Life After Peace (Chapter 7 added at long last) Sept 6, 2018 16:35:34 GMT
Post by manmiles on Sept 6, 2018 16:35:34 GMT
Life After Peace
And then, one day, the guns stopped. The last Decepticon was dead and the Autobots could finally put down their weapons and work out how to rebuild a decimated race on a planet that had long ago been pushed past the point of no return. Faced with a situation like that, the Autobots seen fell into petty arguments over leadership and command and, faced with the prospect of trying to sort a problem that was quite literally unsolvable, they just divided into more factions and it all started again. A new civil war began, fueled by beings who had been fighting for so long, fighting was really all they had left.
Those three hours were the most peaceful three hours that Cyberton had ever had in centuries.
Rodimus put a hand to the ground and pushed. The ground, once cool, tough metal gave slightly, stretching from the force of his touch. Pulling back his hand, Rodimus watched as the ground slowly resumed it's shape. Looking about him, Rodimus reached down and pushed down on the ground, digging his fingers deep into the metal. Now, a series of finger-marks could be seen slowly springing back into it's original form. The pocket-scanner in his kit didn't yield any sufficient results, according to it's readings, there was the ground, the ground was still the same surface metal that Cybertron's upper layers always had been, any changes would be occurring at a deeper, more molecular level and that was far beyond the scanner's pay grade. Standing, Rodimus pocketed the scanner and looked around him. A collection of bombed own, dilapidated buildings and spires looked back at him, their broken windows dead eyes looking out onto bomb craters and shattered roadways. Some of the buildings slowly sinking into the ground. Rodimus needed Perceptor, or Brainstorm, one of the numerous scientific advisors who could look at something like this and tell him what was going on in such precise detail, it would've been akin to a message from God. Rodimus knew though, the basic gist of what was going on, even he didn't need that explaining to.
Cybertron, was transforming. Not like it's children, clutching to petty squabbles in their death-throes, not the technical majesty of one mode to another, but the planet was undergoing a transformation of it's own. Cybertron was nearing a final death and as it did so, the ecological effects were starting to become more and more known. Maybe it was for the best, Rodimus thought to himself sardonically, the planet didn't have much going for it to begin with. He had first started noticing the changes during his 'traveling,' (although 'exile', would be a far better word, maybe just be truthful and say 'cowardice.') how many years had it been since he'd even stuck his nose out of Autobase, preferring to live through daily combat reports and dryly written mission debriefings? Perhaps that it was the simple truth that, at the end of everything, Rodimus Prime couldn't really deny that the planet had been well and truly pushed past the point of no return. Everything just felt... flat. Most of the mountains had been worn away by time and war, even the Rust Sea had stopped moving and hardened, it seemed. Even what remained of the cities were slowly being swallowed up by the ground. It seemed apt, that after a war that had spanned eons of time, all they had really won was the right to die via planetary collapse. That was if anyone survived the new war. After surviving to achieve peace at the end of one war, it looked like the new war was going to be murder.
Before leaving the shelter of Iacon's remains, Rodimus went through the routine as he did at the start of every cycle. The inventory of equipment (energon-rations, communicator, repair-kit, magnet-clamps, emergency shelter) followed by his small arsenal (photon-grenades, two blaster rifles, a depressingly small number of power packs for said blasters) was counted, double-counted and placed safely into personal storage. Satisfied that he was ready, Rodimus grabbed the two halves of his Pretender Armour and slipped it on. The Armour wasn't his, he had stolen it months ago when he realised that the signals he put out allowed him to be easily tracked. Rodimus had killed a 'bot for that Armour and it'd taken long enough to reconfigure it for his own personal use. He'd not known the name, he wasn't even sure which faction he was on. Not that the factions really mattered anymore, they all ended in the same name- Autobot. If this was what peace was, forget it, when it was Autobot vs. Decepticon, it was much easier to draw the lines.
The spaceport was another two days away, one of the last of the planet's still working spaceport's according to Rodimus' research. All the others had been quickly destroyed, it seemed that was the Autobots had fallen into the madness of Civil War, self-destructive urges had taken hold and the factions had taken care to smash up the lot. The only one left now belonged to the Magnus Autobots and Rodimus trusted that out of all of them, he could put his faith in Ultra Magnus. Rodimus hoped for that desperately, even if Rodimus had spurned Magnus by not choosing him for the role of Autobot Leader after him. He didn't know, the moment the fighting had broken out, back when Triton had almost been shot by Roadbuster, Rodimus had... Rodimus had... Rodimus shook his head, trying to reassign the memories somewhere else. Dwelling on the past was something he couldn't do right now, getting off Cybertron was the main. Getting off the planet and getting as far away from everyone as he could before-
“Hey!” The figure jumped out from behind a twisted metal edifice that stabbed up out of the ground. Pulling a rifle, Rodimus pointed it at the figure, but didn't fire, the Micromaster started to scramble towards him, keeping their arms raised as the repeatedly shouted that they were unarmed.
“Which side are you on?” asked the Micromaster. As he stopped before Rodimus, Rodimus could see that the small Micromaster's chassis was dented and scarred in numerous places, the main standout was the Autobrand, the original, unbastadised, corrupted Autobrand, the same one on Rodimus himself wore, not many still wore that particular type.
“I'm an Autobot.”
“Yeah,” said the Micromaster with a bitter smirk. “We're all Autobots, friend. But you with Magnus? The Wreck-Lords? Tribe-Power? The Rebuilders? You're clearly not one with Faction Micromaster.” The Micromaster patted the top of his head. “Hate to break it to you, there's a pretty big requirement. You must be this tall to join.” The Micromaster laughed at his own joke. “Big requirement, you know, I probably had the worst sense of humour in my entire team. Well, they're probably all dead now, is that funny? No, it's not funny. Not really.”
“The only side that matters to me,” said Rodimus glumly. “Autobot. Heroic Autobot.”
The Micromaster laughed. “That's cute.” He stuck out a hand. “Name's Moonrock.”
Reaching out to take the diminutive hand, Rodimus stopped and considered. In all this time, he'd never thought of a name. He hadn't been in many situations where he'd needed an alias. He was one of the most recognisable faces on the whole damn planet!
“Dantron.” Rodimus grasped the hand between thumb and forefinger of his pretender armour and shook as gently as he could. “I'm Dantron.”
“Cool,” said Moonrock, pulling free. “Now we're all friends, you want to tell me where you're heading?”
“Space-port,” Rodimus pointed to the flat horizon.
“Good luck,” said Moonrock. “Magnus might be the best of the guzzler's to weld yourself too, but he's still a guzzler with all the guzzler ways that go with it.” Tapping his head, he continued. “Old-fashioned ways, big-bot ways and not really worrying who's gonna get squashed underfoot. I was always a Micro, you see.”
“I'm getting off-planet.”
“You and everyone else who wants off. That's why Magnus hasn't destroyed it if you catch my meaning. Best way to catch deserters is to own the one thing all these guys want. A way off.”
“What do they do with the deserters?”
Placing two fingers against his skull, Moonrock pantomimed blowing his brains out.
“We never killed deserters,” said Rodimus, disgusted. That couldn't be right, could it? He couldn't remember a time when the Autobots had ever stooped as low as executing deserters. If that was the case, Rodimus would've been up against the wall long ago along with every other Autobot who'd found themselves on Nebulos.
“New rules from the guzzlers.” Moonrock sat down, folding both arms from behind his head. “You try and desert the planet, you get a energy blast to the back of your head and whatever fuel you've got left gets pumped out while it's still warm. Unless you're Faction Micro... they just-” Moonrock stopped, a grim look on his face. “Yeah, never mind that, okay? But I hope you've got some other goals, friend. Because you're staying on Cybertron.”
“I need to find a scientist,” said Rodimus. “Somethings going on with the planet. I've been seeing signs of it all over and I just want to know that someone else is actually trying to do something about it.”
“Then your best bet is still heading towards the port. Say what you like about Magnus, but he's...” Moonrock stopped and looked up, Rodimus instinctively found himself reaching for the rifle. “-That's if we get there. Scavengers are flying in. Multiple.”
“At least five of 'em. They specifically hunt Micro's. Something about the energy signature we put off. We don't put up that much of a struggle.” Moonrock looked to Rodimus, a desperate, pleading look. “You want a way into the space-port? I know a way. Good for guzzler's too. I'll take you, I just need you to protect me. They got my friends, got too many of my friends. Please don't let them get me too.”
Rodimus lifted the rifle and slipped in a fresh energy cartridge. “I'll protect you.” He muttered.
“Heroic Autobot?” asked Moonrock. Rodimus grinned for the first time in centuries, he could feel the Pretender Armour's face gently mimic the expression.
to be continued...