive facial abilities.

That had been two weeks ago. The repairs on the walls were well underway, but the scientists had not been enthused by the impromptu jump scare and resulting damage it caused by the careless semi-titan-turned-battering-ram. So they’d announced that Executor was not to leave the base alone for the time being, unless she was called up to fight with the armada or the titans were around to, in their words, “supervise the problem, and defuse any and all of her antics that may cause grief to anyone.” Fortunately, Executor had been relatively easy to entertain inside the base. She’d been tired from recent long battles, and was contented to spend most of her time with Speakerman. And Cameraman too, who she’d grown close to over his months of repairs and upgrades.

As far as the camera titan knew, this was the first time she’d been compelled to leave the base since the accident. He couldn’t blame her either, their splendid surroundings would have lured anyone outside eventually. She looked so sweet too, not a care in the world except showing her brothers the bouquet of trees she’d gathered, devoid of her usual weapons of war and innocently trying to enjoy some of the world’s few remaining pieces of undamaged natural beauty. Despite the semi-titan's sudden intrusion, Cameraman felt a wave of affection for her wash over him, affection that leaked into his deep voice when he next spoke.

“It’s alright, Exey. As long as nothing. . . too chaotic happens, then I don’t see any reason why you can’t be outside.” Cameraman raised one giant hand to rest on the much smaller shoulder of his younger sister, prompting a happy buzz from her as he did so.

“I agree.” Speakerman rumbled softly, with a chuckle. “The last thing any of us need is you going stir-crazy and blasting reversed versions of our theme song again.”

“Huh? Stir-crazy?!” Executor’s transmission was punctuated by a few disbelieving sputters of static. “I assure you, Speaky, that was not stir-crazy. That was trying to be inclusive of our reversed speaking TV friends’ music tastes!”

“Well. I’m sure they appreciated the gesture.” The speaker titan conceded, before tipping his head slightly with an inquisitive chirp. “Can I see the. . . flowers you found?”

Cameraman knew for a fact that most of the TVmen had, in fact, not appreciated the loud backward-played music. He’d seen the angry emoticons on many of their tiny screens before they had swiftly teleported away, no doubt to hide in the quiet sections of the speaker base they now resided in. Still, the intention of trying to include them in the noisy and joyous way of life, as speakerkind liked it, was there. And speaking of noisy and joyous. . . Cameraman caught the last bit of a delighted squeak from his speakerman brother as he looked over the many colors of flowered trees Executor had brought to him.

“. . . beautiful!” Speakerman exclaimed, brushing his hand over the bundle of trees in Executor’s hands as his various arrays of speakers shifted in pleasant surprise. “I have an idea.” He carefully separated one of the trees from the rest and snapped off part of the trunk and roots, before placing it on top of the semi-titan's head, between her main and right side speakers. The speaker titan rumbled cheerfully at her. “Cute.”

Executor reached up and felt the new pretty ornament atop her head, humming in a way that almost sounded like a purr. Cameraman watched his siblings happily. It really was cute, he ought to be recording it. The camera titan switched his main lens to a non-broadcasting mode, capturing a few still images of the semi-titan and her flowery decoration. He’d save these in his private photo backlogs, the ones he’d asked his techs not to access during his repairs. The backlogs that held all the images of his loved ones he’d gathered throughout the war. He planned to do something with them eventually, when he had the time and want to. Perhaps he’d string them together in a video and finally share them with everyone. But not now. Cameraman couldn’t take the thought of looking through the pictures, of seeing Titan TVman there in so many of them. It would only make his grief worse.

The camera titan realized that Executor had turned towards him again, brandishing the flowers and thrumming something excited. “Your turn, Cam! Once I stick flowers to your ear panel thingies, we’ll make Speaky a big flower crown-”

The semi-titan abruptly cut off her audio and froze, head snapping to stare at the empty meadows in front of them.

Cameraman immediately looked at Speakerman, who’d raised himself on his knees and gone rigid, staring in the same direction Executor was.

Cameraman felt a cold fear run through his circuitry, a fear that only intensified when the speaker titan quickly stood and walked a few paces forward without looking back at him, before transmitting: “Cam.”

The camera titan heard a subtle but very real pitch in his brother’s voice. Speakerman was nervous. Executor was too. She hadn’t moved a meter from where she’d frozen, the grove of trees clutched in her fists with a death grip, still staring at something entirely unseen by Cameraman. . . or unheard.

Cameraman’s new right hand closed around the handle of his battle hammer, lifting it up to rest over his shoulder as he stood to join Speakerman and Executor, who was standing slightly behind him. Automatically assuming that there was some danger he was unaware of, the camera titan briefly paused next to the semi-titan to rest his hand on the top of her head, fingers brushing the branch of flowers. Beneath them, he could feel the speakers of Executor’s head vibrating as she used her powerful sensing abilities that could pick up a wide range of frequencies, far beyond the scope of his own. “Stay back, little one. You don’t have your warp drive or scythe with you.”

Executor nodded slightly, a tense jerk of her head without breaking focus on the horizon she and Speakerman were wholly engrossed by.

The other titan had begun swaying side to side a little by the time Cameraman came to stand next to him, massive banks of speakers shifting up and down as he tried to gather as much of whatever he was hearing into them as possible. Cameraman knew better than to dismiss or downplay the situation, the hearing and tracking abilities of speakermen were some of the most incredible feats he’d seen during the long war. They could pick up on almost anything before it happened; ambushes, impending explosions, unexpected attacks on Alliance strongholds. And the one with the strongest of these powers was their titan.

Cameraman stared ahead of him, trying to match his line of sight with his companions’. He still couldn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary, visually or audibly. The wonderful fields were spread out far below both their colossal frames now, green and quiet, for almost as far as he could see. The sun continued to shine, warm and consistent as it had all afternoon. The speaker base stood in the near distance, a lazy stream of traffic flying to and from it sporadically. All in all a very typical day.

Despite this, both speakermen were intent on something. And it was making them extremely uneasy. Which meant that it had the same effect on the titan of the cameramen. Hoping he wasn’t disturbing their process of honing in on whatever it was, Cameraman quietly inquired of the titan beside him, seeking an answer: “Speaker?”

Speakerman shook his head and held up one hand, asking for silence. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the reply came. The data was tense and jarring, raw emotion arranging itself into a single worded response. And that single word was enough to make Cameraman activate his warp engine and weapons, at nearly the same time as his brother did:

“Toilet.”

“An Astro?” The camera titan swung his hammer off from where it rested on his shoulder and gripped the handle with both hands as he brought the heavy weapon in front of him, flicking its energized feature on with his thumb and feeling the powerful currents surge upwards towards the massive business ends of the weapon.

“No. A Skibidi.” The speaker titan answered, bringing his triple barreled arm cannons to bear. Cameraman watched as the deadly projectile weapons slid overtop of Speakerman’s hands, confused. Most of the Skibidis had decided to ally with the Alliance once the Astros came to Earth. And while it may have been difficult, extremely so, to set aside old differences and grudges against their former enemies, almost everyone recognized that accepting the Skibidis into the Alliance was a necessary step if they had any hope of winning against the Astros.

Then, as if he’d read Cameraman’s thoughts, Speakerman continued: “A Skibidi. . . without allied signatures.”

The camera titan prepared another question, a follow-up of sorts, while trying to shake off the new wave of dread that threatened to consume him now. What was a Skibidi doing out here without Alliance credentials? How could Speakerman be sure of this? Why. . . why were him and Executor so. . . terrified?

Just as he was going to ask again, this time for more clarifying information. . . he heard it.

What his siblings must have been listening to, this entire time.

What had scared them before he’d even known a thing.

Cameraman’s “ears” perked up as he tried to catch more of the sound, still faint enough that it was difficult to make out. A holdover from his original form, when he’d had similar ones before his upgrades. Even though the thin panels didn’t contain many speakers that could receive sound, it still seemed. . . right, to use them as if to listen.

And listen he did, the noise he was trying to make out soon resolving into something recognizable.

The weird low shriek of a warp drive, signaling something rapidly approaching. And it didn’t sound like the smooth, refined technology of the Astros.

The sound was different from that, rougher. Almost like whatever it was had stolen that tech from the Astros. . . and refined it into something entirely different.

Cameraman heard Executor emit a warbled thrum of apprehension from behind him, saw Speakerman flinch at the noise.

And then the air in front of them imploded, as the thing arrived.

It was a Skibidi. But a Skibidi that caused so many negative emotions to rise in Cameraman all at once, that he didn’t even know what to think or feel first. He felt himself staring, unable to look away, to move, to do anything.

The sight of that repulsively familiar creature had rendered him utterly, completely, numb.

The Skibidi was massive even from the perspectives of the enormous titans, floating in the air and leering at them, so widely his own face looked as if it would fail to contain it. And indeed, the edges of the toilet’s fleshy mouth soon reached beyond the ugly borders of his head, extending upward and out until the upper lip reached almost to those terrible eyes, one normal and undamaged, the other a yellow cybernetic replacement. And both were staring at the Alliance warriors, staring and shining with the utmost greed and cruelty.

The bright yellow of that false eye gleamed in the creature’s skull, accented by the glowing core of almost the same hue that rested below it, mounted to the heavily armored toilet shell of the newcomer. In turn, the core was highlighted by the rotating plasma energy guns attached to the back of the floating mech, and by the Skibidi’s mechanical arms that shined with the same sickly energy pulsing throughout the long limbs. Both of his hands were clenched into fists as he stared wordlessly, still grinning, those balled hands betraying the immense anger that lurked beneath the surface of that smile with far too many teeth on display.

Cameraman would have recognized that sneer anywhere. Those teeth. That broiling sadism that had taken joy in him and his brothers’ suffering countless times.

Sadism that belonged to no other than the commander of an army that had ruined the lives of billions of humans, killed so many members of the Alliance that only estimates, suggestions of a true death count, remained.

G Toilet.

The camera titan felt an impossible amount of rage begin to simmer within him as he stared at his sworn enemy, presently simply leering at him and unmoving, save for the small drifting motions that came from the Skibidi’s back thrusters while he hovered in place.

Why? Why the fuck was that vile toilet here, now? Had he come to destroy them? Fool. Idiot. If he so much as made the tiniest move towards either of the speakermen, Cameraman would shred G Toilet’s shell apart with his own hands.

And then something on the Skibidi shifted. Those long arms began flexing, at first almost imperceptibly, but soon the clawed ends of them pointed outwards.

His hands. Moving upwards, palms spreading out in a gesture that looked like surrender. But it was done in a fashion most insincere, laced with sarcasm and mockery that matched his grin.

At that, Speakerman screamed from where he stood beside his older brother.

And all hell broke loose.

The other titan bolted forward, not by any power of his warp drive but with his own feet, taking giant running strides towards one of the greatest causes of torment he’d ever had to endure, while bringing his arm cannons up and firing off an enormous volley of shots directly at the hellish being in front of them.

No.

No, no, no-

If Speakerman aggravated G Toilet enough to attack the group, Cameraman had no idea how they were going to protect Executor. She was completely unarmed, and that horrid, cowardly being would go for her first.

The camera titan lunged his heavy frame to the side, skidding to a halt in front of the semi-titan and raising his hammer protectively as he activated his arm shield for good measure. He stared, agonized, at the blur of motion ahead of him that was Speakerman.

The speaker titan continued to advance on his enemy, slower now, as he fired blast after blast of red plasma at the Skibidi. He was shouting so loudly Cameraman felt like his head was about to split in half, howling his pain and wrath at G Toilet and shaking so violently it was visibly affecting the accuracy of his shots.

That sound just about broke the camera titan, the ever-acute pain of trauma Speakerman had felt for so long combining into a wire curling shriek of irrepairable anguish that nothing, absolutely nothing, could alleviate. And the words that he could make out within those wails made it all so, so much worse:

Misery.

Endless torment.

Infection.

My family.

I hate you.

Through the haze, the sheer surreality of what was happening, Cameraman knew one thing for certain:

He needed to help. He couldn’t let Speakerman deal with this alone. No one, no one in the entire fucking world, had any right to make someone he loved hurt so much.

How dare G Toilet. How dare he come here, just to mock and torment Speakerman. After all he’d done. After all the lives he’d taken.

After infecting the speaker titan, turning him against his own people and allies. Forcing him to helplessly watch as his controlled body slaughtered so many members of the Alliance that it still haunted him to this day, making him panic suddenly at times, as flashbacks crept out from the darkened corners of his processor and threatened to overwhelm him once more. Cameraman could only do so much. He could talk Speakerman through the guilt. He could reassure him that he was forgiven and loved, that no one had or would ever hold him accountable for the atrocities he’d been forced to commit while infected. That he needed to forgive himself fully, or at least try to, not keep making himself suffer over something completely out of his control. That he’d been as much of a victim as the Alliance personnel he had destroyed.

But words and presence couldn’t fix everything. They couldn’t fix the past. And they certainly couldn’t repair what had been permanently altered by pain. And that was Speakerman’s mind.

The processor that held memories of it all. The poor, broken mind that had been forced to watch as the Astros took Titan TVman and Cameraman away, his dear brothers who he loved more than anything, gone in an instant. Cameraman’s crippling injuries had nearly made it so he never returned to the Alliance and Speakerman. Only TVman had remained, exhausted by the war and overwhelmed by the Astros as the last titan who could still fight. As the last hope any of them had back then, soon gone, replaced by the Watchman of Doom. A terrifying entity, completely devoid of his former self, according to none other than Speakerman who’d confronted him during his first time away from base after his most recent upgrades. The Astros had sealed TVman’s fate; the invaders who had only ever come to earth in the first place to deal with the traitorous commander who’d abandoned their ranks.

Everything that had happened thus far, literally everything, was G Toilet’s fault. And Cameraman wouldn’t stand for it, not in a billion years.

But he was still torn, stuck watching the fight instead of involving himself as two separate wants grappled for primary position in his processor: The first, protecting Executor. The second, assisting his brother and thus taking matters into his own hands, hands that dearly wanted nothing more than to crush that Skibidi’s head between them.

The low growl that started from somewhere deep within him increased in volume as his contempt did while he glared at the duel in front of him, reflexively drawing the metal helm over his lens once more. G Toilet, miraculously, hadn’t moved much. He still hovered seemingly calmly, golden shield raised in front of his armored mech, trying to deflect the ongoing blasts and soundwaves of his attacker. It was getting less and less effective however, Cameraman could see how the shield was beginning to pale at the edges, a direct cause of the continued assault from the enraged speaker titan.

Cameraman gripped his giant energized hammer, extending his wing fins and preparing to launch himself into the fight, cyan warp drive spinning and thrumming with its reengineered power. He was briefly and abruptly distracted before he could take off however, feeling an insistent pulling of something grabbing his left leg, small hands trying to get his attention. Executor.

The speaker semi-titan was staring up at him, optics wide and worried, fingers digging into the fabric of his trouser leg so hard the metal tips punctured small holes. She pointed at the fight, then looked back up at him and boomed as loudly as she could: “HELP HIM!”

The sound of her yell barely reached Cameraman’s audio receptors over the total din of Speakerman’s cries. But he understood. With a nod he crouched and jumped into the air, feeling his new thrusters catch to propel him forwards, and hoping against hope that Executor wouldn’t follow him. That she wouldn’t join the fight without weapons. That she knew, or at least had been told, how very dangerous the Skibidi leader was.

A creeping doubt entered the camera titan’s processor at that moment, even as he charged forward through the air to meet G Toilet head-on. A question of success surrounding his impending attack. Cameraman was aware that it had been months since he’d last faced an enemy of any sort on the battlefield, knew that he was going to be slower than he usually was, at least while he still got used to his new upgrades.

But he could help Speakerman in the fight, let him know that he didn’t have to face any of this alone. And that was more than enough of a motivator to drive his current preparations to join the horrid and highly unexpected skirmish, no matter what the consequences could be.

The fact that G Toilet’s army had killed so many cameramen throughout the war certainly helped too. The titan felt another snarl of resentment rise within him as he thought of the thousands of tiny members of his faction who were no more, their hopeful little lenses crushed, their hands, once capable of giving cheerful gestures, maimed and shredded until nothing remained.

The perpetrator of his people’s suffering still hovered, directly in front of him now. Almost eerily still, despite the howling speaker titan continuing to unleash the full extent of his arsenal’s power against him. As if taunting him by not retaliating.

Cameraman saw and heard it all as a blur, not hesitating or even reducing his speed once, the deafening roar of his propulsion systems and weapons soon overtaking the existing sounds of the fight. As soon as he was about to slam right into his sworn enemy, he cut his warp’s engine, tucked in his wing fins, and thrust his left hand out before him. Fast. Deadly. One giant fist of steel extending to strike a stunning blow to that ugly armored mech, to be followed by a crushing swing of Cameraman’s hammer once he landed. It would be a fitting first use of the new weapon, to test it on one of his oldest enemies.

Cameraman’s fist slammed directly into the metal edged frame of G Toilet’s bowl, forcing the hovering abomination backwards and away from Speakerman, as the rest of him immediately followed, feet planting firmly on the ground as his systems screamed warnings at the sudden jarring stop. The camera titan immediately took three giant steps forward, raising his hammer menacingly at the leader of the Skibidis as he strode from the massive cloud of dust that had been kicked up by his rough landing. At least his sudden distraction seemed to have halted the fight, at least temporarily. Speakerman’s agonized screeching had abruptly stopped, before being immediately replaced by quieter buzzes and hums from behind where the camera titan was currently standing to oppose the toilet. Softer sounds, but no less upset. And that was precisely why G Toilet was going to be dealt with, as quickly and as brutally as possible.

Noticing the Skibidi grinning anew and finally beginning to charge his own weapons, Cameraman didn’t hesitate. “ENOUGH!” His bellow had the capacity to crack the ground in its loudness, but the camera titan couldn’t have cared less in that moment. Overriding and denying the multiple transmissions and queries from base asking if they needed backup, Cameraman focused his attention entirely on the most unwelcome creature. “Why are you here, and what do you want?”

“What do I want?” G Toilet echoed in English, with a smug smile that sent a shiver of unease down the metal struts of Cameraman’s spine. “I want. . . only to talk. I didn’t come here to fight.”

“What makes you think we would listen to you?” Cameraman rumbled, low and threatening at the suggestion of conversation with the toilet. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t end your life, right here, right now.”

G Toilet raised his clawed hands, asking for allowance to explain himself as he drifted slightly closer to the titans. “Well, I certainly would like to give you one. However, that didn’t exactly go. . . well. Last time.” His eyebrows both quirked up in mock surprise, the naturally expressive face of a Skibidi greatly exaggerating the gesture.

“Last time?!” Speakerman repeated shrilly, speakers crackling with static. The other titan stepped forward until he was beside Cameraman, raising his arms in a fluid and precise motion as he aimed the cannons upon them directly at his enemy’s head. “You mean last time when you tried to force your way into our people’s ranks by cornering my sister and the armada, thinking that they were some kind of weak link you could manipulate? Avoiding me because my quest for vengeance scares you? You fucking coward.” His sound systems practically spat the last part in his utter disgust of the Skibidi leader’s audacity; quick harsh buzzes in the speakermen dialect that Cameraman wondered if the toilet had ever even bothered to learn.

G Toilet seemed maddeningly unperturbed by his tormented victim's ire. “What you think of as fear, I think of as ‘strategy,’ my former ally. Perhaps a dose of my so called ‘cowardice’ would have served you well in our battles against one another. You nearly died last time, after all.”

That sent the camera titan over the edge at the same time that Speakerman rushed at the Skibidi. Cameraman quickly splayed one long arm out to the side to block his younger brother’s attack, hurriedly sending him a private transmission. “Not yet, Speaker. Please.”

“NO. I’ll kill him, force him to see what it means to be in pain. Let me carve out his eyes and rip out his teeth before I stab-” The rest of the speaker titan’s response dissolved in a fury of unintelligible noise.

“I know, I know. But we need to understand why he’s here first.” The internal comms conversation left little ability to convey emotion or tone. But Cameraman tried to make himself sound as sorry and as hurt for Speakerman as he actually was, hoping some of that emotion reached him, let him know that he understood.

“Do you. . . have any idea what seeing him here has done to me, Cam?” The reply was immediate, but so faint that Cameraman almost missed it. “I feel like my systems are about to shut down. My core throbs. I can’t stop remembering, I – I can’t-” Speakerman abruptly stopped thrashing against Cameraman’s arm, where up until now he’d been trying to shove it aside to get at G Toilet. The smaller titan wrapped both hands around the extended arm, clutching it tightly as if to ground himself.

Cameraman’s internals clicked and rattled at the heartbreaking sight. Oh, Speaker. . . he was so hurt. So scared and angry. And he had every right to be. It just made the camera titan ache, seeing the raw and visceral reality of it. Ache and shudder in sympathy and communal melancholy, seeing one of the bravest and most steadfast beings he'd even known, trying not to collapse under a miasma of emotion. “It’s okay. I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry. Just let me deal with this, alright? You’re going to be okay, I promise. We all are.”

Speakerman nodded once, a short and jerky motion that was more like surrender, in the way his magnificent arrays of speakers drooped. He let go of Cameraman’s arm, but did not step away. Instead he remained close to his brother, shoving down his fear as he once again stood tall to face the leader of the Skibidis, dark metal helm firmly lowered over his fiery optic.

Cameraman refocused on the enemy in front of them, who was calmer and more patient than he’d ever seen the Skibidi behaving before. If that was somehow supposed to be a diplomatic gesture on G Toilet’s part, it had the opposite effect on the camera titan; one of great unease. Well, maybe that was the sadistic thing’s intention. He had no way of knowing for certain. Switching his audio back to its default verbal English, Cameraman demanded: “Have you no remorse for what you did to Earth and the Alliance? For what you did to my brother?”

G Toilet only tilted his head, considering the question with one brow raised far up on his long forehead. Then he laughed. He was actually truly insane enough to find amusement in the situation, Cameraman noted with disbelief and disgust, as he waited intently for the answer.

When it came, between the deep and grating bursts of mirth, the titan of the cameramen was no less repulsed than he had already been. On the contrary, more so:

“If you thought I came here to apologize for events that happened during a global war, you’re wrong. I’ve often wondered what regrets you yourself hold, Titan Cameraman. The many deaths of my people, perhaps, or maybe all the inevitable casualties of innocent civilians over the years?”

“You speak of civilian casualties, but at least my brothers never turned anyone into unwilling soldiers of an inhuman and doomed army. Can’t say the same about you, though.” The new voice sounded from Cameraman’s right; high and sharp, piercing the air and commanding attention. Disregarding her current weaponless state, Executor strode straight up to the floating Skibidi and caught him in an unrelenting stare as he peered down at her in surprise. Gone was her usual chaotic cheerfulness and humor, replaced by a cold seriousness and loudly thrumming speakers that emitted her own spoken English, which she usually reserved for fights against the Astros. A differently accented English than Cameraman’s, but the identical language all the same. He noticed the bright flowers atop her head were now gone; either they’d fallen off or she’d removed them for fear of looking foolish in front of G Toilet. Yet another reminder of how his presence had ruined everyone’s afternoon.

No. He hadn’t seen the acutely real danger brought about by the semi-titan standing there, until that very moment.

She’d gone far too close to the Skibidi, too close and offering rebuttals to the unpredictable being’s twisted mind at that. Locking his gaze briefly with Speakerman’s horrified optics, Cameraman heard the simultaneous creaks of both their massive frames as the titans instinctively stormed forward protectively at the sight of the semi-titan standing boldly below the enormous entity’s airborne form. Speakerman’s core surged, a threat Cameraman knew meant, “Touch her and I won't hesitate to further scar and burn your hideous head.” The speaker titan stopped when he was even nearer to the alien than Executor was, jamming one accusatory finger at his face and thundering a dark and intimidating threat. “She’s right. And how dare you show up here, now, offering no apologies and thinking that we would somehow entertain you with casual conversation. Why? Why the hell are you here? Give us an answer, or I’ll paint the fields with your blood.”

G Toilet leered widely at the titan, causing him to recoil slightly in revulsion. “Happily. My visit concerns recent developments in the war, both about the invaders and my people. Seeing that so many of my loyal Skibidis have joined your side against the Astros, I wondered if I might do the same. You know, make things. . . official in an allegiance with you all, the strongest soldiers the Alliance has to offer. What do you say?” He tipped both mechanical arms outwards in a lazy shrug, long neck swiveling between the three Alliance warriors.

Even the mere thought of that was enough to almost make Cameraman’s systems overheat in fury all over again. He stared at the terrible being, hovering so righteously there and smiling as if he’d never so much as harmed a shrub, despite his dangerously glowing yellow core and rotating clawed tips of his top plasma guns. “No. Never in a million years would we even think about letting you join us. After all you’ve done, after all the lives lost, after all the suffering you don’t feel a shred of sorrow for. We could lose all of our bases and troops, and even then the Alliance would never be desperate enough to recruit you.” Both speakermen chittered in agreement at his words.

“I beg to differ. Your side has only continued to lose since the Astros came to Earth. They have even managed to infect one of your own, the TV titan. I understand that he meant something to the both of you.”

“Do not talk about him!” Speakerman roared, screaming in the Skibidi leader’s face with all his might. The sheer force of the resulting soundwaves knocked the creature backward through the sky several dozen meters. Executor joined in, adding her own shriek of rage on her brother’s behalf. Speakerman advanced mercilessly on the toilet now, fists clenched so hard that his fingers shattered the small speakers on his palms. Cameraman, to his horror, saw the resulting sparks fly from his hands, before another bellowed screech came from the bereaved speaker titan. “You dare presume to know our grief?! HAVE YOU NO SHAME? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WATCH SOMEONE YOU LOVE GET BEATEN DOWN UNTIL NEAR DEATH AND INFECTED?! ALL WHILE YOU’RE UTTERLY HELPLESS, STUCK WATCHING A LIVE FEED AND CRYING, UNABLE TO SAVE HIM WHILE NEAR DEATH YOURSELF FROM INJURIES INFLICTED BY A FUCKING SENTIENT TOILET? BECAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING, YOU BASTARD: IN THAT MOMENT, I WISHED I WAS DEAD.”

The following silence was almost louder than everything else. A deafening and ringing utter stillness, devoid of anything, like the inky depths of space far above.

The speaker titan took a few shaky steps back away from the object of his and Cameraman’s shared misery, chest armor plates flaring in and out like the gasping breaths of a human as his body distributed the immense heat and strain of his audio system's concentrated output. Executor had gone rigid, not moving from where she stood as she stared at her speaker counterpart in shock, helm raised so high on her head that her entire circular bright optic was exposed, an after effect of her terror at what Speakerman had said. Cameraman was suddenly aware of a loud rattling coming from his own body. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he looked down at himself, saw the uncontrollable tremors of his limbs clearly through his keen lens, and heard the low and sorrowful whine begin to force its way out of him. He felt like someone had ripped his core out; there was no other way to possibly convey how those words had felt as they cut through him, as if he was being physically tormented.

G Toilet, by some miracle finally, finally, looked. . . almost regretful. At the very least his smile had vanished, replaced by a grim line in the way his jaw was set firmly. He shifted back and forth in the air a little, seemingly at a loss for words, and not at all in a hurry to regain the ground he’d lost from being pushed back by Speakerman’s soundwaves. As he should have been. At last the traitorous Astro spoke, his words coming slowly and oddly quiet. “You act as if you were the only ones who lost someone you cared about to the Astros. There is. . . someone with them, who walks among their ranks. Someone I care about, and won’t stop fighting for, until I at least get the chance to show her what the Astros really are. In this way, we are already united.”

“You think we are united by a common goal?” Even though Speakerman’s buzzy and tone rolling language was occasionally challenging for non-speakermen to understand, Cameraman could still pick up on the stutters in his voice. It took every fraction of his willpower not to intervene, not to slay the Skibidi right there in the splendid fields. His mind wanted it, so why not? Why the hell did he have to listen to the one who had caused the entirety of his brother’s suffering? Why. . . why did he feel so stuck? So completely helpless, when what he wanted more then anything else right now was to protect the ones he loved. . . not remain in this nightmare with them.

Speakerman continued, voice growing a little stronger and filled with new, albeit forced, confidence. “We couldn’t be further from allying with each other. You, G Toilet, brought an entire war to an innocent world, a war forged by your own actions. And nothing can change that. If you wanted so badly to protect the one you believe the Astros misled, you wouldn’t have begun an all-out rebellion for domination. Saving her, whoever she is, is only a side quest in your thirst for power and it proves your selfishness.”

“Do you think that I want this?” G Toilet demanded. “You and your armies killed more of my people than I can ever forgive. And it’s true, the past cannot be erased. But my point – and my offer – still stands. You lost a brother. I lost a daughter. But together, I believe that we stand a chance to save them. If you would let me join with the Alliance, and with my people who have already been accepted into your forces, then you’d have my word. Titan Speakerman, Titan Cameraman, whoever you are. . .” He trailed off, glancing down at Executor.

“Executor.” The semi-titan all but spat, crossing her arms and glaring up at the Skibidi leader.

“. . . Executor.” G Toilet continued calmly. “If you three, some of the strongest warriors of Earth, allow me to fight alongside you, I will make certain that the TV titan is one of my people’s top priorities. I will ask again: Do you accept this?”

Cameraman’s fists tightened around his hammer’s broad handle, as visions of its massive energy-tipped ends smashing the former Astro’s head into a gory and mushy pulp coursed violently through his processor. “Never. My little brother, the youngest of the titans, was taken from us because of you. Because he was alone in a global war. And why the fuck do you think he was alone?”

The sudden heartbreak Cameraman felt rising threatened to overwhelm him entirely, but he shoved it down as best he could. As he always did, whenever his siblings or his people needed him to be strong. “Because you had damaged Speakerman so badly that he was unable to fight for months. And because I was nearly killed by the Astros, who hunted me mercilessly even after my own serious injuries at the hands of you and your people. Which led to Titan TVman being taken by the Astros, also known as the empire who came to Earth solely because someone had betrayed them. And that someone was you, as my brother already pointed out. Very clearly.”

The titan of the cameramen stared directly into those terrible eyes, one a yellow false optic drilled into the Skibidi’s skull, and the other a pale cyan, eerily similar to the glow of his own lens. With a low grumble, Cameraman concluded: “You will never count among us as an ally. We will forever be on opposite ends of the battlefield, until the end of time. As we have always been. As the being who brought ruin to a world that wasn’t his to destroy should understand.” Raising his hammer up to the sky, Cameraman immediately brought it downward in a swift arc, turning it so the heavy weapon’s blunt edges slammed into the ground as the camera titan drove it to shake the landscape upon landing. Decisive. Final, in the way the thud reverberated.

G Toilet sneered, an echo of his previous gloating manner and sure-of-himself grin, but laced with the return of his simmering anger beneath. “Very well. I see that my time is done here, though it was not in vain. For you will change your. . . minds, are they? Or whatever it is you mechanical entities use to think.” He chuckled derisively. “What other choice do you have left?”

The traitorous Astro bobbed his way a bit closer to them all, waving one arm lazily so the golden retractable blade upon the side of his fist glinted in the afternoon sun. A subtle, but obvious threat that did not go unnoticed by Cameraman, or by his seething companions in the way that both of them growled at the toilet. “Farewell for now, then. I shall leave you to your. . . deliberations.”

With that, the abomination was gone in a screech of engines as if he’d never been there, vanished in an instant thanks to his pirated warp drive.

Had he remained there just a second longer, he would have been caught in a new round of deadly neon red plasma bolts, discharged from Speakerman’s upgraded arm cannons.

“Coward!” The speaker titan screamed, hollering at nothing but the sky, too cheerful in its brightness and calm for all that had transpired beneath it that day. “COWARD!!”

Though the widely level plains around them held little in the way of echoes, it seemed as if the sound of that yell hung around for far longer than it should have, drifting in the breeze and coming back to permeate the truth of the Skibidi leader’s craven ways to anyone who would listen.

***

As evening, and thus the slow onset of darkness began at the headquarters of the speakermen, a light rain drizzled from the medium-gray clouds that had gradually crept their way over the land.

Cameraman could see the cold droplets trickling down the reinforced glass panes of the long and narrow upper windows of the base’s titan repair hangar, the one he’d lived in ever since that day when Executor had found him and helped him return to the Alliance. Though it still bore the purpose and appearance of conducting titan upgrades, the camera titan had come to see it as home. His people, with help from the speakermen, had retrofitted the rear portion of the colossal space into something that was reminiscent of his original hangar at the camera base, before it had been destroyed by the Astros. Surrounding him were a network of catwalks and gantries for maintenance, and of course, for the many visitors who came by to see him often; always with new speakermen among them, who had only ever heard of the titan of the cameramen through stories. They’d come right up close to his head and almost spill over the safety rails of the platforms in excitement, squeak with delight when he wiggled his “ears” at them, and inevitably, the tiny things would leave and then promptly return, bringing with them a few cameramen and directing them to record footage of their interactions with him.

As if they viewed him as some kind of living legend. Cameraman knew that they revered him; in fact, most of the Alliance did, and it was a very obvious fact. He had always humbly entertained their praise, and his status as the first titan who’d seen more battles, wins, and losses, than almost anyone else in the war. And a part of him thought that praise was well-earned, too.

But not tonight, no. He didn’t feel like the legend they all saw. Not after everything that had happened. Instead, he felt as if he’d been dunked in water and wrung out roughly like a rag. A rag like the ones his beloved scientists used to clean his lens, only instead of being the titan enjoying the care given to him, he was the scrap of cloth itself. Doused, then squeezed and twisted until the one holding it was satisfied that the rag was ready to use. Or maybe his processor was lagging. It would certainly explain the strange analogy that had presented itself in his thoughts.

G Toilet had done this; the weird creeping deliberations, the feelings of nothingness. Cameraman wanted nothing more than to climb onto his recharging platform and lie down, shut off for the night, and just forget about everything until morning.

This. . . this whole thing had been beyond anything that he had been prepared to handle yet. G Toilet’s intrusion had been so sudden and forced that the camera titan hadn’t known where to even begin or what to do, until the situation had gotten almost out of control. And his younger siblings had suffered because of it.

And that was why he felt so hollow. So. . . empty. Like he’d failed them, in being blinded by his all-consuming anger at the sight of their old enemy.

Even though it was buried deep in his consciousness, and possibly because he didn’t want to admit it, the camera titan knew that rest would not come to him easily or willingly yet.

Or to his brother and sister either.

Which was why the three of them were currently sitting together, huddled close under the soft blue-white glow from the numerous backlit panels of the ceiling and walls, a shade of light that Cameraman had always found relaxing in his old hangar. He hoped that it would have the same effect on his companions too. They both seemed calm at the moment, but the camera titan wondered if it was only because they felt the same numbness that he did. It saddened him deeply, seeing such bright and cheerfully loud creatures as speakermen, being so still and quiet without so much as the occasional buzz from their intricate systems of sound.

Cameraman shifted his top right-side wing fin slightly, flinching at the sudden loud screech of steel on metal as the tip scraped against the far wall to his right. “Far wall,” while being phonetically accurate, did little in the way of description when it came to the actual interior space of the giant industrial room compared to its current occupants. Though it had been designed for the speakermen’s titan to receive repairs and upgrades in, and even taking into account the expansions and modifications the hangar had more recently undergone to better accommodate Cameraman’s taller and bigger frame, anyone would have still considered it a stretch to fit two titans and one semi-titan inside comfortably at once. Even without all their equipment and gear; weapons, warp engines, and the like, there wasn’t much room to move around, at least not in the camera titan’s area of the space.

But none of them really minded sharing the cramped hangar. On the contrary, even if there had been all the room in the world within, they still would have chosen each other’s comforting presences over the ability to stretch without knocking into something in the process.

Speakerman was curled up on Cameraman’s left, pressed closely against his side with his head buried against his older brother’s shoulder and chest. It had been a while since he’d moved so much as a meter. At first, the other titan had tried to nestle the crimson glowing speakers of his head into the crook of the camera titan’s presently downward tilted neck, but his long upper stacks of them and protective helm kept getting in the way of that. Instead, he’d settled for resting his weary speakers on Cameraman’s upper chest, right beneath the large surveillance camera that was mounted to the top of his broad shoulder. The camera titan made sure to give him gentle nuzzles with it every so often, little reassurances placed on the top of his head to try and soothe the processor in newly awakened turmoil just beneath.

A small movement under his right arm drew Cameraman’s attention to the semi-titan on his other side, who was presently resting partially on his lap. Executor had lain herself lengthwise along his tucked in leg, her little head resting on her folded arms that draped over the rounded edge of his mechanical knee joint. The camera titan had helped her settle with a careful and huge hand placed on the back of her neck and shoulders, comparatively big enough that it served as a comforting weight, especially when he lowered the rest of his arm to lay along her back as well. Executor shifted again, antennas and head speakers twitching slightly but noticeably. Cameraman knew the meaning behind those seemingly involuntary motions, in the way those antennas drooped. She was upset, upset and shaken by the confrontation with G Toilet. By Speakerman’s resulting trauma that had returned with a vengeance, terrifying her at the depth of his anguish and grief. And by having to hear both of her brothers describe to the cluelessly idiotic Skibidi leader why they would never allow him to join with them.

Cameraman felt absolutely awful about it all, their inadvertent passing to Executor of an entire miasma of loss and heartbreak and pain, that should never have been hers to carry at all. She’d never even had anything to do with those events, many of which had happened a long while before her own time. And she didn’t deserve them now, certainly not while she already had her own trauma and struggles from being created by stolen technology, and immediately ordered out to the front lines to lead one of the last armies left in the fight for the world.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Cameraman thought but did not say aloud. “I’m so sorry.” He slowly splayed his hand out over her back armor plates further, moving the palm and fingers back and forth slightly in a gentle kneading motion. He was sorry for Speakerman too. So incredibly sorry, that it sometimes felt as if Speakerman’s pain was his own as well. He knew that wasn’t right, that he couldn’t pretend to understand everything the other titan had been through, even if he very much wanted to out of love and concern.

Cameraman thought back to the day they’d first met, remembered the new and excitable speaker titan trying to talk to him, hearing those rapid and bubbly words that he couldn’t quite understand yet, and being relieved that the other titan knew how to sign. He had never met such an adorably happy and joyous being before that day, and swore to himself that he would do anything to protect Speakerman from the horrors of war. And all in vain, for a short while later the speaker titan had become infected. Cameraman wished for nothing more than to reverse time and save his brother from the chain of events that had led to. . . everything that had happened to him now. Executor too.

The aforementioned semi-titan raised her shoulders a little, leaning upwards into the touch and rumbling contentedly after a minute or two. The camera titan almost halted the careful massage, as he felt himself inwardly jolt at the noise. She sounded so, so much like TVman did whenever he purred. And it broke Cameraman anew, before quickly dissolving into the numbness and blankness that had firmly rooted itself in his processor. He wondered how many events like what had happened today would have to take place in order for his mind to just stop feeling entirely. And the thought of that horrified him. But something resurfaced in the back of his musings, something that he’d long wanted to snuff out, to ignore entirely until it left him alone for good: If he stopped feeling, grew numb to everything that had transpired over his years of surviving a war, would the pain finally go away? And wouldn’t that be a good thing if it did?

A sudden, but gentle touch on the back of his neck managed to break through Cameraman’s thoughts, leaving him surprised at the immediate effect it had on him. Calmness, safety. . . just good. It felt nice. The camera titan let out a murmur of relief, arching his neck slightly to press into the metal palm still cupped there. Speakerman trilled at him in response, thumb brushing in soothing patterns over the many wires that snaked up Cameraman’s neck and connected to the back of his main camera: The head that he’d been lost so deeply in that he hadn’t noticed the speaker titan's gradual movements to comfort him in return, until now.

Speakerman reached up with his other hand, raising it over the camera titan’s head and bringing it to rest atop his armored central antenna. Promptly, Cameraman began to feel the soft pats and scritches of his brother’s fingers as they combed across the many welded lines snaking over the silver surfaces of his antenna. Scars. Ever present reminders of his months spent hiding from the Astros, his struggles to survive with a body on the verge of permanent shutdown. His antenna had survived along with him somehow, albeit nearly separated from his head; hanging off the side of his main camera by a few untorn wires and cables. His scientists had patched it back together though, along with the rest of him before they’d built his latest upgrades. The marks of old injuries there and elsewhere didn’t bother Cameraman as much as the mental scars did, true, but they were still there all the same.

Still present to remind him of how fortunate he was to have survived, to have made it back to the ones he loved who needed him now more than ever, as he needed them in turn.

It was then that the camera titan realized that Speakerman’s hands were shaking a little where they touched him; one on his neck and the other on his antenna. The younger titan was still riding out the aftershocks of the memories he’d been forced to relive, although the tremors were easing a bit now. A direct cause of the peacefulness brought about by comforting another.

Cameraman shifted himself carefully on his crossed legs so as not to disturb Executor, who looked as if she were about to power down or already had recently, based on how still and silent the semi-titan appeared, lying there on his leg like it was her preferred charging platform. The thought of that made the camera titan feel sleepy, too. With his recently adjusted position, Cameraman found it easier to reach between Speakerman’s back speaker banks, and thus to his shoulders and arms. The camera titan gently lifted the long and slender limbs, giving Speakerman time to object if he didn’t want to be disturbed, but the other titan only chirped quietly in response, unbothered. Cameraman continued until he could gather both of Speakerman’s hands into his own, cupping the smaller extremities in a soothing hold.

He wouldn’t have tried this earlier, not when the speaker titan was so upset and needed comfort, rather than an examination. But now Cameraman wanted to make sure that his brother’s palms were alright, after he’d accidentally clenched his own fists so hard the speakers there were shattered. The dim ambient light in the hangar provided little in the way of good visibility, but Cameraman’s powerful lenses were more than up to the task. And what he saw as his own vision brightened to compensate, made his own hands sting as he was sure that Speakerman’s did.

The small audio ports there had been crushed and caved inward, broken all the way through, as the camera titan could see the metal of the speaker titan’s hands beneath, lit up by intermittent sparks jumping from agitated and exposed wiring within them.

Cameraman huffed a small sigh of relief through his fans as he looked closer. Although the speakers had been ruined, the damage to Speakerman’s hands themselves was relatively surface-level. While undoubtedly uncomfortable, it wasn’t anything that required an immediate visit to the speaker titan’s techs. He could rest for now if he wished, and he seemed to have wanted just that anyway.

Lifting the injured hands of his companion again, Cameraman brought them up to his chest, carefully placing Speakerman’s palms over the cyan glow of his core. He hoped the heat from it would help alleviate some of the discomfort and aches the speaker titan must be feeling. Poor thing. Speakerman hummed softly, grateful for the warmth and gentle care at the end of an indescribably awful day. His head sagged against the bigger titan’s shoulder, as his systems finally slowed down into rest mode. Cameraman brought one arm to rest around the speaker titan’s back and gently rubbed the armor there as he observed his sleeping siblings quietly, gazing affectionately at both of them in turn for a long while. It brought him peace seeing them there and resting with him, calm and feeling safe, at least for the time being.

The camera titan leaned forward slowly, extending his wing fins so they formed a canopy over the slumbering speaker titan and semi-titan. He wanted them to feel as secure as they did now when they woke up.

He felt his own rest cycle beginning shortly after; the commencement of signals being sent from his processor to remind him it was time to power off.

And he did so, but not before the last thoughts of the day interwove with his consciousness as it drifted in and out:

On a normal day, Speakerman would have been here with him, but happily introducing his older brother to many of his several hundred favorite songs, instead of seeking affirmations of safety in a place he’d called home since the time he’d first come into existence.

On a normal day, Executor would have tried to pull on his “ears” if he’d sat down where she could access them, and likely would have proceeded to try and get him to sing one of Speakerman’s recommended soundtracks with her. And she certainly would not have shut down so soon either; Executor enjoyed staying up until the early hours of morning much of the time.

But nothing was normal about today at all. It hardly ever was normal honestly, Cameraman mused. Living in a global war was all he’d ever known, all any of them had ever known, but that didn’t make it the correct way of how life was supposed to be.

Normalcy, in the sense of the term everyone in the Alliance had grown used to, couldn’t have been further from the truth of what the term was originally meant to be.

Instead, it meant that every day you woke up and assumed that the worst was going to happen, to you or the ones you cared about, if any of them even remained.

It meant reviewing emergency plans over and over again, preparing to evacuate from a safe place that could become compromised at any time.

It meant that you could be sent out to fight in a battle against an army of near-unstoppable aliens, knowing that it may be your last.

And it meant acknowledging the truth that those who were missing or had been captured had a better chance than not, of being gone forever. It meant you would mourn them even as they still lived.

“I will make certain that the TV titan is one of my people’s top priorities.”

Those words, spoken clearly by one of the Alliance’s and Cameraman’s oldest nemeses, and soon fading into the quiet of a processor slipping into stillness.

But not before the camera titan caught those faint wisps of that voice.

He would do anything if it meant saving Titan TVman from his infection.

But why did it suddenly seem like the only path to rescuing him was through G Toilet?

He wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, it scared him.

A cold sense of foreboding had settled over the base that night, a polar opposite of the day’s beginning, and the titan of the cameramen was not at all certain that it would be lifted anytime soon.