vncnus Chapter 173 GEL-397-In My Name
Chapter 173 GEL-397-In My Name
As soon as the vector voice finished speaking, the shadow below the judge's bench was suddenly stretched longer, and several mechanical tentacles drooped down from above, their ends opening up and emitting a white-yellow light. Then, beams of light swept down in a crisscross pattern, leaving the spot where she had just stood charred black.
He sidestepped the vector, his double-edged sword spun around, and the blade sliced into the nearest tentacle.
The tentacles had hard outer shells; the blade only managed to cut half an inch before being repelled by the surge of electricity inside. The tentacles curled back, as if trying to wrap around her waist and lift her up.
She flicked out an energy blade with her left hand, then thrust it into the tentacle with her right. Her double-edged sword was temporarily planted in the ground, while her pulse cannon on her right arm simultaneously deployed, firing rapidly along the breach.
A section of the mechanical tentacle exploded off, and the severed part was instantly pulled back by magnetic attraction, crashing into the curator in the opposite direction.
The curator raised the control skeleton to block the flying severed limbs, and red patterns lit up on the surface of the skeleton.
"Chief Justice," the curator's voice was sinister and terrifying, "you've crossed the line."
The vector glanced at it: "You still dare to use that word?"
The remaining restraint rings on the ground lit up, and several locks popped out from different directions, shooting towards her knees, lower back, and shoulders.
The magnetic pull ring flashed, pulling at the surrounding broken metal. Several fragments flew along the ground and got stuck in the locking ring's pivot. She slid through the gap, her right-hand sword picking open the last lock, while her left-hand energy blade slashed towards the curator's chest.
The curator took half a step back.
The five-faced judge's angry face rang out in a shrill voice: "Disruptor!"
A suspicious look followed, the voice lowering as if coming from underwater: "Who can she represent?"
The vector motion paused slightly, and that sound carried a familiar low frequency.
Several machines nearby that had just been restored shook simultaneously.
Bumblebee's raised cannon muzzle deviated by half an inch. Hot Rod shook his head hard to stay awake, knocked down and cursed. Soundwave immediately sent a string of jamming data into the public channel, which was simultaneously blocked by BICk0.
It started asking questions.
"How long has she been awake?"
How did she know what you went through?
"What gives her the right to decide where you should go?"
Words seep in like water through the gaps in armor, seeking out the most weary, unstable, and least willing places to be touched.
The right arm of the vectoring pulse cannon blasted towards the suspicious face, the protective field lit up, blocking the cannon fire and creating a circle of white light.
The curator seized the opportunity to close in, and the skeleton stabbed at him from the side.
She turned and parried, her double-edged sword colliding with the skeleton, sparks exploding along the blade. Two more tentacles swept down from above the quintessential judge, forcing her to loosen her grip and take a half-step back.
The energy blade on the left arm retracted, and the interface snapped onto the cannon body on the right arm, forming a long-barreled sword cannon. Blue-green light flowed along the guide rails of both arms and into the muzzle.
Upon seeing the light, the curator immediately retreated, while the five-faced judge slid up and behind the entire judge's bench, backing towards the suspended section behind the bench.
There were remnants of protective frames, a partially damaged high-level restraint controlled by the eccentric, and several main beams hanging from the breach in the dome. Ground units had difficulty getting up there, and air units would be lured away by search lines and turrets.
Vector-guided cannon firing.
A suspicious face stared at her, and a low, mocking voice sneered, "You can't reach it."
The sword and cannon fired, causing the protective barrier to tremble violently, but it did not shatter.
The five-faced judge continued sliding backward, tentacles extending from below, one after another blocking her path. The curator also stood in her way beneath the judge's bench, his skeleton constantly hindering her movements.
"You can't reach it with your own hands every time," the curator said.
The vector looked at it: "Who said I had to do it myself?"
Her optical lens passed over the curator, the crisscrossing tentacles below the five-faced judge, and the haphazardly flying search lines, landing at a slightly higher position.
There is a flight unit there.
It's very ordinary, and seems to have almost no presence on this battlefield.
Dark outer armor, modified wings, and traces of Decepticon-style modifications on the chest and shoulders.
She lay prone behind the broken beam, having just emerged from a low-frequency shock. The cannon muzzle was drooping, and the brightness in the optical lens flickered.
The shark demon and the crocodile demon didn't look at her, the five-faced monster didn't look at her, and even her allies didn't look at her.
Too many more resounding names echoed across the battlefield: Megatron, Ultra Magnus, Alita, Starscream, Soundwave...
Every name can turn the tide of battle, but she was just an ordinary flying soldier.
An ordinary Decepticon soldier who was swept from the ground into the sky by the torrent of history, modified, and wrapped in numbers and orders.
But the vector recognized her at a glance.
"1997!"
The aircraft suddenly looked up.
The vector was not explained, nor was much further stated.
She simply said, "Fire!"
-
1997.
It is not GEL-397, Flying Infantry, Decepticon Unit, or a number that can be easily replaced.
The sound of water is still there.
A deep, repetitive sound, so indistinct it made her processor swarm around her, dragging her down again and again.
who are you?
What use are you?
What can you change?
You were simply pushed along to get here.
Back when she was at the Energy Bar, she could get used to being bored all night long, turning every little thing into a dozen jokes. Even though she didn't think she was particularly good or a famous hostess, she at least lived a pretty interesting life.
As the war drew ever closer, no one could remain standing still.
She joins the Decepticons, undergoes modification, flight training, missions, evacuations, and orders.
Sometimes she couldn't tell which step she had chosen, or whether she hadn't even had a chance to choose.
She remembers that when she first took off, she wasn't thinking about freedom, but rather: "Even my form has been changed by the situation."
She was so tired that she didn't want to talk anymore.
There are too many talking machines in war.
The leader will say it, the commander will say it, the judge will say it, the propaganda channel will say it, and even the dead aircraft will say it in their records.
The soft whispers spoken by ordinary soldiers are always drowned out by gunfire and fail to cause a ripple.
She was once resentful—why?
Why does Megatron have such a name? Just by standing up, can he command the Decepticons?
Why is Optimus Prime able to become Optimus Prime? Why does he seem to have an innate aura that commands respect?
Why does Red Spider fly so blindingly? Why is his sound so quiet that all the machines remember him? Why does even his complaints seem to deserve to be heard when he's knocked down?
Why is it that when it's her turn, she's just given a number?!
GEL-397.
Cold, neat, and easy to archive; if recorded on the list of the dead, it would only be a small line.
But the vector never called her that.
When she first heard her full name, she paused for two seconds, then exclaimed that it was too long and hard to remember. After that, she casually called her 97, as if it were her natural name that her friends should call her.
Back in 1997, I verbally expressed my disapproval, saying that this was too convenient for me.
But she actually liked it very much, so much so that it surpassed her own name.
Later, when she fell into a deep sleep, she was reluctant to hear others call her by her full name for a long time.
Because her full name is in the archives, 1997 represents the days when she thought she could continue moving forward.
Now, in this courtroom, at this moment when the Quintesson has dragged all the machines into doubt, the Vector, despite all the artillery fire, tentacles, beams, shattered beams, and resounding names, still recognized her at a glance.
The optical lens of '97 lit up, and the soul that had been dormant in war and underwater for so long finally broke free from its last restraints.
She may be ordinary, unremarkable, and never an ordinary machine capable of changing history.
But she is from 1997, and her name is GEL-397!
"Received." Her voice was hoarse.
In an instant, her thrusters lit up, and 97 burst out from behind the broken beam.
The suspicious faces had just turned to her when they finally saw the ordinary flight unit.
The arrow-guided sword cannon fired again, causing it to deflect.
The blue-green beam of light struck one side of the protective layer, and the magnetic force simultaneously pulled the surrounding debris, causing the protective field to momentarily shift.
Red Spider immediately fired a missile from above, the explosion controlling one of its tentacles. The sonic interference prevented the protective frame from restarting, slowing its system down slightly.
The Type 97 skimmed down the broken main beam, its wingtips brushing past the red search line without slowing down at all.
All her energy is focused on the main gun.
That was neither the strongest artillery fire nor the most dazzling colors.
But at this moment, she is closer to her goal than any famous name.
In 1997, the trigger was pulled, and the five-faced judge let out a piercing scream.
A crack first appeared on the suspicious face, then the entire face exploded from the center. Green and white light mixed together, like shredded data streams, spraying out from the hole in the face.
Many aircraft on the battlefield simultaneously looked up.
The space that originally belonged to "doubt" was now empty, and together with "death," which had been blasted apart earlier by the vector, two ugly gaps were left on that massive head.
The explosion sent 97 tumbling backward, crashing into a broken beam. It shuddered in pain but managed to steady itself.
A crack appeared in the silver mask on her face.
This mask is a standard part that is attached to the aircraft when they are modified by the Decepticons, making the flight units look more uniform and organized in formation.
She never liked it.
Jiuqi suddenly raised his hand and grabbed the cracked edge.
The first attempt failed to rip it off, and a sharp pain shot through the deep connection, as if something was being pulled from under the visor along with her nerve fibers.
She paused for a moment, then endured the pain and strained even harder.
She ripped the silver mask off and threw it aside, shattering it into pieces. The silver fragments reflected the cold light from the dome onto her face.
Coolant seeped out along the edge of her faceplate, sparks flew, but her original appearance was finally revealed.
She laughed and cried at the same time, her laughter hoarse, expressing emotions that couldn't be explained in a few words.
The relief and pleasure far outweigh the pain.
The things that had been plastered on her face were finally torn off by herself, along with the years she had been pushed along, forced to change, ordered, and engulfed by war.
Her real name, which she had tried to ignore, was now fully accepted and acknowledged by her.
She raised the still-smoking cannon muzzle and aimed it at the mutilated head of the five-faced judge.
"You scumbag! Remember this, the one who blew your head off was your great-aunt GEL-397!!"