Transformers: Another Universe
First, I'd like to welcome you to my little corner of the multi-verse. I want to thank you for taking the time to read my fic, as well as this intro post.
Now, before you go skipping this post, I do want to say that my story's updates will be posted in here, linking to the updated chapter, pic, and eventually, kitbash.
As for the story itself. It is “G1”, or at the very least uses The Movie as a jumping off point and goes off on its own little tangent, making this fic series its own little “Universe” I guess.
That being said, yes, I do so LOVE feedback and would dearly love you to post your thoughts and comments and just generally chat me up. If you have something constructive to say, then by all means. Know though, this being a fanfic, I will be more lax in my writing style than something I'd be trying to publish. It's not that I disrespect fanfiction as a genre, I'm just writing this for the fun of it, because I can. I want to have Fun with my writing. To that end, there will be “fan-ficcy” moments but I give my vow I will do my best not to plunge this into Mary Su/Gary Stu Hell.
Just... it's fanfiction, not a magnum opus.
Sit back with a Lovely Beverage, Enjoy yourself, Keep the flaming to yourself, but I do invite everyone to join in.
Cheers, Striker.
– – – –
Full Version: Transformers: Another Universe
It is never a good or fun event to be awoken from a deep sleep. Suddenly you have to be fully in tune with everything and everyone around you with no left over fugue from your sleep.
Worse when it happens on your day off...
“Striker! Striker, wake up you lazy-bot!” Then came the sound of the door chime again.
“--m'up! 'm-up already!” Striker groaned as he sat up on his recharge berth, rotating his left shoulder actuator, “Open.”
The door did as commanded and the perpetrator of the rude awakening was revealed. Striker -knew- it was him but was hoping the door was just muffling and obscuring sounds.
He should be so lucky.
“I did it! Primus Alive, I did it!!” the bot cheered, hopping around Striker's moderate student's apartment.
“Calibur!” Striker said, perhaps in too harsh a tone, he continued none-the-less, “Pretend, just for a click, that I -don't- have spark-to-spark transmission and am, in fact, utterly clueless on what you are staticing on about.”
Calibur turned to face Striker, grabbing his shoulders. As usual in moments like this, it both amused and baffled him that he and Calibur shared the same protoform mold and yet, not counting their head mold's cosmetic differences or the differing and minor alterations, were so different.
“I did it!” Calibur cheered, “I got us an Appointment. We have our ship assignment and everything!”
Yawning, Striker gave a nod, his head going slack to gaze at the textured floor as he was still not fully aware or awake. He never -did- get the hang of waking up quickly.
...Four-- Three-- Calibur stood and took two calculated steps away from his mold-mate. After all these stellar cycles he knew Striker well enough.
Optics suddenly contracted to pin points, his head swung up showing his optics had lit up in surprise.
“WHAT!?”
Calibur ran for the still open door, Striker so hot on his rear axle his tires were melting. Skidding out into the hall, the hefty truck ducked in time to avoid the data-pad that went whizzing past his audio receptor.
He couldn't help himself and grinned, “Your aims improving! You almost got me-EAH!” he ducked again as another data-pad came whizzing by. Making a quick shift to his six-wheeled vehicle mode Calibur peeled off down the hall as Striker came skidding out after him, armed with his alarm clock--
“I will end you Calibur! END! YOU!”
--which then took an unscheduled flight down the hallway, missing Calibur and cracking its casing badly against the far wall. Calibur's good natured guffawing could be heard from around the corner and fading.
Muttering a curse as he retrieved the two data-pads, surveying the damage. Pinching his nasal bridge he went back into his apartment. Tapping the control panel by the door, listening to the soft hiss of it close Striker sighed, pinching his nasal bridge just a little tighter as he sat back down on his R-bed.
Kicking his feet up Striker lay back down, one knee bent with his other leg crossed over it. Idly he looked over the first data-pad he had chucked. No damage but a scuff, and no rattling.
Damn Calibur Striker growled to himself Pulling that slag, and on my day off too! I mean, crankshafts, he wouldn't really... Sure he could apply but one one would... I mean there's still tons of repair work to do still after Unicron attacked five stellar cycles ago. Striker turned to his side, I mean, we're not even five hundred stellar cycles old! I just entered the Academy's third year of programs and he has that Slamball scholarship. Calibur's a goof but he wouldn't... Cal wouldn't...
Striker groaned as he turned back over onto his back and sat up, elbows on his knees, “Who'm I trying to kid.” he said to himself, “-- Of -course- Calibur would.”
Nearly taking a header as he leaped from his R-bed, he ran into the cluttered room that served as his study. Pressing a soft-key button on the raised half-circle that was built into the desk he sat down as the hard light interface and scree of his cyber-net space cube powered up.
“Hm.” Striker poked in a couple of commands, linking his space cube to the Academy's cyber-net. The tiny ping and the “unread message” icon popping into the middle of the holo-screen made him jump, but he realized there were several unread messages.
Ok. No big. Junk... Junk... Striker deleted those, Hm, Professor Perceptor sent out the syllabus for the Quadmester. Junk... Ju-- Striker's optics blinked, No. No, Cal was just pulling my support strut. I did not receive a transmission from High Command, I'm an Academy student.
Opening the transmission he flickered his optics over the text that hung mid-air over his desk.
“Striker--” He read aloud, “--I want to be the first to congratulate and welcome you. Being such a young bot I can understand that this was a major decision and you should feel proud of yourself for applying for an Appointment. While normally your young age would have flagged your application, your test scores helped in your favor. Also helping was your friend Calibur's references and the posititve reviews your professors gave you. Again, welcome to the Autobot forces. There is a file attached detailing when and where you are to report to for the start of your commission. Springer.”
Striker twitched.
Inhaling slowly, Striker tried to even out his rising oil pressure... and lost.
“END! YOU!” Striker growled loudly, shaking his fists, “I'm gonna rewire Calibur so badly he's gonna lubricate all over himself every time he transforms!!”
Megacycles later Striker found himself nudging a container of Energon back and forth in front of himself as he sat at his usual table in the student commisary.
“-- the -slag- were you thinking?” Striker muttered to himself, “Oh wait~” he said sourly after a moment, adding, in an even more sour a tone, “~you -weren't- thinking, were you Calibur~?”
Swirling the tip of his smallest servo in his Energon he watched the ripples. I had -no- idea what direction I wanted to go in. Sure, I thought about joining the Forces, but... damn it Calibur... How could you?
Grunting, he stuck the servo-tip into his vocal actuator, sucking the Energon droplets off. I wanted to at least finish Academy, get some training under my fanbelt. Now whoever I'm assigned to has got a totally green recruit. Lucky me.
“What'd he do this time?” asked the soft tone of a femme.
Looking up, Striker saw the familiar rose-pink paint job of his old friend Skate. The look on his face spoke volumes.
Skate sat down, a hand to his back, “Striker? C'mon... It can't be that bad.”
The blue truck-bot gave her a soft glance, “Tha--” he sighed, “Cal, that jerk... he signed us -both- up for Appointments. We both got accepted. I got the transmission this morning after Calibur woke me up to announce it.”
Skate's vision flickered, “He actually signed the both of you up?”
Striker handed her the data-pad that he copied the message and attachment to.
“Primus... a standard commission at Five Hundred--” she whistled.
Striker nodded his head, which he held in his servos, “It's just-- I have no idea what the Appointment -is- Skate.”
“Well you two are both just over five hundred...” Skate said calmly, “... With no training other than two years at Academy.”
“Aside from a few splinter cells, the Decepticons are leaderless and scattered. They've started repairing Unicron's damage to the planet.” Striker shook his head, “They need mechs -here-. I could end up working on the moon rebuilds, now my life's all turned upside-down because Calibur doesn't have the good sense Primus gave the common Scraplet.” he slugged back a large mouthful of his Energon.
“Crankshafts Striker.” Skate took his Energon and sipped some, “Why not just say it was a mistake?”
Striker took another swallow, shaking his head, “I wrote something up.” he admitted, “I just haven't sent it. I mean, this is Springer... the leader of the Wreckers, I just can't say it was all Cal's fault.” he finished the Energon container, “I'd be a laughing stock. How can I say no to a standard length commission when we've been at war for what? Ten thousand years or something. War... and I'm saying 'No' to a standard commission.” He rested his head on the table, “I'm such a new-cast...”
“Little hard on yourself aren't ya?” Skate asked, patting her friend's back, “I admit Calibur's got a glitch or two, but who doesn't. I certainly do.”
“Yeah.” Striker sighed, lifting his head off the table, rubbing his nasal bridge and off-lining his optics.
Skate whistled again, “Oil Pressure headache, eh?”
“I swear, Calibur's going to give me a valve burst one of these stellar cycles.”
Skate nodded, “No kidding. Have you looked at your commission?”
Striker nodded, “Yeah. Date of, Time when, and Location of where I need to be. That's all.” he played with the empty Energon container, “I'll learn more when I get there.”
“If I had know Striker...” Skate frowned softly, sighing for her friend.
Striker smiled, “I know Skate, thanks.”
“So--”
“End of the Decacycle.” Striker informed her, “I've already sent messages to my professors. Got to put everything in storage...”
“Do not.” Skate interrupted, “Pack up your stuff and I'll take it, or give me your apartment's access codes and just leave your stuff there. I'll watch your place.”
“I'll check on that” Striker considered the option that they might let him keep his apartment while he was out on Appointment, “Probably pack up but give you the codes, in case things need to be sent or moved out.”
Skate smiled warmly, “Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah.” Striker groused, “Now I just need to plan what I'm going to -do- to Calibur to... -thank- him for uprooting my existence.”
Skate giggled, “I dunno. You've always come up with some pretty good “oaths” when you want to End. Him.” she over-dramatically mimicked Striker.
“Har Har.” The mech gave a dry chuckle, elbowing her in the side as he shook his head, “I better get packing. Maybe call the Appointment office, see what I need to have with me.”
“Good idea” Skate agreed, “This is kinda scary... we've known each other for almost four hundred years.”
Striker nodded, “Ever since our first year at Academy.”
“You know--” Skate mused, “-- Calibur was the reason we met.”
Striker blinked, “You're right. It was the first Slamball game of the season. Cal dragged me along, saying I needed to get out more...”
Skate poked Striker, pouting exaggeratedly, “Heeey~ I just realized, both you and Cal never told me how you two met.”
Striker gave her an embarrassed, lop-sided grin, “Well, it's not like there's any big secret.”
“So? Tell me. Details, Striker, details!” The little Cybertronian coupe demanded playfully.
Holding up his servos in surrender, the slightly hefty truck alt-mode chuckled, giving Skate the warm smile she'd missed, “Ok, Ok! It's not like we kept it secret on purpose.” he lowered his servos, moving them as he spoke as he normally would, “There's not much to tell Skate, it was my first day on campus, I got lost. I stumbled across some bots playing a pick-up game of Slamball and... got slammed in the CPU.” He knocked the side of his helmet with his servo joint, “Got a nasty dent and knocked an optic off-line.”
“Don't tell me--” Skate's optics widened
“Yup.” Striker nodded, “I -remember- him shout a warning... and stupid me, lost in my own world, turned right into it.”
Skate couldn't help but giggle, snorting behind her servo.
“Yeah yeah. Anyhow, like I said; nasty dent and an off-lined optic.” Striker's dermal plating flushed from his oil pressure raising in embarrassment, “Before I blacked out, I heard the others laugh... but Calibur rushing over to help.” He continued, “Next thing I recall was waking up in the medical bay, my visual arc filled with this massive chest plate, I swear she was –ah-- that is...”
Skate giggled madly, “Oh, you're a mech that likes those luxury chassis instead of a more...” she motioned to herself with a wicked grin, “... compact model?”
“Huuuush~” Striker coughed, sending her into another fit of giggles, “Not like I was doing it on purpose. Anyhow- Calibur was there, he'd taken me to the med-bay and was feelin' pretty bad about it. I'd been out for a while it seems, they'd taken my helmet off to un-dent it and check for damage and by how dizzy I felt it had to have knocked a gyro loose. They fixed the off-line optic, but it was still a bit fuzzy, and I mentioned it.” Striker recalled the events, “Calibur and I got to talking about things since I wasn't going anywhere for a bit. Found out he was a year ahead of me, attending on his Slamball scholarship. Discovered we shared the same mold, despite a couple of details and our transformation... he talked mostly, you know how I am with new bots.”
Skate nodded, “Worse with new femmes.” she teased.
“Will you stop?” Striker flushed again.
“Nah. You're too fun to tease.” Skate giggled, snorting again.
“Yippie.” Striker said, standing and stretching.
Skate stood with him, grabbing the empty container and tossing it, “So, after that... what happened?”
“Simply put... Cal took me under his wing... in his own special way.” Striker explained, “It was a little rocky at first, our personalities clashed.”
“I'd say.” Skate grinned
Striker shrugged, “Well, they still do.”
“Understatment.”
“Huuussshh~” Striker coughed
Skate giggled as they walked from the commissary.
“Point is. He's a good bot just... I don't know... seems to not engage his processor before acting, which is great and all.”
“Except when it inconveniences an always thinking, never doing bot like yourself.” Skate said softly.
Striker gave her a look that was between shock and confusion.
“Sorry.” Skate answered sheepishly, “I'm not just your friend, Cal bends my audio receptor just as much.”
Striker coughed to hide his embarrassment, “Sorry Skate.”
“Well... at least you recognize I'm a femme.” it was Skate's turn to grouse, “Cal treats me like just one of the mechs, you know? You? Yeah, you do too but you don't forget I'm a femme either, which is nice.”
Striker flushed again.
“Come off it you softly” Skate elbowed him, “You're a very shy gentlebot who worries just a little too much at times. I don't want to hurt your feelings but you -do- need to get out a bit more--”
“Yeah well... You're gonna get your wish.” Striker said sourly.
“I... That isn't what I meant Striker.” It was her turn to flush with embarrassment, “You don't think...?”
“No, no... this is -all- Calibur's 'genious'.” Striker sighed, “Sorry Skate, I didn't mean to imply...”
Skate nodded, “You're going to be missed.”
“I'll write, you know that.” Striker whispered as he walked down the hall with Skate.
Skate smiled, “I know.”
“Now I just have to figure out what to do with the rest of the day.” Strike muttered mostly to himself.
“Well, I heard that some of Cal's teammates went out to celebrate with him.”
“Figures.” was the mixed sigh/groan reply, “I swear, if he spends all day and night out, then wakes me up in an over-energized stupor I'm going to run his skid plate up the Academy's main flagpole... while he's still attached.”
Skate broke out into a snorting fit of giggles so bad that she had to prop herself against the wall, “I-- I would give--” she wheezed, “-- a whole -month- of Energon Goodies if you did that.”
Striker stopped outside of his apartment, wrapping his arms around the little coupe, causing an unseen flush, “Thanks for letting me bend your audio receptor.”
“Hey--” Skate said, mostly to his chest plate, “-- You looked like you needed it.”
Striker smiled, “Hey, come around about dinner time? I'll probably need a reminder to stop and energize.”
“Oh, sure” Skate smiled back.
“Alright.” Striker opened his door, slipping inside, “See you then.”
Skate waved, walking back down the hall to the exit. Striker shut his door as Skate rounded the corner.
Skate groaned as she leaned against the wall, “C'mon Skate-- you a femme or a mekmouse?” she chastised herself, “Striker's a good friend, you can be honest with him. Geez, you were practically launching yourself at him...” Skate found herself giggling yet again, “And knowing him, he didn't notice.” She sighed, perhaps it was best if Striker didn't pick up on it, he had enough to worry about.
Slag it Cal Skate exhaled heavily, trudging down the hall to the exit. She still had class even if Striker and Calibur didn't, Why did you do this? Why now, what could have possibly... She flickered her optics as the notion hit, Oh Calibur... she thought softly, It wasn't your fault...
Shaking her head sadly as she transformed and zipped across campus, hoping she was wrong.
Worse when it happens on your day off...
“Striker! Striker, wake up you lazy-bot!” Then came the sound of the door chime again.
“--m'up! 'm-up already!” Striker groaned as he sat up on his recharge berth, rotating his left shoulder actuator, “Open.”
The door did as commanded and the perpetrator of the rude awakening was revealed. Striker -knew- it was him but was hoping the door was just muffling and obscuring sounds.
He should be so lucky.
“I did it! Primus Alive, I did it!!” the bot cheered, hopping around Striker's moderate student's apartment.
“Calibur!” Striker said, perhaps in too harsh a tone, he continued none-the-less, “Pretend, just for a click, that I -don't- have spark-to-spark transmission and am, in fact, utterly clueless on what you are staticing on about.”
Calibur turned to face Striker, grabbing his shoulders. As usual in moments like this, it both amused and baffled him that he and Calibur shared the same protoform mold and yet, not counting their head mold's cosmetic differences or the differing and minor alterations, were so different.
“I did it!” Calibur cheered, “I got us an Appointment. We have our ship assignment and everything!”
Yawning, Striker gave a nod, his head going slack to gaze at the textured floor as he was still not fully aware or awake. He never -did- get the hang of waking up quickly.
...Four-- Three-- Calibur stood and took two calculated steps away from his mold-mate. After all these stellar cycles he knew Striker well enough.
Optics suddenly contracted to pin points, his head swung up showing his optics had lit up in surprise.
“WHAT!?”
Calibur ran for the still open door, Striker so hot on his rear axle his tires were melting. Skidding out into the hall, the hefty truck ducked in time to avoid the data-pad that went whizzing past his audio receptor.
He couldn't help himself and grinned, “Your aims improving! You almost got me-EAH!” he ducked again as another data-pad came whizzing by. Making a quick shift to his six-wheeled vehicle mode Calibur peeled off down the hall as Striker came skidding out after him, armed with his alarm clock--
“I will end you Calibur! END! YOU!”
--which then took an unscheduled flight down the hallway, missing Calibur and cracking its casing badly against the far wall. Calibur's good natured guffawing could be heard from around the corner and fading.
Muttering a curse as he retrieved the two data-pads, surveying the damage. Pinching his nasal bridge he went back into his apartment. Tapping the control panel by the door, listening to the soft hiss of it close Striker sighed, pinching his nasal bridge just a little tighter as he sat back down on his R-bed.
Kicking his feet up Striker lay back down, one knee bent with his other leg crossed over it. Idly he looked over the first data-pad he had chucked. No damage but a scuff, and no rattling.
Damn Calibur Striker growled to himself Pulling that slag, and on my day off too! I mean, crankshafts, he wouldn't really... Sure he could apply but one one would... I mean there's still tons of repair work to do still after Unicron attacked five stellar cycles ago. Striker turned to his side, I mean, we're not even five hundred stellar cycles old! I just entered the Academy's third year of programs and he has that Slamball scholarship. Calibur's a goof but he wouldn't... Cal wouldn't...
Striker groaned as he turned back over onto his back and sat up, elbows on his knees, “Who'm I trying to kid.” he said to himself, “-- Of -course- Calibur would.”
Nearly taking a header as he leaped from his R-bed, he ran into the cluttered room that served as his study. Pressing a soft-key button on the raised half-circle that was built into the desk he sat down as the hard light interface and scree of his cyber-net space cube powered up.
“Hm.” Striker poked in a couple of commands, linking his space cube to the Academy's cyber-net. The tiny ping and the “unread message” icon popping into the middle of the holo-screen made him jump, but he realized there were several unread messages.
Ok. No big. Junk... Junk... Striker deleted those, Hm, Professor Perceptor sent out the syllabus for the Quadmester. Junk... Ju-- Striker's optics blinked, No. No, Cal was just pulling my support strut. I did not receive a transmission from High Command, I'm an Academy student.
Opening the transmission he flickered his optics over the text that hung mid-air over his desk.
“Striker--” He read aloud, “--I want to be the first to congratulate and welcome you. Being such a young bot I can understand that this was a major decision and you should feel proud of yourself for applying for an Appointment. While normally your young age would have flagged your application, your test scores helped in your favor. Also helping was your friend Calibur's references and the posititve reviews your professors gave you. Again, welcome to the Autobot forces. There is a file attached detailing when and where you are to report to for the start of your commission. Springer.”
Striker twitched.
Inhaling slowly, Striker tried to even out his rising oil pressure... and lost.
“END! YOU!” Striker growled loudly, shaking his fists, “I'm gonna rewire Calibur so badly he's gonna lubricate all over himself every time he transforms!!”
= = = =
Megacycles later Striker found himself nudging a container of Energon back and forth in front of himself as he sat at his usual table in the student commisary.
“-- the -slag- were you thinking?” Striker muttered to himself, “Oh wait~” he said sourly after a moment, adding, in an even more sour a tone, “~you -weren't- thinking, were you Calibur~?”
Swirling the tip of his smallest servo in his Energon he watched the ripples. I had -no- idea what direction I wanted to go in. Sure, I thought about joining the Forces, but... damn it Calibur... How could you?
Grunting, he stuck the servo-tip into his vocal actuator, sucking the Energon droplets off. I wanted to at least finish Academy, get some training under my fanbelt. Now whoever I'm assigned to has got a totally green recruit. Lucky me.
“What'd he do this time?” asked the soft tone of a femme.
Looking up, Striker saw the familiar rose-pink paint job of his old friend Skate. The look on his face spoke volumes.
Skate sat down, a hand to his back, “Striker? C'mon... It can't be that bad.”
The blue truck-bot gave her a soft glance, “Tha--” he sighed, “Cal, that jerk... he signed us -both- up for Appointments. We both got accepted. I got the transmission this morning after Calibur woke me up to announce it.”
Skate's vision flickered, “He actually signed the both of you up?”
Striker handed her the data-pad that he copied the message and attachment to.
“Primus... a standard commission at Five Hundred--” she whistled.
Striker nodded his head, which he held in his servos, “It's just-- I have no idea what the Appointment -is- Skate.”
“Well you two are both just over five hundred...” Skate said calmly, “... With no training other than two years at Academy.”
“Aside from a few splinter cells, the Decepticons are leaderless and scattered. They've started repairing Unicron's damage to the planet.” Striker shook his head, “They need mechs -here-. I could end up working on the moon rebuilds, now my life's all turned upside-down because Calibur doesn't have the good sense Primus gave the common Scraplet.” he slugged back a large mouthful of his Energon.
“Crankshafts Striker.” Skate took his Energon and sipped some, “Why not just say it was a mistake?”
Striker took another swallow, shaking his head, “I wrote something up.” he admitted, “I just haven't sent it. I mean, this is Springer... the leader of the Wreckers, I just can't say it was all Cal's fault.” he finished the Energon container, “I'd be a laughing stock. How can I say no to a standard length commission when we've been at war for what? Ten thousand years or something. War... and I'm saying 'No' to a standard commission.” He rested his head on the table, “I'm such a new-cast...”
“Little hard on yourself aren't ya?” Skate asked, patting her friend's back, “I admit Calibur's got a glitch or two, but who doesn't. I certainly do.”
“Yeah.” Striker sighed, lifting his head off the table, rubbing his nasal bridge and off-lining his optics.
Skate whistled again, “Oil Pressure headache, eh?”
“I swear, Calibur's going to give me a valve burst one of these stellar cycles.”
Skate nodded, “No kidding. Have you looked at your commission?”
Striker nodded, “Yeah. Date of, Time when, and Location of where I need to be. That's all.” he played with the empty Energon container, “I'll learn more when I get there.”
“If I had know Striker...” Skate frowned softly, sighing for her friend.
Striker smiled, “I know Skate, thanks.”
“So--”
“End of the Decacycle.” Striker informed her, “I've already sent messages to my professors. Got to put everything in storage...”
“Do not.” Skate interrupted, “Pack up your stuff and I'll take it, or give me your apartment's access codes and just leave your stuff there. I'll watch your place.”
“I'll check on that” Striker considered the option that they might let him keep his apartment while he was out on Appointment, “Probably pack up but give you the codes, in case things need to be sent or moved out.”
Skate smiled warmly, “Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah.” Striker groused, “Now I just need to plan what I'm going to -do- to Calibur to... -thank- him for uprooting my existence.”
Skate giggled, “I dunno. You've always come up with some pretty good “oaths” when you want to End. Him.” she over-dramatically mimicked Striker.
“Har Har.” The mech gave a dry chuckle, elbowing her in the side as he shook his head, “I better get packing. Maybe call the Appointment office, see what I need to have with me.”
“Good idea” Skate agreed, “This is kinda scary... we've known each other for almost four hundred years.”
Striker nodded, “Ever since our first year at Academy.”
“You know--” Skate mused, “-- Calibur was the reason we met.”
Striker blinked, “You're right. It was the first Slamball game of the season. Cal dragged me along, saying I needed to get out more...”
Skate poked Striker, pouting exaggeratedly, “Heeey~ I just realized, both you and Cal never told me how you two met.”
Striker gave her an embarrassed, lop-sided grin, “Well, it's not like there's any big secret.”
“So? Tell me. Details, Striker, details!” The little Cybertronian coupe demanded playfully.
Holding up his servos in surrender, the slightly hefty truck alt-mode chuckled, giving Skate the warm smile she'd missed, “Ok, Ok! It's not like we kept it secret on purpose.” he lowered his servos, moving them as he spoke as he normally would, “There's not much to tell Skate, it was my first day on campus, I got lost. I stumbled across some bots playing a pick-up game of Slamball and... got slammed in the CPU.” He knocked the side of his helmet with his servo joint, “Got a nasty dent and knocked an optic off-line.”
“Don't tell me--” Skate's optics widened
“Yup.” Striker nodded, “I -remember- him shout a warning... and stupid me, lost in my own world, turned right into it.”
Skate couldn't help but giggle, snorting behind her servo.
“Yeah yeah. Anyhow, like I said; nasty dent and an off-lined optic.” Striker's dermal plating flushed from his oil pressure raising in embarrassment, “Before I blacked out, I heard the others laugh... but Calibur rushing over to help.” He continued, “Next thing I recall was waking up in the medical bay, my visual arc filled with this massive chest plate, I swear she was –ah-- that is...”
Skate giggled madly, “Oh, you're a mech that likes those luxury chassis instead of a more...” she motioned to herself with a wicked grin, “... compact model?”
“Huuuush~” Striker coughed, sending her into another fit of giggles, “Not like I was doing it on purpose. Anyhow- Calibur was there, he'd taken me to the med-bay and was feelin' pretty bad about it. I'd been out for a while it seems, they'd taken my helmet off to un-dent it and check for damage and by how dizzy I felt it had to have knocked a gyro loose. They fixed the off-line optic, but it was still a bit fuzzy, and I mentioned it.” Striker recalled the events, “Calibur and I got to talking about things since I wasn't going anywhere for a bit. Found out he was a year ahead of me, attending on his Slamball scholarship. Discovered we shared the same mold, despite a couple of details and our transformation... he talked mostly, you know how I am with new bots.”
Skate nodded, “Worse with new femmes.” she teased.
“Will you stop?” Striker flushed again.
“Nah. You're too fun to tease.” Skate giggled, snorting again.
“Yippie.” Striker said, standing and stretching.
Skate stood with him, grabbing the empty container and tossing it, “So, after that... what happened?”
“Simply put... Cal took me under his wing... in his own special way.” Striker explained, “It was a little rocky at first, our personalities clashed.”
“I'd say.” Skate grinned
Striker shrugged, “Well, they still do.”
“Understatment.”
“Huuussshh~” Striker coughed
Skate giggled as they walked from the commissary.
“Point is. He's a good bot just... I don't know... seems to not engage his processor before acting, which is great and all.”
“Except when it inconveniences an always thinking, never doing bot like yourself.” Skate said softly.
Striker gave her a look that was between shock and confusion.
“Sorry.” Skate answered sheepishly, “I'm not just your friend, Cal bends my audio receptor just as much.”
Striker coughed to hide his embarrassment, “Sorry Skate.”
“Well... at least you recognize I'm a femme.” it was Skate's turn to grouse, “Cal treats me like just one of the mechs, you know? You? Yeah, you do too but you don't forget I'm a femme either, which is nice.”
Striker flushed again.
“Come off it you softly” Skate elbowed him, “You're a very shy gentlebot who worries just a little too much at times. I don't want to hurt your feelings but you -do- need to get out a bit more--”
“Yeah well... You're gonna get your wish.” Striker said sourly.
“I... That isn't what I meant Striker.” It was her turn to flush with embarrassment, “You don't think...?”
“No, no... this is -all- Calibur's 'genious'.” Striker sighed, “Sorry Skate, I didn't mean to imply...”
Skate nodded, “You're going to be missed.”
“I'll write, you know that.” Striker whispered as he walked down the hall with Skate.
Skate smiled, “I know.”
“Now I just have to figure out what to do with the rest of the day.” Strike muttered mostly to himself.
“Well, I heard that some of Cal's teammates went out to celebrate with him.”
“Figures.” was the mixed sigh/groan reply, “I swear, if he spends all day and night out, then wakes me up in an over-energized stupor I'm going to run his skid plate up the Academy's main flagpole... while he's still attached.”
Skate broke out into a snorting fit of giggles so bad that she had to prop herself against the wall, “I-- I would give--” she wheezed, “-- a whole -month- of Energon Goodies if you did that.”
Striker stopped outside of his apartment, wrapping his arms around the little coupe, causing an unseen flush, “Thanks for letting me bend your audio receptor.”
“Hey--” Skate said, mostly to his chest plate, “-- You looked like you needed it.”
Striker smiled, “Hey, come around about dinner time? I'll probably need a reminder to stop and energize.”
“Oh, sure” Skate smiled back.
“Alright.” Striker opened his door, slipping inside, “See you then.”
Skate waved, walking back down the hall to the exit. Striker shut his door as Skate rounded the corner.
Skate groaned as she leaned against the wall, “C'mon Skate-- you a femme or a mekmouse?” she chastised herself, “Striker's a good friend, you can be honest with him. Geez, you were practically launching yourself at him...” Skate found herself giggling yet again, “And knowing him, he didn't notice.” She sighed, perhaps it was best if Striker didn't pick up on it, he had enough to worry about.
Slag it Cal Skate exhaled heavily, trudging down the hall to the exit. She still had class even if Striker and Calibur didn't, Why did you do this? Why now, what could have possibly... She flickered her optics as the notion hit, Oh Calibur... she thought softly, It wasn't your fault...
Shaking her head sadly as she transformed and zipped across campus, hoping she was wrong.
Wow! This is really cool. Nice to see the perspectives of young recruits into Autobot ranks and how it can affect their relatively young lives! (Although please make sure you edit for Skate/Stake's name...was geting kinda confused there for a bit, lol)
QUOTE(Freddycon @ May 23 2009, 03:59 PM) 
Wow! This is really cool. Nice to see the perspectives of young recruits into Autobot ranks and how it can affect their relatively young lives! (Although please make sure you edit for Skate/Stake's name...was geting kinda confused there for a biut, lol)
eep. that's what I get for writing at early morning hours ^^; her name, just to be totally clear for others, IS "Skate" as in "pregnant rollerskate" a family joke on what we call all sorts of little doodlebug cars like ... well, The Beetle, Aveo, minicooper
^_^ glad you like chapter one Freddycon, thank you for posting!
Edit: And... fixed. Ctrl+F could only find two instances of skate/stake but they have been dually dealt with ^_^
Cool! Eagerly awaiting your next chapter and seeing what transpires for these youngsters.
well, I'm actually formatting that right now for TFW2005 post-age. then a quick copy-paste slap here.
I warn ya, 3's still in the process of being written so that might take a little longer to post than the first two parts
I warn ya, 3's still in the process of being written so that might take a little longer to post than the first two parts
The rest of the Decacycle came and went without incident. Striker and Stake shared an early evening meal out. Calibur didn't show his face plate during said decacycle, which suited the stressed out Striker fine, and which worried Skate with silent nagging.
Now the two stood in the cool, metallic air of an early Cybertronian morning. The thin atmosphere allowed the magnificence of the stars to shine their cosmic brilliance upon the metal world. It was a beautiful site for anyone to see if they weren't lost in a miasma of their own thoughts that is. Skate had decided to accompany Striker to his deployment, knowing he -needed- the company as much as she -wanted- it.
Striker was nervously shifting his weight from strut to strut and Skate knew he was checking his chronometer again by way of his muttering.
“I swear--” It began, “-- he ropes me into this, I don't even know -how- or -why- and now he's -late-.” While he hadn't been around all decacycle, Calibur had in fact showed up the evening before, showing Striker his deployment ticket and saying they'd meet up.
Now, it was getting close to the time they were to be there by and no Calibur with-in optic range.
“End. Him....” Striker muttered.
Skate snorted in spite of herself, this earned her a knee-jerk reaction glare before Striker realized who was being glared at.
It amazed her because she -swore- she saw the nanocycle his guilt subroutine went into overdrive.
“Sorry.” He muttered, “I couldn't recharge for two megacycles in a row last night.”
“Nervous would be an understatement, huh?” Skate asked softly.
Striker nodded silently. Skate pat his back reassuringly, or it was meant to be but Skate was worried for the both of them and Striker was just a nervous bundle of frayed neural cables.
“Agh. Don't worry about him.” Came an old gruff voice. Both turned to see an elderly blue bot, the Autobrand on the middle of his chest below his windshield, “Just about every young bot I've seen with that look turns out fine...” he rubbed his chin, leaning towards Striker, “... well, maybe not -this- nervous.”
“... -thanks-.” Striker frowned.
The old bot laughed gravelly, “Not an Early bot I see, mmh, gonna ha'f to work on that. You one-a the new recruits shuttling out today?” he gave a nod to Striker's data-pad as he took out his own, “Mind if I check your Appointment file?”
Striker numbly passed the data-pad over.
“Lesse here, number 198226-J2, Striker?”
Striker nodded, “Yessir.”
“Don't call me Sir, I work for a primary program.” The old bot groused.
“S-Sorry.” Striker stammered.
The old bot waved it off, “Ah, I'm just gettin' too old.” he read the data-pad, “Alright Striker your deployment is gonna be Earth, assigned to Autobot City, nice place was stationed there myself. Your ship is Wyrd-al with Skyway.”
Striker nodded, “Thank you s--” he stopped himself.
“See, Learnin' already” the old bot chuckled, smiling at Skate, “He'll be fine. Ultra Magnus is a fine Commander.”
“Wow.” Skate breathed, “Ultra Ma-”
“Outta the way!!”
The old bot, Skate and Striker all turned to see Calibur screaming across the shuttle port in vehicle mode, “Outta the way ol' timer!” he zoomed past the three.
“Old Timer?!” The older bot shouted after Calibur, shaking his fist in the air, “That's something -you'll- never be, you keep that up you turbo-revvin' young punk!”
The old bot brushed himself off, “Anyway. Yer checked in kid.”
“Thanks-- ah...” Striker said, helping Skate regain her balance.
“Kup.” The old bot said, taking out an old blunt plug, blowing on one end and chomping down on that end.
“Thanks again. Kup.” Striker said, sighing at Calibur's antics.
“You?” Kup turned to Skate.
The little coupe raised her servos, “No, just seeing off Striker... and numb-nodes.” she jerked her head in Calibur's far off direction.”
“You have my sympathies.” Kup raised an optic ridge, “Better head over.” he gave back the data-pad, “Shuttle gate 32.”
“Thanks.” Striker said. He hugged Skate, “I'll call and write, promise.”
“You better.” Skate smiled, poking him with a servo, then stepped away. She brought out a small memory chip and gave it to him, “For... you know... whenever.” she said.
Striker smiled, storing the chip, “Thanks Skate.” he hugged her again before transforming and rolling out.
Kup put a servo on her shoulder, “C'mon. Energon's on me.”
“Thanks Kup.” Skate wiped lubricant from her optics.
“Close friend?” Kup said knowingly.
Skate nodded, “The best.” she walked towards the shuttle port's office with Kup.
“Well how was I supposed to know?” Calibur said as he and Striker rolled towards port 32.
Striker gave an exasperated sigh.
“You're still upset I signed you up?” Calibur asked
“You uprooted me from Acadmy!” Striker revved his engine as he growled, “I mean... what algorithm were you processing?” he raised his vocal unit's volume.
“Come on, we're two young bots! We can't keep our olfator's stuck in data-pads for stellar cycles. We should be out exploring!”
“Yeah, yeah, I read the holos.” Striker grumbled, “See the Galaxy, seek out new worlds and new civilizations, yadda yadda -- we're here.” Striker transformed back to his bot mode, Calibur was a nanocycle behind him.
“This is gonna be great. Earth, and the Autobots!” Calibur said, spreading his servos wide, “We're going to -be- something now!”
Striker grunted, moving towards the shuttle, “We -were- something Calibur.”
“Yeah.” Calibur grunted back, shouldering past Striker, “A couple of no-nothing Neutral new-casts...”
“Oh yeah?” Striker growled, “Well now we're -worse-, we're no-nothing bottom of the scrap-pile recruits -- with a -TARGET- plastered to us!”
Calibur glared at Striker, “Grow some ball bearings will you?”
“Me? You're the one with the problem!” Striker raised his voice, “You can't go two solar cycles without saying or doing something -stupid-! Use that Primus given CPU of yours and -process- for once!”
“At least I -do- something!” Calibur shot back, “Not sit around and slag-off all solar cycle!” Calibur turned to face Striker, poking him roughly, “You'd have just happily wasted your spark away at Academy, reading about things instead of -doing- them.”
“Joining the Autobots was -your- idea, not mine.” Striker poked Calibur just as roughly, “I'm still trying to figure out how you high-jacked me into this!”
Their conversation did not go unnoticed, as an older bot walked over, “Hey, hey, you two!”
Striker and Calibur both turned, quieting instantly at seeing the Autobrand. Calibur saluted crisply.
“Calibur, reporting for duty.” he said sharply. Striker saluted as well. The older bot was a femme, sleek racer alt mode from the smooth curves of her chassis. He had to keep from looking at her for so long. The blue truck-bot could tell she was no-nonsense.
“Calibur... and Striker?” The femme asked.
Striker nodded, straightening, “Yes... ma'am?”
The femme chuckled throatily, “You called Kup 'sir' I see.”
Striker flushed, “Guilty.”
“Alright.” she said, “get aboard. We're already behind because Command wanted us to wait for cargo.”
“Yes ma'am.” Both bots saluted again.
The femme shook her head, “You can stop the saluting. I like the 'ma'am' though.” she grinned, a wicked sense of humor breaking through the no-nonsense demeanor Striker noted earlier, “Now get your tailpipes in gear!” she pointed to the shuttle's ramp.
Both started off for the Wyrd-al. The femme, however, shouted after Striker, “I want to talk to you after we get underway Striker”
“Ye-- Yes ma'am” Striker nodded, running after Calibur up the ramp.
Calibur, seeming to forget their spat nanocycles before, elbowed Striker's torso, “Did you see the curves on her?”
“Too busy trying not to get into trouble.” was Striker's answer.
“Look -ah- -- I'm sorry.” Calibur coughed as they made their way to the passenger area, “I didn't recharge very well...”
Striker held up a servo, “Neither did I.” he yawned, “I'm more worried why that femme wanted to see me after launch.” he sat down with a groan, swearing his strut servos were already creaking.
Calibur grinned widely, “I wouldn't--” he started
Striker interupted, “Which is why I -am-.”
Calibur gave him a sour look, matched with a return glare from his mold-mate.
“Fine, you want to be a whiny protoform? Go ahead, but keep it t-- ghrn.” Calibur grunted as he saw Striker ignoring him and scanning a data-pad. He heaved himself up and went to another seat.
Fine The green truck-bot growled to himself Be angry. But I -know- I'm right I ne... =We= -need- this Striker. Olfactory sensor always stuck in a data-pad, you need to -live- buddy. I'm not going to see you rust away or... or be caught like...
“Alright!” We're about to take off!” The sleek femme from earlier said, “Cargo's loaded finally. Next stop, Autobot City, Earth!”
The doors shut, everyone strapped in, Autobot and Neutral alike. Engines fired and the ship lurched forward.
Striker wondered if all the Neutrals on the Wyrd-al were recruits like he and Calibur, who Striker noticed did not look well.
Probably spent the whole decacycle “celebrating”, the jerk. I think a little space sickness for that is a fair trade. Striker sat back, continuing his data-pad of the latest installment of his favorite series. At least I can catch up on my reading.
As the text started to swirl before his optics, fuzzing and appearing double Striker off-lined them and put a servo over them as he powered down his data-pad, storing it away. Striker tried his best not to look inertia sick.
From the sound of it he, and presumably Calibur now that he thought about it, weren't the only ones dealing with a power pack that felt it was suddenly turned upside-down -and- backwards. Near the front of the passenger area there was the distinct sound of the power pack going into involuntary reverse.
Now Striker had to make sure -he- didn't join whoever just -had-.
Oh Primus... Calibur groaned, holding a servo over his entire facial structure, Please... don't let me go into reverse like that other bot.
Calibur risked flicking his optic visor online to steal a glance at his blue-hued mold-mate. Slag, guess I was wrong. The queasy mech thought to himself Striker's made of sterner stuff than I gave him credit for.
In the cockpit of the Wyrd-al the sleek from that Striker and Calibur ran into smacked the back of the pilot's helmet.
“You enjoy doing that to new recruits don't you?” she accused, “Everyone one of them is green to some degree Skyway, and -not- from their paint job.”
Skyway, a large and fast fighter jet gave a cocky grin as his smooth drawl dripped from his vocal unit, “C'mon Haste, if they can't handle a lil inertia sickness--”
“Stow it fly-bot.” Haste face-palmed, “I swear by the Thirteen you fighter-mechs are all the same.”
“Pretty femmes shouldn't swear” Skyway grinned wider, “C'mon Haste, tell me.”
Haste groaned a sigh, “Fine fine! Three.”
“Heh.” Skyway kicked back as they broke through Cybertron's outer most atmosphere, “Not bad. Three out of seven recruits.”
Haste rolled her optic filters, “Yes congrats, you made a little femme mini-bot who's already nervous loose her Energon just for a chuckle.” she took the navigator's seat and started to enter the course.
Walking towards the back of the shuttle to collect his thoughts Striker leaned against a partition. Imagine his surprise when he nearly bumped into a small purple femme coming from the Refresher and looking completely embarrassed.
“Ack!” Striker tried to keep from going off balance, “Sorry abou-- hey are you alright?”
The purple femme flushed, “Ah! N-no. It's my fault for not looking.”
“You sound as nervous as I feel.” Striker gave her a friendly smile.
The flush deepened, “You must be a wreck then...” her optics widened, “Sorry! I ju--” she held a hand to her vocal processor and her torso, “--ugh--”
“I know the feeling.” Striker agreed, “And you'd be right, I -am- a wreck. I'm Striker.”
“Doodlebug.” The purple femme tried to smile.
“Striker!”
Striker and Doodlebug turned to look at Haste nearing them. Doodlebug groaned and rushed back into the Refresher.
Haste offered a servo, “I'm the Nav of the Wyrd-al, name's Haste. Didn't have the time to introduce myself properly before.”
Nodding, Striker took the offered servo, “S-sure.”
“This is about earlier, I overheard your 'discussion' with Calibur.”
“I'm sorry about that--” Striker began.
“Don't be. I was wanting you to talk about that to Skyway.” Haste explained, “If I didn't take what you said wrongly that is. That you didn't sign up by choice?”
Striker sighed, “Haste, ma'am, we're on our way to Earth, it doesn't matter.”
Haste looked at Striker optic-to-optic, “You're wrong. It -is- important. Come with me Striker.”
Now the two stood in the cool, metallic air of an early Cybertronian morning. The thin atmosphere allowed the magnificence of the stars to shine their cosmic brilliance upon the metal world. It was a beautiful site for anyone to see if they weren't lost in a miasma of their own thoughts that is. Skate had decided to accompany Striker to his deployment, knowing he -needed- the company as much as she -wanted- it.
Striker was nervously shifting his weight from strut to strut and Skate knew he was checking his chronometer again by way of his muttering.
“I swear--” It began, “-- he ropes me into this, I don't even know -how- or -why- and now he's -late-.” While he hadn't been around all decacycle, Calibur had in fact showed up the evening before, showing Striker his deployment ticket and saying they'd meet up.
Now, it was getting close to the time they were to be there by and no Calibur with-in optic range.
“End. Him....” Striker muttered.
Skate snorted in spite of herself, this earned her a knee-jerk reaction glare before Striker realized who was being glared at.
It amazed her because she -swore- she saw the nanocycle his guilt subroutine went into overdrive.
“Sorry.” He muttered, “I couldn't recharge for two megacycles in a row last night.”
“Nervous would be an understatement, huh?” Skate asked softly.
Striker nodded silently. Skate pat his back reassuringly, or it was meant to be but Skate was worried for the both of them and Striker was just a nervous bundle of frayed neural cables.
“Agh. Don't worry about him.” Came an old gruff voice. Both turned to see an elderly blue bot, the Autobrand on the middle of his chest below his windshield, “Just about every young bot I've seen with that look turns out fine...” he rubbed his chin, leaning towards Striker, “... well, maybe not -this- nervous.”
“... -thanks-.” Striker frowned.
The old bot laughed gravelly, “Not an Early bot I see, mmh, gonna ha'f to work on that. You one-a the new recruits shuttling out today?” he gave a nod to Striker's data-pad as he took out his own, “Mind if I check your Appointment file?”
Striker numbly passed the data-pad over.
“Lesse here, number 198226-J2, Striker?”
Striker nodded, “Yessir.”
“Don't call me Sir, I work for a primary program.” The old bot groused.
“S-Sorry.” Striker stammered.
The old bot waved it off, “Ah, I'm just gettin' too old.” he read the data-pad, “Alright Striker your deployment is gonna be Earth, assigned to Autobot City, nice place was stationed there myself. Your ship is Wyrd-al with Skyway.”
Striker nodded, “Thank you s--” he stopped himself.
“See, Learnin' already” the old bot chuckled, smiling at Skate, “He'll be fine. Ultra Magnus is a fine Commander.”
“Wow.” Skate breathed, “Ultra Ma-”
“Outta the way!!”
The old bot, Skate and Striker all turned to see Calibur screaming across the shuttle port in vehicle mode, “Outta the way ol' timer!” he zoomed past the three.
“Old Timer?!” The older bot shouted after Calibur, shaking his fist in the air, “That's something -you'll- never be, you keep that up you turbo-revvin' young punk!”
The old bot brushed himself off, “Anyway. Yer checked in kid.”
“Thanks-- ah...” Striker said, helping Skate regain her balance.
“Kup.” The old bot said, taking out an old blunt plug, blowing on one end and chomping down on that end.
“Thanks again. Kup.” Striker said, sighing at Calibur's antics.
“You?” Kup turned to Skate.
The little coupe raised her servos, “No, just seeing off Striker... and numb-nodes.” she jerked her head in Calibur's far off direction.”
“You have my sympathies.” Kup raised an optic ridge, “Better head over.” he gave back the data-pad, “Shuttle gate 32.”
“Thanks.” Striker said. He hugged Skate, “I'll call and write, promise.”
“You better.” Skate smiled, poking him with a servo, then stepped away. She brought out a small memory chip and gave it to him, “For... you know... whenever.” she said.
Striker smiled, storing the chip, “Thanks Skate.” he hugged her again before transforming and rolling out.
Kup put a servo on her shoulder, “C'mon. Energon's on me.”
“Thanks Kup.” Skate wiped lubricant from her optics.
“Close friend?” Kup said knowingly.
Skate nodded, “The best.” she walked towards the shuttle port's office with Kup.
= = = =
“Well how was I supposed to know?” Calibur said as he and Striker rolled towards port 32.
Striker gave an exasperated sigh.
“You're still upset I signed you up?” Calibur asked
“You uprooted me from Acadmy!” Striker revved his engine as he growled, “I mean... what algorithm were you processing?” he raised his vocal unit's volume.
“Come on, we're two young bots! We can't keep our olfator's stuck in data-pads for stellar cycles. We should be out exploring!”
“Yeah, yeah, I read the holos.” Striker grumbled, “See the Galaxy, seek out new worlds and new civilizations, yadda yadda -- we're here.” Striker transformed back to his bot mode, Calibur was a nanocycle behind him.
“This is gonna be great. Earth, and the Autobots!” Calibur said, spreading his servos wide, “We're going to -be- something now!”
Striker grunted, moving towards the shuttle, “We -were- something Calibur.”
“Yeah.” Calibur grunted back, shouldering past Striker, “A couple of no-nothing Neutral new-casts...”
“Oh yeah?” Striker growled, “Well now we're -worse-, we're no-nothing bottom of the scrap-pile recruits -- with a -TARGET- plastered to us!”
Calibur glared at Striker, “Grow some ball bearings will you?”
“Me? You're the one with the problem!” Striker raised his voice, “You can't go two solar cycles without saying or doing something -stupid-! Use that Primus given CPU of yours and -process- for once!”
“At least I -do- something!” Calibur shot back, “Not sit around and slag-off all solar cycle!” Calibur turned to face Striker, poking him roughly, “You'd have just happily wasted your spark away at Academy, reading about things instead of -doing- them.”
“Joining the Autobots was -your- idea, not mine.” Striker poked Calibur just as roughly, “I'm still trying to figure out how you high-jacked me into this!”
Their conversation did not go unnoticed, as an older bot walked over, “Hey, hey, you two!”
Striker and Calibur both turned, quieting instantly at seeing the Autobrand. Calibur saluted crisply.
“Calibur, reporting for duty.” he said sharply. Striker saluted as well. The older bot was a femme, sleek racer alt mode from the smooth curves of her chassis. He had to keep from looking at her for so long. The blue truck-bot could tell she was no-nonsense.
“Calibur... and Striker?” The femme asked.
Striker nodded, straightening, “Yes... ma'am?”
The femme chuckled throatily, “You called Kup 'sir' I see.”
Striker flushed, “Guilty.”
“Alright.” she said, “get aboard. We're already behind because Command wanted us to wait for cargo.”
“Yes ma'am.” Both bots saluted again.
The femme shook her head, “You can stop the saluting. I like the 'ma'am' though.” she grinned, a wicked sense of humor breaking through the no-nonsense demeanor Striker noted earlier, “Now get your tailpipes in gear!” she pointed to the shuttle's ramp.
Both started off for the Wyrd-al. The femme, however, shouted after Striker, “I want to talk to you after we get underway Striker”
“Ye-- Yes ma'am” Striker nodded, running after Calibur up the ramp.
Calibur, seeming to forget their spat nanocycles before, elbowed Striker's torso, “Did you see the curves on her?”
“Too busy trying not to get into trouble.” was Striker's answer.
“Look -ah- -- I'm sorry.” Calibur coughed as they made their way to the passenger area, “I didn't recharge very well...”
Striker held up a servo, “Neither did I.” he yawned, “I'm more worried why that femme wanted to see me after launch.” he sat down with a groan, swearing his strut servos were already creaking.
Calibur grinned widely, “I wouldn't--” he started
Striker interupted, “Which is why I -am-.”
Calibur gave him a sour look, matched with a return glare from his mold-mate.
“Fine, you want to be a whiny protoform? Go ahead, but keep it t-- ghrn.” Calibur grunted as he saw Striker ignoring him and scanning a data-pad. He heaved himself up and went to another seat.
Fine The green truck-bot growled to himself Be angry. But I -know- I'm right I ne... =We= -need- this Striker. Olfactory sensor always stuck in a data-pad, you need to -live- buddy. I'm not going to see you rust away or... or be caught like...
“Alright!” We're about to take off!” The sleek femme from earlier said, “Cargo's loaded finally. Next stop, Autobot City, Earth!”
The doors shut, everyone strapped in, Autobot and Neutral alike. Engines fired and the ship lurched forward.
Striker wondered if all the Neutrals on the Wyrd-al were recruits like he and Calibur, who Striker noticed did not look well.
Probably spent the whole decacycle “celebrating”, the jerk. I think a little space sickness for that is a fair trade. Striker sat back, continuing his data-pad of the latest installment of his favorite series. At least I can catch up on my reading.
As the text started to swirl before his optics, fuzzing and appearing double Striker off-lined them and put a servo over them as he powered down his data-pad, storing it away. Striker tried his best not to look inertia sick.
From the sound of it he, and presumably Calibur now that he thought about it, weren't the only ones dealing with a power pack that felt it was suddenly turned upside-down -and- backwards. Near the front of the passenger area there was the distinct sound of the power pack going into involuntary reverse.
Now Striker had to make sure -he- didn't join whoever just -had-.
Oh Primus... Calibur groaned, holding a servo over his entire facial structure, Please... don't let me go into reverse like that other bot.
Calibur risked flicking his optic visor online to steal a glance at his blue-hued mold-mate. Slag, guess I was wrong. The queasy mech thought to himself Striker's made of sterner stuff than I gave him credit for.
In the cockpit of the Wyrd-al the sleek from that Striker and Calibur ran into smacked the back of the pilot's helmet.
“You enjoy doing that to new recruits don't you?” she accused, “Everyone one of them is green to some degree Skyway, and -not- from their paint job.”
Skyway, a large and fast fighter jet gave a cocky grin as his smooth drawl dripped from his vocal unit, “C'mon Haste, if they can't handle a lil inertia sickness--”
“Stow it fly-bot.” Haste face-palmed, “I swear by the Thirteen you fighter-mechs are all the same.”
“Pretty femmes shouldn't swear” Skyway grinned wider, “C'mon Haste, tell me.”
Haste groaned a sigh, “Fine fine! Three.”
“Heh.” Skyway kicked back as they broke through Cybertron's outer most atmosphere, “Not bad. Three out of seven recruits.”
Haste rolled her optic filters, “Yes congrats, you made a little femme mini-bot who's already nervous loose her Energon just for a chuckle.” she took the navigator's seat and started to enter the course.
= = = =
Walking towards the back of the shuttle to collect his thoughts Striker leaned against a partition. Imagine his surprise when he nearly bumped into a small purple femme coming from the Refresher and looking completely embarrassed.
“Ack!” Striker tried to keep from going off balance, “Sorry abou-- hey are you alright?”
The purple femme flushed, “Ah! N-no. It's my fault for not looking.”
“You sound as nervous as I feel.” Striker gave her a friendly smile.
The flush deepened, “You must be a wreck then...” her optics widened, “Sorry! I ju--” she held a hand to her vocal processor and her torso, “--ugh--”
“I know the feeling.” Striker agreed, “And you'd be right, I -am- a wreck. I'm Striker.”
“Doodlebug.” The purple femme tried to smile.
“Striker!”
Striker and Doodlebug turned to look at Haste nearing them. Doodlebug groaned and rushed back into the Refresher.
Haste offered a servo, “I'm the Nav of the Wyrd-al, name's Haste. Didn't have the time to introduce myself properly before.”
Nodding, Striker took the offered servo, “S-sure.”
“This is about earlier, I overheard your 'discussion' with Calibur.”
“I'm sorry about that--” Striker began.
“Don't be. I was wanting you to talk about that to Skyway.” Haste explained, “If I didn't take what you said wrongly that is. That you didn't sign up by choice?”
Striker sighed, “Haste, ma'am, we're on our way to Earth, it doesn't matter.”
Haste looked at Striker optic-to-optic, “You're wrong. It -is- important. Come with me Striker.”
I like it! You literally made me LOL with that "Grow some ball bearings" line!
^__^ I'm glad you enjoyed it! Yeah, gotta love those anatomical euphemisms huh? I'm getting kinda fond of "Crankshafts" as a curse but I'm not sure it's a stand in for anything.. well, one idea but... we'll see lol
I'm still not sure if I want this to be 3, 4 or 5 chapters though.
I'm still not sure if I want this to be 3, 4 or 5 chapters though.
Striker sat facing Skyway and Haste, if he wasn't feeling ill before he certainly was now. It felt like the cords and tubes to his power pack were twisted into impossibly complex kinks and knots. He hadn't done anything wrong, it wasn't as though he -had- signed up himself and now wanted to renege on his Appointment.
“I... I don't know how he was able to do it.” Striker started, unable to look at the two older Autobots.
“Do what?” Skyway asked, cocking an optic ridge in that cocky way that fighter-mechs seem to be able to do.
“Sign me up for an Appointment and it actually going through the system and being approved.” Striker exhaled, shaking his head, “Got an acceptance notice from Springer... nothing flagged when Kup checked me in.”
“Why didn't you tell someone?” Haste asked.
Striker pulled out the data-pad that had a copy of Springer's transmission and its attachment. He pulled up the never-sent transmission he had written in reply. He passed the data-pad over to Skyway who immediately started to read.
“I wrote something--” He explained, “--that, but I didn't have the Energon Converter or the chrome bearings to send it.”
“But if you didn't consent--” Haste started
“Please...” Striker whispered, “... if I don't have the internal support column to serve even a standard Appointment, what kind of bot am I?”
Skyway handed back the data-pad to Striker, “Whatever you choose, we're obligated to report it to Ultra Magnus, as well as Rodimus Prime.”
The younger bot gave a short nod, dropping his head.
Haste coughed, “Striker, you're a young bot, right? It's not really odd that a lot of young mechs and femmes are going for Appointments after what happened five stellar cycles ago and the Decepticons scattering.”
“Joining up isn't for everyone kid.” Skyway agreed, “Plus you have all the more a reason to not do this because you didn't even sign up in the first place.”
Striker nodded, “I know. I also know if I don't say anything now... bringing it up later when things get to difficult it'll reflect -worse- on me. If I -do- say something thought... I'll always feel like a coward and I'd loose the respect of my friends... I'm pretty sure anyway.” he muttered the last part to himself.
Haste and Skyway exchanged a glance, the three of the bots quiet for almost a full cycle.
Skyway broke the silence, “I think you should use the rest of the trip to think about this. I'm fairly sure Magnus will want to talk to you as soon as we land.”
“Yessir.” Striker nodded, giving a weak salute before standing and wearily leaving the cockpit.
The door hissed open, then shut. Skyway turned back to the controls, as did Haste.
“You watch that Nav computer.” Skyway ordered, “I'm going to make a couple calls.”
“Sir.” Haste nodded.
Springer tapped through some data. His mood was soured as he just finished a call with Supply. He jammed his servo against the button to answer the incoming holo transmission.
“Yeah, this is Springer.” he grunted
“Geez.” Skyway's holo whistled, “You look like The Pit, Springy.”
“Skyway?” Spinger's optics flickered, “Well what's an ol' space cowboy like you up to these days?”
“Eh. I got a load of supplies and recruits inbound for Magnus. Problem is, one of the recruits says he got hijacked into this.”
“Ah huh.” Springer seemed doubtful, “Hijacked, huh?”
Skyway nodded, “Says his friend somehow got him his Appointment. Had your Welcome transmission and everything.”
Springer tapped his desk, pulling up the recruits on the Wyrd-al, “His friend did, huh?”
“Yeah, his name is Striker. Haste came across him arguing with his buddy Calibur.”
Springer nodded, “I remember reading both applications. You're saying Calibur tricked Striker into signing up.”
“Right.” Skyway said, “I'm pretty sure this -isn't- a dodge.”
Springer groaned, “Just what I need today.”
“You'll -love- this then.” Skyway grinned.
Springer rest his head on a servo, sighing, “Betchya I won't”
“He just might guilt himself into going through with the Appointment.” Skyway sat back in his chair as the two spoke.
“Told ya I wouldn't like it.” Springer groaned, “Crankshafts, this is a blunder.”
“A real cluster-node if you ask me.” Skyway said
“Alright.” Springer rubbed his face, “I'll tell Rodimus, and let'm know you informed Magnus.”
“Got it.”
Spinger sighed, “See ya space cowboy.” he ended the transmission. He leaned back in his chair, “Slag. Well, they say misery loves company.” he tapped the commands to call Rodimus.
A tired looking, flame red mech with a golden crest on his head appeared, “Springer! Primus, please tell me this day's just a bad recharge defrag.”
“I wish.” Springer sighed, “It's gonna get worse.”
“How.”
“Don't say I didn't warn you Roddy~” Springer sat forward in his seat, begging the tale that Skyway had just finished telling him, “... and he's informing Ultra Magnus as we speak.”
There was a thud as Rodimus smacked his helm against his desk.
Springer nodded, “Yeah. I get that feeling too Roddy. I just have no idea -what- we're going to do.”
“You already did all you could do Springer.” Rodimus sat back up with a mix of groan and sigh, “Thanks for the heads-up, I'll need to think about this for when Magnus calls.”
“Good luck.” Springer said
“Till All Are One.” Rodimus cut the transmission, his head again thudding against his desk, Please tell me other Primes had solar cycles like this~
A knock to his office door caused his head to shoot up and yelp out a surprised “Enter!”. The door hissed open softly and Rodimus inwardly groaned as he saw the effeminate but undeniably strong, and utterly 'sugar pink' frame of the femme.
He had the utmost respect for her though, leading her own underground resistance cell on Cybertron. Still, respect or not, he'd done just about all he could to avoid her for the past five stellar cycles.
“Elita-1” Rodimus stammered.
With a soft nod and gentle smile she gracefully strode up to the new Prime's desk, “Rodimus, I have some duty logs for you.”
“Ah. Y-yes. Thank you Elita-1... though you didn't have to deliver them by hand you know, I mean--”
“I know what you mean Rodimus, but I wanted to.” Elita-1 explained, setting them on his desk, “I also wanted to make sure you couldn't make more excuses not to speak with me.”
Rodimus tried to rebuttle, but found both his CPU and vocal unit failing him.
“Hm. That's what I thought.” Elita-1 said in a whispered tone.
With a defeated grunt, the mech slumped backwards in his office chiar, “Elita-1... It's...”
“Take your time.” she said calmly, sitting across from him. He couldn't read any anger in her voice or her posture, but that could just be his inexperiance.
Elita-1 looked at him with her soft blue optics, “I'm not going to demand anything Rodimus, but you -have- been avoiding me and -anyone- would want to know why they're being avoided.”
“I'm sorry Elita-1.” He started, “I respect you a great deal. You and your team did so much for the Autobots with little or no help from other teams. I'm not sure anyone could have done as good a job as you...”
“I sense a 'but' moment...”
Rodimus swallowed his tongue, “No no! I swear Elita-1 no 'but'. I don't care if it's femme or mech, a good leader is a good leader.”
She nodded, “I'm flattered.” she smiled, “But I have to wonder what this has to do with you avoiding me.”
“I... can't look you in the optics Elita-1” he confessed, “I just... can't.”
Elita-1 touched his hand, “I don't blame you for his death Rod. You wanted to help him.”
“Megatron... he was 'begging' for mercy.” Rodimus spoke hoarsely, “... but, I saw something. There was a blaster hidden under some rubble...”
“And without thinking you leaped at Megatron to stop him from grabbing it.”
“I wasn't trying to play the Hero.” Rodimus hung his head in sorrow, “I couldn't... Megatron was too strong... couldn't get away when Prime told me too.”
“Megatron used you as a shield...” Elita-1 flushed at Rodimus' surprised expression, “I talked with Kup, about why you might be avoiding me, he told me what happened... said it might be guilt.”
The young flame hued leader thought for a long moment, “... It is.”
“Orion... that was his name originally... he would have done the same. He would have leaped into a situation like that, just as you did.” She had the sad smile of remembrance on her face, “You shouldn't feel guilty, I understand why you do Rod, I do. Megatron was incredibly strong though, few Autobots would've had the strength to out-right break loose.” she comforted the young Autobot leader, “I'm... angry and sad Orion's gone, yes. That is the war's fault and the Decepticon's, Rod, not yours.”
Slowly, very slowly, Rodimus lifted his head. Elita-1 smiled, gently gripping his servo.
“I know it will take more than this chat to relieve that guilt... but, you needn't worry about me anymore.” she smiled wider, “I know you'll be a great Prime Rod and you have my support.”
“Thank you Elita-1.” Rodimus said, his spark lifting.
“We all need to bare our Spark now and again.” she pat his servo, “Now if you ignore me again, I'll kick your afterburners from here to Earth and let Arcee finish your chassis.”
Rodimus flushed, but found himself chuckling and then outright laughing with Elita-1. They shared a long, much needed, stress relieving laugh.
Elita-1 then stood, “If you ever want or need to talk, I'll lend an audio receiver. Trust me, I know how stressful leadership can be.”
His answer was cut off by an incoming transmission.
“Better get that--” Elita-1 gave a grin, “Might be Arcee.”
Rodimus coughed, muttering under his breath, “I should be so lucky.”, Elita-1 left with a chuckle as he answered, “Ultra Magnus.” he greeted.
Magnus leaned forward, clasping his hands, “Asking if what I heard from the Wyrd-al would be needless?”
“I'm afraid so Ultra Magnus. From what Springer said, everything checked out, nothing flagged, except for the fact that Striker maintains he did -not- fill out an application for an Appointment and has no idea how his friend, Calibur, pulled it off.”
Ultra Magnus gave a short nod from behind his clasped hands, letting Rodimus puzzle this out on his own.
“This means, Calibur would have to fake or steal Striker's auth-codes, as well as all the data required to fill out the application.” Rodimus said, seeing how it sounded out-loud, “Which is just too much work for a standard length Appointment. It'd be easier to just have Striker fill it out when he's distracted.”
“Has Calibur been questioned?” Magnus asked.
Rodimus shook his head, “No. I was informed, as you should have been, that Striker wishes not to get Calibur in trouble, as well as going through with the Appointment even though by all rights, if it isn't a lie, he shouldn't be held to it.”
“Is that your decision then?” the larger bot asked the younger
Rodimus smiled, “You've always been by-the-book, stern but fair. They're your recruits Ultra Magnus, I know you'll do what you know is right.” he inhaled, “However. They -are- young, I wouldn't go throwing the book at Calibur. Perhaps a month or two restriction to base when not training and some extra menial duties.”
“So... your old, usual, reprimand for doing something Primus-awful stupid?” Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge in question, a smile pulling at the tip of his vocal actuator.
Rodimus couldn't keep a straight face, “Primus! Did Ultra Magnus -almost- make a joke?” he coughed, “In all seriousness, they haven't questioned Calibur both because of Striker not wanting him in trouble, as well as they really -can't- do anything since they have to make up lost time because of the supplies that were loaded up as well as you, Ultra Magnus, are the recruits Commanding Officer. Best Skyway could do is hold him for questioning and any hubbub raised aboard ship right now would be a bad thing. When they land get them both in your office and call me. I want the full story as much as you do.”
Ultra Magnus nodded, “Will do Prime... and good call Rod. Magnus out.”
The great blue helmet and stern white face of Ultra Magnus faded as the holo-mission twinkled into tiny blinking pixels of light, like so many distant stars.
When the last bits of hard light faded like stars in the morning sun Rodimus slumped forward again and with a solid sounding 'thud' and a quiet 'urrf' his head once again met with his desktop.
Ultra Magnus leaned back in his seat, elbows resting on the arm rests, head propped against servos curled into a fist, “And it started out as such a nice morning too.”
The pink and white femme next to him coughed, “I'll message the Wyrd-al that you want to see Striker and Calibur as soon as they get through security?”
Magnus nodded, “Thank you Arcee, that will be fine.” He stopped, thinking about something.
“Sir?”
“You wouldn't happen to have something for a large processor ache, would you Arcee?” Magnus inquired.
Arcee nodded, “Right here.” she opened a small side compartment, taking out said container and passing two capsules.
“Three.”
“Three sir?”
“It's a big processor ache, and I'm a big bot Arcee, I can handle three little capsules.”
With a shrug Arcee gave Magnus a third capsule. The City Commander popped all three, washing them down with a large swallow of Energon from a Cybertronian-sized coffee mug emblazoned with the Autobrand on one side and “#1 Boss” on the other.
“That should knock it out, and keep anything else at bay.” Magnus sat back in his seat again, taking another sip of Energon, “Now, that transmission to the Wyrd-al?”
“On it sir.” Arcee nodded, already headed for the communications console.
Not more than half a solar cycle later the Wyrd-al was making its final approach to Autobot City. A thing the seven recruits, and Haste for that matter, were extremely grateful for after Skyway's turbulant entry into Earth's thicker atmosphere.
The ship lurched and jumped, shaking as retro-rockets were fired. Doodlebug, unfortunately, had to make use of the airsick containers again. Striker's spark went out to her, after speaking with Haste and Skyway he had made his way back to the ships Refresher only to find she was still making use of it. She had asked if Striker was alright and seemed surprised when he gently waved aside her concern in favor of making sure she was operating alright. It was a short conversation, admittedly, but in it he learned that as a young bot she had been on a short shuttle ride that was attacked by the Decepticons. While everyone thankfully survived, she personally was left with a near-crippling fear of what appeared to be a combination of shuttles and heights. Doodlebug explained she was ok with shuttles as long as she -knew- they weren't going to go anywhere while she was in them. Once they started to move though... then if you add the shaking from turbulance... her power pack got all kinked up, the discomfort adding to her worry which made her queasy.
Smartly Striker changed the subject before she talked herself into being sick. He had asked her why she decided to join up. Doodlebug flushed and muttered something about her classmates saying she'd always be a mass of redundant systems, what humans call a 'wallflower'. She then explained to the confused Striker that the term was a euphemism used mostly in human learning centers to denote a shy or unpopular person who most times was found standing near or against a wall away from the other students during a social gathering. Metaphorically growing against or from the wall like a vine, or a flower from the ground, would. So to prove her classmates wrong, she signed up.
When she questioned why an obviously popular bot like Striker joined, it took much willpower not to burst out laughing and said that Calibur was the popular one, that he himself got dragged around to social events by Calibur. Striker explained that his mold-mate meant well by it but it left him feeling more out of place than usual.
Doodlebug sighed, muttering that it must be nice to have friends who care.
The blue truck bot smiled, saying if she needed to she could always talk to him if she had trouble, saying everyone needed someone to talk to.
She flushed but gave the larger bot a grateful smile.
Then the ship jumped, so did Doodlebug and she ducked back into the Refresher. Striker made sure the door was shut and went back to his seat. It was shortly after he sat down was it announced that they all needed to strap themselves in.
Striker was jarred from his reflection by the retros firing again, making the ship rattle and shudder. He winced visibly at hearing Doodlebug groan.
“I'd hate to be her--” Calibur, who had moved back next to Striker for the landing, “Probably got no Energon in her at all.”
Striker nodded in agreement, “I talked with her... poor bot, she's got every right to feel sick.”
“... So... what did that sleek femme want?” Curiosity got the better of Calibur.
Striker sighed, rubbing his face with both servos, “She overheard our argument--” he kept his vocal unit at a whisper for privacy, “-- about my saying you hijacked me into this.”
“What'd you do? What'd you tell her?” Anxiety had not just crept in Calibur's vocal unit, anxiety had bum-rushed it, and hard.
Striker gave his friend a blank look of dull surprise, unbelieving that those words were uttered.
“What do you -think- I did?” A harsh hiss accompanied his words, “I told them the truth.”
“Them?” Calibur's face plate dropped.
Striker gave a shrug, “She wanted me to tell the shuttle captain. Like I said, I told them the truth; somehow you signed -me- up when -you- did, I don't know how or why, and I'd =really= like to know, and they said they were obligated to report this to Ultra Magnus as well as Rodimus Prime.”
Calibur shrank in his seat, “I can't believe this, how could you?”
“Calibur, I didn't tell them to report it.” Striker growled, “I -know- you had some twisted reason for doing this and for Primus' sake I wish you would tell me what it was!”
Still both bots whispered for privacy.
The shuttle touched down with a thump, wheels squealing and screeching. The two bots stared at each other.
“Tenshi” Calibur whispered, his optic visor flicking offline.
“I... I don't know how he was able to do it.” Striker started, unable to look at the two older Autobots.
“Do what?” Skyway asked, cocking an optic ridge in that cocky way that fighter-mechs seem to be able to do.
“Sign me up for an Appointment and it actually going through the system and being approved.” Striker exhaled, shaking his head, “Got an acceptance notice from Springer... nothing flagged when Kup checked me in.”
“Why didn't you tell someone?” Haste asked.
Striker pulled out the data-pad that had a copy of Springer's transmission and its attachment. He pulled up the never-sent transmission he had written in reply. He passed the data-pad over to Skyway who immediately started to read.
“I wrote something--” He explained, “--that, but I didn't have the Energon Converter or the chrome bearings to send it.”
“But if you didn't consent--” Haste started
“Please...” Striker whispered, “... if I don't have the internal support column to serve even a standard Appointment, what kind of bot am I?”
Skyway handed back the data-pad to Striker, “Whatever you choose, we're obligated to report it to Ultra Magnus, as well as Rodimus Prime.”
The younger bot gave a short nod, dropping his head.
Haste coughed, “Striker, you're a young bot, right? It's not really odd that a lot of young mechs and femmes are going for Appointments after what happened five stellar cycles ago and the Decepticons scattering.”
“Joining up isn't for everyone kid.” Skyway agreed, “Plus you have all the more a reason to not do this because you didn't even sign up in the first place.”
Striker nodded, “I know. I also know if I don't say anything now... bringing it up later when things get to difficult it'll reflect -worse- on me. If I -do- say something thought... I'll always feel like a coward and I'd loose the respect of my friends... I'm pretty sure anyway.” he muttered the last part to himself.
Haste and Skyway exchanged a glance, the three of the bots quiet for almost a full cycle.
Skyway broke the silence, “I think you should use the rest of the trip to think about this. I'm fairly sure Magnus will want to talk to you as soon as we land.”
“Yessir.” Striker nodded, giving a weak salute before standing and wearily leaving the cockpit.
The door hissed open, then shut. Skyway turned back to the controls, as did Haste.
“You watch that Nav computer.” Skyway ordered, “I'm going to make a couple calls.”
“Sir.” Haste nodded.
= = = =
Springer tapped through some data. His mood was soured as he just finished a call with Supply. He jammed his servo against the button to answer the incoming holo transmission.
“Yeah, this is Springer.” he grunted
“Geez.” Skyway's holo whistled, “You look like The Pit, Springy.”
“Skyway?” Spinger's optics flickered, “Well what's an ol' space cowboy like you up to these days?”
“Eh. I got a load of supplies and recruits inbound for Magnus. Problem is, one of the recruits says he got hijacked into this.”
“Ah huh.” Springer seemed doubtful, “Hijacked, huh?”
Skyway nodded, “Says his friend somehow got him his Appointment. Had your Welcome transmission and everything.”
Springer tapped his desk, pulling up the recruits on the Wyrd-al, “His friend did, huh?”
“Yeah, his name is Striker. Haste came across him arguing with his buddy Calibur.”
Springer nodded, “I remember reading both applications. You're saying Calibur tricked Striker into signing up.”
“Right.” Skyway said, “I'm pretty sure this -isn't- a dodge.”
Springer groaned, “Just what I need today.”
“You'll -love- this then.” Skyway grinned.
Springer rest his head on a servo, sighing, “Betchya I won't”
“He just might guilt himself into going through with the Appointment.” Skyway sat back in his chair as the two spoke.
“Told ya I wouldn't like it.” Springer groaned, “Crankshafts, this is a blunder.”
“A real cluster-node if you ask me.” Skyway said
“Alright.” Springer rubbed his face, “I'll tell Rodimus, and let'm know you informed Magnus.”
“Got it.”
Spinger sighed, “See ya space cowboy.” he ended the transmission. He leaned back in his chair, “Slag. Well, they say misery loves company.” he tapped the commands to call Rodimus.
A tired looking, flame red mech with a golden crest on his head appeared, “Springer! Primus, please tell me this day's just a bad recharge defrag.”
“I wish.” Springer sighed, “It's gonna get worse.”
“How.”
“Don't say I didn't warn you Roddy~” Springer sat forward in his seat, begging the tale that Skyway had just finished telling him, “... and he's informing Ultra Magnus as we speak.”
There was a thud as Rodimus smacked his helm against his desk.
Springer nodded, “Yeah. I get that feeling too Roddy. I just have no idea -what- we're going to do.”
“You already did all you could do Springer.” Rodimus sat back up with a mix of groan and sigh, “Thanks for the heads-up, I'll need to think about this for when Magnus calls.”
“Good luck.” Springer said
“Till All Are One.” Rodimus cut the transmission, his head again thudding against his desk, Please tell me other Primes had solar cycles like this~
A knock to his office door caused his head to shoot up and yelp out a surprised “Enter!”. The door hissed open softly and Rodimus inwardly groaned as he saw the effeminate but undeniably strong, and utterly 'sugar pink' frame of the femme.
He had the utmost respect for her though, leading her own underground resistance cell on Cybertron. Still, respect or not, he'd done just about all he could to avoid her for the past five stellar cycles.
“Elita-1” Rodimus stammered.
With a soft nod and gentle smile she gracefully strode up to the new Prime's desk, “Rodimus, I have some duty logs for you.”
“Ah. Y-yes. Thank you Elita-1... though you didn't have to deliver them by hand you know, I mean--”
“I know what you mean Rodimus, but I wanted to.” Elita-1 explained, setting them on his desk, “I also wanted to make sure you couldn't make more excuses not to speak with me.”
Rodimus tried to rebuttle, but found both his CPU and vocal unit failing him.
“Hm. That's what I thought.” Elita-1 said in a whispered tone.
With a defeated grunt, the mech slumped backwards in his office chiar, “Elita-1... It's...”
“Take your time.” she said calmly, sitting across from him. He couldn't read any anger in her voice or her posture, but that could just be his inexperiance.
Elita-1 looked at him with her soft blue optics, “I'm not going to demand anything Rodimus, but you -have- been avoiding me and -anyone- would want to know why they're being avoided.”
“I'm sorry Elita-1.” He started, “I respect you a great deal. You and your team did so much for the Autobots with little or no help from other teams. I'm not sure anyone could have done as good a job as you...”
“I sense a 'but' moment...”
Rodimus swallowed his tongue, “No no! I swear Elita-1 no 'but'. I don't care if it's femme or mech, a good leader is a good leader.”
She nodded, “I'm flattered.” she smiled, “But I have to wonder what this has to do with you avoiding me.”
“I... can't look you in the optics Elita-1” he confessed, “I just... can't.”
Elita-1 touched his hand, “I don't blame you for his death Rod. You wanted to help him.”
“Megatron... he was 'begging' for mercy.” Rodimus spoke hoarsely, “... but, I saw something. There was a blaster hidden under some rubble...”
“And without thinking you leaped at Megatron to stop him from grabbing it.”
“I wasn't trying to play the Hero.” Rodimus hung his head in sorrow, “I couldn't... Megatron was too strong... couldn't get away when Prime told me too.”
“Megatron used you as a shield...” Elita-1 flushed at Rodimus' surprised expression, “I talked with Kup, about why you might be avoiding me, he told me what happened... said it might be guilt.”
The young flame hued leader thought for a long moment, “... It is.”
“Orion... that was his name originally... he would have done the same. He would have leaped into a situation like that, just as you did.” She had the sad smile of remembrance on her face, “You shouldn't feel guilty, I understand why you do Rod, I do. Megatron was incredibly strong though, few Autobots would've had the strength to out-right break loose.” she comforted the young Autobot leader, “I'm... angry and sad Orion's gone, yes. That is the war's fault and the Decepticon's, Rod, not yours.”
Slowly, very slowly, Rodimus lifted his head. Elita-1 smiled, gently gripping his servo.
“I know it will take more than this chat to relieve that guilt... but, you needn't worry about me anymore.” she smiled wider, “I know you'll be a great Prime Rod and you have my support.”
“Thank you Elita-1.” Rodimus said, his spark lifting.
“We all need to bare our Spark now and again.” she pat his servo, “Now if you ignore me again, I'll kick your afterburners from here to Earth and let Arcee finish your chassis.”
Rodimus flushed, but found himself chuckling and then outright laughing with Elita-1. They shared a long, much needed, stress relieving laugh.
Elita-1 then stood, “If you ever want or need to talk, I'll lend an audio receiver. Trust me, I know how stressful leadership can be.”
His answer was cut off by an incoming transmission.
“Better get that--” Elita-1 gave a grin, “Might be Arcee.”
Rodimus coughed, muttering under his breath, “I should be so lucky.”, Elita-1 left with a chuckle as he answered, “Ultra Magnus.” he greeted.
= = = =
Magnus leaned forward, clasping his hands, “Asking if what I heard from the Wyrd-al would be needless?”
“I'm afraid so Ultra Magnus. From what Springer said, everything checked out, nothing flagged, except for the fact that Striker maintains he did -not- fill out an application for an Appointment and has no idea how his friend, Calibur, pulled it off.”
Ultra Magnus gave a short nod from behind his clasped hands, letting Rodimus puzzle this out on his own.
“This means, Calibur would have to fake or steal Striker's auth-codes, as well as all the data required to fill out the application.” Rodimus said, seeing how it sounded out-loud, “Which is just too much work for a standard length Appointment. It'd be easier to just have Striker fill it out when he's distracted.”
“Has Calibur been questioned?” Magnus asked.
Rodimus shook his head, “No. I was informed, as you should have been, that Striker wishes not to get Calibur in trouble, as well as going through with the Appointment even though by all rights, if it isn't a lie, he shouldn't be held to it.”
“Is that your decision then?” the larger bot asked the younger
Rodimus smiled, “You've always been by-the-book, stern but fair. They're your recruits Ultra Magnus, I know you'll do what you know is right.” he inhaled, “However. They -are- young, I wouldn't go throwing the book at Calibur. Perhaps a month or two restriction to base when not training and some extra menial duties.”
“So... your old, usual, reprimand for doing something Primus-awful stupid?” Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge in question, a smile pulling at the tip of his vocal actuator.
Rodimus couldn't keep a straight face, “Primus! Did Ultra Magnus -almost- make a joke?” he coughed, “In all seriousness, they haven't questioned Calibur both because of Striker not wanting him in trouble, as well as they really -can't- do anything since they have to make up lost time because of the supplies that were loaded up as well as you, Ultra Magnus, are the recruits Commanding Officer. Best Skyway could do is hold him for questioning and any hubbub raised aboard ship right now would be a bad thing. When they land get them both in your office and call me. I want the full story as much as you do.”
Ultra Magnus nodded, “Will do Prime... and good call Rod. Magnus out.”
The great blue helmet and stern white face of Ultra Magnus faded as the holo-mission twinkled into tiny blinking pixels of light, like so many distant stars.
When the last bits of hard light faded like stars in the morning sun Rodimus slumped forward again and with a solid sounding 'thud' and a quiet 'urrf' his head once again met with his desktop.
= = = =
Ultra Magnus leaned back in his seat, elbows resting on the arm rests, head propped against servos curled into a fist, “And it started out as such a nice morning too.”
The pink and white femme next to him coughed, “I'll message the Wyrd-al that you want to see Striker and Calibur as soon as they get through security?”
Magnus nodded, “Thank you Arcee, that will be fine.” He stopped, thinking about something.
“Sir?”
“You wouldn't happen to have something for a large processor ache, would you Arcee?” Magnus inquired.
Arcee nodded, “Right here.” she opened a small side compartment, taking out said container and passing two capsules.
“Three.”
“Three sir?”
“It's a big processor ache, and I'm a big bot Arcee, I can handle three little capsules.”
With a shrug Arcee gave Magnus a third capsule. The City Commander popped all three, washing them down with a large swallow of Energon from a Cybertronian-sized coffee mug emblazoned with the Autobrand on one side and “#1 Boss” on the other.
“That should knock it out, and keep anything else at bay.” Magnus sat back in his seat again, taking another sip of Energon, “Now, that transmission to the Wyrd-al?”
“On it sir.” Arcee nodded, already headed for the communications console.
= = = =
Not more than half a solar cycle later the Wyrd-al was making its final approach to Autobot City. A thing the seven recruits, and Haste for that matter, were extremely grateful for after Skyway's turbulant entry into Earth's thicker atmosphere.
The ship lurched and jumped, shaking as retro-rockets were fired. Doodlebug, unfortunately, had to make use of the airsick containers again. Striker's spark went out to her, after speaking with Haste and Skyway he had made his way back to the ships Refresher only to find she was still making use of it. She had asked if Striker was alright and seemed surprised when he gently waved aside her concern in favor of making sure she was operating alright. It was a short conversation, admittedly, but in it he learned that as a young bot she had been on a short shuttle ride that was attacked by the Decepticons. While everyone thankfully survived, she personally was left with a near-crippling fear of what appeared to be a combination of shuttles and heights. Doodlebug explained she was ok with shuttles as long as she -knew- they weren't going to go anywhere while she was in them. Once they started to move though... then if you add the shaking from turbulance... her power pack got all kinked up, the discomfort adding to her worry which made her queasy.
Smartly Striker changed the subject before she talked herself into being sick. He had asked her why she decided to join up. Doodlebug flushed and muttered something about her classmates saying she'd always be a mass of redundant systems, what humans call a 'wallflower'. She then explained to the confused Striker that the term was a euphemism used mostly in human learning centers to denote a shy or unpopular person who most times was found standing near or against a wall away from the other students during a social gathering. Metaphorically growing against or from the wall like a vine, or a flower from the ground, would. So to prove her classmates wrong, she signed up.
When she questioned why an obviously popular bot like Striker joined, it took much willpower not to burst out laughing and said that Calibur was the popular one, that he himself got dragged around to social events by Calibur. Striker explained that his mold-mate meant well by it but it left him feeling more out of place than usual.
Doodlebug sighed, muttering that it must be nice to have friends who care.
The blue truck bot smiled, saying if she needed to she could always talk to him if she had trouble, saying everyone needed someone to talk to.
She flushed but gave the larger bot a grateful smile.
Then the ship jumped, so did Doodlebug and she ducked back into the Refresher. Striker made sure the door was shut and went back to his seat. It was shortly after he sat down was it announced that they all needed to strap themselves in.
Striker was jarred from his reflection by the retros firing again, making the ship rattle and shudder. He winced visibly at hearing Doodlebug groan.
“I'd hate to be her--” Calibur, who had moved back next to Striker for the landing, “Probably got no Energon in her at all.”
Striker nodded in agreement, “I talked with her... poor bot, she's got every right to feel sick.”
“... So... what did that sleek femme want?” Curiosity got the better of Calibur.
Striker sighed, rubbing his face with both servos, “She overheard our argument--” he kept his vocal unit at a whisper for privacy, “-- about my saying you hijacked me into this.”
“What'd you do? What'd you tell her?” Anxiety had not just crept in Calibur's vocal unit, anxiety had bum-rushed it, and hard.
Striker gave his friend a blank look of dull surprise, unbelieving that those words were uttered.
“What do you -think- I did?” A harsh hiss accompanied his words, “I told them the truth.”
“Them?” Calibur's face plate dropped.
Striker gave a shrug, “She wanted me to tell the shuttle captain. Like I said, I told them the truth; somehow you signed -me- up when -you- did, I don't know how or why, and I'd =really= like to know, and they said they were obligated to report this to Ultra Magnus as well as Rodimus Prime.”
Calibur shrank in his seat, “I can't believe this, how could you?”
“Calibur, I didn't tell them to report it.” Striker growled, “I -know- you had some twisted reason for doing this and for Primus' sake I wish you would tell me what it was!”
Still both bots whispered for privacy.
The shuttle touched down with a thump, wheels squealing and screeching. The two bots stared at each other.
“Tenshi” Calibur whispered, his optic visor flicking offline.
Wow this is awesome! LOVE the banter back and forth between old comrades and new, especially Rodimus banging his head on the desk in frustration, lol!
^_^ something I'm sure LOADS of leaders have wanted to do. It just seems to fit Rod. That's one thing I think the original Season 3 did right was show that there's still a lot of impetuous Hot Rod under Rodimus and he seems to buckle under the weight of leadership and trying to fill Optimus' shoes, and them some big boots. Frankly I like to show that... just not as whiny.
Well, Epilogue (cause I do believe it's going to be shorter) up soon, maybe even tonight!!
Well, Epilogue (cause I do believe it's going to be shorter) up soon, maybe even tonight!!
It was all a blur
One moment the shuttle was landing, he and Calibur were talking about his discussion with Skyway and Haste. He had made the off-servo comment of wanting to know why Calibur pulled this stunt. The stress of finding out the commander of Autobot City as well as Prime himself now knew about it finally cracked Calibur, making him finally explain.
That was his last clear memory.
He barely remembered Haste and Skyway lining the seven of them up, Calibur and himself last of the recruits. Each bot went through security and checked out, being released to their assigned quarters, except he and his mold-mate of course.
The halls of Autobot City melted into one another as Skyway and Haste led the two down one after another, eventually coming to a stern looking and very large robot sitting at an equally large desk. Though Skyway, Haste, himself and Calibur all stood before this imposing bot he spoke mostly to Calibur. Through his fugue Striker also noticed a holo-call open.
“I have seen a lot of stupid things done in my day.” Ultra Magnus started, his voice box producing an even baritone, “Thankfully for you this is far from the stupidest. That said, I simply can not process what possessed you to steal Striker's personal information.” the white, red and blue bot set the bait for Calibur to see how, or if, he protested the accusation.
The green truck bot balked, shock easily appearing, and that was what Magnus hoped to see, “Sir, whatever Striker accused me of I did not steal his personal information! I would never do that!”
Magnus kept his optics level with the younger bot, “If you didn't... how is it you were able to get Striker appointed?”
“I... I slipped the data-pad into the pile of class registration data-pads he had.” Calibur confessed, “He was half-empty and ready to slip into a stasis nap from staying up nearly two solar cycles filling them out.”
“YOU =WHAT=?!?” Striker snapped out of his cloudy fugue, surprising everyone in the office, even the hologram of Rodimus' head seemed to jump at the sudden exaltation.
“Well.” The hologram coughed, “At least what's cleared up.”
“I... You...” Striker growled, “Grnh!”
Magnus coughed, “Well, we now know the 'how', would you care to reveal the 'why' Cadet Calibur.”
“It... it's a personal matter sir.” Calibur did his best to keep from stuttering, “I know that you want more of an answer sir, but... it's a private matter between Striker and myself sir.”
Magnus looked to Rodimus' hologram.
“Will this... private, personal matter be detrimental to your training or your squad mates?” The Prime questioned.
“No sir!”
Rodimus gave Calibur a terse, authoritative look, “What you did, no matter what your intentions, was a show in lack of judgment Calibur. You will be reprimanded for these actions. Do you understand this?”
“Yessir.”
Magnus cleared his throat, “You're on probation for two months. You will have extra duties assigned to you. The first of these two months you will also be confined to your quarters. If you aren't on duty or training you are not allowed to leave your quarters.”
“Yessir.”
Now Magnus looked at Striker, “Striker, I want you to go to -your- quarters and get a decent recharge. Then I want you to get a good breakfast and take your time and think about what you want to do with all of this.”
“Yessir.” Striker nodded, “I already know what I want to do sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yessir.”
“Are you s--” Magnus' question was cut off as he watched Striker quickly turn and slam his curled up servo into Calibur's face, hard.
“Striker! Dismissed!” Magnus hollared.
Skyway thumbed towards the door, “Come on kid, I'll show ya to your bunk.”
Haste was helping Calibur up, “Come on. Let's see the medic for a derma-patch.”
“Oofgh~?” Calibur's optics flickered as the four left Magnus' office.
After they left Rodimus' hologram grinned widly, “Nice hook.”
Magnus rolled his optics, “Good bye Rod.” He ended the transmission.
Striker sat on his new recharge bed in his new quarters. He flexed his servos, frowning at himself. He had been so angry at Calibur for sneaking in the Appointment application that he just -had- to last out, damn the fact both Ultra Magnus and Prime were watching. He hadn't unpacked even his carry-on pack to read something to relax, he wanted to be in, at least, a decent mood so he could enjoy it.
“Maybe a quick warm shower to loosen the joints.” Striker mused aloud. He was so flustered he didn't even have his music going, but he needed some kind of noise.
A knocking at his door interrupted his not-so-internal thoughts. Looking up in surprise, he called out, “Yes?”
“I--It's me.” came a soft voice, “... D-Doodlebug?”
Striker smiled, “Come in, I was just talking to myself.”
Doodlebug quietly entered, the look on her face was easy to read, she was afraid she was intruding, “H-How is everything?”
“I honestly don't know.” was the answer. Striker shrugged, “Though I wonder if Autobot City has a flag pole...”
“Huh?”
“Oh nothing really.” Striker said, “Just something a friend and I talked about before I left.”
Doodlebug flicked her optics confusedly, “... okay.”
“So...” Striker cleared his throat, “Are you feeling any better?”
She nodded, “I just got out of the med-bay actually. Finally got all the kinks out.”
“Good to hear.” Striker gave her a friendly smile.
“So... I guess you'll be leaving?” Doodlebug asked
“News travels fast.” Striker softly groused.
Flushing the little pink coupe shook her head, “I overheard you two while you were boarding the Wyrd-al.”
“Oh.” came the embarrassed groan, “Well, like I said, I honestly don't know Doodlebug.”
Doodlebug smiled, “A friend once told me: If you ever need to talk you can always talk to me. Everyone needs someone to talk to.”
Striker smiled, “Thanks D.B.”
She giggled, “Only my sister has ever called me that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she's going to New Iacon Academy of Arts and Sciences.”
Striker chuckled, “Hey, so did I.”
“...” Doodlebug flicked her optics, “You... wouldn't happen to know a purple femme, same alt. as me?”
“Yeah I do, Skate, but-- no... You and Skate?”
“-You're- the Striker she's always talking about?”
Both started to laugh, getting a good long chuckle out of it.
“So that other bot...”
“That's Calibur, yeah.” Striker held his side from all the laughter.
“Oh wow.”
Striker got up to stretch, “I want to thank you for coming by D.B.. That was really nice.”
“No problem.” She smiled, rubbing her neck, “I-I think I'm going to turn in early.”
“Me too.” He agreed, “After a warm shower.”
“S-Sounds like a plan.” She blushed, “See you.”
“Night.” Striker said, giving a way as she left.
Shutting his door, he hummed a tune as he went to the Refresher. Starting the water, he had a cycle or two to kill, so he powered up the Cyber-net Space Cube that was packed in his carry-on. This was his personal one, at the Academy he used the one in his apartment for class work.
Connecting to the Cyber-net Striker pinged Skate's account with an Instant Message to see if she was at her Space Cube or had left it on during classes.
[SKATE]:: You made it? Is everything okay?
[STRIKER]:: You're the second bot to ask me that y'know
[SKATE]:: Oh? Who was the first?
[STRIKER]:: Pink femme, shy. Shares your alt. mode. Her name's Doodlebug.
That got her attention, because not a moment later Striker got an alert for an incoming holo-call.
The truck-bot grinned as the pixels of light swirled into Skate's familiar face.
“D.B. is there?” Skate seemed shocked.
“I'm guessing you didn't know.”
“Not a clue!”
“Aside from some inertia sickness we all had she's ok.” Striker tried to ease Skate's worry.
“And you?”
Striker shrugged, “I was going to grab a quick shower and a long recharge.”
“Did you read my letter?”
“Sorry I didn't yet.” He admitted, “Though I finally found out why--”
“It's because of Tenshi, isn't it?”
Striker flicked his optics, “Yea--how?”
“An unfortunate, lucky guess.” Skate admitted, “Damn.”
“Yeah. Damn.” Striker agreed.
“I... I want to tell you something... I wrote it in the letter I gave you... but I want you to know.” Skate flushed, “I like you.”
“I like you too Sk--”
“No. I mean I -like- you, Striker.”
Again his optics flicked in surprise before he whispered a drawn out “oooh”
Skate nodded, “And if you choose to stay... that won't change anything. I know you. You'd feel guilty if you stayed or came home.”
Striker flushed.
“You look like slag though.” Skate said, “Go get that shower and recharge.”
“Sure. Take care.”
“Til all are one.” Skate whispered, “Oh. Still, read the letter, I included some pictures of us to help the loneliness.”
“Alright.” He smiled
Skate's hologram winked out and Striker logged off his Space Cube, completely powering it down.
Stretching, Striker enjoyed an extra long shower to loosen his joints and rotators. Drying off he took out the memory chip Skate gave him, putting it in a spare data-pad. He decided to read the letter later when he was more recharged and focused.
The pictures Skate included did make him smile. Pictures of him, Skate, Calibur and a feminine plane bot, proudly displaying an Autobrand. Tenshi was like an older sister to all of them. Scrolling through them as he lay on his recharge bed a couple of picture files at the end caught his optic. He flushed brightly as he opened one of just Skate, and wondering if she included it for the express purpose of making him blush.
“Compact model, my skidplate.”
Shutting the data-pad off Striker slipped into recharge.
[END]
One moment the shuttle was landing, he and Calibur were talking about his discussion with Skyway and Haste. He had made the off-servo comment of wanting to know why Calibur pulled this stunt. The stress of finding out the commander of Autobot City as well as Prime himself now knew about it finally cracked Calibur, making him finally explain.
That was his last clear memory.
He barely remembered Haste and Skyway lining the seven of them up, Calibur and himself last of the recruits. Each bot went through security and checked out, being released to their assigned quarters, except he and his mold-mate of course.
The halls of Autobot City melted into one another as Skyway and Haste led the two down one after another, eventually coming to a stern looking and very large robot sitting at an equally large desk. Though Skyway, Haste, himself and Calibur all stood before this imposing bot he spoke mostly to Calibur. Through his fugue Striker also noticed a holo-call open.
“I have seen a lot of stupid things done in my day.” Ultra Magnus started, his voice box producing an even baritone, “Thankfully for you this is far from the stupidest. That said, I simply can not process what possessed you to steal Striker's personal information.” the white, red and blue bot set the bait for Calibur to see how, or if, he protested the accusation.
The green truck bot balked, shock easily appearing, and that was what Magnus hoped to see, “Sir, whatever Striker accused me of I did not steal his personal information! I would never do that!”
Magnus kept his optics level with the younger bot, “If you didn't... how is it you were able to get Striker appointed?”
“I... I slipped the data-pad into the pile of class registration data-pads he had.” Calibur confessed, “He was half-empty and ready to slip into a stasis nap from staying up nearly two solar cycles filling them out.”
“YOU =WHAT=?!?” Striker snapped out of his cloudy fugue, surprising everyone in the office, even the hologram of Rodimus' head seemed to jump at the sudden exaltation.
“Well.” The hologram coughed, “At least what's cleared up.”
“I... You...” Striker growled, “Grnh!”
Magnus coughed, “Well, we now know the 'how', would you care to reveal the 'why' Cadet Calibur.”
“It... it's a personal matter sir.” Calibur did his best to keep from stuttering, “I know that you want more of an answer sir, but... it's a private matter between Striker and myself sir.”
Magnus looked to Rodimus' hologram.
“Will this... private, personal matter be detrimental to your training or your squad mates?” The Prime questioned.
“No sir!”
Rodimus gave Calibur a terse, authoritative look, “What you did, no matter what your intentions, was a show in lack of judgment Calibur. You will be reprimanded for these actions. Do you understand this?”
“Yessir.”
Magnus cleared his throat, “You're on probation for two months. You will have extra duties assigned to you. The first of these two months you will also be confined to your quarters. If you aren't on duty or training you are not allowed to leave your quarters.”
“Yessir.”
Now Magnus looked at Striker, “Striker, I want you to go to -your- quarters and get a decent recharge. Then I want you to get a good breakfast and take your time and think about what you want to do with all of this.”
“Yessir.” Striker nodded, “I already know what I want to do sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yessir.”
“Are you s--” Magnus' question was cut off as he watched Striker quickly turn and slam his curled up servo into Calibur's face, hard.
“Striker! Dismissed!” Magnus hollared.
Skyway thumbed towards the door, “Come on kid, I'll show ya to your bunk.”
Haste was helping Calibur up, “Come on. Let's see the medic for a derma-patch.”
“Oofgh~?” Calibur's optics flickered as the four left Magnus' office.
After they left Rodimus' hologram grinned widly, “Nice hook.”
Magnus rolled his optics, “Good bye Rod.” He ended the transmission.
= = = =
Striker sat on his new recharge bed in his new quarters. He flexed his servos, frowning at himself. He had been so angry at Calibur for sneaking in the Appointment application that he just -had- to last out, damn the fact both Ultra Magnus and Prime were watching. He hadn't unpacked even his carry-on pack to read something to relax, he wanted to be in, at least, a decent mood so he could enjoy it.
“Maybe a quick warm shower to loosen the joints.” Striker mused aloud. He was so flustered he didn't even have his music going, but he needed some kind of noise.
A knocking at his door interrupted his not-so-internal thoughts. Looking up in surprise, he called out, “Yes?”
“I--It's me.” came a soft voice, “... D-Doodlebug?”
Striker smiled, “Come in, I was just talking to myself.”
Doodlebug quietly entered, the look on her face was easy to read, she was afraid she was intruding, “H-How is everything?”
“I honestly don't know.” was the answer. Striker shrugged, “Though I wonder if Autobot City has a flag pole...”
“Huh?”
“Oh nothing really.” Striker said, “Just something a friend and I talked about before I left.”
Doodlebug flicked her optics confusedly, “... okay.”
“So...” Striker cleared his throat, “Are you feeling any better?”
She nodded, “I just got out of the med-bay actually. Finally got all the kinks out.”
“Good to hear.” Striker gave her a friendly smile.
“So... I guess you'll be leaving?” Doodlebug asked
“News travels fast.” Striker softly groused.
Flushing the little pink coupe shook her head, “I overheard you two while you were boarding the Wyrd-al.”
“Oh.” came the embarrassed groan, “Well, like I said, I honestly don't know Doodlebug.”
Doodlebug smiled, “A friend once told me: If you ever need to talk you can always talk to me. Everyone needs someone to talk to.”
Striker smiled, “Thanks D.B.”
She giggled, “Only my sister has ever called me that.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she's going to New Iacon Academy of Arts and Sciences.”
Striker chuckled, “Hey, so did I.”
“...” Doodlebug flicked her optics, “You... wouldn't happen to know a purple femme, same alt. as me?”
“Yeah I do, Skate, but-- no... You and Skate?”
“-You're- the Striker she's always talking about?”
Both started to laugh, getting a good long chuckle out of it.
“So that other bot...”
“That's Calibur, yeah.” Striker held his side from all the laughter.
“Oh wow.”
Striker got up to stretch, “I want to thank you for coming by D.B.. That was really nice.”
“No problem.” She smiled, rubbing her neck, “I-I think I'm going to turn in early.”
“Me too.” He agreed, “After a warm shower.”
“S-Sounds like a plan.” She blushed, “See you.”
“Night.” Striker said, giving a way as she left.
Shutting his door, he hummed a tune as he went to the Refresher. Starting the water, he had a cycle or two to kill, so he powered up the Cyber-net Space Cube that was packed in his carry-on. This was his personal one, at the Academy he used the one in his apartment for class work.
Connecting to the Cyber-net Striker pinged Skate's account with an Instant Message to see if she was at her Space Cube or had left it on during classes.
[SKATE]:: You made it? Is everything okay?
[STRIKER]:: You're the second bot to ask me that y'know
[SKATE]:: Oh? Who was the first?
[STRIKER]:: Pink femme, shy. Shares your alt. mode. Her name's Doodlebug.
That got her attention, because not a moment later Striker got an alert for an incoming holo-call.
The truck-bot grinned as the pixels of light swirled into Skate's familiar face.
“D.B. is there?” Skate seemed shocked.
“I'm guessing you didn't know.”
“Not a clue!”
“Aside from some inertia sickness we all had she's ok.” Striker tried to ease Skate's worry.
“And you?”
Striker shrugged, “I was going to grab a quick shower and a long recharge.”
“Did you read my letter?”
“Sorry I didn't yet.” He admitted, “Though I finally found out why--”
“It's because of Tenshi, isn't it?”
Striker flicked his optics, “Yea--how?”
“An unfortunate, lucky guess.” Skate admitted, “Damn.”
“Yeah. Damn.” Striker agreed.
“I... I want to tell you something... I wrote it in the letter I gave you... but I want you to know.” Skate flushed, “I like you.”
“I like you too Sk--”
“No. I mean I -like- you, Striker.”
Again his optics flicked in surprise before he whispered a drawn out “oooh”
Skate nodded, “And if you choose to stay... that won't change anything. I know you. You'd feel guilty if you stayed or came home.”
Striker flushed.
“You look like slag though.” Skate said, “Go get that shower and recharge.”
“Sure. Take care.”
“Til all are one.” Skate whispered, “Oh. Still, read the letter, I included some pictures of us to help the loneliness.”
“Alright.” He smiled
Skate's hologram winked out and Striker logged off his Space Cube, completely powering it down.
Stretching, Striker enjoyed an extra long shower to loosen his joints and rotators. Drying off he took out the memory chip Skate gave him, putting it in a spare data-pad. He decided to read the letter later when he was more recharged and focused.
The pictures Skate included did make him smile. Pictures of him, Skate, Calibur and a feminine plane bot, proudly displaying an Autobrand. Tenshi was like an older sister to all of them. Scrolling through them as he lay on his recharge bed a couple of picture files at the end caught his optic. He flushed brightly as he opened one of just Skate, and wondering if she included it for the express purpose of making him blush.
“Compact model, my skidplate.”
Shutting the data-pad off Striker slipped into recharge.
[END]
Now that was cool! Excellent way to wrap this up and leave it open for possible additions in the future!
Gotta admit, I laughed out loud when Rodimus commented on the punch!
Gotta admit, I laughed out loud when Rodimus commented on the punch!
well thank you Freddycon. I hope you're looking forward to those possible additions because this just wasn't a one-off, I have three solid story ideas down, as well as a general time-line in mind.
I'm just trying to figure out some bits and pieces for it right now actually
I'm just trying to figure out some bits and pieces for it right now actually
<<GOOOOD MORNING AUTOBOT CITY! This is Blaster, your hot but humble DJ-bot, blastin' your way with a News update! Time is... Noon o'Clock on the got, AOOW! So without further chatter or clatter here's the noon-time newsflash.>>
A few of the Autobots there were in the commissary half-turned their attention to Blaster's broadcast, most were hoping on getting some straight answers to a rumor or two that'd been floating around since morning.
<<Official word from the Big Bot himself, Ultra Magnus, -confirms- the rumors that one of the new recruits was found this morning hoisted up the main flagpole. The identity of the recruit will, naturally, not be released. Magnus wants it announced that the recruit was not harmed, and the Big Bot is -not- happy with the collage-spirit pranks, wanting them stopped. Unfortunately no word on the question everybot in Autobot City is asking: Did they enjoy the view? That's all of the Noontime news for now loyal listeners! Let's get back to some classic Earth tunes here on KTFW 200.5 FM~>>
Calibur switched off his radio, gunning his beefy engine to hide his humiliated growl.
Ahead of him the sleek metallic silver form of Haste changed lanes, dropping back to keep pace with him.
“Watch that revving Calibur.” Haste chastised, “Don't need an accident happening because you got your transistors in a twist.”
Calibur grumbled, “It's embarrassing! Announced to the whole slaggin' City my skid plate was hoisted up the fraggin' pole while it was still attached!”
“Still no reason to cause or get into an accident.” Haste said, “We're almost to the track.”
Doodlebug spoke up, “I w-was wondering... why are we going to this test track?”
“Well we all may be able to drive but you all don't know the human traffic laws. Since we want to be good neighbors, all the road worthy recruits will be taking the same class a beginner human driver would.”
Zooming by them, honking their horn and blatantly showing them the 'driving finger', a human angrily passed up Haste, Doodlebug, Calibur and the other two recruits with them; Tune-Up, who wanted to be a field medic and took an Earthen form of a semi-cab tow truck and Gizmo, a mini-bot who also chose an Earthen form, that of a 'classic' automobile, the Gremlin.
“Riiigghht~” quipped Gizmo, “Because they're -so- good at following their own rules.”
“It's still a requirement of your training Gizmo.” Haste sighed, “Now, all of you watch me, we're almost there!” Haste moved up again to take lead.
“So.” One could hear Gizmo's grin, “Just how -was- the view?”
“Grr!”
Back at the commissary Striker sat down by himself at a corner table, as away as he could get from the rest of the Autobots. He was nervous around them, especially after the unwarranted and most unwelcome confrontation with an overly paranoid security-bot with a police cruiser alt-mode.
“Ugh.” Striker sipped the fuel slowly.
It was bitter to him, Energon mixed with a local fuel blend. To Cybertronians this mix would be like what coffee was to humans, “... Whatever coffee is.” Striker mixed in a little oil to smooth the blend, “...Yeagh~ Better, but it'd still pucker a gasket.”
Suppressing a shiver the young bot turned an optic towards one of the half-dozen video screens mounted on the walls. He had taken a couple of Human Study courses his second year, curious about the tiny species. Sipping his fuel as he rubbed the back of his neck, he turned his processor to his current issues. He could catch the next shuttle to Cybertron, go back to life at the Academy and Skate. He knew though that he would feel like he abandoned Calibur, and worry that Calibur would share that sentiment.
Ugh. Maybe I should go back and recharge some more. Primus knows I deserve a solar cycle or two of solid recharge. He thought.
“Mind if I join you?”
Striker looked up to see one of the two recruits left behind. While Haste took the others, these two stayed with Skyway to start training, “U- Oh, sure.” He said uneasily.
“Mh. You said yes but I -hear- no.” the bot said, Striker was having trouble placing the alt-mode.
“No no. I don't want to be rude.” Striker explained, “I was just thinking.”
The bot nodded, turning the seat backwards and straddling it, she nodded to Striker's fuel, “You tried that stuff too, eh?”
“Try being the word, though the oil cuts the bitterness. I'm Striker.”
“Ah yes.” She said, “You're the bot who doesn't know if he's coming or going.”
“It's not something I want to rush... ah...”
“Deckstar.” She grinned again, “Three time champ of the Arrakis Swamp Rally.”
“Oh!” Stiker said, “Now I place your alt-mode...”
“Classy, eh? Fremen 9K hover boat.” Deckstar beamed, “Anyway. Why not stay?”
“Because even though I signed up, I was tricked into it. Being subverted like that invalidates the application.”
“So go.” She answered.
“Look like a coward? Let my friend think I abandoned him?”
“So stay.” came with a shrug, “Though why would anyone think you a coward, you were tricked into it.”
Striker could only silently shrug.
“Some friend though, I'd done something to get him back.” Deckstar pointed out, “Hey, you wouldn't happen to know which of us seven got hoisted.”
He couldn't help but grin, “I do, actually.”
“You're not going to tell me are you?”
“Nope.” Striker sipped the brew, cringing at the bitterness, “Privacy and all that.”
“And if I guess?”
“Guess all you want Deckstar.” Striker said, “They'd still be guesses.”
“Aww. That's no fun!” Deckstar cooed.
“Well, I never -did- say I was fun.” He pointed out.
“Point, point.” She held her servos up in surrender, “Well if you wanna be alone--” Deckstar started to stand.
“I do, but I don't.” Striker admitted.
Deckstar sat back down, “You're pretty indecisive, not to be rude, seeing as we just met 'n' all.”
Striker gave another shrug, though it was clear he hadn't taken her statement as rude.
“Hmf.” Deckstar tapped the seat back, idly drumming her servo-tips, “Mind if I share a little wisdom I've picked up?”
“Sure. I could use all the wisdom I can get.”
“Alright. How much do you know about swamp rally racing?”
“Eh... I get the jist of it.” Striker confessed, “Going to New Iacon AAS most are Slamball fans, though I did catch the Arrakis semi-finals while I was studying.”
Deckstar nodded, “Good enough.” she inhaled, “See, I've found like to be a lot like the rally races. It's a maze, you see, kinda. So out and out speed won't get you far, just tangled up and stuck. Think too much and you never get anywhere though, you gotta figure what path will get you to your goal, even if it's just a little bit closer.” the hover boat femme gave him a moment to absorb what she had said so far.
Striker nodded.
“Right. You gotta pick your path, dealing with its obstacles. Sometimes you snag, other times you hit a berm and beach or ding your hull. Other times you gotta backtrack 'cause you know right out you're goin' the wrong way.” she shrugged, “Sometimes the race is smooth even with all the twists and turns you take on your path. Every big move I take in life I treat like a race. I'm careful, but I do -something-.”
“Thanks.” He replied, “Though in my 'defense' I just felt like there were a -lot- of factors to factor.”
“Right, I get ya.” Deckstar nodded, “Just sayin' if you take too long you'll get behind the rest of us in training.”
Striker stretched, “Don't I know it. What made you go down -this- path and not-- I dunno, schooling?”
“Well... really?” Deckstar coughed, “I needed to get away from racing and swamps. Sure, I'm three time champ but even if I donate all my winnings what'm I -really- doin'? I guess... I just want to see if I'm just a swamp racin', 'small town' femme or... I dunno...”
“Something more?” Striker asked
“I guess. That and I wanna -see- other planets and all sorts a'things.”
“A better reason than my friend Calibur.” Striker said, “He hasn't told me his whole reason but I got a pretty good guess, and I don't like it.”
“Fun.” Deckstar drawled
Striker frowned
“Sorry I j--”
The blue truck-bot shook his head, “Not you.” he stood up and down the rest of the Energon/fuel blend, “...”
“Striker?”
An optic flicked offline as he twitched, “Nghn~”
“Yikes.”
“Yrrhgll.” Striker coughed softly as he set the container back on the table, “I'm going to see Magnus. I'm staying.”
----
Behold! A new 'episode' for Transformers: Another Universe has been posted!
Some might find it a bit "talky"... or maybe that's just my own writer's nitpicky paranoia but, as Striker said, its a Big decision, he's gonna ruminate on it ^_^ enjoy, comment, crit nicely, no flames, you know the drill!
A few of the Autobots there were in the commissary half-turned their attention to Blaster's broadcast, most were hoping on getting some straight answers to a rumor or two that'd been floating around since morning.
<<Official word from the Big Bot himself, Ultra Magnus, -confirms- the rumors that one of the new recruits was found this morning hoisted up the main flagpole. The identity of the recruit will, naturally, not be released. Magnus wants it announced that the recruit was not harmed, and the Big Bot is -not- happy with the collage-spirit pranks, wanting them stopped. Unfortunately no word on the question everybot in Autobot City is asking: Did they enjoy the view? That's all of the Noontime news for now loyal listeners! Let's get back to some classic Earth tunes here on KTFW 200.5 FM~>>
Calibur switched off his radio, gunning his beefy engine to hide his humiliated growl.
Ahead of him the sleek metallic silver form of Haste changed lanes, dropping back to keep pace with him.
“Watch that revving Calibur.” Haste chastised, “Don't need an accident happening because you got your transistors in a twist.”
Calibur grumbled, “It's embarrassing! Announced to the whole slaggin' City my skid plate was hoisted up the fraggin' pole while it was still attached!”
“Still no reason to cause or get into an accident.” Haste said, “We're almost to the track.”
Doodlebug spoke up, “I w-was wondering... why are we going to this test track?”
“Well we all may be able to drive but you all don't know the human traffic laws. Since we want to be good neighbors, all the road worthy recruits will be taking the same class a beginner human driver would.”
Zooming by them, honking their horn and blatantly showing them the 'driving finger', a human angrily passed up Haste, Doodlebug, Calibur and the other two recruits with them; Tune-Up, who wanted to be a field medic and took an Earthen form of a semi-cab tow truck and Gizmo, a mini-bot who also chose an Earthen form, that of a 'classic' automobile, the Gremlin.
“Riiigghht~” quipped Gizmo, “Because they're -so- good at following their own rules.”
“It's still a requirement of your training Gizmo.” Haste sighed, “Now, all of you watch me, we're almost there!” Haste moved up again to take lead.
“So.” One could hear Gizmo's grin, “Just how -was- the view?”
“Grr!”
= = = =
Back at the commissary Striker sat down by himself at a corner table, as away as he could get from the rest of the Autobots. He was nervous around them, especially after the unwarranted and most unwelcome confrontation with an overly paranoid security-bot with a police cruiser alt-mode.
“Ugh.” Striker sipped the fuel slowly.
It was bitter to him, Energon mixed with a local fuel blend. To Cybertronians this mix would be like what coffee was to humans, “... Whatever coffee is.” Striker mixed in a little oil to smooth the blend, “...Yeagh~ Better, but it'd still pucker a gasket.”
Suppressing a shiver the young bot turned an optic towards one of the half-dozen video screens mounted on the walls. He had taken a couple of Human Study courses his second year, curious about the tiny species. Sipping his fuel as he rubbed the back of his neck, he turned his processor to his current issues. He could catch the next shuttle to Cybertron, go back to life at the Academy and Skate. He knew though that he would feel like he abandoned Calibur, and worry that Calibur would share that sentiment.
Ugh. Maybe I should go back and recharge some more. Primus knows I deserve a solar cycle or two of solid recharge. He thought.
“Mind if I join you?”
Striker looked up to see one of the two recruits left behind. While Haste took the others, these two stayed with Skyway to start training, “U- Oh, sure.” He said uneasily.
“Mh. You said yes but I -hear- no.” the bot said, Striker was having trouble placing the alt-mode.
“No no. I don't want to be rude.” Striker explained, “I was just thinking.”
The bot nodded, turning the seat backwards and straddling it, she nodded to Striker's fuel, “You tried that stuff too, eh?”
“Try being the word, though the oil cuts the bitterness. I'm Striker.”
“Ah yes.” She said, “You're the bot who doesn't know if he's coming or going.”
“It's not something I want to rush... ah...”
“Deckstar.” She grinned again, “Three time champ of the Arrakis Swamp Rally.”
“Oh!” Stiker said, “Now I place your alt-mode...”
“Classy, eh? Fremen 9K hover boat.” Deckstar beamed, “Anyway. Why not stay?”
“Because even though I signed up, I was tricked into it. Being subverted like that invalidates the application.”
“So go.” She answered.
“Look like a coward? Let my friend think I abandoned him?”
“So stay.” came with a shrug, “Though why would anyone think you a coward, you were tricked into it.”
Striker could only silently shrug.
“Some friend though, I'd done something to get him back.” Deckstar pointed out, “Hey, you wouldn't happen to know which of us seven got hoisted.”
He couldn't help but grin, “I do, actually.”
“You're not going to tell me are you?”
“Nope.” Striker sipped the brew, cringing at the bitterness, “Privacy and all that.”
“And if I guess?”
“Guess all you want Deckstar.” Striker said, “They'd still be guesses.”
“Aww. That's no fun!” Deckstar cooed.
“Well, I never -did- say I was fun.” He pointed out.
“Point, point.” She held her servos up in surrender, “Well if you wanna be alone--” Deckstar started to stand.
“I do, but I don't.” Striker admitted.
Deckstar sat back down, “You're pretty indecisive, not to be rude, seeing as we just met 'n' all.”
Striker gave another shrug, though it was clear he hadn't taken her statement as rude.
“Hmf.” Deckstar tapped the seat back, idly drumming her servo-tips, “Mind if I share a little wisdom I've picked up?”
“Sure. I could use all the wisdom I can get.”
“Alright. How much do you know about swamp rally racing?”
“Eh... I get the jist of it.” Striker confessed, “Going to New Iacon AAS most are Slamball fans, though I did catch the Arrakis semi-finals while I was studying.”
Deckstar nodded, “Good enough.” she inhaled, “See, I've found like to be a lot like the rally races. It's a maze, you see, kinda. So out and out speed won't get you far, just tangled up and stuck. Think too much and you never get anywhere though, you gotta figure what path will get you to your goal, even if it's just a little bit closer.” the hover boat femme gave him a moment to absorb what she had said so far.
Striker nodded.
“Right. You gotta pick your path, dealing with its obstacles. Sometimes you snag, other times you hit a berm and beach or ding your hull. Other times you gotta backtrack 'cause you know right out you're goin' the wrong way.” she shrugged, “Sometimes the race is smooth even with all the twists and turns you take on your path. Every big move I take in life I treat like a race. I'm careful, but I do -something-.”
“Thanks.” He replied, “Though in my 'defense' I just felt like there were a -lot- of factors to factor.”
“Right, I get ya.” Deckstar nodded, “Just sayin' if you take too long you'll get behind the rest of us in training.”
Striker stretched, “Don't I know it. What made you go down -this- path and not-- I dunno, schooling?”
“Well... really?” Deckstar coughed, “I needed to get away from racing and swamps. Sure, I'm three time champ but even if I donate all my winnings what'm I -really- doin'? I guess... I just want to see if I'm just a swamp racin', 'small town' femme or... I dunno...”
“Something more?” Striker asked
“I guess. That and I wanna -see- other planets and all sorts a'things.”
“A better reason than my friend Calibur.” Striker said, “He hasn't told me his whole reason but I got a pretty good guess, and I don't like it.”
“Fun.” Deckstar drawled
Striker frowned
“Sorry I j--”
The blue truck-bot shook his head, “Not you.” he stood up and down the rest of the Energon/fuel blend, “...”
“Striker?”
An optic flicked offline as he twitched, “Nghn~”
“Yikes.”
“Yrrhgll.” Striker coughed softly as he set the container back on the table, “I'm going to see Magnus. I'm staying.”
----
Behold! A new 'episode' for Transformers: Another Universe has been posted!
Some might find it a bit "talky"... or maybe that's just my own writer's nitpicky paranoia but, as Striker said, its a Big decision, he's gonna ruminate on it ^_^ enjoy, comment, crit nicely, no flames, you know the drill!
Nicely done! I liked how Deckstar gave that advice to Striker without being too blatant or pushy about it. And the coffee reference was a nice touch, too! and *hehehe* I can only imagine the look on Calibur's faceplate when Wicket asked that question oh so innocently! ROTFL!
it was ok? oh good ^^ for a moment I was worried. thanks Freddycon
EDIT: because I'm an edit, I named the Gremlin after an Ewok I changed Wicket's name to Gizmo ^^;
EDIT: because I'm an edit, I named the Gremlin after an Ewok I changed Wicket's name to Gizmo ^^;
Magnus clasped his servos together as he leaned over his desk, “This is a little soon isn't it?”, he only posed the question to make sure Striker would not flip-flop. If he left, going back to Cybertron, then applied on his own that was fine.
Striker sat still, “I...” he nodded, “It is, yessir.” he agreed, even as he was certain he had a solid decision, there was still that annoying little subroutine in the background of his CPU, “I'm worried about Calibur, sir.”
“That private, personal matter between the two of you?” Magnus asked, “The one he assured me wouldn't deter his training or endanger the other recruits, you included of course.”
“He didn't lie to you sir, he firmly believes it won't and, from experience back home, will dive cranial unit first into something to make sure it doesn't. Still...”
Magnus nodded, “Striker I didn't press the issue yesterday because you had gone through enough. As Calibur's commanding officer and perhaps yours as well, if something is putting even one of my soldiers at risk I need to know about it. You understand that don't you?”
“I do sir.”
Magnus sat back, “I can't order it from you Striker, you're not an Autobot but--”
“I know sir.” Striker said, exhaling a long breath to collect his thoughts, “From what I speculate... it's survivor's guilt.”
“Survivor's guilt?”
“When the planet was attacked five stellar cycles ago--”
“Unicron's assault on Cybertron.”
Striker nodded, “Yessir. The Academy was being evacuated, the ground shaking, metal screaming as it was shorn away...” the young bot offlined his optics as the memory files overtook him.
The giant yellow-orange planetoid dominating the skies with those wicked, curved horns. His audio receptors filled with the screaming of metal and shattering of transluminate windows... of bots as they were lifted up towards that horrible gaping maw.
Striker jumped out of his seat, howling in surprise. Optics wide in panic, searching for... something.
Magnus spoke in hushed tones, not needing or wanting the young bot to freak out even further, “Calm down. You're safe, in my office.”
“I-- Sorry Ultra Magnus, I didn't mean to--”
Magnus sat back behind his desk, “It's fine Striker. Unicron's attack was...”
Striker nodded, agreeing with the larger bot's lack of a proper descriptive term for the event.
“Should I call for a medic?”
Striker shook his head, “No. No, I'll be o.k..” he sighed, “There's no way I can be an Autobot now, is there?”
“I wouldn't be surprised if everyone who witnessed the attack came away with similar trauma.” Magnus spoke honestly, “It really depends on severity and frequency of those attacks.”
Striker nodded, “I understand sir.” he sighed, taking large breaths to cool his systems, “This is... the first in about four years to tell the truth, aside from the occasional bad defrag when I recharge.”
“This isn't an order.” Ultra Magnus chose his words carefully, “If you want to talk to someone, we do have a Counselor on base by the name of Psywave.”
“Thank you sir.” Striker said, “I think it's just from the recent stress, I think I'm going to catch a stasis nap.”
“Good plan.” He nodded. As Striker stood he held up a servo, “Ah. Just a word of advice before you go...”
“Sir?”
“Next time? Hoist a flag, not your friend, hm?”
Striker flushed, “Yessir.”
“Dismissed.”
Calibur let loose a groan as he sat himself in the middle of the test track, knees acting as servo-rests, I hate studying and tests, this is stupid, we're Autobots not human drivers.
The green bot winced as he heard tires squeal against the water-slicked track, some kind of special training they give their security force, and the crash, again, of Doodlebug into the orange cones.
Having flipped onto her roof the shy, pink femme transformed to bot mode, hiding her face as Gizmo, again, laughed at her.
Haste smacked him up-side his helmet, shooting him a disapproving glare.
“Ack! Hey!” Gizmo whined, “Better back off with that slag.”
“You better watch your vocalizer, oil stain.” Haste shot back, “I don't take static from punk protoforms. Besides, I don't recall you doing too hot out there either. Go sit down.”
“Pft. Whatever.” Gizmo hissed, but following her order, “Least I didn't keep crashing.”
Haste ignored him.
“I'm fine, really.” Doodlebug tried to wave off the medi-bot-in-training, Tune-Up, from looking her over.
“Now don't you go givin' me any lip.” Tune-Up drawled, “That there was your fourth time crashin', y'all already dented yer pretty new alt-mode up, so I'm jes gonna check for internal damage.”
“I s-said I'm fine.” Doodlebug stammered, “I'd also rather have a femme medi-bot look at me, no offense.”
Tune-Up shrugged, standing from the kneeling position he had taken to help her, “Makes me no never-mind, jes you 'member that y'won' always git t'ask for a femme medi-bot.”
“I--I'm sorry Tune-Up.”
The semi-cab tow truck picked her up and set her on her feet, “Don' worry yer pretty lil processor. Yer nervous 'bout mech medi-bots, I kin process why. S'why I said it makes me no never-mind.”
“W-well... my right rotator is kinda sore.” she admitted
“Y'sure ya want me to look at it?”
Doodlebug nodded, “Please?”
Nodding, Tune-Up took a cycle to check her right rotator, testing her range of motion and seeing where her complaints started.
“Fft.” Gizmo motioned to the two, trying to hold a conversation with Calibur, “Look at her. Betchya that shy bit is a crock to get mechs to shill out credits for a good nights recharge, eh? Betchya so.”
“Please, stuff a muffler in it.” Calibur groused.
“Mech, what is your malfunction. I'm just trying to make convo.”
Calibur rubbed the sides of his helm, “Well, I don't want to make 'convo' right now.”
Gizmo rolled his optics, “Whatev, mech, whatev.”
Calibur gave a short shake of his head, saying nothing more to Gizmo
Annoying grease stain The truck-bot grumbled, No wonder he took so easily to that “Gremlin”
He was getting bored, tapping his servos against his strut-joint in a sort-of random rhythm. To much study, too little action.
The shockwave from the sudden explosion knocked Gizmo and Calibur onto their backs, Tune-Up, Doodlebug, Haste and the two or three humans assisting them were knocked flat on their skidplates.
“What the Pit?!” Gizmo coughed out hoarsly.
From behind Tune-Up's larger frame, Doodlebug was able to pick out three shapes near the north entrance to the track, standing in the bleachers, “There! North bleachers”
“I see them.” Haste coughed, trying to keep soot and granular debris out of her systems.
She saw three the figures. One was some sort of insect beast possessing mandibles and who's arms were long, curving scythe blades and mechanical. The second seemed to be a large bipedal bird creature with feathered wings. Lastly was an upright lizard monster with a large horn on his nose and two sets of dorsal spines.
“Yum. Target Practice.” screeched the bird monster before spreading it's stubby wings and flexing its claws, readying them for the delicious wholesale slaughter of the trainees below them.
Haste swallowed, her vocal tube suddenly dry and scratchy, “The Firecons...”
Since the alarm had gone off the unnerving itch that had crept slowly from the base of his spinal strut and all through his neural net as well as down through his tubings just would not leave.
He knew it was a Decepticon attack, that was easy to figure out. Despite nothing being announced he -knew- his friends were in trouble.
“C'mon Newbie.” shot a voice from behind him. Striker turned to see a small red rally car.
“C'mon.” The rally car grinned, pulling on Striker's arm, “You wanna help the other newbies, right?”
That got him moving, following the eager little mini-bot, “Where're we--”
“To get you armed.”
“But--”
“You got any friends in the recruits?” the rally car asked
“Three, two are out training.” Striker answered as he was led.
“Then you got two good reasons to come with--” the red rally car grabbed a white sports car's arm, “Yo Jazz, newbies coming with.”
The blue optic band glinted as Jazz grinned, “Cool man. Better hurry though, we're movin' out like two minutes ago.”
The rally car grinned, “I ain't gonna miss a chance to boot a Decepticon in the turbo-charger. C'mon newbie, how do you feel about heavy ordinance?”
“... Lead the way.” Striker grinned
The heat was starting to get to him. Calibur ducked as the three Firecons kept steady streams of fire at them.
Haste was able to gather the four of them, bunker them. She knew the Decepticons were toying with them. Her only hope was three-fold: Keep them occupied till reinforcements arrive, keep them interested so they don't go after the humans, keep herself and the recruits online and in mostly one piece.
So far, so 'good'.
The 'ping' of her shot ricocheting off one of them was a satisfying sound, even if it -did- earn a gout of flame tossed her way.
Haste took stock of the recruits: Calibur was doing his best with just his personal defense weapon, the smokestacks of his heavy pick-up alt-mode became arm mounted blasters for his bot mode; Tune-Up was the same, doing the best with what he was molded with, in this case it happened to be a smokestack-turned-EM Pulse Rifle and Haste suspected there was something to his towing-arm as well; Doodlebug was doing all she could with her little side-arm of a pistol, she was shaking horribly though; Gizmo, like all loud-mouth punks, was more talk than action. He was curled into a little ball, close to lubricating himself as they were assaulted.
“Give up Auto-brats!” hissed the one with scythe-arms, “We'll make it quick and painful... instead of just painful.”
The air filled with sick, twisted laughter that echoed against the high walls of the stadium surrounding the track.
“Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!” Gizmo yelled desperately, his pleas were met with only more insane laughter.
“Pull yourself together!” Haste snapped, trying to give the young bot something else to focus on, “Back-up -is- coming, everyone, keep it up!” Haste fired her heavy electron pistol, “Back-up's coming.” she repeated in a quieter tone.
“Slag that!” Gizmo spat, “I'm outta here!” The mini-bot scrambled up, running down the tunnel they had holed up in, one used to bring cars onto the track.
“Gizmo get ba--” Haste started, “Scatter!!”
The chain link fence that had closed off the far, outside end of the tunnel, was torn from its posts as the large heavy pick-up barreled through it, blasting his horn.
The red rally car and white sports car followed, they were in turned followed by a red fire engine and an old van style ambulance. These two transformed right away. The engine using his nozzle arm to douse the fire while the ambulance went to Haste, looking at her burns.
“First Aid. Am I ever glad you and Inferno are here.” Haste said, “ow.”
“Nasty burns.” First Aid said, “Don't worry. Jazz and Cliffjumper'll take care of the Firecons.”
“Ngh. Still gotta help. Striker...” Haste coughed, trying to clear the soot out of her system.
“Yo! Wait up new guy!” Jazz called after Striker.
He just gunned his engine, using some debris to ramp himself into the air, over a blast of flame from the bird monster. Striker's undercarriage was engulfed by a shot from the bipedal lizard, his target, who in turn was tackled by Striker's alt-mode and got a horned snout full of molten hot rubber as his melted tires ran him down, spinning out and leaving burning skid marks.
Both were screaming in pain and anger.
Shifting, the red rally car grinned, “I like the new kid's style.”
Jazz shifted to robot mode as well, standing next to him, “Heh. You would Cliffjumper.”
Speakers popped out of Jazz's sides and fired concentrated blasts of sound. Cliffjumper pulled out a long, heavy bazooka.
“Seriously man.” Jazz fired his rifle at the insectoid with the scythe arms, “Where do you ke-- no, never mind, don't wanna know.”
Cliffjumper took a knee, chuckling.
“I'll scrap you for that Autobot!” the lizard hissed, transforming to robot mode so he could see clearly, the molten rubber having glued his lizard mode's eyes shut.
Striker transformed to match robot mode to robot mode, pulling an almost overly large and definitely heavy looking assault rifle from his personal subspace, “Go suck a muffler Decepticon.” He cocked the rifle with a satisfyingly heavy-sounding 'k-chunk'.
The Firecon's optics narrowed as he leaped at Striker who, at the same moment, pulled the trigger of the heavy rifle.
Neither were really prepared for it.
Despite his forward momentum Cindersaur was flung backwards and lilted a little to the right as the concentrated phase-plasma bolt hit him just below the shoulder. The recoil from the rifle's internal firing systems sent the butt of the weapon into Striker's side, tearing a gash into him, as well as sending him flat on his exhaust port.
“Striker!” Calibur shouted, his optic band wide with panic.
“Jazz go. I'll cover ya!” Cliffjumper nodded his helm towards 'the new kid' before firing his bazooka at Flamefeather and Sparkstalker. The two dodged, but caught in the blast and thrown a few extra feet.
Jazz motored over to Striker, “Yo kid? Kid?!”
“--'m fine.” Striker winced.
“No you ain't, can you transform?” Jazz asked
“Ye-yeah, I think I can... but my wheels are slagged.” Striker pushed Jazz away without warning and planted the butt of his weapon along-side Cindersaur's cranial unit, then kicked the Decepticon in the side. Jazz fired his weapon, one shot shattered an optic, the second took half of Cindersaur's jaw, the third bored its way through the Firecon's lower forehead, ripping a path in his neural net.
Jazz and Striker both stared as the body fell to the ground.
“Little help?!” Cliffjumper hollered as he swung his bazooka like a bat, fending off the other two Firecons while the other recruits peppered them with the low powered weaponry they had, Haste's pistol doing more damage.
The sweet ring of a ricochet pealed through the air. Flamefeather dropped, shot right between his alt-mode's optics. Doodlebug dropped her weapon in shock.
“I... w-wow.”
Sparkstalker hissed in anger, charging Doodlebug.
“No-ya-don't!” Cliffjumper knocked his bazooka into Sparkstalker's side, sending him off kilter, then leveled it at the back of the wide, flat insect head before pulling the trigger and mouthing “Boom~”
Headless, Sparkstalker's body slumped, making a muffled clang as it hit the grassy in-field of the track, the tubes and wires melted shut, cauterized, by the point blank blast.
Striker collapsed, Jazz catching him.
“First Aid! Need a little medic action!”
Ahhh... Slag it! I passed out didn't I?
These were Striker's first words/thoughts as his optics were greeted by the backside view of the doors to a CR Chamber.
A thin sliver of light appeared, meaning the doors were opening, the machine had finished healing his wound. The gap widened, his optics adjusting to the light.
“How do you feel?” First Aid stood off to the side, monitoring the CRC's readouts.
“Like... what is it the human's say... a piece of toast?” Striker grinned, “I feel like I just popped out of a toaster.”
First Aid gave him a 'look'
“A little sore, but I'll live.” Striker cleared his throat.
“Better.” First Aid said, “Let me check your side, then if you're up to it Ultra Magnus is here to speak with you.”
“Great.” Striker cleared his throat again.
“Look at that cough too.” First Aid muttered as he probed Striker's side, the recruit trying to hide a wince. The CRC fixed him up of course, but the wound still felt sore.
“What were you thinking? I just want to know. No training in firearms, I checked, so what made you thinking firing a Model L337-BFG from the hip was a good idea?”
“A... what?”
“The weapon, it's a Long Range, Heavy Assault Phase-Plasma Rifle.” First Aid said, “Model: L337-BFG.”
“Oh.” Striker said, “Didn't. The Decepticon was too close to shoulder it properly.”
“And you know how to do that? Shoulder it properly that is?”
“Ah not -ah- not in practice, no.” Striker mumbled.
“Ahuh. Just because you're a heavy pick-up doesn't mean you can just expect your size to compensate for lack of training and is a highly self-endangering od--”
“Now wait First Aid.” Striker said, “Cliffjumper grabbed me to with you, Inferno, Jazz and him 'cause I wanted to help my friends, the other recruits and Haste. -He- gave it to me, said it had a 'kick', nothing about knocking me onto my exhaust port like that.”
First Aid gave Striker a critical optic before marking something down on his data-pad, “Alright, you're checked out. The nano-cycle you feel anything wrong with where you were wounded I want you back here and I'll run a diagnostic scan.”
Striker saluted the medical bot, First Aid nodded in return, giving a sigh that roughly translated to 'kids' and motioned to the door.
The door where Ultra Magnus stood waiting.
“Ugh~” The recruit groaned.
Silently Ultra Magnus motioned for Striker to follow him. Turning down hall after hall without saying anything, Striker found himself being led to a rather tranquil lake surrounded by lush greenery, close by was a large hill with what appeared to be a rest area with telescopes.
Ultra Magnus looked out over the lake, his servos clasped behind his broad back, optics distant. Striker said nothing, uncertain as to what, or even if, he should.
“Pictures really don't go it justice.” Magnus' deep voice finally broke the silence between them, “Organic nature, so incredibly similar to our own but completely amazing on its own merits.”
Striker nodded, after seeing even this tiny bit of Earth's natural features, he agreed.
“What am I going to do with you Striker?” The car carrier asked.
Striker, still silent, cast a wary optic towards Magnus. As he feared Magnus -was- looking at him, though it was passive, perhaps even a bit bemused.
“What am I going to do with you?” Magnus posed the question again, “You -have- caused quite a commotion through at least three levels of command structure--” he extended a servo, “-- decked a fellow recruit, a squad member no less--” he extended a second servo, “-- hoisted that same recruit up your base's main flag pole--” this caused a third servo to join the others, “-- the stupidest though, was actually going along with Cliffjumper to fight the Firecons. This isn't the beginning of the War, the Autobots aren't rag-tag rebels whose only training is on-the-job anymore. Yes, it's only been five years since the last battle of an eleven million year war...”
“... 'Year' sir?”
“Stellar Cycle, basically.” Magnus explained
“Forgive the interruption.”
Magnus nodded, “Forgiven.” he exhaled, “What you did was stupid and dangerous, you could have gotten yourself offlined, permanent.”
Striker swallowed, “-- Sir?”
“Hm.”
“Sir, if I may speak plainly.” Striker paused a nano-cycle to process and carefully word his thoughts, “There is a difference between mindlessly and recklessly endangering one's Shell and Spark or those of others, to face others in battle for whatever the reason... and forgoing personal safety to protect, save, defend or aid others because it is the right thing to do.” he inhaled, trying to keep his systems from overheating due to nervousness, “You're right Ultra Magnus, it was stupid but... honestly... after even just a day of watching the mechs and femmes here... any of them would have done the same if one of their comrades was in danger, and if it was a friend? I'm sorry Ultra Magnus, but I would honestly do it again.”
“Oh?”
“... Well, maybe use a different weapon--” Striker flushed in embarrassment.
“Cliffjumper's idea?”
“Yessir.”
Magnus gave a short cough to cover a chuckle, “I might've processed.”
Striker looked to the lake, having said his piece he didn't know how to continue.
“You haven't been getting special treatment, in case you were wondering.” Magnus spoke, “You needed the rest so you could think about your situation clearly. As you weren't yet -actually- a recruit, there was no need to start training you might not have completed anyway.” he pointed out, “I did, however, let you decking and hoisting Calibur slide.”
“Oh, sir?”
“I would say a single punch is fair enough for what he did, the fact you -kept- it at the one is commendable. I'm fairly sure other bots would have started a full-on brawl.” Magnus said, “And while juvenile, hoisting Calibur was relatively inoffensive in and of itself. If, however, it continued or escalated...”
“I process the transmission, Sir.”
Mangus nodded, “As long as we understand each other.”
“Yessir.”
Magnus put a servo on Striker's shoulder, “You spoke well on your actions, I'd say in a very 'Autobot' manner.”
“I had to do -something-, I -knew- they were in trouble.” Striker said
“I understand Striker.” Ultra Magnus said, “I may be the City's Commander but really I'm just a solider, if I were younger...” he pat Striker's shoulder, turning so the two were facing one another, “You've studied Cybertronian History?”
“Of course sir.” He answered, “I even remember most of the classes.”
“Then you know the meaning behind the Autobot's insignia?”
Striker nodded, “The Autobrand was originally used by the Quintesson invaders to distinguish their slaves. What is now the Autobot insignia was originally meant for domestic labor, the Wrecker's insignia was originally meant for heavier labor like warehouse or dock workers or construction... that's why there's a hammer incorporated into the insignia. The Decepticon insignia was intended for those the Quintesson's felt would best show their potential customers our race's battle ability, using pit fighting as the venue.” he thought for a moment. “It's meaning... it's a reminder. Even thought it's worn with pride and honor now, it's worn to remind ourselves of the oppression that once threatened our world and how the oppressed rose up and would always rise up to fight for peace and freedom.”
“Again, well spoken.” Ultra Magnus placed his free hand out to Striker, in it was an Autobrand, “Spoken like a true Autobot.”
[END]
Striker sat still, “I...” he nodded, “It is, yessir.” he agreed, even as he was certain he had a solid decision, there was still that annoying little subroutine in the background of his CPU, “I'm worried about Calibur, sir.”
“That private, personal matter between the two of you?” Magnus asked, “The one he assured me wouldn't deter his training or endanger the other recruits, you included of course.”
“He didn't lie to you sir, he firmly believes it won't and, from experience back home, will dive cranial unit first into something to make sure it doesn't. Still...”
Magnus nodded, “Striker I didn't press the issue yesterday because you had gone through enough. As Calibur's commanding officer and perhaps yours as well, if something is putting even one of my soldiers at risk I need to know about it. You understand that don't you?”
“I do sir.”
Magnus sat back, “I can't order it from you Striker, you're not an Autobot but--”
“I know sir.” Striker said, exhaling a long breath to collect his thoughts, “From what I speculate... it's survivor's guilt.”
“Survivor's guilt?”
“When the planet was attacked five stellar cycles ago--”
“Unicron's assault on Cybertron.”
Striker nodded, “Yessir. The Academy was being evacuated, the ground shaking, metal screaming as it was shorn away...” the young bot offlined his optics as the memory files overtook him.
The giant yellow-orange planetoid dominating the skies with those wicked, curved horns. His audio receptors filled with the screaming of metal and shattering of transluminate windows... of bots as they were lifted up towards that horrible gaping maw.
Striker jumped out of his seat, howling in surprise. Optics wide in panic, searching for... something.
Magnus spoke in hushed tones, not needing or wanting the young bot to freak out even further, “Calm down. You're safe, in my office.”
“I-- Sorry Ultra Magnus, I didn't mean to--”
Magnus sat back behind his desk, “It's fine Striker. Unicron's attack was...”
Striker nodded, agreeing with the larger bot's lack of a proper descriptive term for the event.
“Should I call for a medic?”
Striker shook his head, “No. No, I'll be o.k..” he sighed, “There's no way I can be an Autobot now, is there?”
“I wouldn't be surprised if everyone who witnessed the attack came away with similar trauma.” Magnus spoke honestly, “It really depends on severity and frequency of those attacks.”
Striker nodded, “I understand sir.” he sighed, taking large breaths to cool his systems, “This is... the first in about four years to tell the truth, aside from the occasional bad defrag when I recharge.”
“This isn't an order.” Ultra Magnus chose his words carefully, “If you want to talk to someone, we do have a Counselor on base by the name of Psywave.”
“Thank you sir.” Striker said, “I think it's just from the recent stress, I think I'm going to catch a stasis nap.”
“Good plan.” He nodded. As Striker stood he held up a servo, “Ah. Just a word of advice before you go...”
“Sir?”
“Next time? Hoist a flag, not your friend, hm?”
Striker flushed, “Yessir.”
“Dismissed.”
= = = =
Calibur let loose a groan as he sat himself in the middle of the test track, knees acting as servo-rests, I hate studying and tests, this is stupid, we're Autobots not human drivers.
The green bot winced as he heard tires squeal against the water-slicked track, some kind of special training they give their security force, and the crash, again, of Doodlebug into the orange cones.
Having flipped onto her roof the shy, pink femme transformed to bot mode, hiding her face as Gizmo, again, laughed at her.
Haste smacked him up-side his helmet, shooting him a disapproving glare.
“Ack! Hey!” Gizmo whined, “Better back off with that slag.”
“You better watch your vocalizer, oil stain.” Haste shot back, “I don't take static from punk protoforms. Besides, I don't recall you doing too hot out there either. Go sit down.”
“Pft. Whatever.” Gizmo hissed, but following her order, “Least I didn't keep crashing.”
Haste ignored him.
“I'm fine, really.” Doodlebug tried to wave off the medi-bot-in-training, Tune-Up, from looking her over.
“Now don't you go givin' me any lip.” Tune-Up drawled, “That there was your fourth time crashin', y'all already dented yer pretty new alt-mode up, so I'm jes gonna check for internal damage.”
“I s-said I'm fine.” Doodlebug stammered, “I'd also rather have a femme medi-bot look at me, no offense.”
Tune-Up shrugged, standing from the kneeling position he had taken to help her, “Makes me no never-mind, jes you 'member that y'won' always git t'ask for a femme medi-bot.”
“I--I'm sorry Tune-Up.”
The semi-cab tow truck picked her up and set her on her feet, “Don' worry yer pretty lil processor. Yer nervous 'bout mech medi-bots, I kin process why. S'why I said it makes me no never-mind.”
“W-well... my right rotator is kinda sore.” she admitted
“Y'sure ya want me to look at it?”
Doodlebug nodded, “Please?”
Nodding, Tune-Up took a cycle to check her right rotator, testing her range of motion and seeing where her complaints started.
“Fft.” Gizmo motioned to the two, trying to hold a conversation with Calibur, “Look at her. Betchya that shy bit is a crock to get mechs to shill out credits for a good nights recharge, eh? Betchya so.”
“Please, stuff a muffler in it.” Calibur groused.
“Mech, what is your malfunction. I'm just trying to make convo.”
Calibur rubbed the sides of his helm, “Well, I don't want to make 'convo' right now.”
Gizmo rolled his optics, “Whatev, mech, whatev.”
Calibur gave a short shake of his head, saying nothing more to Gizmo
Annoying grease stain The truck-bot grumbled, No wonder he took so easily to that “Gremlin”
He was getting bored, tapping his servos against his strut-joint in a sort-of random rhythm. To much study, too little action.
The shockwave from the sudden explosion knocked Gizmo and Calibur onto their backs, Tune-Up, Doodlebug, Haste and the two or three humans assisting them were knocked flat on their skidplates.
“What the Pit?!” Gizmo coughed out hoarsly.
From behind Tune-Up's larger frame, Doodlebug was able to pick out three shapes near the north entrance to the track, standing in the bleachers, “There! North bleachers”
“I see them.” Haste coughed, trying to keep soot and granular debris out of her systems.
She saw three the figures. One was some sort of insect beast possessing mandibles and who's arms were long, curving scythe blades and mechanical. The second seemed to be a large bipedal bird creature with feathered wings. Lastly was an upright lizard monster with a large horn on his nose and two sets of dorsal spines.
“Yum. Target Practice.” screeched the bird monster before spreading it's stubby wings and flexing its claws, readying them for the delicious wholesale slaughter of the trainees below them.
Haste swallowed, her vocal tube suddenly dry and scratchy, “The Firecons...”
= = = =
Since the alarm had gone off the unnerving itch that had crept slowly from the base of his spinal strut and all through his neural net as well as down through his tubings just would not leave.
He knew it was a Decepticon attack, that was easy to figure out. Despite nothing being announced he -knew- his friends were in trouble.
“C'mon Newbie.” shot a voice from behind him. Striker turned to see a small red rally car.
“C'mon.” The rally car grinned, pulling on Striker's arm, “You wanna help the other newbies, right?”
That got him moving, following the eager little mini-bot, “Where're we--”
“To get you armed.”
“But--”
“You got any friends in the recruits?” the rally car asked
“Three, two are out training.” Striker answered as he was led.
“Then you got two good reasons to come with--” the red rally car grabbed a white sports car's arm, “Yo Jazz, newbies coming with.”
The blue optic band glinted as Jazz grinned, “Cool man. Better hurry though, we're movin' out like two minutes ago.”
The rally car grinned, “I ain't gonna miss a chance to boot a Decepticon in the turbo-charger. C'mon newbie, how do you feel about heavy ordinance?”
“... Lead the way.” Striker grinned
= = = =
The heat was starting to get to him. Calibur ducked as the three Firecons kept steady streams of fire at them.
Haste was able to gather the four of them, bunker them. She knew the Decepticons were toying with them. Her only hope was three-fold: Keep them occupied till reinforcements arrive, keep them interested so they don't go after the humans, keep herself and the recruits online and in mostly one piece.
So far, so 'good'.
The 'ping' of her shot ricocheting off one of them was a satisfying sound, even if it -did- earn a gout of flame tossed her way.
Haste took stock of the recruits: Calibur was doing his best with just his personal defense weapon, the smokestacks of his heavy pick-up alt-mode became arm mounted blasters for his bot mode; Tune-Up was the same, doing the best with what he was molded with, in this case it happened to be a smokestack-turned-EM Pulse Rifle and Haste suspected there was something to his towing-arm as well; Doodlebug was doing all she could with her little side-arm of a pistol, she was shaking horribly though; Gizmo, like all loud-mouth punks, was more talk than action. He was curled into a little ball, close to lubricating himself as they were assaulted.
“Give up Auto-brats!” hissed the one with scythe-arms, “We'll make it quick and painful... instead of just painful.”
The air filled with sick, twisted laughter that echoed against the high walls of the stadium surrounding the track.
“Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!” Gizmo yelled desperately, his pleas were met with only more insane laughter.
“Pull yourself together!” Haste snapped, trying to give the young bot something else to focus on, “Back-up -is- coming, everyone, keep it up!” Haste fired her heavy electron pistol, “Back-up's coming.” she repeated in a quieter tone.
“Slag that!” Gizmo spat, “I'm outta here!” The mini-bot scrambled up, running down the tunnel they had holed up in, one used to bring cars onto the track.
“Gizmo get ba--” Haste started, “Scatter!!”
The chain link fence that had closed off the far, outside end of the tunnel, was torn from its posts as the large heavy pick-up barreled through it, blasting his horn.
The red rally car and white sports car followed, they were in turned followed by a red fire engine and an old van style ambulance. These two transformed right away. The engine using his nozzle arm to douse the fire while the ambulance went to Haste, looking at her burns.
“First Aid. Am I ever glad you and Inferno are here.” Haste said, “ow.”
“Nasty burns.” First Aid said, “Don't worry. Jazz and Cliffjumper'll take care of the Firecons.”
“Ngh. Still gotta help. Striker...” Haste coughed, trying to clear the soot out of her system.
“Yo! Wait up new guy!” Jazz called after Striker.
He just gunned his engine, using some debris to ramp himself into the air, over a blast of flame from the bird monster. Striker's undercarriage was engulfed by a shot from the bipedal lizard, his target, who in turn was tackled by Striker's alt-mode and got a horned snout full of molten hot rubber as his melted tires ran him down, spinning out and leaving burning skid marks.
Both were screaming in pain and anger.
Shifting, the red rally car grinned, “I like the new kid's style.”
Jazz shifted to robot mode as well, standing next to him, “Heh. You would Cliffjumper.”
Speakers popped out of Jazz's sides and fired concentrated blasts of sound. Cliffjumper pulled out a long, heavy bazooka.
“Seriously man.” Jazz fired his rifle at the insectoid with the scythe arms, “Where do you ke-- no, never mind, don't wanna know.”
Cliffjumper took a knee, chuckling.
“I'll scrap you for that Autobot!” the lizard hissed, transforming to robot mode so he could see clearly, the molten rubber having glued his lizard mode's eyes shut.
Striker transformed to match robot mode to robot mode, pulling an almost overly large and definitely heavy looking assault rifle from his personal subspace, “Go suck a muffler Decepticon.” He cocked the rifle with a satisfyingly heavy-sounding 'k-chunk'.
The Firecon's optics narrowed as he leaped at Striker who, at the same moment, pulled the trigger of the heavy rifle.
Neither were really prepared for it.
Despite his forward momentum Cindersaur was flung backwards and lilted a little to the right as the concentrated phase-plasma bolt hit him just below the shoulder. The recoil from the rifle's internal firing systems sent the butt of the weapon into Striker's side, tearing a gash into him, as well as sending him flat on his exhaust port.
“Striker!” Calibur shouted, his optic band wide with panic.
“Jazz go. I'll cover ya!” Cliffjumper nodded his helm towards 'the new kid' before firing his bazooka at Flamefeather and Sparkstalker. The two dodged, but caught in the blast and thrown a few extra feet.
Jazz motored over to Striker, “Yo kid? Kid?!”
“--'m fine.” Striker winced.
“No you ain't, can you transform?” Jazz asked
“Ye-yeah, I think I can... but my wheels are slagged.” Striker pushed Jazz away without warning and planted the butt of his weapon along-side Cindersaur's cranial unit, then kicked the Decepticon in the side. Jazz fired his weapon, one shot shattered an optic, the second took half of Cindersaur's jaw, the third bored its way through the Firecon's lower forehead, ripping a path in his neural net.
Jazz and Striker both stared as the body fell to the ground.
“Little help?!” Cliffjumper hollered as he swung his bazooka like a bat, fending off the other two Firecons while the other recruits peppered them with the low powered weaponry they had, Haste's pistol doing more damage.
The sweet ring of a ricochet pealed through the air. Flamefeather dropped, shot right between his alt-mode's optics. Doodlebug dropped her weapon in shock.
“I... w-wow.”
Sparkstalker hissed in anger, charging Doodlebug.
“No-ya-don't!” Cliffjumper knocked his bazooka into Sparkstalker's side, sending him off kilter, then leveled it at the back of the wide, flat insect head before pulling the trigger and mouthing “Boom~”
Headless, Sparkstalker's body slumped, making a muffled clang as it hit the grassy in-field of the track, the tubes and wires melted shut, cauterized, by the point blank blast.
Striker collapsed, Jazz catching him.
“First Aid! Need a little medic action!”
= = = =
Ahhh... Slag it! I passed out didn't I?
These were Striker's first words/thoughts as his optics were greeted by the backside view of the doors to a CR Chamber.
A thin sliver of light appeared, meaning the doors were opening, the machine had finished healing his wound. The gap widened, his optics adjusting to the light.
“How do you feel?” First Aid stood off to the side, monitoring the CRC's readouts.
“Like... what is it the human's say... a piece of toast?” Striker grinned, “I feel like I just popped out of a toaster.”
First Aid gave him a 'look'
“A little sore, but I'll live.” Striker cleared his throat.
“Better.” First Aid said, “Let me check your side, then if you're up to it Ultra Magnus is here to speak with you.”
“Great.” Striker cleared his throat again.
“Look at that cough too.” First Aid muttered as he probed Striker's side, the recruit trying to hide a wince. The CRC fixed him up of course, but the wound still felt sore.
“What were you thinking? I just want to know. No training in firearms, I checked, so what made you thinking firing a Model L337-BFG from the hip was a good idea?”
“A... what?”
“The weapon, it's a Long Range, Heavy Assault Phase-Plasma Rifle.” First Aid said, “Model: L337-BFG.”
“Oh.” Striker said, “Didn't. The Decepticon was too close to shoulder it properly.”
“And you know how to do that? Shoulder it properly that is?”
“Ah not -ah- not in practice, no.” Striker mumbled.
“Ahuh. Just because you're a heavy pick-up doesn't mean you can just expect your size to compensate for lack of training and is a highly self-endangering od--”
“Now wait First Aid.” Striker said, “Cliffjumper grabbed me to with you, Inferno, Jazz and him 'cause I wanted to help my friends, the other recruits and Haste. -He- gave it to me, said it had a 'kick', nothing about knocking me onto my exhaust port like that.”
First Aid gave Striker a critical optic before marking something down on his data-pad, “Alright, you're checked out. The nano-cycle you feel anything wrong with where you were wounded I want you back here and I'll run a diagnostic scan.”
Striker saluted the medical bot, First Aid nodded in return, giving a sigh that roughly translated to 'kids' and motioned to the door.
The door where Ultra Magnus stood waiting.
“Ugh~” The recruit groaned.
= = = =
Silently Ultra Magnus motioned for Striker to follow him. Turning down hall after hall without saying anything, Striker found himself being led to a rather tranquil lake surrounded by lush greenery, close by was a large hill with what appeared to be a rest area with telescopes.
Ultra Magnus looked out over the lake, his servos clasped behind his broad back, optics distant. Striker said nothing, uncertain as to what, or even if, he should.
“Pictures really don't go it justice.” Magnus' deep voice finally broke the silence between them, “Organic nature, so incredibly similar to our own but completely amazing on its own merits.”
Striker nodded, after seeing even this tiny bit of Earth's natural features, he agreed.
“What am I going to do with you Striker?” The car carrier asked.
Striker, still silent, cast a wary optic towards Magnus. As he feared Magnus -was- looking at him, though it was passive, perhaps even a bit bemused.
“What am I going to do with you?” Magnus posed the question again, “You -have- caused quite a commotion through at least three levels of command structure--” he extended a servo, “-- decked a fellow recruit, a squad member no less--” he extended a second servo, “-- hoisted that same recruit up your base's main flag pole--” this caused a third servo to join the others, “-- the stupidest though, was actually going along with Cliffjumper to fight the Firecons. This isn't the beginning of the War, the Autobots aren't rag-tag rebels whose only training is on-the-job anymore. Yes, it's only been five years since the last battle of an eleven million year war...”
“... 'Year' sir?”
“Stellar Cycle, basically.” Magnus explained
“Forgive the interruption.”
Magnus nodded, “Forgiven.” he exhaled, “What you did was stupid and dangerous, you could have gotten yourself offlined, permanent.”
Striker swallowed, “-- Sir?”
“Hm.”
“Sir, if I may speak plainly.” Striker paused a nano-cycle to process and carefully word his thoughts, “There is a difference between mindlessly and recklessly endangering one's Shell and Spark or those of others, to face others in battle for whatever the reason... and forgoing personal safety to protect, save, defend or aid others because it is the right thing to do.” he inhaled, trying to keep his systems from overheating due to nervousness, “You're right Ultra Magnus, it was stupid but... honestly... after even just a day of watching the mechs and femmes here... any of them would have done the same if one of their comrades was in danger, and if it was a friend? I'm sorry Ultra Magnus, but I would honestly do it again.”
“Oh?”
“... Well, maybe use a different weapon--” Striker flushed in embarrassment.
“Cliffjumper's idea?”
“Yessir.”
Magnus gave a short cough to cover a chuckle, “I might've processed.”
Striker looked to the lake, having said his piece he didn't know how to continue.
“You haven't been getting special treatment, in case you were wondering.” Magnus spoke, “You needed the rest so you could think about your situation clearly. As you weren't yet -actually- a recruit, there was no need to start training you might not have completed anyway.” he pointed out, “I did, however, let you decking and hoisting Calibur slide.”
“Oh, sir?”
“I would say a single punch is fair enough for what he did, the fact you -kept- it at the one is commendable. I'm fairly sure other bots would have started a full-on brawl.” Magnus said, “And while juvenile, hoisting Calibur was relatively inoffensive in and of itself. If, however, it continued or escalated...”
“I process the transmission, Sir.”
Mangus nodded, “As long as we understand each other.”
“Yessir.”
Magnus put a servo on Striker's shoulder, “You spoke well on your actions, I'd say in a very 'Autobot' manner.”
“I had to do -something-, I -knew- they were in trouble.” Striker said
“I understand Striker.” Ultra Magnus said, “I may be the City's Commander but really I'm just a solider, if I were younger...” he pat Striker's shoulder, turning so the two were facing one another, “You've studied Cybertronian History?”
“Of course sir.” He answered, “I even remember most of the classes.”
“Then you know the meaning behind the Autobot's insignia?”
Striker nodded, “The Autobrand was originally used by the Quintesson invaders to distinguish their slaves. What is now the Autobot insignia was originally meant for domestic labor, the Wrecker's insignia was originally meant for heavier labor like warehouse or dock workers or construction... that's why there's a hammer incorporated into the insignia. The Decepticon insignia was intended for those the Quintesson's felt would best show their potential customers our race's battle ability, using pit fighting as the venue.” he thought for a moment. “It's meaning... it's a reminder. Even thought it's worn with pride and honor now, it's worn to remind ourselves of the oppression that once threatened our world and how the oppressed rose up and would always rise up to fight for peace and freedom.”
“Again, well spoken.” Ultra Magnus placed his free hand out to Striker, in it was an Autobrand, “Spoken like a true Autobot.”
[END]
DAMN that was good! Can't say I'm really surprised by how it ended but I'm really pleased nonetheless! Had to smile at Cliffjumper's antics and weapons recommendations!
Hopefully you'll be coming back to this again sometime; it's just too good a story to cut off for good right here, I get the feeling that Striker is going to have a lot more memorable experiences as a now full-fledged Autobot! (And likely a few he will hope to forget with Calibur, lol!)
Hopefully you'll be coming back to this again sometime; it's just too good a story to cut off for good right here, I get the feeling that Striker is going to have a lot more memorable experiences as a now full-fledged Autobot! (And likely a few he will hope to forget with Calibur, lol!)
oh the [END] tag is just so people know the story is finished ^^
I should probably start putting titles into the posts >>;
I'm glad you liked it! One of the few scenes I clearly remember is CJ shouldering that MASSIVE bazooka and trying to snipe Megatron with it. He seems like a bot that enjoys a good explosion (from IDW's All Hail Megatron it seemed that way anyway) and what gives the best explosions next to actual explosives? Ballistics :3 So while not a super-survivalist-style gun nut... he appreciates guns, and looks like he's going to bestow that love unto Striker (and Calibur, which is why I named him so)
I'm gonna take the weekend to relax and on monday, or sunday night if I'm bored, start my third story which actually shifts focus away from the recruits to the Decepitcons
<Announcer VO>NEXT TIME ON TRANSFORMERS: ANOTHER UNIVERSE - "THE DEVIL YOU KNOW"</Announcer VO>
I should probably start putting titles into the posts >>;
I'm glad you liked it! One of the few scenes I clearly remember is CJ shouldering that MASSIVE bazooka and trying to snipe Megatron with it. He seems like a bot that enjoys a good explosion (from IDW's All Hail Megatron it seemed that way anyway) and what gives the best explosions next to actual explosives? Ballistics :3 So while not a super-survivalist-style gun nut... he appreciates guns, and looks like he's going to bestow that love unto Striker (and Calibur, which is why I named him so)
I'm gonna take the weekend to relax and on monday, or sunday night if I'm bored, start my third story which actually shifts focus away from the recruits to the Decepitcons
<Announcer VO>NEXT TIME ON TRANSFORMERS: ANOTHER UNIVERSE - "THE DEVIL YOU KNOW"</Announcer VO>
*whistles* well... a month since I posted anything.
I wanted to apologize about that. you see, my birthday was june 26th, the day after my last post here, even if my last story post was on the 19th of june.
I wanted to assure my readers that I've not given up on the story, NOR am I giving into a hiatus. Its just been a bit of writer's block mixed with a few days of nasty sinus headaches, day 2's of recovery FROM those headaches... and a bit of feeling kinda lazy
The 'episode' I'm working on now is, I feel, important to the over-all plot and I just want to do it right, so I want to take my time on it. I hope you all can forgive me for my silence and not give up on my posting more story ^^
Thank you
I wanted to apologize about that. you see, my birthday was june 26th, the day after my last post here, even if my last story post was on the 19th of june.
I wanted to assure my readers that I've not given up on the story, NOR am I giving into a hiatus. Its just been a bit of writer's block mixed with a few days of nasty sinus headaches, day 2's of recovery FROM those headaches... and a bit of feeling kinda lazy
The 'episode' I'm working on now is, I feel, important to the over-all plot and I just want to do it right, so I want to take my time on it. I hope you all can forgive me for my silence and not give up on my posting more story ^^
Thank you
Seconded. I read the whole thing today and I loved it. Your portrayal of the new and old bots was really good. Plus, Ultra Magnus is one of my favourite characters, so to have him do anything in a story is cool.
I'll be watching and waiting for you to do more to this intriguing new spin on G1. Striker and the rest are great new characters.
Oh yes, and I love Cliffjumpers 'big gun' obsession. Hehe, hey new recruit, wanna take out some Decepticons? Here try the latest Phase Plasma BFG!!
I'll be watching and waiting for you to do more to this intriguing new spin on G1. Striker and the rest are great new characters.
Oh yes, and I love Cliffjumpers 'big gun' obsession. Hehe, hey new recruit, wanna take out some Decepticons? Here try the latest Phase Plasma BFG!!
Well thank you GSO, I've been doing my best to plot out the next part of the story, as I've said before it starts a major plot point so I want to do my best on it, but Real Life sometimes says "no, you're out two days with a migraine"
CJ: heh, so rookie, how's the side
Striker: >>; just fine Cliffjumper
CJ: *smacks side* Good to hear! Come on lets go train
Striker: X_@ ~sure~
CJ: heh, so rookie, how's the side
Striker: >>; just fine Cliffjumper
CJ: *smacks side* Good to hear! Come on lets go train
Striker: X_@ ~sure~
Yep, that's Cliffjumper. If he can take it, so can everyone else. Even if they can't, which he obviously doesn't notice hehe.
I'm glad you approve and enjoy ^^
I have to admit its a bit of a trick to flesh out their personalities as a lot didn't get much in the cartoon
I have to admit its a bit of a trick to flesh out their personalities as a lot didn't get much in the cartoon
Kaon, Decepticon City-state that was relatively untouched by Unicron's assault, however not by the fall out of that attack. Kaon, and Kolkular fortress, was seen as a gathering point and last bastion of Decepticon power, a Power that was still being fought for five stellar cycles later.
Though he showed no emotion a fire raged in his Spark at the time wasting and stupidity of the in-fighting. So many ego subroutines inflated with self-importance, each believing they could step-up and fill the strut-prints of the mech who created the very army they sought to control from nothing more than 'street trash' and pit fighters, slaves. To be able to coerce, guide, control.
No. was the answer. To him only one mech could lead the Decepicons, the one who took them and forged them into the Army they were. Cybertron had been theirs, but the Autobots only saw on oppressor replaced by another, so they fought and Cybertron suffered.
It still suffered, and he vowed he would do all he could for Cybertron.
This was why he was here, walking down the darkened halls of the fortress, his path illuminated by his optic band. Stopping at a door he passed his servo over a panel on the wall to his right, not even bothering to turn his helm to look as he heard the quiet whirring of the panel lifting up, retracting into the wall and an access console shifting forward. Placing his servo to the reactive transluminate of the panel there was soon a low decibel and low volume tone, the click of a lock unlatching and with a creak and groan of metal-on-metal the door before him split open. Striding through the opening he entered the underground bunker that was currently serving as a make-shift medical bay but was in actuality a research and development lab.
Weakly, the yellow optic flickered to life, half-exposed cranial circuitry blinking and sparking as a head swung towards the visitor, a rasping vocalizer forced out words.
“Ah Sz-Soundwave, y-you've come to visit again. How k-k-kind.”
“Pleasantries: False, Information is required Shockwave.”
“Isn't it a-alwaysz?” Shockwave rasped, “I shall a-sz-ssume then, that your search for M-Mega-a-a-tron'sz body has yet to yeild-d results?”
Soundwave's optic flickered in annoyance, while Shockwave's brightened in amusement at how much a single optic could convey, especially when paired with an equally emotionless and expressionless mouth-guard.
“I shall that that as-z a 'no' then.” Shockwave did his best to keep his cool, logical air about him even as his half-crushed, half-mutilated body was wired into the Spark-support machines.
“Assumption: Correct, Megatron's body has not been located.” Soundwave finally spoke.
“Then you wish to p-p-proceed-d with your little proje-c-c-ct?” Shockwave's vocalizer hiccuped.
“Affirmative. Decepticons: Scattered. Force: Powerless. Leader: Needed. Megatron: Needed.”
“You've m-m-made your point Soundwave.”
Soundwave moved over to a computer console, inputting a list of commands.
“Tell me Szz-Soundwave... what makes you process this little gambit suc-c-ceeding?”
Soundwave turned to look at Shockwave, “Because it will not be just a clone.”
“What do you mean? Of course it will be.” Shockwave coughed, “A blank pro-pro-protoform with m-memory pro-pro-protocols but no Sz-Spark is nothing more than an advanced automaton, a robotic clone.
“Solution: Vector Sigma.” Soundwave droned, “Plan: Implant memory protocols before implanting Spark into protoform.”
“Even so--”
“Megatron's Memory: Intact.”
“A-All of it?”
“Correct.”
“How.”
“Megaplex processing core.” Soundwave answered, “Function: Specialized processing core. Purpose: Retention and archiving of Megatron's memory.”
“Incredible”
Soundwave cocked his helm, “Surprise: Illogical.”
“Wh-- How d-dare you!” Shockwave sputtered.
“Purpose: Back-up in case treachery or plot to overthrow succeeded.”
“I always did wonder why Megatron kept that screeching harpy around for so long.”
“Reason: Unknown. Conjecture: Yours is as good as mine.”
“Ah well. As you said, Megatron is needed.” Shockwave groaned
Soundwave wordlessly nodded, typing command after command into the computer at a dizzying pace, windows filled with lines of code kept flickering as they were constantly switched around with each other, going from background to foreground to back again. Shockwave watched the near-mute mech work, delving deeper and deeper into the computer's memory drives.
Slowly he realized that Soundwave was designing Megatron's new body. In one window a graphic display was being compiled from the data being input. The skeletal structure was dense, strong. The power systems, heat sinks, all the internal mechanisms were top of the line. Soundwave would make sure that their Lord's new body was worthy of the Spark that would inherit it.
The one thing Soundwave was not doing, however, was designing their Lord's new alt-mode. Understandable, as one would not wish to presume their Lord's preferences.
Mega-cycles later Shockwave's optic flickered to life again. In his weakened state he must have powered down to preserve his energy levels.
For five stellar cycles he had been like this, grievously injured, spark needing mechanical support. Having an entire building fall on one's self is not good for one's health, and this had been a very large building at that. It was illogical to him to find himself still on-line, still hooked to these machines. Why had he not been put into a CR Chamber?
Instead Shockwave endured mega-cycles of repair surgery by a team of Decepticon Medical bots. Why was Soundwave doing this. Shockwave could not see the lock outside of Soundwave needing him for something, it had to be that.
What though? Shockwave asked himself, What do I have in my processor that he could want. Shockwave was slowly becoming infuriated at the fact he could not figure Soundwave's motives out. Outside of resurrecting Megatron, of course.
If he has access to Megaplex, something even I didn't have, then-- ngh Shockwave's thoughts ground to a halt as a stabbing pain filled his processor, his vision blurred, off-lining. When it returned Soundwave was standing over him.
“You will be moved to a CR Chamber.” he droned, “You are finally stable enough.”
Shockwave blacked out again.
It is known by a servofull of Cybertronians that the shinning metallic sphere with its giant gorge and its liquid metal seas of silvery elements that they called home was in fact built around a core of rock and stone run through with tunnels, caves, caverns and recesses that offer amazing insight to their planets past, cosmically speaking, as well as hiding places and homes for those things only whispered about by young-bots, the superstitious, and those bereft of their senses like over-induldgers of Energon, Empties, drug users and old soldiers that over the stellar cycles had to hide there to survive and were lucky enough to make it out.
The mech that was now traversing one of these tunnels that was closer to the surface was none of these, though if one asked his fellow Decepticons; they were certain he was indeed unhinged for trying to speak to Spark's long passed. A sentiment only more-so cemented when it was discovered his machines were picking up signals but not that of dead Cybertronian's but old Earth broadcasts.
Mindwipe was not amused when he overheard talk that he should be made “ambassador” to the Junkions. He was spurred forward by the discovery his receivers and antenna could actually pick up any signal and had been using the chaos of The Aftermath, a simple name for the devastation of the Chaos Bringer's attack that was gaining popularity, to scavenge and salvage the parts he needed to create a more sensitive antenna. It was much easier to aquire “choice” part, as well as research vital to picking up a Spark's energy signature.
This was what he carried in his servo's this solar-cycle, clutching the thick tome to his torso. He could have asked the scribe to make this copy easier to carry as a holo-pad perhaps but he felt it would be cheating somehow.
This ancient tome of dark science... no, it is best to have the experience of running your servo-tips over the old, forgotten glyphs, painstakingly carved into the plates of derma-steel harvested from the dying.
Setting the tome down onto the make-shift table elicited a groan of protest. Mindwipe pulled a crate to sit on over and eased his bulk down.
Running his servos over the cover, taking in the welds that bound the derma-steel plates, double thick, with the forgotten glyphs of Cybertronian history carved neatly into its surface.
Simply amazing servo-work Mindwipe ruminated, Now with this, I will be able to speak with Sparks long passed... The mystic put down a container filled with a swirlling mix of life's-oil and Energon, nestled with-in was the brilliant blue-white of a Spark, …but first, a little practice.
Taking a clean work towel, he wiped the fluids of the scribe from his servos, then from the tome's large body.
With trembling hand he opened the cover, the first page held a symbol; a circle with two 'arms' extending from the top and bottom, around the circle and arms was a ring. The glyph of Unicron.
“And so the Angles of Dissolution are drawn, erasing the boundry 'tween the realms of Metal and Spark...”
The Hall of Heroes stands as a reminder of Decepticon strength and power. A large open air plaza with a raised platform with a throne under a canopy of sorts, topped with a torch that bears a purple flame. Lining either side of the plaza, facing the throne were large golden statues of warriors past standing upon great stone bases that held a purple-hued flame with-in a golden receptacle. These effigies were erected to honor the fore-runners of the modern Decepticon; the Quintesson pit-fighting and “military applications” slaves as a way for the five-faced aliens to keep them relatively quiet.
The Hall's history reaches back beyond the Occupation, back into a time when fact and legend, myth and reality, became so intertwined it becomes nigh-impossible for even the most studious, the most meticulous, and the most fervent to discern between the two.
That was another reason the Hall stood, with its proud memorials, to remind all that strength and power kept Cybertron going.
All, save for one.
Not really even a statue either, no gold encased purple eternal flame, no magnificent base. Nothing but the remainder of a Cybertronian corpse. Gray, crumbled, only the legs from the shins down were left. Done so as a reminder by Galvatron that he was the iron servo that would lead the Decepticons to utterly decimate the Autobots.
“Galvatron” a name he learned to curse above all others, a name he learned from those who visited the Hall in hopes that proffering themselves to their ancestors would somehow help them survive the Aftermath.
He sneered at them. The ruthless warriors of the Decepticon Army turned into mewling weaklings, many having forgotten their roots as slaves, as second class citizens under the Council of Elders until Megatron organized them. Many never knew anything except the power of Megatron's rule.
He sneered at their weakness. The Gods above knew he wished he could do more than sneer, more than insult audio receptors that were deaf to his voice, more than swing wildly at them and becoming infuriated when his servos passed harmlessly through his target's body.
He was stuck there, unable to leave the Hall, unable to go very far from the shins-down corpse.
His corpse.
How Starscream cursed the name and memory of Galvatron.
The former Air Commander had spent, to him, an unknown amount of time. His world was grayed out, a bleak shade of the world he once lived in. It could have been a day, or an eon, and he wouldn't have known.
“AHH!” Starscreamed howled into the gray limbo, “I finally get rid of Megatron and then this purple usurper comes from nowhere! To think, the first things out of my vocalizer are asking if it was Megatron! Somehow he survived being dumped into space and reformats his body and.. and.. how...”
>>-- HOW CORRECT<<
A voice boomed from nowhere yet everywhere. Deep and resonate, monotone but carrying a malevolent lilting, subtle undertone in its mechanical reverberating speech.
Starscream spun around on his ghostly heel, "Who dares..?!" Starscream started to demand. He wisely stopped. The last time he started a sentence with those words he was blasted to here, the gray wasteland that laughably passed as his afterlife. Primus only knew what would happen if he stated them here.
>>I DARE<<
The voice remained slightly monotone, barely inflecting its words as the very space around Starscream turned a violent, pulsing red. Starscream clutched at his ghostly audio receptors, dropping to his spiritual knees, loosing a primal howl that would echo into the living world as a wordless, chilling breeze that suddenly kicked up around his 'memorial'. A horrible piercing feedback loop suddenly cropped up as his world turned blood red.
In a moment. It passed, the afterlife he had become accustomed to returning to lifeless gray. He coughed, surprised that even as a shade of his former self he wanted to retch the non-existent contents of his power pack onto the ground.
Servo clutching at his own throat, optics wide in shock as he peered around into the nothingness, he barely was able to gasp out three small words, “Who... are... you?”
>>I--<<
The voice paused for a moment, as if to inhale
>>-- AM UNICRON<<
Though he showed no emotion a fire raged in his Spark at the time wasting and stupidity of the in-fighting. So many ego subroutines inflated with self-importance, each believing they could step-up and fill the strut-prints of the mech who created the very army they sought to control from nothing more than 'street trash' and pit fighters, slaves. To be able to coerce, guide, control.
No. was the answer. To him only one mech could lead the Decepicons, the one who took them and forged them into the Army they were. Cybertron had been theirs, but the Autobots only saw on oppressor replaced by another, so they fought and Cybertron suffered.
It still suffered, and he vowed he would do all he could for Cybertron.
This was why he was here, walking down the darkened halls of the fortress, his path illuminated by his optic band. Stopping at a door he passed his servo over a panel on the wall to his right, not even bothering to turn his helm to look as he heard the quiet whirring of the panel lifting up, retracting into the wall and an access console shifting forward. Placing his servo to the reactive transluminate of the panel there was soon a low decibel and low volume tone, the click of a lock unlatching and with a creak and groan of metal-on-metal the door before him split open. Striding through the opening he entered the underground bunker that was currently serving as a make-shift medical bay but was in actuality a research and development lab.
Weakly, the yellow optic flickered to life, half-exposed cranial circuitry blinking and sparking as a head swung towards the visitor, a rasping vocalizer forced out words.
“Ah Sz-Soundwave, y-you've come to visit again. How k-k-kind.”
“Pleasantries: False, Information is required Shockwave.”
“Isn't it a-alwaysz?” Shockwave rasped, “I shall a-sz-ssume then, that your search for M-Mega-a-a-tron'sz body has yet to yeild-d results?”
Soundwave's optic flickered in annoyance, while Shockwave's brightened in amusement at how much a single optic could convey, especially when paired with an equally emotionless and expressionless mouth-guard.
“I shall that that as-z a 'no' then.” Shockwave did his best to keep his cool, logical air about him even as his half-crushed, half-mutilated body was wired into the Spark-support machines.
“Assumption: Correct, Megatron's body has not been located.” Soundwave finally spoke.
“Then you wish to p-p-proceed-d with your little proje-c-c-ct?” Shockwave's vocalizer hiccuped.
“Affirmative. Decepticons: Scattered. Force: Powerless. Leader: Needed. Megatron: Needed.”
“You've m-m-made your point Soundwave.”
Soundwave moved over to a computer console, inputting a list of commands.
“Tell me Szz-Soundwave... what makes you process this little gambit suc-c-ceeding?”
Soundwave turned to look at Shockwave, “Because it will not be just a clone.”
“What do you mean? Of course it will be.” Shockwave coughed, “A blank pro-pro-protoform with m-memory pro-pro-protocols but no Sz-Spark is nothing more than an advanced automaton, a robotic clone.
“Solution: Vector Sigma.” Soundwave droned, “Plan: Implant memory protocols before implanting Spark into protoform.”
“Even so--”
“Megatron's Memory: Intact.”
“A-All of it?”
“Correct.”
“How.”
“Megaplex processing core.” Soundwave answered, “Function: Specialized processing core. Purpose: Retention and archiving of Megatron's memory.”
“Incredible”
Soundwave cocked his helm, “Surprise: Illogical.”
“Wh-- How d-dare you!” Shockwave sputtered.
“Purpose: Back-up in case treachery or plot to overthrow succeeded.”
“I always did wonder why Megatron kept that screeching harpy around for so long.”
“Reason: Unknown. Conjecture: Yours is as good as mine.”
“Ah well. As you said, Megatron is needed.” Shockwave groaned
Soundwave wordlessly nodded, typing command after command into the computer at a dizzying pace, windows filled with lines of code kept flickering as they were constantly switched around with each other, going from background to foreground to back again. Shockwave watched the near-mute mech work, delving deeper and deeper into the computer's memory drives.
Slowly he realized that Soundwave was designing Megatron's new body. In one window a graphic display was being compiled from the data being input. The skeletal structure was dense, strong. The power systems, heat sinks, all the internal mechanisms were top of the line. Soundwave would make sure that their Lord's new body was worthy of the Spark that would inherit it.
The one thing Soundwave was not doing, however, was designing their Lord's new alt-mode. Understandable, as one would not wish to presume their Lord's preferences.
Mega-cycles later Shockwave's optic flickered to life again. In his weakened state he must have powered down to preserve his energy levels.
For five stellar cycles he had been like this, grievously injured, spark needing mechanical support. Having an entire building fall on one's self is not good for one's health, and this had been a very large building at that. It was illogical to him to find himself still on-line, still hooked to these machines. Why had he not been put into a CR Chamber?
Instead Shockwave endured mega-cycles of repair surgery by a team of Decepticon Medical bots. Why was Soundwave doing this. Shockwave could not see the lock outside of Soundwave needing him for something, it had to be that.
What though? Shockwave asked himself, What do I have in my processor that he could want. Shockwave was slowly becoming infuriated at the fact he could not figure Soundwave's motives out. Outside of resurrecting Megatron, of course.
If he has access to Megaplex, something even I didn't have, then-- ngh Shockwave's thoughts ground to a halt as a stabbing pain filled his processor, his vision blurred, off-lining. When it returned Soundwave was standing over him.
“You will be moved to a CR Chamber.” he droned, “You are finally stable enough.”
Shockwave blacked out again.
= = = =
It is known by a servofull of Cybertronians that the shinning metallic sphere with its giant gorge and its liquid metal seas of silvery elements that they called home was in fact built around a core of rock and stone run through with tunnels, caves, caverns and recesses that offer amazing insight to their planets past, cosmically speaking, as well as hiding places and homes for those things only whispered about by young-bots, the superstitious, and those bereft of their senses like over-induldgers of Energon, Empties, drug users and old soldiers that over the stellar cycles had to hide there to survive and were lucky enough to make it out.
The mech that was now traversing one of these tunnels that was closer to the surface was none of these, though if one asked his fellow Decepticons; they were certain he was indeed unhinged for trying to speak to Spark's long passed. A sentiment only more-so cemented when it was discovered his machines were picking up signals but not that of dead Cybertronian's but old Earth broadcasts.
Mindwipe was not amused when he overheard talk that he should be made “ambassador” to the Junkions. He was spurred forward by the discovery his receivers and antenna could actually pick up any signal and had been using the chaos of The Aftermath, a simple name for the devastation of the Chaos Bringer's attack that was gaining popularity, to scavenge and salvage the parts he needed to create a more sensitive antenna. It was much easier to aquire “choice” part, as well as research vital to picking up a Spark's energy signature.
This was what he carried in his servo's this solar-cycle, clutching the thick tome to his torso. He could have asked the scribe to make this copy easier to carry as a holo-pad perhaps but he felt it would be cheating somehow.
This ancient tome of dark science... no, it is best to have the experience of running your servo-tips over the old, forgotten glyphs, painstakingly carved into the plates of derma-steel harvested from the dying.
Setting the tome down onto the make-shift table elicited a groan of protest. Mindwipe pulled a crate to sit on over and eased his bulk down.
Running his servos over the cover, taking in the welds that bound the derma-steel plates, double thick, with the forgotten glyphs of Cybertronian history carved neatly into its surface.
Simply amazing servo-work Mindwipe ruminated, Now with this, I will be able to speak with Sparks long passed... The mystic put down a container filled with a swirlling mix of life's-oil and Energon, nestled with-in was the brilliant blue-white of a Spark, …but first, a little practice.
Taking a clean work towel, he wiped the fluids of the scribe from his servos, then from the tome's large body.
With trembling hand he opened the cover, the first page held a symbol; a circle with two 'arms' extending from the top and bottom, around the circle and arms was a ring. The glyph of Unicron.
“And so the Angles of Dissolution are drawn, erasing the boundry 'tween the realms of Metal and Spark...”
= = = =
The Hall of Heroes stands as a reminder of Decepticon strength and power. A large open air plaza with a raised platform with a throne under a canopy of sorts, topped with a torch that bears a purple flame. Lining either side of the plaza, facing the throne were large golden statues of warriors past standing upon great stone bases that held a purple-hued flame with-in a golden receptacle. These effigies were erected to honor the fore-runners of the modern Decepticon; the Quintesson pit-fighting and “military applications” slaves as a way for the five-faced aliens to keep them relatively quiet.
The Hall's history reaches back beyond the Occupation, back into a time when fact and legend, myth and reality, became so intertwined it becomes nigh-impossible for even the most studious, the most meticulous, and the most fervent to discern between the two.
That was another reason the Hall stood, with its proud memorials, to remind all that strength and power kept Cybertron going.
All, save for one.
Not really even a statue either, no gold encased purple eternal flame, no magnificent base. Nothing but the remainder of a Cybertronian corpse. Gray, crumbled, only the legs from the shins down were left. Done so as a reminder by Galvatron that he was the iron servo that would lead the Decepticons to utterly decimate the Autobots.
“Galvatron” a name he learned to curse above all others, a name he learned from those who visited the Hall in hopes that proffering themselves to their ancestors would somehow help them survive the Aftermath.
He sneered at them. The ruthless warriors of the Decepticon Army turned into mewling weaklings, many having forgotten their roots as slaves, as second class citizens under the Council of Elders until Megatron organized them. Many never knew anything except the power of Megatron's rule.
He sneered at their weakness. The Gods above knew he wished he could do more than sneer, more than insult audio receptors that were deaf to his voice, more than swing wildly at them and becoming infuriated when his servos passed harmlessly through his target's body.
He was stuck there, unable to leave the Hall, unable to go very far from the shins-down corpse.
His corpse.
How Starscream cursed the name and memory of Galvatron.
The former Air Commander had spent, to him, an unknown amount of time. His world was grayed out, a bleak shade of the world he once lived in. It could have been a day, or an eon, and he wouldn't have known.
“AHH!” Starscreamed howled into the gray limbo, “I finally get rid of Megatron and then this purple usurper comes from nowhere! To think, the first things out of my vocalizer are asking if it was Megatron! Somehow he survived being dumped into space and reformats his body and.. and.. how...”
>>-- HOW CORRECT<<
A voice boomed from nowhere yet everywhere. Deep and resonate, monotone but carrying a malevolent lilting, subtle undertone in its mechanical reverberating speech.
Starscream spun around on his ghostly heel, "Who dares..?!" Starscream started to demand. He wisely stopped. The last time he started a sentence with those words he was blasted to here, the gray wasteland that laughably passed as his afterlife. Primus only knew what would happen if he stated them here.
>>I DARE<<
The voice remained slightly monotone, barely inflecting its words as the very space around Starscream turned a violent, pulsing red. Starscream clutched at his ghostly audio receptors, dropping to his spiritual knees, loosing a primal howl that would echo into the living world as a wordless, chilling breeze that suddenly kicked up around his 'memorial'. A horrible piercing feedback loop suddenly cropped up as his world turned blood red.
In a moment. It passed, the afterlife he had become accustomed to returning to lifeless gray. He coughed, surprised that even as a shade of his former self he wanted to retch the non-existent contents of his power pack onto the ground.
Servo clutching at his own throat, optics wide in shock as he peered around into the nothingness, he barely was able to gasp out three small words, “Who... are... you?”
>>I--<<
The voice paused for a moment, as if to inhale
>>-- AM UNICRON<<
I like it!
Your protroyal of Soundwave is both creepy and funny at the same time with his descrptive titles and utter devotion to Megatron. The idea of him creating Megatron from Megaplex, memories and a spark are very cool. And what's in store for poor, crushed Shockwave. I'm glad you had hin survive the building falling on him.
And YAY! The return of Starscream! Still unable to escape the domination of others. Now it's Unicrons turn to browbeat him. Possibly.
Anyway. This new story is great. New an old combined.
Oh yes, and Mindwipe, wonder what he's up to.
Your protroyal of Soundwave is both creepy and funny at the same time with his descrptive titles and utter devotion to Megatron. The idea of him creating Megatron from Megaplex, memories and a spark are very cool. And what's in store for poor, crushed Shockwave. I'm glad you had hin survive the building falling on him.
And YAY! The return of Starscream! Still unable to escape the domination of others. Now it's Unicrons turn to browbeat him. Possibly.
Anyway. This new story is great. New an old combined.
Oh yes, and Mindwipe, wonder what he's up to.
SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP! (Sorry, but Homer was on my mind and that quote immediately jumped to mind!)
This is one awesome piece of fanfic right here! LOVING how you've got the characters down and are bringing back a few faves like Shockwave! And Soundwave is so perfect with his cold emotionless monotone and continuing dedication to a fallen leader!
Keep up the awesome work, Strike!
This is one awesome piece of fanfic right here! LOVING how you've got the characters down and are bringing back a few faves like Shockwave! And Soundwave is so perfect with his cold emotionless monotone and continuing dedication to a fallen leader!
Keep up the awesome work, Strike!
I am very happy you both enjoyed this, GSO, Freddycon. I have to admit, I was worried it wasn't going to be as good as my others. I was always rooting for the good guys as a kid and could never really put myself into villains shoes. so when I started writing, I found it hard to do a scene that focused on the villains alone without the heroes coming in and surprising them or being in the same scene for banter.
I was also afraid that "using" Unicron and "bringing back" Starscream might get groans.
I was also afraid that "using" Unicron and "bringing back" Starscream might get groans.
Nah, the return of Starscream is always good. Well, he's the guy you love to hate becasue no matter how many times he gets beaten down, he always comes back, convinced that he is and always has been the 'rightful' heir to leadership and power over the 'cons and the universe. And although Unicron has been overexposed of late. This to me, is G1 Unicron, and he was the original intergalactic badass dark god. And I can't help but hear Orson Wells when he speaks. Any other version of Unicron just pales in comparison to this.
I mean, just look at what they did to Armada Unicron.
Anyway, Strika, you write villainy really well. Each character seems very well suited and accurate to their individual personalities. Soundwave especially so. Nice work!
I mean, just look at what they did to Armada Unicron.
Anyway, Strika, you write villainy really well. Each character seems very well suited and accurate to their individual personalities. Soundwave especially so. Nice work!
Strika? lol
Well, thank you GodSentinelOmega for your thumbs up on my villainy. Yes, this is a G1 fic, I said that in my first "opening" post, just... with the way I'm taking it, it's sort of its own Universe universe too... so.
Yes, Orson Wells IS Unicron, no others XD
I've always felt that the only voice for Primus would be James Earl Jones myself. Mufasa X3
Well, thank you GodSentinelOmega for your thumbs up on my villainy. Yes, this is a G1 fic, I said that in my first "opening" post, just... with the way I'm taking it, it's sort of its own Universe universe too... so.
Yes, Orson Wells IS Unicron, no others XD
I've always felt that the only voice for Primus would be James Earl Jones myself. Mufasa X3
Oops! Strike, not Strika. Guess I'd better read names more carefully eh?
And James Earl Jones as Primus? That actually sounds like it could work out well. Surprising how easy it is to visualise him as the light to Orson Welles dark god.
If you've ever seen the Merlin mini-series that was made a few years ago with Sam Neil in, JEJ does the voice for the Rock of Ages. That performace would work very well as Primus. I mean, the TF god spends most of his time asleep as well anyway.
And James Earl Jones as Primus? That actually sounds like it could work out well. Surprising how easy it is to visualise him as the light to Orson Welles dark god.
If you've ever seen the Merlin mini-series that was made a few years ago with Sam Neil in, JEJ does the voice for the Rock of Ages. That performace would work very well as Primus. I mean, the TF god spends most of his time asleep as well anyway.
I kid GSO, I just kid. I just couldn't help make a joke at the typo
Years ago, when I had an older not-so-good version of this fic I thought it'd be fun to do audio clips as part of the character bios if I ever put it on a site, so I made TF-sounding voices using a trial version of an audio program.
I took a clip of JEJ from his role in the Conan movie of all things and really flanged it up. it sounds very good, very Godly
"I AM THE WELLSPRING FROM WHICH YOU FLOW"
Link provided :3
Years ago, when I had an older not-so-good version of this fic I thought it'd be fun to do audio clips as part of the character bios if I ever put it on a site, so I made TF-sounding voices using a trial version of an audio program.
I took a clip of JEJ from his role in the Conan movie of all things and really flanged it up. it sounds very good, very Godly
"I AM THE WELLSPRING FROM WHICH YOU FLOW"
Link provided :3
I know you're kidding Stike. And yep, typos can be fun!
Also, on the soundbyte. I'd never have though of Conan, but you're right. Very godly.
He IS the wellspring from which all Transformers come from. Did you do any other soundclips for characters?
Also, on the soundbyte. I'd never have though of Conan, but you're right. Very godly.
He IS the wellspring from which all Transformers come from. Did you do any other soundclips for characters?
ah, one for an old villain, Sigmatron, and one for the old main character, FuryStrike. I have to admit my old fanfic was.. well, fanficcy. I can't even read it myself without groaning "what was I thinking" y'know? lol
I might do it again for TF:AU if I ever get my hands on a program with Flange I can apply to files and all ^^
I'm also flirting with the crazy idea of putting up a TF:AU entry at the TF fanon wiki
I might do it again for TF:AU if I ever get my hands on a program with Flange I can apply to files and all ^^
I'm also flirting with the crazy idea of putting up a TF:AU entry at the TF fanon wiki
“I-Impossible.” Starscream coughed hoarsely, “Unicron is a myth, a devil created to plague the weak-processored by the Council of Elders, or Ancient, or whatever they felt li-aaah!
>>CEASE YOUR PRATTLE STARSCREAM. DO YOU WISH YOUR SPARK TO ROT IN THIS CORRIDOR BETWEEN THE REALM OF LIFE AND DEATH?<<
The Decepticon ghost's world filled with that crimson light, the luminous incarnation of PAIN, and as before the light, the pain, and the screeching feed-back that had he a body would have made his audio receptors bleed, were gone as if they were never there.
Coughing, spectral throat raw, his very essence aching. Very slowly he shook his head, “Of--” he rasped, wincing, “-- Of course... n-not.”
>>VERY WELL THEN<<
Unicron's monotone voice boomed, echoing across the gray wasteland.
>>RAISE YOUR HELM STARSCREAM, LOOK UPWARDS<<
Obeying the commanding pressence, he did so, optics scanning the gray skies.
>>THAT LIGHT YOU SEE ABOVE YOU IS NO STAR, NOR IS IT A SPIRITUAL DOPPLEGANGER OF CYBERTRON'S SUN.<<
Starscream swallowed, it still hurt, he found himself unable to turn away from the light. It was pale, as was everything here, but it had color, an aura of swirling red and black surrounding a yellow-orange core.
The scientist in him was curious, the coward in him dare not ask what it was.
>>THAT LIGHT IS MY REFLECTION HERE. TRAVEL TO IT STARSCREAM, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU WHAT YOU WISH MOST; REVENGE ON THE ONE WHO DESTROYED YOU.<<
Carefully he stood. Starscream had never been one to believe in Primus, or the AllSpark, now though how could he not? He was a ghost, or at least intangible, and now this presence, be it truly Unicron or not, was offering him vengeance. How could he refuse. One problem remained.
“Oh--” Starscream searched his memory bank for a name, a title, anything to stave off the PAIN. He remembered one and cautiously spoke, “-- Great Devourer... you have shown me awesome power, no doubt, and offered revenge, only a fool would refuse that gift, however--”
>>HOWEVER?<<
Quickly the former Air Commander raised his servos, “I do not question you Might Chaos Bringer, just... why must I travel to that light? Also how? I cannot move very far from my remains, even now after practice. If you can speak to me, projecting your magnificent presence, could you not do the same in granting my vengeance?”
>>FAIR QUESTIONS STARSCREAM. EVENTS AFTER YOUR DEATH HAVE LEFT ME WITH FEW ALTERNATIVES<<
“So you need me.”
The PAIN returned, more intense than ever. Unicron's anger shook the very foundation of what was left of his being.
>>YOU PRESUME MUCH DECEPTICON!! I DO NOT =NEED= YOU. YOU ARE A TRETCHEROUS AND TRAITOROUS MECHINATION, AND I HAVE NO DOUBT YOU WOULD BETRAY ME THE MOMENT YOU HAD A SLIVER OF A CHANCE. I COME WITH MY OFFER OF VENGEANCE BECAUSE OUR ANGERS ARE DIRECTED AT THE SAME TARGET!<<
Even through the PAIN, Starscream's anger flared, “GALVATRON!”
The PAIN ended.
>>GALVATRON. I ONCE THOUGHT TO USE HIM AS MY HERALD, BUT EVEN UNDER MY CONTROL HIS PERSONALITY WAS TOO STRONG. LIKE YOU, HIS FIRE BURNED HOT AND DEEP AND HE BETRAYED ME. YOU HOWEVER, STARSCREAM, I KNOW WILL TRY TO BETRAY ME. ONLY A FOOL WOULD THINK OTHERWISE, HENCE MY OFFER OF REVENGE. AN OFFER YOU CANNOT REFUSE.<<
“Oh. You're good.” Starscream admitted.
>>I WAS WEAVING WEBS OF LIES AND DECIT LONG BEFORE AND WILL LONG AFTER. I WILL LEND YOU A SLIVER OF MY POWER, A FRACTION OF WHAT YOU WILL SOON WEILD. YOU WILL THEN BE STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE BOND TO YOUR CORPSE AND TRAVEL TO MY LIGHT.<<
“As you say. I can't refuse.” Starscream grinned, “As you wish, Master.”
>>VERY WELL. TAKE THIS POWER, COME TO ME. THIS, I COMMAND!<<
The feedback came again, filling Starscream's essence. The PAIN was absent this time, as was the angry red and all consuming aura. In its place was an emerald green light and he could feel the power growing with-in
“Accursed Spark!” The grating voice of the Scribe hissed at him through the speakers of his machine, proving two things to Mindwipe: first was that his machine worked; he could communicate with a disembodied Spark that was placed into it; two, it told him just how much he wanted to continue onto phase two just so he could silence the Scribe.
“When your Spark leaves your mortal chassis and passes between that tumultuous energy that is the veil separating this world and the next, with the only proof of life being barely enough carbon powder to springer over a plate of sliced sprockets as seasoning, I will be waiting for you. I will be waiting for you and with all the power I can muster I will drag your essence down, down into the cold, into the pain of The Pit! You think PAIN is fire? That The Pit is flame so hot that your Spark melts like a slagging pool?” the Scribe laughed, “Mortal fears! The Pit is the antithesis of the Allspark. There is naught but fear and pain and coldness in The Pit, naught but those who willingly turned from Primus' optic are said to deserve. I am loyal to the Devourer, doing his work to spread entropy and death in s--”
“The only thing you're doing is giving me a rather piercing ache to the processor.” Mindwipe hissed in consternation, “I can feel it at the base of my cranium where it meets my structural support rod.”
“A small consolation.” The Scribe snarlingly shot back, “Know that if I am released from here and I am able to return to my frame I will find you and tear -your- Spark from your chassis and keep -you- around in a jar of preserving fuels for amusement!”
Mindwipe made a derisive sort of growl under his breath as he jot down something into his datapad journal, “-- a simple switch from plus to minus, and minus to plus. This switching of polarity seems to have overcome my last hurdle. Soon I think, soon I will be able to pierce that bubble between realms and summon forth the Spark of Megatron. My research into the Angles of Disillusion proved not to be a dead end, the collection of dark formulae has become most useful in the adjusting and tweaking of the various antennae arrays. Our built in sensors can scan for energy signatures yes, but Sparks, they are on a completely different frequency that our scanners can only begin to pick up. This is why my previous experiments failed, I was using equipment and antenna better suited for life Sparks. I came close with the Medical Bay's Spark monitor, tweaking it and connecting it with my similarly adjusted hyperspace communications array... which reminds me, I need to remember to set my Space Cube to record “Forever Knight”, the next old broadcast wave should be reaching Cybertron with-in the solar cycle.”
Mindwipe stood to do just that, as it was in the fore-front of his processor, not worried about the Scribe or his Spark because of the stasis field around it patterned after the high security internment system found in prisons. Once his recorder was set, he would call his two colleagues and tell them of his advancements, then the three of them would search and scan for Megatron's spark. After securing it, he and his two colleagues then planned to approach Soundwave.
No longer would they laugh at him, he would deliver back to the Decepticons their leader and they, the Chaos Trinity, would be rewarded.
Frenzy carefully walked up to Soundwave, who was going over his schematics. The lager transformer reached a hand down to idly rub the head of Ravage as the panther lazily relaxed in his lap.
“I have the information you wanted.” said the cassette-bot, not afraid though still not wanting to interrupt if, by some miracle, Soundwave was taking a brief moment to relax.
“Thanks: Given.” came the drone as he held out a hand for the data. He stopped, looking at his minion, “Hesitation: Sensed, Frenzy.”
“Sorry Soundwave. I, t-that is, we was wonderin' why you're keeping the cycloptic alive, ain't he a rival?”
“Correct. Shockwave is a rival, however every Decepticon is needed.” The larger bot explained, “Recall: Shockwave was in charge of Cybertron in our 4 million years stasis lock. Access would be given to files and programs other Decepticons would not.”
“So we're usin' 'im.”
“Affirmative.”
Ravage growled, squirming in Soundwave's lap and bat at his servo before stretching himself out. Calmly, the master interrogator gave his stealth master a 'tummy scritch'.
“Usefulness: Soon at an End.”
----
I feel angry at myself that I let almost another month go by in between posting part 1 of this fic and part 2 of this.
Apologies to my readers
>>CEASE YOUR PRATTLE STARSCREAM. DO YOU WISH YOUR SPARK TO ROT IN THIS CORRIDOR BETWEEN THE REALM OF LIFE AND DEATH?<<
The Decepticon ghost's world filled with that crimson light, the luminous incarnation of PAIN, and as before the light, the pain, and the screeching feed-back that had he a body would have made his audio receptors bleed, were gone as if they were never there.
Coughing, spectral throat raw, his very essence aching. Very slowly he shook his head, “Of--” he rasped, wincing, “-- Of course... n-not.”
>>VERY WELL THEN<<
Unicron's monotone voice boomed, echoing across the gray wasteland.
>>RAISE YOUR HELM STARSCREAM, LOOK UPWARDS<<
Obeying the commanding pressence, he did so, optics scanning the gray skies.
>>THAT LIGHT YOU SEE ABOVE YOU IS NO STAR, NOR IS IT A SPIRITUAL DOPPLEGANGER OF CYBERTRON'S SUN.<<
Starscream swallowed, it still hurt, he found himself unable to turn away from the light. It was pale, as was everything here, but it had color, an aura of swirling red and black surrounding a yellow-orange core.
The scientist in him was curious, the coward in him dare not ask what it was.
>>THAT LIGHT IS MY REFLECTION HERE. TRAVEL TO IT STARSCREAM, AND I SHALL GRANT YOU WHAT YOU WISH MOST; REVENGE ON THE ONE WHO DESTROYED YOU.<<
Carefully he stood. Starscream had never been one to believe in Primus, or the AllSpark, now though how could he not? He was a ghost, or at least intangible, and now this presence, be it truly Unicron or not, was offering him vengeance. How could he refuse. One problem remained.
“Oh--” Starscream searched his memory bank for a name, a title, anything to stave off the PAIN. He remembered one and cautiously spoke, “-- Great Devourer... you have shown me awesome power, no doubt, and offered revenge, only a fool would refuse that gift, however--”
>>HOWEVER?<<
Quickly the former Air Commander raised his servos, “I do not question you Might Chaos Bringer, just... why must I travel to that light? Also how? I cannot move very far from my remains, even now after practice. If you can speak to me, projecting your magnificent presence, could you not do the same in granting my vengeance?”
>>FAIR QUESTIONS STARSCREAM. EVENTS AFTER YOUR DEATH HAVE LEFT ME WITH FEW ALTERNATIVES<<
“So you need me.”
The PAIN returned, more intense than ever. Unicron's anger shook the very foundation of what was left of his being.
>>YOU PRESUME MUCH DECEPTICON!! I DO NOT =NEED= YOU. YOU ARE A TRETCHEROUS AND TRAITOROUS MECHINATION, AND I HAVE NO DOUBT YOU WOULD BETRAY ME THE MOMENT YOU HAD A SLIVER OF A CHANCE. I COME WITH MY OFFER OF VENGEANCE BECAUSE OUR ANGERS ARE DIRECTED AT THE SAME TARGET!<<
Even through the PAIN, Starscream's anger flared, “GALVATRON!”
The PAIN ended.
>>GALVATRON. I ONCE THOUGHT TO USE HIM AS MY HERALD, BUT EVEN UNDER MY CONTROL HIS PERSONALITY WAS TOO STRONG. LIKE YOU, HIS FIRE BURNED HOT AND DEEP AND HE BETRAYED ME. YOU HOWEVER, STARSCREAM, I KNOW WILL TRY TO BETRAY ME. ONLY A FOOL WOULD THINK OTHERWISE, HENCE MY OFFER OF REVENGE. AN OFFER YOU CANNOT REFUSE.<<
“Oh. You're good.” Starscream admitted.
>>I WAS WEAVING WEBS OF LIES AND DECIT LONG BEFORE AND WILL LONG AFTER. I WILL LEND YOU A SLIVER OF MY POWER, A FRACTION OF WHAT YOU WILL SOON WEILD. YOU WILL THEN BE STRONG ENOUGH TO BREAK THE BOND TO YOUR CORPSE AND TRAVEL TO MY LIGHT.<<
“As you say. I can't refuse.” Starscream grinned, “As you wish, Master.”
>>VERY WELL. TAKE THIS POWER, COME TO ME. THIS, I COMMAND!<<
The feedback came again, filling Starscream's essence. The PAIN was absent this time, as was the angry red and all consuming aura. In its place was an emerald green light and he could feel the power growing with-in
= = = =
“Accursed Spark!” The grating voice of the Scribe hissed at him through the speakers of his machine, proving two things to Mindwipe: first was that his machine worked; he could communicate with a disembodied Spark that was placed into it; two, it told him just how much he wanted to continue onto phase two just so he could silence the Scribe.
“When your Spark leaves your mortal chassis and passes between that tumultuous energy that is the veil separating this world and the next, with the only proof of life being barely enough carbon powder to springer over a plate of sliced sprockets as seasoning, I will be waiting for you. I will be waiting for you and with all the power I can muster I will drag your essence down, down into the cold, into the pain of The Pit! You think PAIN is fire? That The Pit is flame so hot that your Spark melts like a slagging pool?” the Scribe laughed, “Mortal fears! The Pit is the antithesis of the Allspark. There is naught but fear and pain and coldness in The Pit, naught but those who willingly turned from Primus' optic are said to deserve. I am loyal to the Devourer, doing his work to spread entropy and death in s--”
“The only thing you're doing is giving me a rather piercing ache to the processor.” Mindwipe hissed in consternation, “I can feel it at the base of my cranium where it meets my structural support rod.”
“A small consolation.” The Scribe snarlingly shot back, “Know that if I am released from here and I am able to return to my frame I will find you and tear -your- Spark from your chassis and keep -you- around in a jar of preserving fuels for amusement!”
Mindwipe made a derisive sort of growl under his breath as he jot down something into his datapad journal, “-- a simple switch from plus to minus, and minus to plus. This switching of polarity seems to have overcome my last hurdle. Soon I think, soon I will be able to pierce that bubble between realms and summon forth the Spark of Megatron. My research into the Angles of Disillusion proved not to be a dead end, the collection of dark formulae has become most useful in the adjusting and tweaking of the various antennae arrays. Our built in sensors can scan for energy signatures yes, but Sparks, they are on a completely different frequency that our scanners can only begin to pick up. This is why my previous experiments failed, I was using equipment and antenna better suited for life Sparks. I came close with the Medical Bay's Spark monitor, tweaking it and connecting it with my similarly adjusted hyperspace communications array... which reminds me, I need to remember to set my Space Cube to record “Forever Knight”, the next old broadcast wave should be reaching Cybertron with-in the solar cycle.”
Mindwipe stood to do just that, as it was in the fore-front of his processor, not worried about the Scribe or his Spark because of the stasis field around it patterned after the high security internment system found in prisons. Once his recorder was set, he would call his two colleagues and tell them of his advancements, then the three of them would search and scan for Megatron's spark. After securing it, he and his two colleagues then planned to approach Soundwave.
No longer would they laugh at him, he would deliver back to the Decepticons their leader and they, the Chaos Trinity, would be rewarded.
= = = =
Frenzy carefully walked up to Soundwave, who was going over his schematics. The lager transformer reached a hand down to idly rub the head of Ravage as the panther lazily relaxed in his lap.
“I have the information you wanted.” said the cassette-bot, not afraid though still not wanting to interrupt if, by some miracle, Soundwave was taking a brief moment to relax.
“Thanks: Given.” came the drone as he held out a hand for the data. He stopped, looking at his minion, “Hesitation: Sensed, Frenzy.”
“Sorry Soundwave. I, t-that is, we was wonderin' why you're keeping the cycloptic alive, ain't he a rival?”
“Correct. Shockwave is a rival, however every Decepticon is needed.” The larger bot explained, “Recall: Shockwave was in charge of Cybertron in our 4 million years stasis lock. Access would be given to files and programs other Decepticons would not.”
“So we're usin' 'im.”
“Affirmative.”
Ravage growled, squirming in Soundwave's lap and bat at his servo before stretching himself out. Calmly, the master interrogator gave his stealth master a 'tummy scritch'.
“Usefulness: Soon at an End.”
----
I feel angry at myself that I let almost another month go by in between posting part 1 of this fic and part 2 of this.
Apologies to my readers
If this is what you've come up with in the month that we waited, I'd say it was time well spent! :-D
Seconded. This is fast becoming an ever more interesting G1 continuation. Soundwave, Shockewave, Unicron, Starsream, the Chaos Trinity! Can't wait for the next instalment.
Nice work indeed Strike.
(hey I got your name right this time. hehe, Strike, not Strika.)
TF:AU. GSO approves, and enjoys.
Nice work indeed Strike.
(hey I got your name right this time. hehe, Strike, not Strika.)
TF:AU. GSO approves, and enjoys.
^___^
I am very happy both you and Freddycon enjoy this. I am honored by your praise in saying "This is fast becoming an ever more interesting G1 continuation"
I can only hope I continue to wow and keep the hook that keeps you reading no matter where I take the fic
I am very happy both you and Freddycon enjoy this. I am honored by your praise in saying "This is fast becoming an ever more interesting G1 continuation"
I can only hope I continue to wow and keep the hook that keeps you reading no matter where I take the fic
Any news on the story Strike?
yikes!! how did I not get an email saying this was posted??
well GSO the story is still going. I've just hit a bit of a snag in the description of a character thats showing up in part 3 of The Devil You Know and its sorta curltailed into a stagnation creatively, coupled with weather changing induced headaches, huzzah allergies, right? x_X
also a virus hit my computer hard and I've had my machine BACK for a week but thanksgiving I turn it on and BLUESCREEN x_x
Its still happening though! and I feel terrible its taken so long to get the next part out so my apologies for that
I'm also pleased to say that without my knowledge a review of my fic was posted on TFW2005 and it scored 8.6 out of 10. I am surprised it was reviewed and that it scored so well ^_^
again, my apologies for taking so long in getting the next part out, as well as missing this post!
EDIT: ok, apparently I needed to resubscribe to my own thread >>; so... yeah.
well GSO the story is still going. I've just hit a bit of a snag in the description of a character thats showing up in part 3 of The Devil You Know and its sorta curltailed into a stagnation creatively, coupled with weather changing induced headaches, huzzah allergies, right? x_X
also a virus hit my computer hard and I've had my machine BACK for a week but thanksgiving I turn it on and BLUESCREEN x_x
Its still happening though! and I feel terrible its taken so long to get the next part out so my apologies for that
I'm also pleased to say that without my knowledge a review of my fic was posted on TFW2005 and it scored 8.6 out of 10. I am surprised it was reviewed and that it scored so well ^_^
again, my apologies for taking so long in getting the next part out, as well as missing this post!
EDIT: ok, apparently I needed to resubscribe to my own thread >>; so... yeah.
Here it is. After far too long I have finally gotten Part 3 finished, typed and here for you. Again and always, I apologize for the lag between parts in my fic. some times its just hard to get myself to write if I'm not feeling particularly creative... or even awake.
This part, The Devil You Know - 3, marks a couple of important Endings. First, my mechanical pencil that I had been writing this entire fic from the get-go with finally ran out of usable lead. It was late at night and instead of making noise by searching for lead to refill it when I wasn't sure we had any, I moved to another pencil. somehow, weirdly, it felt right simply retiring this pencil as it wrote on 63-64 of the sheets in the notebook I was keeping my fic in.
That brings us to the second Ending. My notebook. a simple 70 sheet, single subject notebook is also being retired. three lonely little sheets remain in the back, but I felt it was a better idea to start Part 4 in a fresh notebook instead of changing in mid-sentence x_X
67 sheets of that 70 sheet notebook have scribed onto them Another Universe, 134 pages of TF Fanfic-y goodness for you all.
Thank you. I hope you stay with me through another notebook and another. TF: Another Universe is just getting started folks. You ready to keep riding?
====
The Light.
That distant beacon of power, that point of clarity that was so indescribably welcome to his ghostly optics after spending so long with that gray landscape surrounding him, it didn't matter if it was pale, washed out by the gray of the limbo he was in. It had color and clarity.
The scientist in him welled to the surface of his being, he couldn't help it. He had been fascinated by the existence of this limbo, however that novelty quickly wore off. Now though, with this energy coursing through him, he couldn't help but recall his studies; equations and writ, theorem and formula. Conversions of energy and matter.
He wanted to study this further.
First though was dealing with Unicron, or whatever was the true identity of the voice who spoke to him was. Any being, sufficiently powerful, could induce pain like that, somehow, and say they were Unicron. The offer, such as it was, was too good not to take up: a new body, more power and most importantly revenge.
Then -- the machine ghost hissed, I will get to the bottom of this “Unicron” figment. I do have to congratulate whoever it is, very con--
The thought, half-formed, died as quickly in his mind as he did under Galvatron's cannon. Before him floated the source of the orange-yellow aura that was exuding the red-black energy. It was the absolute largest head he had ever seen, biological or mechanical.
“Unicron?”
>>YES<<
The aura pulsated as the voice spoke again. Starscream looked upon the stark white facial structure beneath the horned helm. In his mind gears began to turn and grind, the beginnings of plans.
>>NOW STARSCREAM, CONTINUE FORWARD. INSIDE ME THE VIEL IS THIN, TO EASIER FACILITATE YOUR RETURN TO THE PHYSICAL WORLD.<<
Nodding dumbly, mute from shock, he continued forward. Entering not even with-in Unicron's floating head but just with-in the red-black energy Starscream found himself transported into a large room filled with energy orbs that bubbled, though some were broken and their contents long leaked out. In the center, joined together by some alien webbing, were video monitors, broken and shattered.
>>VERY GOOD MY FUTURE SERVANT<<
“Servant?” Starscream searched for the source of Unicron's voice, “Great Devourer, since we shared the same goal I thought we could be par—AUGH! YARHGH!!”
His voice was reduced to inarticulate electronic screeching and white noise as PAIN coursed through his incorporeal form yet again.
>>SILENCE! YOUR BARGANING POSTURE IS HIGHLY DUBIOUS. REMEMBER WHAT I HAVE SAID: I DO NOT =NEED= YOU. I AM GRANTING YOU THIS SECOND CHANCE BECAUSE I =KNOW= YOU. AS SINGLE-GOALED AS YOU WERE TO USURP THE DECEPTICONS SO TOO WILL YOU, WITH THAT SAME UNYEILDING TENACITY, PERSUE YOUR REVENGE UPON GALVATRON. I WILL GIVE YOU A NEW BODY, AND NEW TROOPS TO COMMAND.<<
“And?” Starscream ventured
>>AND NOTHING! YOU BELONG TO ME NOW, AS SERVANT AND HERALD AND WILL OBEY ME. YOUR BODY CAN BE RECLAIMED AND AS YOU KNOW I HAVE ABILITIES WHICH CAN AFFECT THE SPARK. I CAN UNMAKE YOU TO SUCH A DEGREE THAT THOSE WHO KNEW YOU BEST IN LIFE WILL RECALL YOU ONLY THROUGH DATA FILES!<<
Starscream lay on the floor, twitching in pain, unable to rasp more than an “I believe you”
His body jerked, moving not under his own power but Unicron's. Passing into one of the unbroken energy orbs that still bubbled Starscream was nestled into the pod.
As blackness claimed his consciousness , for even Unicron could stand his screams only so much, he did not see the two still functioning robots enter. One, tall and purple, frowned at the newcomer while his companion, winged and a lighter blue, took to a panel of controls by the pod.
>>YOU DISAPPROVE MY MINION?<<
Turning to the center of the room towards the monitor cluster, for any direction was as good as the next and spoke, “I would not dare to presume your thoughts Lord Unicron.”
>>YOU WONDER WHY I DO NOT SEND ONE OF YOU TWO AGAINST GALVATRON?<<
“Forgive me but yes, I have.”
>> BECAUSE YOU, MY WARRIOR, AND YOUR “BROTHER”, MY TRACKER, DID NOT BETRAY ME. YOU RETURNED HERE, TO ME, TO SERVE ME IN MY TIME OF WEAKNESS. STRONG AS YOU ARE, YOU WOULD BE DESTROYED. I ALSO ADMIT TO ENJOYING THE IRONY OF THOSE TWO UNIQUE SPARKS KILLING EACH OTHER AGAIN AND AGAIN. IF ONE OR THE OTHER IS ELIMINATED, ALL THE BETTER, AND IF SOMEHOW THEY BOTH ARE ELIMINATED...<<
The Warrior nodded, “You are less two traitors and nuisances.”
>>PRECISLY MY WARRIOR.<<
“My Lord.” The Tracker bowed, “Preparations to the pod are complete.”
>>VERY GOOD SCOURGE. BEGIN THE REBIRTHING SEQUENCE<<
Scourge bowed, “At once My Lord.” The Tracker turned back to the pod with Starscream and started to tap commands.
Cyclonus rubbed his chin as he watched lights begin to glow, denoting power bring infused into the chamber.
>>CYCLONUS, I WANT YOU TO BEGIN PREPRATATIONS FOR THREE MORE PODS.<<
The Warrior nodded, “As you command Lord Unicron.” he paused for a moment, “Master?”
>>SPEAK CYCLONUS<<
“These pods are for his troops?” Cyclonus asked, “You are building them from nothing?”
>>IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.<<
Unicron seemed to pause.
>>I HAVE PROCURED THREE RECENTLY DECEASED SPARKS. HOWEVER, UNLIKE WITH YOU, SCOURGE AND GALVATRON I DO NOT HAVE PHYSICAL MATERIAL TO METAMORPHOS. I MUST BEGIN FROM THE BEGINNING.<<
“I understand My Lord. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.” Cyclonus moved to a second panel to prepare another energy pod.
>>PREPARE FOR THE NEXT SPARK CYCLONUS.<<
Then, as Cyclonus watched, the pulsing blue orb that was literally the heart and soul of a Cybertronian floated past and nestled into the pod. Turning his optics to a small monitor he adjusted a knob to a finer setting. Once the Spark was set and the energy feed was at a steady flow the Warrior moved to the adjacent pod and repeated his steps, readying the second pod. Done with Starscream's pod Scourge readied the third pod as Cyclonus worked the second. Prepared now, the two final pods received their payloads, the glowing orbs that pulsated with life and memory were suspended in the fluid filled chambers.
>>NOW. AS THEY BEGIN THE REBIRTHING PROCESS I COMMAND YOU, CYCLONUS, TO DECEND TO CYBERTRON'S SURFACE. I HAVE FELT A DISTURBANCE WITH-IN THE ENERGY SEPERATING THE MATERIAL PLANE AND ITS OPPOSITE. SOMEONE IS POKING ABOUT AND I AM CURIOUS.<<
Cyclonus nodded curtly and transformed, igniting his thrusters and speeding out of his master's giant, shattered optics.
Scourge did another check on the four pods, making adjustments. He paused, looking at Starscream's ghostly form. Stroking his beard the Tracker curled his derma-steel plates into a cruel sneer at his former Air Commander. He well remembered his former lives, merged of Seeker and Insecticon to have skilled air combat along with the ability to be his own squadron. In a way, he was Air Commander now and so much more.
A better commander than you ever were. Scourge thought to himself, A “scientist” you called yourself and always more interested in taking control of the Decepticons. He stroked his beard again, I always wondered what made you think that you could do it.
>>SCOURGE, GO TO THE LEVEL BELOW THIS. WITH-IN THAT FLOOR'S CENTRAL CHAMBER IS A SUMMONING ARRAY. PREPARE IT, FOR I WISH YOU AND CYCLONUS TO BE READY IF, RATHER I SHOULD SAY WHEN HE MOVES TO BETRAY ME.<<
Nodding Scourge obeyed, leaving the chamber as his master ordered.
It was truly a short thruster jump from Unicron's disembodied head to the surface of Cybertron and made all the quicker with a pair of powerful thrusters. The tricky part was not being discovered by sensor or patrol, and riding with-in a small debris “storm” would make Cyclonus appear as a rather large chunk that would mysteriously disappear, but if he did not make frequent use of this maneuver it could be used just that much longer before found out.
Seeing his target up-coming Cyclonus broke away from the debris once he was under the sensor umbrella. He streaked along the cold, thin, star speckled atmosphere of his once home. Internally he mused about how quickly things had changed. Offline by all rights, he and his comrades and leader tossed out by that usurper. Left to float in the forgotten expanses of space with nothing but anger and fear as company until their fuel and energy finally exhausted and their chassis released their Sparks.
It was not to be. No, they were saved by Unicron. Revived and Reformatted. No longer Decepticon even if they still wore the badge, if only to deceive their former teammates, and no longer Cybertronians. He mused further that it also meant they had forsaken their Creator; for it Unicron, one of the Dark Ones was real, would it not also mean that in universal balance that the stories of Primus the Sleeper, one of the Lords of Light and creator of Cybertronians was real as well?
What bothered him most of all was the fact that he had no choice in the matter. His damnation was penned not by his own servo but by Megatron's.
The Dragon. The Slag-Maker. So great and powerful by your own deed and word. Cyclonus spoke to himself as he reverted to his robot mode. Yet in the end, instead of dying strong and defiant in the face of a God... you condemned us all.
The Warrior entered the gaping crag before him, a tunnel to the Beneath, the organic tunnels of Cybertron. Still, we followed you. We understood what you did not though: We belong to Unicron. Scourge and I accepted this. His next thought made him laugh to himself, You tried to betray Unicron as Galvatron as Starscream tried to betray you in your life as Megatron. The irony was just too delicious. I accepted the fate you wrote for me Might Megatron, I followed you as you sought your vengeance Great Galvatron but I did the one thing you did not. I survived.
Silently as he could, Cyclonus trod down the ancient organic tunnel. Now that he was closer to it the Chaos-touched body of his could feel the ripples, vibrating down to his dark, tainted core. Red optics glowed like embers as he used those ripples to guide him further into the labyrinth.
Cyclonus was not surprised to find a make-shift shelter; one well-stocked with the cobbled-together sensors and computers, that did surprise him. Sparking, flashing and hissing, humming quietly as they ran their paces while their owner was gone on whatever errand they were attending too. Crates turned over, used both to carry equipment as well as... furniture would be being generous in description. Beeps and boops, weird sounding feed back issued through speakers. Energy arced from one antenna to another. Lights, barely doing their job, casting shadows so dark one might think they were stains of fuel splashed and spilled from grisly goings-on. The Warrior blinked, in fact there -was- a large puddle of fuel or perhaps it was Energon, their life's-fluid, seeped into the dust of the earthen cavern. Breath held out of tension more than need, he trod over to a container filled with oil and fuel, he peered into it as he bent over to get at optic level.
“A Spark!” He couldn't help but release the held breath in a gasp. The Warrior took a step back when the bare spark -spoke-
“Who... Who is there?!” It demanded, “I can feel the Touch of Chaos upon you. Speak!”
“You have no idea how right you are Spark.” Cyclonus spoke.
“Are you as I? A mortal who follows the Devourer. No... the Touch is too strong.” The Spark hissed
“You are delirious.” spat the Warrior
“You would be too if you listened to that lunatic for mega-cycles.” Again it hissed, “Free me from my prison, let me join our Master! Tell me, he sent you did he not? To free me, to seek my revenge upon that lunatic? That is why the Touch is so strong with you, you are no mere mortal cultist.”
Cyclonus flickered his optics, “Touch?”
“You have The Touch.” The Spark exclaimed, “Yes”, it continued, “You have The Power.” the Spark pulsed as it spoke via the speakers it was hooked to, “The Touch of Chaos, an energy aura that links you to our master. I am, or was, a Scribe. I wrote down and kept the ancient dictations. I gave my Spark to the Master and was Touched.”
“I see now.” Cyclonus spoke evenly, “I am Cyclonus, the Warrior. My shell was reformatted by Lord Unicron himself and with that new body I was renamed by his word as well.”
A gasp from the Spark, “Blessed you are indeed Warrior. Again I beg you, free me from this prison. Let me join our Master in hopes he might grant my revenge to the one who did this to me.”
“Whom was it?”
“The “mystic” known as Mindwipe.” The Spark cursed.
“He, then, is the reason for what Unicron felt?” Cyclonus asked, poking a servo to the machine he was in front of.
“Mindwipe seeks to speak with Sparks long since passed from this world and sought to combine the mystic with his science where science alone failed.” The Scribe growled in anger, “He decided to use me. Me! A true follower used as a fuel sacrifice for that imposter's ritual, to empower his copy of the master's ancient dictations. Insult to injury he keeps me in this jar, suspended between and used as a stepping stone to speak with recently passed Sparks.”
A wry grin passed over Cyclonus' derma-steel plates, “Insult to Injury indeed.”
“Yes. More so the fool actually succeeded in contacting a Spark. A powerful Spark, but the twist that surprised him was the Spark was only -thought- to be dead. He gathered his copy of the Angles of Dissolution, and notes and left in haste to gather his compatriots to report his findings to Soundwave.
A wave of white noise reverberated through his processor, causing Cyclonus to cover an audio receptor out of habit. No words were spoken yet the Warrior understood with a crisp clarity.
The Scribe felt something, it tingled at the edges of his Spark, “What-- ... Was that our Master? Did the Great Chaos Bringer speak?”
“He did.” Cyclonus nodded, “Your story interests him. I am to take you to him, and report my findings.” The Warrior unhooked the fuel filled canister that held the Spark. Turning his helm to scan the hide-away for any last clues or information, he tucked the can under his arm and left.
Scourge passed his servo over a plate on the wall causing clouded amber lights to glow, illuminating the central room that Unicron commanded him to ready.
A large room, its walls decorated with reliefs of figures silently acting out scenes of ceremony and ritual from long ago darker times. In the center was a raised pit, into this, via a multitude of carved channels, would flow the molten slag that was created by Unicron's internal machines from the objects that were consumed by the Chaos Lord. Without a word Scourge lit torches that were crystal orbs atop of metal rods.
Gurgling and schlorping the melted slag began to flow. Thankfully there was some left, the melting pits were destroyed with Unicron's body, so all that was left was the slag already piped into holding chambers. The problem there was the slag had cooled, solidified, and energy had to be spent to melt it again, and with that they had to be careful so their existence was not detected.
He watched as it flowed now, slowly but it flowed. The molten fluid was quite the sight; red-, orange-, yellow- and white-hot. Thick and slow, but steady in its onward movement.
The Tracker couldn't help but be curious.
Aside from the obvious, why prepare the ritual chamber? If a sacrifice was required why not just use Starscream's Spark.
A jolt of fear ran through his central support column.
Us? Scourge ventured the thought, Would he? We have been so loyal. Grabbing his cranial unit he did his best to erase the errant thoughts from his processor lest it anger Unicron.
No punishment came. No PAIN searing through processor and chassis. Nothing but the rolling, bubbling slag filling the pool at the center of the chamber.
>>SCOURGE<<
The Tracker leaped in surprise, his chaos-twisted Spark almost bursting through his chest plate.
“Y-Yes?”
>>THIS RITUAL WILL BE USED TO SUMMON TROOPS FOR YOU AND CYCLONUS. I WOULD HAVE YOU GO TO CYBERTRON'S SURFACE AND COLLECT THREE SACRIFICES. MAKE SURE YOU ARE UNDETECTED IN THIS, ALSO MAKE CERTAIN THEY WILL NOT BE MISSED. NO ONE OF NOTE, NO ONE WHO WILL BE CHECKED ON. WE ARE SENDING NO MESSAGE WITH THIS.<<
“I understand, and will obey.”
>>VERY GOOD MY SERVANT. NOW GO, FOR CYCLONUS RETURNS.<<
“Yes my Lord Unicron.” The Tracker bowed and transformed, firing his engines and swooping from the room.
As he streaked down towards the planet two of his Sweeps appeared, flanking him. His orders were, at the most basic, simple. The tricky part was making sure they wouldn't be missed.
That meant Neutral, even then he had to choose carefully. Even three missing Neutrals could raise alarms,for too late, but he didn't want to risk witnesses giving some smart-vocal actuator the idea to go snooping about his master's remains.
So he relayed his commands to the Sweeps.
Target a poorer, rougher sub-district where a higher concentration of destitute Neutrals would be. If no suitable targets could be acquired there, they would move to snatching Empties.
They lacked fuel, not Sparks, and Sparks, life force, was Unicron's aim.
Streaking through the thin atmosphere Scourge and his Sweeps turned their sensors ground-ward, searching and tracking for their prey.
Primus help those poor Sparks.
This part, The Devil You Know - 3, marks a couple of important Endings. First, my mechanical pencil that I had been writing this entire fic from the get-go with finally ran out of usable lead. It was late at night and instead of making noise by searching for lead to refill it when I wasn't sure we had any, I moved to another pencil. somehow, weirdly, it felt right simply retiring this pencil as it wrote on 63-64 of the sheets in the notebook I was keeping my fic in.
That brings us to the second Ending. My notebook. a simple 70 sheet, single subject notebook is also being retired. three lonely little sheets remain in the back, but I felt it was a better idea to start Part 4 in a fresh notebook instead of changing in mid-sentence x_X
67 sheets of that 70 sheet notebook have scribed onto them Another Universe, 134 pages of TF Fanfic-y goodness for you all.
Thank you. I hope you stay with me through another notebook and another. TF: Another Universe is just getting started folks. You ready to keep riding?
====
The Light.
That distant beacon of power, that point of clarity that was so indescribably welcome to his ghostly optics after spending so long with that gray landscape surrounding him, it didn't matter if it was pale, washed out by the gray of the limbo he was in. It had color and clarity.
The scientist in him welled to the surface of his being, he couldn't help it. He had been fascinated by the existence of this limbo, however that novelty quickly wore off. Now though, with this energy coursing through him, he couldn't help but recall his studies; equations and writ, theorem and formula. Conversions of energy and matter.
He wanted to study this further.
First though was dealing with Unicron, or whatever was the true identity of the voice who spoke to him was. Any being, sufficiently powerful, could induce pain like that, somehow, and say they were Unicron. The offer, such as it was, was too good not to take up: a new body, more power and most importantly revenge.
Then -- the machine ghost hissed, I will get to the bottom of this “Unicron” figment. I do have to congratulate whoever it is, very con--
The thought, half-formed, died as quickly in his mind as he did under Galvatron's cannon. Before him floated the source of the orange-yellow aura that was exuding the red-black energy. It was the absolute largest head he had ever seen, biological or mechanical.
“Unicron?”
>>YES<<
The aura pulsated as the voice spoke again. Starscream looked upon the stark white facial structure beneath the horned helm. In his mind gears began to turn and grind, the beginnings of plans.
>>NOW STARSCREAM, CONTINUE FORWARD. INSIDE ME THE VIEL IS THIN, TO EASIER FACILITATE YOUR RETURN TO THE PHYSICAL WORLD.<<
Nodding dumbly, mute from shock, he continued forward. Entering not even with-in Unicron's floating head but just with-in the red-black energy Starscream found himself transported into a large room filled with energy orbs that bubbled, though some were broken and their contents long leaked out. In the center, joined together by some alien webbing, were video monitors, broken and shattered.
>>VERY GOOD MY FUTURE SERVANT<<
“Servant?” Starscream searched for the source of Unicron's voice, “Great Devourer, since we shared the same goal I thought we could be par—AUGH! YARHGH!!”
His voice was reduced to inarticulate electronic screeching and white noise as PAIN coursed through his incorporeal form yet again.
>>SILENCE! YOUR BARGANING POSTURE IS HIGHLY DUBIOUS. REMEMBER WHAT I HAVE SAID: I DO NOT =NEED= YOU. I AM GRANTING YOU THIS SECOND CHANCE BECAUSE I =KNOW= YOU. AS SINGLE-GOALED AS YOU WERE TO USURP THE DECEPTICONS SO TOO WILL YOU, WITH THAT SAME UNYEILDING TENACITY, PERSUE YOUR REVENGE UPON GALVATRON. I WILL GIVE YOU A NEW BODY, AND NEW TROOPS TO COMMAND.<<
“And?” Starscream ventured
>>AND NOTHING! YOU BELONG TO ME NOW, AS SERVANT AND HERALD AND WILL OBEY ME. YOUR BODY CAN BE RECLAIMED AND AS YOU KNOW I HAVE ABILITIES WHICH CAN AFFECT THE SPARK. I CAN UNMAKE YOU TO SUCH A DEGREE THAT THOSE WHO KNEW YOU BEST IN LIFE WILL RECALL YOU ONLY THROUGH DATA FILES!<<
Starscream lay on the floor, twitching in pain, unable to rasp more than an “I believe you”
His body jerked, moving not under his own power but Unicron's. Passing into one of the unbroken energy orbs that still bubbled Starscream was nestled into the pod.
As blackness claimed his consciousness , for even Unicron could stand his screams only so much, he did not see the two still functioning robots enter. One, tall and purple, frowned at the newcomer while his companion, winged and a lighter blue, took to a panel of controls by the pod.
>>YOU DISAPPROVE MY MINION?<<
Turning to the center of the room towards the monitor cluster, for any direction was as good as the next and spoke, “I would not dare to presume your thoughts Lord Unicron.”
>>YOU WONDER WHY I DO NOT SEND ONE OF YOU TWO AGAINST GALVATRON?<<
“Forgive me but yes, I have.”
>> BECAUSE YOU, MY WARRIOR, AND YOUR “BROTHER”, MY TRACKER, DID NOT BETRAY ME. YOU RETURNED HERE, TO ME, TO SERVE ME IN MY TIME OF WEAKNESS. STRONG AS YOU ARE, YOU WOULD BE DESTROYED. I ALSO ADMIT TO ENJOYING THE IRONY OF THOSE TWO UNIQUE SPARKS KILLING EACH OTHER AGAIN AND AGAIN. IF ONE OR THE OTHER IS ELIMINATED, ALL THE BETTER, AND IF SOMEHOW THEY BOTH ARE ELIMINATED...<<
The Warrior nodded, “You are less two traitors and nuisances.”
>>PRECISLY MY WARRIOR.<<
“My Lord.” The Tracker bowed, “Preparations to the pod are complete.”
>>VERY GOOD SCOURGE. BEGIN THE REBIRTHING SEQUENCE<<
Scourge bowed, “At once My Lord.” The Tracker turned back to the pod with Starscream and started to tap commands.
Cyclonus rubbed his chin as he watched lights begin to glow, denoting power bring infused into the chamber.
>>CYCLONUS, I WANT YOU TO BEGIN PREPRATATIONS FOR THREE MORE PODS.<<
The Warrior nodded, “As you command Lord Unicron.” he paused for a moment, “Master?”
>>SPEAK CYCLONUS<<
“These pods are for his troops?” Cyclonus asked, “You are building them from nothing?”
>>IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.<<
Unicron seemed to pause.
>>I HAVE PROCURED THREE RECENTLY DECEASED SPARKS. HOWEVER, UNLIKE WITH YOU, SCOURGE AND GALVATRON I DO NOT HAVE PHYSICAL MATERIAL TO METAMORPHOS. I MUST BEGIN FROM THE BEGINNING.<<
“I understand My Lord. Thank you for indulging my curiosity.” Cyclonus moved to a second panel to prepare another energy pod.
>>PREPARE FOR THE NEXT SPARK CYCLONUS.<<
Then, as Cyclonus watched, the pulsing blue orb that was literally the heart and soul of a Cybertronian floated past and nestled into the pod. Turning his optics to a small monitor he adjusted a knob to a finer setting. Once the Spark was set and the energy feed was at a steady flow the Warrior moved to the adjacent pod and repeated his steps, readying the second pod. Done with Starscream's pod Scourge readied the third pod as Cyclonus worked the second. Prepared now, the two final pods received their payloads, the glowing orbs that pulsated with life and memory were suspended in the fluid filled chambers.
>>NOW. AS THEY BEGIN THE REBIRTHING PROCESS I COMMAND YOU, CYCLONUS, TO DECEND TO CYBERTRON'S SURFACE. I HAVE FELT A DISTURBANCE WITH-IN THE ENERGY SEPERATING THE MATERIAL PLANE AND ITS OPPOSITE. SOMEONE IS POKING ABOUT AND I AM CURIOUS.<<
Cyclonus nodded curtly and transformed, igniting his thrusters and speeding out of his master's giant, shattered optics.
Scourge did another check on the four pods, making adjustments. He paused, looking at Starscream's ghostly form. Stroking his beard the Tracker curled his derma-steel plates into a cruel sneer at his former Air Commander. He well remembered his former lives, merged of Seeker and Insecticon to have skilled air combat along with the ability to be his own squadron. In a way, he was Air Commander now and so much more.
A better commander than you ever were. Scourge thought to himself, A “scientist” you called yourself and always more interested in taking control of the Decepticons. He stroked his beard again, I always wondered what made you think that you could do it.
>>SCOURGE, GO TO THE LEVEL BELOW THIS. WITH-IN THAT FLOOR'S CENTRAL CHAMBER IS A SUMMONING ARRAY. PREPARE IT, FOR I WISH YOU AND CYCLONUS TO BE READY IF, RATHER I SHOULD SAY WHEN HE MOVES TO BETRAY ME.<<
Nodding Scourge obeyed, leaving the chamber as his master ordered.
= = = =
It was truly a short thruster jump from Unicron's disembodied head to the surface of Cybertron and made all the quicker with a pair of powerful thrusters. The tricky part was not being discovered by sensor or patrol, and riding with-in a small debris “storm” would make Cyclonus appear as a rather large chunk that would mysteriously disappear, but if he did not make frequent use of this maneuver it could be used just that much longer before found out.
Seeing his target up-coming Cyclonus broke away from the debris once he was under the sensor umbrella. He streaked along the cold, thin, star speckled atmosphere of his once home. Internally he mused about how quickly things had changed. Offline by all rights, he and his comrades and leader tossed out by that usurper. Left to float in the forgotten expanses of space with nothing but anger and fear as company until their fuel and energy finally exhausted and their chassis released their Sparks.
It was not to be. No, they were saved by Unicron. Revived and Reformatted. No longer Decepticon even if they still wore the badge, if only to deceive their former teammates, and no longer Cybertronians. He mused further that it also meant they had forsaken their Creator; for it Unicron, one of the Dark Ones was real, would it not also mean that in universal balance that the stories of Primus the Sleeper, one of the Lords of Light and creator of Cybertronians was real as well?
What bothered him most of all was the fact that he had no choice in the matter. His damnation was penned not by his own servo but by Megatron's.
The Dragon. The Slag-Maker. So great and powerful by your own deed and word. Cyclonus spoke to himself as he reverted to his robot mode. Yet in the end, instead of dying strong and defiant in the face of a God... you condemned us all.
The Warrior entered the gaping crag before him, a tunnel to the Beneath, the organic tunnels of Cybertron. Still, we followed you. We understood what you did not though: We belong to Unicron. Scourge and I accepted this. His next thought made him laugh to himself, You tried to betray Unicron as Galvatron as Starscream tried to betray you in your life as Megatron. The irony was just too delicious. I accepted the fate you wrote for me Might Megatron, I followed you as you sought your vengeance Great Galvatron but I did the one thing you did not. I survived.
Silently as he could, Cyclonus trod down the ancient organic tunnel. Now that he was closer to it the Chaos-touched body of his could feel the ripples, vibrating down to his dark, tainted core. Red optics glowed like embers as he used those ripples to guide him further into the labyrinth.
Cyclonus was not surprised to find a make-shift shelter; one well-stocked with the cobbled-together sensors and computers, that did surprise him. Sparking, flashing and hissing, humming quietly as they ran their paces while their owner was gone on whatever errand they were attending too. Crates turned over, used both to carry equipment as well as... furniture would be being generous in description. Beeps and boops, weird sounding feed back issued through speakers. Energy arced from one antenna to another. Lights, barely doing their job, casting shadows so dark one might think they were stains of fuel splashed and spilled from grisly goings-on. The Warrior blinked, in fact there -was- a large puddle of fuel or perhaps it was Energon, their life's-fluid, seeped into the dust of the earthen cavern. Breath held out of tension more than need, he trod over to a container filled with oil and fuel, he peered into it as he bent over to get at optic level.
“A Spark!” He couldn't help but release the held breath in a gasp. The Warrior took a step back when the bare spark -spoke-
“Who... Who is there?!” It demanded, “I can feel the Touch of Chaos upon you. Speak!”
“You have no idea how right you are Spark.” Cyclonus spoke.
“Are you as I? A mortal who follows the Devourer. No... the Touch is too strong.” The Spark hissed
“You are delirious.” spat the Warrior
“You would be too if you listened to that lunatic for mega-cycles.” Again it hissed, “Free me from my prison, let me join our Master! Tell me, he sent you did he not? To free me, to seek my revenge upon that lunatic? That is why the Touch is so strong with you, you are no mere mortal cultist.”
Cyclonus flickered his optics, “Touch?”
“You have The Touch.” The Spark exclaimed, “Yes”, it continued, “You have The Power.” the Spark pulsed as it spoke via the speakers it was hooked to, “The Touch of Chaos, an energy aura that links you to our master. I am, or was, a Scribe. I wrote down and kept the ancient dictations. I gave my Spark to the Master and was Touched.”
“I see now.” Cyclonus spoke evenly, “I am Cyclonus, the Warrior. My shell was reformatted by Lord Unicron himself and with that new body I was renamed by his word as well.”
A gasp from the Spark, “Blessed you are indeed Warrior. Again I beg you, free me from this prison. Let me join our Master in hopes he might grant my revenge to the one who did this to me.”
“Whom was it?”
“The “mystic” known as Mindwipe.” The Spark cursed.
“He, then, is the reason for what Unicron felt?” Cyclonus asked, poking a servo to the machine he was in front of.
“Mindwipe seeks to speak with Sparks long since passed from this world and sought to combine the mystic with his science where science alone failed.” The Scribe growled in anger, “He decided to use me. Me! A true follower used as a fuel sacrifice for that imposter's ritual, to empower his copy of the master's ancient dictations. Insult to injury he keeps me in this jar, suspended between and used as a stepping stone to speak with recently passed Sparks.”
A wry grin passed over Cyclonus' derma-steel plates, “Insult to Injury indeed.”
“Yes. More so the fool actually succeeded in contacting a Spark. A powerful Spark, but the twist that surprised him was the Spark was only -thought- to be dead. He gathered his copy of the Angles of Dissolution, and notes and left in haste to gather his compatriots to report his findings to Soundwave.
A wave of white noise reverberated through his processor, causing Cyclonus to cover an audio receptor out of habit. No words were spoken yet the Warrior understood with a crisp clarity.
The Scribe felt something, it tingled at the edges of his Spark, “What-- ... Was that our Master? Did the Great Chaos Bringer speak?”
“He did.” Cyclonus nodded, “Your story interests him. I am to take you to him, and report my findings.” The Warrior unhooked the fuel filled canister that held the Spark. Turning his helm to scan the hide-away for any last clues or information, he tucked the can under his arm and left.
= = = =
Scourge passed his servo over a plate on the wall causing clouded amber lights to glow, illuminating the central room that Unicron commanded him to ready.
A large room, its walls decorated with reliefs of figures silently acting out scenes of ceremony and ritual from long ago darker times. In the center was a raised pit, into this, via a multitude of carved channels, would flow the molten slag that was created by Unicron's internal machines from the objects that were consumed by the Chaos Lord. Without a word Scourge lit torches that were crystal orbs atop of metal rods.
Gurgling and schlorping the melted slag began to flow. Thankfully there was some left, the melting pits were destroyed with Unicron's body, so all that was left was the slag already piped into holding chambers. The problem there was the slag had cooled, solidified, and energy had to be spent to melt it again, and with that they had to be careful so their existence was not detected.
He watched as it flowed now, slowly but it flowed. The molten fluid was quite the sight; red-, orange-, yellow- and white-hot. Thick and slow, but steady in its onward movement.
The Tracker couldn't help but be curious.
Aside from the obvious, why prepare the ritual chamber? If a sacrifice was required why not just use Starscream's Spark.
A jolt of fear ran through his central support column.
Us? Scourge ventured the thought, Would he? We have been so loyal. Grabbing his cranial unit he did his best to erase the errant thoughts from his processor lest it anger Unicron.
No punishment came. No PAIN searing through processor and chassis. Nothing but the rolling, bubbling slag filling the pool at the center of the chamber.
>>SCOURGE<<
The Tracker leaped in surprise, his chaos-twisted Spark almost bursting through his chest plate.
“Y-Yes?”
>>THIS RITUAL WILL BE USED TO SUMMON TROOPS FOR YOU AND CYCLONUS. I WOULD HAVE YOU GO TO CYBERTRON'S SURFACE AND COLLECT THREE SACRIFICES. MAKE SURE YOU ARE UNDETECTED IN THIS, ALSO MAKE CERTAIN THEY WILL NOT BE MISSED. NO ONE OF NOTE, NO ONE WHO WILL BE CHECKED ON. WE ARE SENDING NO MESSAGE WITH THIS.<<
“I understand, and will obey.”
>>VERY GOOD MY SERVANT. NOW GO, FOR CYCLONUS RETURNS.<<
“Yes my Lord Unicron.” The Tracker bowed and transformed, firing his engines and swooping from the room.
As he streaked down towards the planet two of his Sweeps appeared, flanking him. His orders were, at the most basic, simple. The tricky part was making sure they wouldn't be missed.
That meant Neutral, even then he had to choose carefully. Even three missing Neutrals could raise alarms,for too late, but he didn't want to risk witnesses giving some smart-vocal actuator the idea to go snooping about his master's remains.
So he relayed his commands to the Sweeps.
Target a poorer, rougher sub-district where a higher concentration of destitute Neutrals would be. If no suitable targets could be acquired there, they would move to snatching Empties.
They lacked fuel, not Sparks, and Sparks, life force, was Unicron's aim.
Streaking through the thin atmosphere Scourge and his Sweeps turned their sensors ground-ward, searching and tracking for their prey.
Primus help those poor Sparks.
Holy crap this is getting more and more awesome all the time!
LOVE how Starscream is staying true to form and trying to play the odds in his favour even if he has no chance in hell. And the survival and continuing loyalty of Scourge and Cyclonus is amazing...Makes me wonder if they are staying out of loyalty or fear?
Very nice touch with using the debris cloud to avoid the sensor nets around Cybertron!
LOVE how Starscream is staying true to form and trying to play the odds in his favour even if he has no chance in hell. And the survival and continuing loyalty of Scourge and Cyclonus is amazing...Makes me wonder if they are staying out of loyalty or fear?
Very nice touch with using the debris cloud to avoid the sensor nets around Cybertron!
thank you ^^ I'm tryin' I'm tryin'
being that this is Unicron? I'm betting probably Both Loyalty and Fear. I dunno why but late at night, writing, I was thinking "ok, so Cyclonus (or was that Scourge) says "but we belong to him" to Galvatron in the movie..." and I remember reading something, somewhere about how Scourge seemed more loyal to Unicron than Galvatron. something inside me went "well... just -how- do they feel about what happened to them" and... there ya go
I wonder, though. how the bloody blue allspark did I get near-too, or at this point -over- 2000 views o.o;;
I'm honestly shocked.
I'm also wondering if people didn't notice my bad joke(s) in this chapter lol
I can't help it, I love bad puns, so I sneak in a few when I can and try to craft it so they don't ruin the feel of the scene but when you realize it you groan
I love that kind :3
EDIT: criminy 2,025 veiws o.o;;
being that this is Unicron? I'm betting probably Both Loyalty and Fear. I dunno why but late at night, writing, I was thinking "ok, so Cyclonus (or was that Scourge) says "but we belong to him" to Galvatron in the movie..." and I remember reading something, somewhere about how Scourge seemed more loyal to Unicron than Galvatron. something inside me went "well... just -how- do they feel about what happened to them" and... there ya go
I wonder, though. how the bloody blue allspark did I get near-too, or at this point -over- 2000 views o.o;;
I'm honestly shocked.
I'm also wondering if people didn't notice my bad joke(s) in this chapter lol
I can't help it, I love bad puns, so I sneak in a few when I can and try to craft it so they don't ruin the feel of the scene but when you realize it you groan
I love that kind :3
EDIT: criminy 2,025 veiws o.o;;
YOU'VE GOT THE TOUCH!
YOU'VE GOT THE POWAH!
Hahahaha!! I like it it.
I also like how you made Scourge 'Seeker and Insecticon'. Does that apply to Cyclonus too? If so, then it makes me happy because that's how I've always thought of their creation.
In my personal fanon, Skywarp and Thundercracker provide the Sparks for Cyclonus and Scourge while the Insecticons provide the raw materials and spare parts. And I love the irony of Starscreams 'minions' becoming more powerful than him, and proving just how much better they are than he anyway!
Great story, great expansion. And the introspection of 'The Warrior' and 'The Tracker' (I love the use of their designations) is fun and creates more character than they ever seemed to have in the cartoon. And I'm not just saying that. Well done Strike.
Also, I wonder who this 'servant' of Unicrons is. This 'Scribe'.
Are you going to give Starscream and uppgraded body or just have him remade as normal? An upgrade would be nice, maybe to his Machine Wars body. He'd still be Starscream, just bigger and better. But that depends on where your story of goiing of course.
Two more things before I stop, as this post is getting overly long.
1. I may have said it before, but the character moments and actions of your TFs add more to them than any battles or action scenes could. Both Autobot and Decepticon. In case of point, and like Cyclonus' nobility and acceptance of his damnation. His acceptance that he was damned by Megatrons weakness and no must serve because he is corrupted. As for Scourge, he seems to enjoy the new power he has, the new authority, and is even more afraid than Cyclonus. I like how you have his trrying to control even his thoughts out of fear of Unicrons punishment.
2. I like how you're new universe is evolving post-Movie characters that I (personally) have always had a fondness for. Ultra Magnus, Rodimus, Cyclonus, Scourge etc. As well as the best of the pre-Movie cast. Soundwave and his minions, Shockwave, Starscream. But also, since you're fic is spinning off into a new universe, original characters are there to give a fresh look at things. And these I like. Striker, Calibue, Deckstar, Skate, Doodlebug.
TF:AU is a great story, and is getting more awesome with every new part.
(I apologise for the length of this post.)
Oh yes and thanks for the PM Strike.
YOU'VE GOT THE POWAH!
Hahahaha!! I like it it.
I also like how you made Scourge 'Seeker and Insecticon'. Does that apply to Cyclonus too? If so, then it makes me happy because that's how I've always thought of their creation.
In my personal fanon, Skywarp and Thundercracker provide the Sparks for Cyclonus and Scourge while the Insecticons provide the raw materials and spare parts. And I love the irony of Starscreams 'minions' becoming more powerful than him, and proving just how much better they are than he anyway!
Great story, great expansion. And the introspection of 'The Warrior' and 'The Tracker' (I love the use of their designations) is fun and creates more character than they ever seemed to have in the cartoon. And I'm not just saying that. Well done Strike.
Also, I wonder who this 'servant' of Unicrons is. This 'Scribe'.
Are you going to give Starscream and uppgraded body or just have him remade as normal? An upgrade would be nice, maybe to his Machine Wars body. He'd still be Starscream, just bigger and better. But that depends on where your story of goiing of course.
Two more things before I stop, as this post is getting overly long.
1. I may have said it before, but the character moments and actions of your TFs add more to them than any battles or action scenes could. Both Autobot and Decepticon. In case of point, and like Cyclonus' nobility and acceptance of his damnation. His acceptance that he was damned by Megatrons weakness and no must serve because he is corrupted. As for Scourge, he seems to enjoy the new power he has, the new authority, and is even more afraid than Cyclonus. I like how you have his trrying to control even his thoughts out of fear of Unicrons punishment.
2. I like how you're new universe is evolving post-Movie characters that I (personally) have always had a fondness for. Ultra Magnus, Rodimus, Cyclonus, Scourge etc. As well as the best of the pre-Movie cast. Soundwave and his minions, Shockwave, Starscream. But also, since you're fic is spinning off into a new universe, original characters are there to give a fresh look at things. And these I like. Striker, Calibue, Deckstar, Skate, Doodlebug.
TF:AU is a great story, and is getting more awesome with every new part.
(I apologise for the length of this post.)
Oh yes and thanks for the PM Strike.
post length isn't a problem, say what you wanna say y'know? lol
yeah, i've always figured that, like many, the guys in the front of the screen were Cyclonus and Scourge -but- as I thought about it... why make the insect with the cloning powers the 'main guy' and the jet just a copy? It made more sense that for Scourge they combined in such a way that TC was giving his skill and the insecticon was allowing the one Scourge to become.. well, basically a Plague if he wanted to.
Cyclonus, since he was knocked down to just one, him, instead of having the same deal with "and his Armada" (oh the plans I have for that, thank you Mr. Vange1us :3), probably got squished together with the insecticon just for raw parts... unless I decide to have him show that ability >>;
As for Starscream and the other things. I thought it would be fitting that TC and SW, who were almost "no names" in the series to be happy to be out from under Screamer's conniving and annoying heel strut.
I'm glad you enjoy their little inner monologues because I was worried this was too talky, then again, villains are planners so *shrug*
Starscream is getting a totally new body, yes. I hadn't thought of his Machine Wars body, that would have been a nice idea. I actually was thinking of something else. Since he's just a spark, with no shell to remold Screamer is getting built from the ground up, so to speak. so, unlike Galvatron, Scourge and Cyclonus who are.. relatively... similar to their original forms gun/cannon, jet/future ... skiff? jet/future jet... with Starscream I felt Unicron would unleash upon the world something... else. He -is- a Dark God and master of The Pit, I thought it'd be fun if he gave Screamer a body based off a Cybertronian Demon. he will also be renamed... Hellscream
Good times, good times *sips a Lovely Beverage™
Three guesses for who those three sparks who will become his minions are :3
Three more guesses for who Unicron wants to summon so Scourge and Cyclonus have back-up
I... honestly have -no- idea who "The Scribe" was before he was a spark-in-a-jar.
yes, the Touch/Power back-and-forth between Cyclonus and The Scribe. THAT my friends is what you get when I write when I should be sleeping XD I right "touch of chaos" pause a moment and go "...you know I could... yeah, I'll do it" and go from there
I am really touched and happy that you've enjoyed it so much GSO I really am. I'm glad people are liking how I treat the characters and how I add my own.
no problem on the PM, I found out that after 30 days even myself, the creator of the thread looses my "subscription" to the thread
oh! fun time!!
I'm giving an open call for those three poor souls that Scourge was sent to get. any ideas who the sacrificial electric sheep should be? a TF you didn't like? perhaps a thinly-veiled GoBot?
post your opinions :3
yeah, i've always figured that, like many, the guys in the front of the screen were Cyclonus and Scourge -but- as I thought about it... why make the insect with the cloning powers the 'main guy' and the jet just a copy? It made more sense that for Scourge they combined in such a way that TC was giving his skill and the insecticon was allowing the one Scourge to become.. well, basically a Plague if he wanted to.
Cyclonus, since he was knocked down to just one, him, instead of having the same deal with "and his Armada" (oh the plans I have for that, thank you Mr. Vange1us :3), probably got squished together with the insecticon just for raw parts... unless I decide to have him show that ability >>;
As for Starscream and the other things. I thought it would be fitting that TC and SW, who were almost "no names" in the series to be happy to be out from under Screamer's conniving and annoying heel strut.
I'm glad you enjoy their little inner monologues because I was worried this was too talky, then again, villains are planners so *shrug*
Starscream is getting a totally new body, yes. I hadn't thought of his Machine Wars body, that would have been a nice idea. I actually was thinking of something else. Since he's just a spark, with no shell to remold Screamer is getting built from the ground up, so to speak. so, unlike Galvatron, Scourge and Cyclonus who are.. relatively... similar to their original forms gun/cannon, jet/future ... skiff? jet/future jet... with Starscream I felt Unicron would unleash upon the world something... else. He -is- a Dark God and master of The Pit, I thought it'd be fun if he gave Screamer a body based off a Cybertronian Demon. he will also be renamed... Hellscream
Good times, good times *sips a Lovely Beverage™
Three guesses for who those three sparks who will become his minions are :3
Three more guesses for who Unicron wants to summon so Scourge and Cyclonus have back-up
I... honestly have -no- idea who "The Scribe" was before he was a spark-in-a-jar.
yes, the Touch/Power back-and-forth between Cyclonus and The Scribe. THAT my friends is what you get when I write when I should be sleeping XD I right "touch of chaos" pause a moment and go "...you know I could... yeah, I'll do it" and go from there
I am really touched and happy that you've enjoyed it so much GSO I really am. I'm glad people are liking how I treat the characters and how I add my own.
no problem on the PM, I found out that after 30 days even myself, the creator of the thread looses my "subscription" to the thread
oh! fun time!!
I'm giving an open call for those three poor souls that Scourge was sent to get. any ideas who the sacrificial electric sheep should be? a TF you didn't like? perhaps a thinly-veiled GoBot?
post your opinions :3
Having some lowly GoBot or even some very obscure Cybertronian would be a really sweet touch. Nice reference of the "Empties" there earlier! Probably some will not get the reference until it is fully written out here in the story.
Maybe even have one of the "empties" be a sleeper agent for either faction, scouting out possible recruits to enlist or convert, and ending up in a LOT worse situation than his diodes ever dared analyze during a routine recharge session. Can you imagine what would be going through his processors when the full horror of the Dark God is laid out before his optics? Muahahahhaaaaa! >:-)
Maybe even have one of the "empties" be a sleeper agent for either faction, scouting out possible recruits to enlist or convert, and ending up in a LOT worse situation than his diodes ever dared analyze during a routine recharge session. Can you imagine what would be going through his processors when the full horror of the Dark God is laid out before his optics? Muahahahhaaaaa! >:-)
That... that is very tempting o.o
I also couldn't help myself and saw Cy-Kill be killed... again lol
I also couldn't help myself and saw Cy-Kill be killed... again lol
My computer is down... again. the only way to make it work again is to redo the OS (again might I add with a prolonged sigh >>; )
however, the story files of what has already been posted ARE safe, so yay on that. I moved them to my external that I cleaned up so I wouldn't have a heart failure everytime my computer hiccuped x_X
I figured I'd give you all a heads up to know that I'm happy, alive and that the story isn't dead, I'm just a procrastinator. As a friend said though, procrastination breeds inspiration so... maybe I'm doing the "artist" thing right lol
I also wanted to give a heads up on whats up-coming and coming up in TF:AU
That's all I can think of at this time. Just wanted to say Hey to all my readers and show my thanks for your support!!
however, the story files of what has already been posted ARE safe, so yay on that. I moved them to my external that I cleaned up so I wouldn't have a heart failure everytime my computer hiccuped x_X
I figured I'd give you all a heads up to know that I'm happy, alive and that the story isn't dead, I'm just a procrastinator. As a friend said though, procrastination breeds inspiration so... maybe I'm doing the "artist" thing right lol
I also wanted to give a heads up on whats up-coming and coming up in TF:AU
- The Devil You Know - I had originally meant this to be the longest fic I've written to date, aiming at 8 parts/chapters considering how I like to break my stories into smaller, easier to read chunks. Seeing how things are turning out now... I can beleive I actually WILL be hitting 8, possibly 6... If I go over 8 even -I'm- gonna be surprised.
TDYK was written to progress the plot of my series, to show that the Decepticons are still around and aren't taking the attack or the Autobots getting back in power laying down. I was really ambisious wanting to do such a long fic but I seem to be doing alright. - AFTER The Devil You Know - After I finish this monster, I want to do a lighter fic to take a break from all the darkness and gloom and webs being spun. What is probably going to happen is a fic I'm right now calling "Training Daze" which is a day-in-the-life fic of the Wyrd-al crew/recruits from the point of view of the last recruit. That's right. At the time I wrote the frist two fics I had yet to name and give alt modes to all of them. In Total: Striker, Calibur, Doodlebug, Tune-up, Gizmo, Deckstar, and lastly "Doozer" who turns into a skid-steer loader.
- The Future - Oh... what do I have in store for you.
- "Sister's Keeper" - An Arcee-centric story, introducing another original character whom I thought up to give validity to Raptrap's line "great aunt arcee". I've grown to love this original character, and hope you don't mind I pulled a "give a show-character a sibling" gambit, she's far from a Mary-sue type, no worries.
- "Leave" - My little band of misfits return to Cybertron for some shore leave. Striker gets a message from Gylph, he's been following a study of hers, and she invites him to a lecture. Calibur decides its a great excuse to get in some shore leave and so the rest of the crew tags along.
- "Cannonball's Run" - I am a dork, worse yet, a dork with a rather ecclectic collection of music and love of movies. This fic began because I was listening to the theme of the race movie "cannonball run" that started Burt Reynolds and Dom DeLuise... then my imagination got sparked. TF has a Cannonball, a piriate, so why not have a TF-based road race because Cannonball kidnapped someone... and oh! Cannonball is homage to a fave movie of mine, The Princess Bride, why not add some of that too the mix. >>; yeah. look forward to this one folks, as Inygo Montoya said "Humiliations Galore~"
- "Lightspeed Rescue Force" - This one I blame on my love of giant robots (gee, a TF fan who likes giant robots >>;; no duh), super sentai (power rangers) and 80s cartoons in general. This time, the Wyrd-al crew head to Japan for a science expo run by the son (or daughter, not sure) of an old friend of the autobots to see what technologies have come from the human-autobot alliance. The title is an homage to the Power Ranger season "Lightspeed Rescure" and the mail away TFs "Rescue Force"
As you can see I have FIVE stories in my creative Buffer and I might actually have forgotten 1, I'll have to check my notes. - "Sister's Keeper" - An Arcee-centric story, introducing another original character whom I thought up to give validity to Raptrap's line "great aunt arcee". I've grown to love this original character, and hope you don't mind I pulled a "give a show-character a sibling" gambit, she's far from a Mary-sue type, no worries.
- Even More Future - Don't think I'm sticking to G1 either. I plan on taking this to the Beast Wars too. I loved that series and I just couldn't see doing a G1 fic without taking my peeps into BW and into BM.
That's all I can think of at this time. Just wanted to say Hey to all my readers and show my thanks for your support!!
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