Life After Peace (Chapter 7 added at long last)

[manmiles]

Life After Peace

Part 1


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.”
“Scavengers?”
“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.
“Heroic Autobot.”

to be continued...

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Yay, another writer!

Martin

[manmiles]

I won't deny, it's weird going back. I've not written anything Transformers since... 2005? But my own writing output has crawled to a snail's pace over the last two years (ever since Trump was elected, hmm, is there a coincidence?) and I do remember that sheer burst of energy back then, when everything seemed to be coming out in this unrefined, unfiltered white hot pace.

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Sept 6, 2018 17:19:21 GMT manmiles said:

I won't deny, it's weird going back.

Tell me about it.

Martin

[Andy Turnbull]

It's appreciated!

Interesting start - nice to see the post Peace era being looked at.

[manmiles]

CHAPTER TWO-

They came in on sky-sled's, all long past the point of being safely repaired. Their fuel cores belching clouds of gas and chemical vapour into the air. With his optics at full magnification, Rodimus watched them intently. He couldn't recognise them, even after everything that had been done to them. The Scavengers had been 'bots he'd encountered before on his exiles. 'bots of a particularly vile inclination, as everything broke down and good repair-bays were hard to come by, the only solution left open had been one quite simple, the last line of moral behaviour for a species to cross.

Cannibalism.
Tearing apart their victims to use their body parts to replace their own worn-down parts. Not even the sickest Decepticon had sunk that low. The various operations rendered the transformation circuits impotent, once, hiding in a foxhole, Rodimus had heard a rumour, that it was the transformation circuits still firing, despite the lack of connections that was driving the Scavengers insane. The energy impulses that triggered transformation had no-where to go but back to overload the brain circuits. It was only a rumour though, Rodimus took aim with the rifle as the first of the four Scavengers shot into range. The shot was clean, taking the first Scavenger's head off with one go, sending it spinning into the wastes. The rest of the party split away as the first sky-sled tumbled, hitting the ground, sending the still twitching corpse flying off in a way that was almost comical, arms and legs spinning end over end. Without hesitation, Rodimus prepped the charge for his next shot and took aim.
“What're they doing?” asked Moonrock. Not responding, Rodimus watched as the remaining Scavengers turned back to inspect the sky-sled and their fallen fellow. Within minutes, they were already brawling over the remains, the target and the one who had shot them seemingly forgotten through the sheer lust for fresh body-parts. A consensus was quickly reached, Rodimus assumed, when the brawling had finished, the three started to cut the body up with great care and reverence, divvying the limbs, chest-plates and other parts amongst themselves. The dead Scavenger's energon was last and this was shared amongst them. Rodimus took aim with the rifle again and fired. The shot went wide by five feet, going between the Scavengers, hitting the ground. Cursing, Rodimus prepared the next shell, he wasn't a sniper and even he couldn't always be lucky. The Pretender Shell he wore was a hindrance at times. The rather primitive nature of the armour's connection to his own circuits sometimes meant problems. Rodimus could throw a punch, he could run, jump, climb, but the delicate things, they were the true problems. The Scavenger's turned again in his direction, their eyes blazing with fury as they turned and ran to their sky-sled's.
“Right,” he said to Moonrock. “Now it gets annoying. Hide.”

Most of the buildings had collapsed toppled against another long ago. One of these creating a crawlspace large enough for both Rodimus and Moonrock to slip inside and into cover. The remaining Scavengers drew close by in their sky-sleds, jumping off and getting ready to search. Only one of them had a blaster, Rodimus noticed, long saws clasped tightly in the hands of the remaining two.
“The shot came from over here, I'm sure of it.” The Scavenger's voicebox crackled and rasped, causing its vocal frequencies to jump around in sharp, painful ways.
“You're sure, you're sure, you're always sure,” said the second. “I've got something though.” He tapped his head. “Fuel scanner's picking up energon traces. Probably a Micro.”
“Couldn't be. No Micro could've taken a shot like that.”
The third Scavenger slapped the two of them with his left arm. The right arm didn't seem to be attached well, dangling precariously from a few linkage cables trailing from the arm socket. Every few seconds, the arm would twitch spasmodically, sparks shooting off from the cables. Rodimus' attention was drawn to the very end of the arm, where it ended in a vicious, double-bladed axe
“Then we look. We grab the Micro, take it back to camp. Good thing too, I think we're going to be down a Micro or two by the time the week's out. Enough talking, you two, we don't have the energon for it.”
The three broke out into a search pattern, each one shambling across the ground on mismatched legs, Rodimus kept his grip on the rifle tight, watching their movements. It wasn't their method that grabbed his attention, it was a standard search pattern, but the Autobrands still adorning their chests and arms. Anger flared in Rodimus at the sight of it, all three of them still wore than proudly, as if everything that they were doing, everything he'd seen them do to their dead comrade, it was an affront. This wasn't just a case of ideology, this was simple brutality. Rodimus checked to make sure the power-pack was still in the rifle. The one with the blaster, take him down first, he could shoot from the hip at this range and...
The one with the axe stopped and turned in Rodimus' direction. “We shouldn't stay out here much longer.”
“Magnus' boys don't come out as far as Iacon. We're safe.”
“Doesn't feel safe.” The Scavenger stood up, head moving from left to right. “Don't you feel it? There's something wrong here.”
“I think you've got bad build-up in your arm again.” The one with the tracking device grinned lasciviously. “Told you'd it'd be fit me better, the shorting out is driving you crazy.”
“Shut-up!” said the third one. As the only one with a blaster, Rodimus kept his rifle trained on him best he could. If it came down to a fist-fight, he was sure he could beat the other two. “He's right. Can't you feel it? Beneath us, slight-”
The ground began to warp suddenly, cold metal starting to bubble violently, Rodimus could see it, the three scavengers were too focused on everything else to notice. Grabbing Moonrock in his free arm, Rodimus burst from his hiding place, running.
“Behind you!” he heard himself screaming at the Scavengers. “Beh-”
The scavengers all saw him, just moments before their attention was dragged back behind them. The ground was starting to rise up, metal stretching and twisting like cold lava. The scavenger with the tracking device was the first to get caught up as his leg was swallowed up by the rising metal surface. As the huge metal bubble continued to grow and expand, the scavenger was sent hurtling up with it, half of his body now swallowed up, torso and arms twisting, his screams distorted by the speed of his ascent. Rodimus watched in horror for a few seconds before turning and beginning to run as fast as he could. The armour slowed him down, vehicle-mode would be much faster, but it was too valuable to lose. The second scavenger collided with him, sending all three of them falling. Moonrock flew from his grip, hitting the ground and bouncing away. Rodimus fell face-first, feeling the axe-blade thud deep into his armour's back. Rodimus held back a cry of pain as he struggled. Everything around him was overwhelming his sensors. The ground's intense rumbling, the vibrations, the hideous twisting sound of the metal shifting, the pain of the axe-bla- The axe thudded into the same spot again. Now? Rodimus wanted to scream. You're trying to kill me now? Out of the corner of his view, the last scavenger was running in Moonrock's direction. It would be utterly effortless to scoop up the Micromaster and flee. Screw it, Rodimus Prime thought as he did the one thing he really didn't want to do.

The Pretender armour split into two, miniature catches situated all over joins and micro-fractures, the back half shot up, knocking the scavenger backwards. Rodimus quickly rolled free from the armour, grabbing the rifle as he did so. The scavenger regained his composure and looked to Rodimus. A moment's recognition made the scavenger freeze for a moment, hesitating long enough for Rodimus to shoot him from the chest. The back half of the armour fell back down onto the front half, sealing back together. Total control over the armour when he was outside of it was still difficult for Rodimus, even if his pain receptors still felt any damage it sustained. He could get it to stand and run, which was all he needed right now. The growing bubble of metal was as tall as one of Iacon's numerous bombed out buildings, the rate of it's growing finally starting to slow, Off to the distance, the last Scavenger had scooped up Moonrock, who struggled in his grasp as the Scavenger had climbed onto one of the sky-sled. Rodimus fired a warning shot, right next to the Scavenger's head, hitting the building beside him.
“I'd appreciate it if you put my friend down,” said Rodimus. He sounded tired, his words flat. Rodimus had one last shot left in the rifle's power-pack and not enough time to slip in a fresh energy-cartridge. “I don't have many of them left.”
The Scavenger looked at Rodimus, the fingers tightening around Moonrock's head. Rodimus knew that the Scavenger had also recognised him. He could feel the distinct sensation of being looked up and down.
“Yes.” Rodimus said. “I'm him.”
“Rodimus Prime,” said the Scavenger. “Autobot Leader.”
“Your commanding officer,” said Rodimus, hoping that deep down in the Scavenger's half-crazed brain-unit, that might actually mean something once again. He tapped the Autobrand on his chest. “Autobot Leader, Matrix Bearer. All of it. Put my friend down and maybe we can just sit, sit and talk. I didn't want to kill your friend. Maybe we could see if your other friend is-”
The Scavenger's shot took Rodimus in the shoulder, Rodimus was knocked back slightly.
“You abandoned us!” screamed the Scavenger. He was firing his blaster wildly now, shooting at Rodimus, but not taking the time to aim. Rodimus jumped out of the way, switching his rifle from right hand to left as repair-circuits got to work on the injury. “You abandoned all of us! We could-”
Rodimus blew the Scavenger's head clean off with his final shot. He watched as the body crumpled to the ground, Moonrock scrabbling to free himself. Moonrock looked from the Scavenger's corpse to Rodimus and back again.
“Yeah,” said Rodimus. “I abandoned all of you.”

“I should have known,” said Moonrock. “Dantron was a rather stupid name.”
“It's a good name,” said Rodimus. “No weight to it. Try having the most important name on the whole damn planet.”
The two were sitting now, looking at the huge growth that had risen from the ground. It had stopped growing entirely, it's surface now having returned to stiff metal. The Scavenger who had been caught up in its cruel growth had stopped screaming. Eventually. The entire thing was now half a mile high. Buildings and pieces of road sticking out comically across its surface. The further up, the more that the dome shape seemed to disappear, instead, long and spindly growths were rising out of it, clawing at the sky and whatever long distance star that Cybertron orbited. A human word recalled itself in Rodimus' mind. Tumour. It was a tumourous growth of dead metal on a dying planet.
“I heard rumours. That Koan-”
“Yep,” said Rodimus. “Swallowed up in something like this. There was a camp there, people who didn't want to belong to any of the factions. All caught and eaten up by this thing.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Just one more problem.” Rodimus sat back down. “On a whole list of problems with no solutions. Things like this growing all other the planet, other parts just splitting open and swallowing up whatever was nearby. There's something going on deep beneath the planet and we just seem to be letting it happen.”
“What's inside?”
“Don't know. Been too scared to cut one open.” Rodimus finished the repairs to the armour and sat down. He'd rather sit and wait a while before putting the armour back on, but he wanted to get away from here as quickly as possible. Just in case the ground opened up with the weight of this new structure. After all this sick business though, there was one single bright-spot. They'd at least inherited one sky-sled and cut down on Rodimus' predicted travel time. Anything to get them away from this haunted place as quickly as possible.


Even with the sky-sled breaking down twice, it had taken them three days to reach Fortress Magnus and even then, they could see it long before they actually reached it. Fortress Magnus was nothing more than a walled ghetto. Huge chunks of the ground itself had been cut-out and lasered down to build the heavy fortifications. There was one thing about the city that couldn't help and capture people's attention. It was built around the bodies of two fallen Transformers, both deactivated centuries before the war between Autobots and Decepticon's had ended. A Decepticon attack on one of the former Autobot bases had been a costly and prolonged battle, ending only when Metroplex and Trypticon had fallen with Metroplex's hands wrapped around Trypticon's neck. It had almost been a mercy that Metroplex had died here, Rodimus thought. The mammoth Autobot's size had been too much a drain on resources to allow him to remain active for much longer.
“Most of the surviving Autobots in this faction hide out in there.” Moonrock pointed at Metroplex. “I've heard there's enough power that the doors open and lights work.”
“And everyone else?”
“Emergency shelters.” Moonrock kicked the ground. “And believe me, they're the lucky ones. There's not enough energon to keep everyone going. There's survivors living off tiny rations, just kept in storage containers. ” A bleak look fell over Moonrock's face. “They don't even have power to keep those going. They're forced to remain in there. Still functional. Those are the ones with power, the ones just left to depower, they just pile them one on top of the other. No-one else to store them.”
“That's horrible.” Rodimus couldn't believe that Magnus would be willing to commit to such cruelty. At the same time, he doubted there was much else Magnus could do to keep order.
“It's the only reason Ultra Magnus sends troops out to fight Springer and his Wreck-Lords. With only half-a-dozen working energon plants around the planet, it's a constant fight over who controls them. Magnus claimed this place because it still had a working energon plant, apparently that just about keeps the lights on and his men fed.”
“You can justify anything by saying it's for survival, I suppose.” Rodimus turned and looked away before making their way down the hill. It had taken them days to get here and there was still another day of travel left to go, even with the one sky-sled they'd managed to salvage.
“So when do you want to do this?” asked Moonrock. “ I doubt you want Magnus to know you're around.”
“We'll wait until daybreak.” Rodimus trusted Moonrock to get him inside at least. Whatever would happen after that, he at least wanted to get a good sense of the city's layout. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally run into Magnus. “You want to rest. I'll keep watch.”
“I'm good,” said Moonrock. “What about you?”
“I don't need to,” said Rodimus, lifting the rifle into his arms, looking off towards the city.

“Rodimus?”
It had been an hour, Rodimus still looking at the city, his mind going over a hundred different thoughts and ideas. Moonrock was lying on his back, looking up at the stars. Occasionally, the stars broke through the thick haze of smog and grime that seemed to permeate every inch of the Cybertronian sky. Occasionally, it even looked beautiful, rarely.
“Rodimus?”
“What?”
“The Scavenger, he said-”
“I know what he said. I don't want to talk about it.”
“Did you real-”
“Do you understand the words 'I don't want to talk about it?' It means. Quite simply. I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”
“Right. Okay. Sure, friend.”
Moonrock turned over onto his side, away from Rodimus. Sighing, Rodimus lifted his rifle and gazed through it's sights. The rifle sights had a stronger magnification range than his own optical sensors. The city ahead of them was dimly lit by searchlights and the occasional sentry. With some grim amusement, Rodimus could see that a few of the sentries, the more motionless ones had been deactivated a long time. Even the dead had a part to play in this, a particularly grim form of recycling. Did they cut up the dead in Fortress Magnus, Rodimus thought. Give out the best bits to the people still clinging to life in this damned hell-scape? Hopefully, that wasn't the case, Rodimus still had to cling to the hope that Magnus hadn't thrown away every single inch of his moral code. But that was the thing, you start sacrificing, eventually, you could find any justification to chip away at the rest and-
Rodimus froze. He was one to talk. Rodimus Prime? Hypocrite Prime more likely. Placing the rifle on the ground, he kept watch over the city, waiting for the dawn.

“This wasn't how it was supposed to go!”
Roadbuster was dead, Springer was rallying the rest of the Autobots at Autobase to begin chasing Magnus and those who had fled with him. Rodimus had been frozen in place for what felt an eternity, looking at the chaos around him. Roadbuster was dead, Scattershot was stretched out on the floor, dying. A slight clicking sound escaping the remains of his vocal unit. Rodimus knelt down, clasping the dying 'bot's hand and listened.
“Sor- So- Rrry- So- rrryyy-”
“Is Scattershot able to fight?” Rodimus turned to see Springer above him, in one fluid motion, Springer kicked Scattershot's blaster across the floor, out of reach. Rodimus looked down, the clicking sound had finally stopped.
“Scattershot's dead,” said Rodimus.
“Good. They can't form Computron, that means the Technobots won't be as much of a problem.” Springer turned to the remaining Wreckers. “Find the Aerialbots, I think they'll learn our way.”
“Excuse me!” Rodimus stood up and grabbed Magnus. “I don't think you heard me.”
“I heard you.” Springer patted Rodimus on the shoulder. “It's a shame. But it's better this way.”
“A soldier who just got gunned down by one of our own!” said Rodimus.
“This was clearly an attempted coup!” snapped Springer. “Magnus didn't like what you were going to do and took a shot at us! Rodimus, you're lucky he didn't try to kill you and take the Matrix for himself.”
“He wouldn't-” said Rodimus. “We can sort this out. If we sit down and talk, we could-”
“We can talk when Magnus surrenders to us,” said Springer. “Until then, we've got to hunt him down before this situation gets any worse.”

Rodimus hadn't seen Ultra Magnus since The Day. Maybe it was just as Springer had said. Springer had said a lot of things, Rodimus wondered how many of them were things Springer told himself to simply keep himself from going nuts. The sky was starting to bleed into a Cybertronian morning, a rust-coloured sky.
It was time to get moving.
“You ready to go?” he asked. Moonrock sat up.
“Yeah, but there's one thing you'll have to know about our way in.”
“What's that?”
“You'll have to carry me.”

To be continued.

[manmiles]

CHAPTER THREE

Moonrock clutched tightly to the back of the head of Rodimus' Pretender Armour. The helmet, reminiscent of an Earth Gladiator from ancient history wasn't designed with good handhold's in mind, so the entire affair was a perpetual battle of dangling and not letting go.
“When you said carry you,” said Rodimus. “I thought you were being sarcastic.”
“'fraid not.” Moonrock did his best to sound jovial. The waste chemicals in the sewer tunnel was up to Rodimus waist now, the colonies of scum and mold splitting away after years of stillness had allowed them the chance to grow fetid. “This stuff won't be dangerous if I fall in, but my olfactory sensors won't like me.”
“Do they even like you now?”
“No.” Moonrock patted the back of Rodimus' head. “Please don't take that as an excuse to drop me.” Beneath Rodimus' feet, a firm, violent shaking could be heard. Freezing, Rodimus grabbed the smooth wall and waited for the subsidence to pass. That had been the third one they'd felt since climbing down here. How potentially safe the entire Autobot city was and the area surrounding it actually was, potentially anyone's guess. The two had been in the sewers for hours, Moonrock suspecting they were going around in circles. After all of his boasting of knowing a way in, they had become well and truly lost. The sewers had seemingly shifted during his time away, chemical levels getting higher all the time, being pumped up from deep in Cybertron's bowels. Only an hour into their journey, they came across a series of cave-ins, distorting the tunnels enough that they'd been force to retrace their steps. In all that time, Moonrock had clung to Rodimus, pointing lamely ahead while Rodimus himself had merely followed his directions. Finally, upon spotting a small rounding pipe set above them on the left side of the passage, Rodimus called that it was finally time for a break and lifted Moonrock inside before climbing in himself. The chemical sludge slurped off Rodimus, making a thick, wet sound as it resettled. As each droplet hit the surface, it created ripples and small tidal waves of shifting filth. It had taken all of Rodimus' strength to keep from being dragged under, he doubted that Moonrock even had the strength and size not to be automatically gulped up The face of the Pretender Armour now set in a perpetual grimace. Rodimus scraping at the last blobs of sludge with his fingers.
“It's horrible... and it's gotten everywhere.”
“It wasn't this bad three years ago.” Moonrock ventured, trying to sound helpful. “There used to be a walkway and- I swear, that stuff's only gotten thicker and worse over time.”
“Sounds like the whole damn planet.” Rodimus tapped the tunnel, feeling it's surface. Multiple quakes and disturbances had damaged the tunnels, causing them to warp and change in unexpected ways. Whatever this sludge was, or even where it was coming from, it wasn't draining anywhere, it was just staying and collecting.
“Hey!” Moonrock jumped up and pointed back down into the tunnel, Rodimus followed his gaze and saw an arm, floating just on top of the rippling surface. Rodimus' disturbances had affected it and it was now slowly starting to submerge. Stretching out, Rodimus scooped up the arm and looked at it.

It had been torn out and the act had been done violently, the cables and linkages all torn and pulled out of place.
“Could a scavenger have done that?” Rodimus could hear Moonrock's voice, a little quieter than before, less cocky.
Rodimus looked at the arm one last time. The arm's damage hadn't been dealt by guns or blades, numerous pinpricks and dents told a different story.
“This thing wasn't cut off or ripped off. Look at these marks. This was bitten off.”
“What does that mean?' Moonrock asked as Rodimus threw the arm back into the sludge. It landed stump first and sank slowly, it almost looked like the hand was waving as it was finally consumed with a thick slurp.
“It means there are worse creatures down here than Scavenger's.” Rodimus closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. A distant roaring could be heard in the distance but that, Rodimus hoped, was just his imagination and that down here, in the darkness, all alone and helpless, that he was only dreaming of demons.

The second leg of their journey brought them out of the cramped tunnels and into one of the hundreds of underground recycling plants that dotted the Cybertronian sewers. Huge, great pumping stations that took all the waste product generated by Cybertron's people and turned it back into efficient energon. These machines had been proud and gleaming when the Cybertronians had been at peace (The original Peace. The one that ended with Megatron and the Decepticons. The Peace that was simply now nothing more than a dream entitled better days.”) Now, the tanks that used to be forever churning and working day and night had stopped, their great machinery rusted into full on disrepair. The two looked down at the tanks in silence, they could see more limbs and body fragments bobbing on the surface. Something, Rodimus thought, was using this place as a graveyard, or worse, a larder.
“I think I know where we are,” Rodimus pointed to a mural engraved in the wall, the edges of its lettering caked in dirt and grime. “If I've got my calculations right, we might find a way out of here.”
“I hope so,” said Moonrock. “I don't like it down here.”
Rifle clutched firmly in his hands, Rodimus gave a slight laugh, anything not to show how nervous he was. “I know what you mean. Tell me about yourself, Moonrock.”
“Is now the time?”
Rodimus checked the energy gaze on the rifle, he had another three shots left with this energy-cartridge. “Hey, now's the perfect time to talk.”
“About me?”
“I can still drop you.”
“What's a little threat between friends?” laughed Moonrock. Rodimus felt a twinge of pain, how long had it ever been since he had called anyone a friend?
“I'm afraid I didn't know all the different Micromasters in our forces. Hell, even most of the Autobots were just names on the daily reports labled 'deactivated.'”
“Not much,” Moonrock began. “For the longest time, it was just me, Missile-Master and the rest of the Astro-Squad. Damn, those were good days-”
Rodimus turned, his sensors had picked up movement somewhere, but couldn't define where. As Moonrock talked, going on about when he and his old team traveled galaxies and star-systems looking for Decepticon outposts, Rodimus quietly grabbed one of his few remaining photon-grenades and kept it ready in his hand.
“Then, when the war ended up being pretty much consolidated on Cybertron, we just came back and did surveillance across the whole planet, not as fun... yeah, shame. I miss that. Don't miss Missile-Master though, that guy was stuck up. No. Hey, yeah, that's a lie. I miss in.”
“Deactivated?”
“In the worst way. Shot-down over a 'con outpost out on what used to be Sector-17. Missile-Master was in the front seat of our ship as it dive-bombed us straight into a gun-emplacement. I got away though. Miss him.”
“I know how you mean.” Kup, Blurr, Arcee, Firebolt. Rodimus mourned and missed them most out of all the friends he had lost to this insanity. Now, something was catching the corner of his optics. A long, clawed hand was pulling itself free from one of the tanks of the recycling plant.
“Hold on!” cried Rodimus as he primed the grenade and threw it into the tank. It hit and sank with a dull plop and as Rodimus broke into a run, there was a dull wooshing-sound and the the chemical contents in the tank where hurled up, out of the tank, showering in all directions. Pushing forward as hard as he could through his own sea of sludge, Rodimus could see the way out at the other end of the gantry. Something was screaming, moving in and out of the shadows as it was propelled by the blast, without looking, Rodimus lifted the rifle over his shoulder and fired the last three shots. One of the shots hit as the creature let out a terrifying scream, followed by a dull thud against the wall. Sludge and slime was hitting all around them, causing mini-tidal waves as he ran. The sludge rippled and lashed against the walls, for a moment, Rodimus found himself pushed against the very edge of the gantry. The rifle fell from his hands as he grabbed to stop himself from toppling over into one of the huge tanks himself. He could hear Moonrock scream in sheer terror, feeling the Micromaster's feet desperately trying to dig a good foothold into his armour. The last of the small tidal waves hit Rodimus, knocking him against the railing again and again, and then, just like that, it was all over and soon, silence returned to the great chamber, punctuated only by Moonrock's scared ramblings to himself.

The armour was drenched in a thick coat of purplish ooze, it took Rodimus a huge effort to pull his hands free from the railing, leaving behind long strands of the stuff dangling over into space.
“I... feel... terrible,” said Moonrock. “I might be struck to your head.”
“At least you won't fall,” said Rodimus. Wading through it had been bad enough, but whatever had been festering in the tank for who knows how many years was actually worse. Thicker and far more foul smelling. Experimentally, Rodimus flexed the armour's arms, they were starting to get stiff, it was oozing into small openings and breakages in the armour's surface. Rodimus wanted to get out of the sewers as quickly as possible, clean off the armour before the sludge started to do some irreparable damage. Pushing on through the tunnels took on a great urgency as Rodimus' armour started to get more and more sluggish to his commands.
“I recognise this place,” said Moonrock upon coming to a T-Junction. He pointed out a series of engravings crudely etched into the wall. “Micro-slang,” he said. “So the guzzlers can't track us.” Gesturing for Rodimus to get closer to the wall, he rubbed his finger across the marks. “Made this one myself.”
“Are there many Micromasters still in hiding?”
“Hundreds. Combined with the Scavenger's wanting to use us for our fuel, or getting caught up whenever one of the various Autobot factions get into a shooting match, it's best to keep out of sight. Even in the sewers.”
“Do you know where they are?” asked Rodimus.
“Even if I did. Not telling,” said Moonrock. “I trust you, Rodimus, but you're still a guzzler, you know?” He pointed off down one of the tunnels in the junction. “Go that way.” Pushing on forward as best he could, Rodimus' movements had become nothing more than primitive lurches by the time they finally reached the ladder that Moonrock said led them out of the sewers. Leaping off Rodimus' head, Moonrock began to nimbly make his way up the ladder, telling Rodimus to stay where he was. Experimentally, Rodimus began to climb part way up the ladder before standing still in the sludge too long got him stuck in there for good. A few moments later, the cover at the top of the ladder opened and Moonrock's diminutive hand could be seen waving at him to climb up.
“I found something you'd like,” Moonrock whispered as Rodimus reached the top of the ladder. A collection of cleaning rags dangling from the Micromaster's free hand. With a laugh, Rodimus took the rags, pulling himself up out of the manhole and collapsing in a heap behind a collection of storage crates, piled high enough to keep out of sight. As Rodimus started to clean himself, Moonrock shut the cover back into place. Wiping at himself slowly and methodically, Rodimus did all he could to keep himself calm. Unsure about how Magnus would react to him, Rodimus had nothing but dread and fear to fall back on. It was an old, familiar sensation of emotions and he didn't like what the connotation meant to him.

It reminded him of the fear of sneaking into an enemy stronghold.

To be continued...

[manmiles]

CHAPTER FOUR

If it had looked bad from the outside, the inside was far worse. Most of the buildings and shelters were falling apart through time and ill-repair. Everything looked to be on the verge of decrepitude, numerous sections cordoned off by metal gates and fences. From behind one of the larger shelters, Rodimus watched as he wiped away the last of the sludge he could. Even then, he would need access to a proper cleaning facility to get rid of what he couldn't reach. Walking and mobility was basic and with that, Rodimus set off walking through the small ghetto. Moonrock had taken concealed cover in the thick, gray tarps that Rodimus had collected all over his armour to protect him from the winds and some of the more extreme weather he had encountered out there. Over time, he had been able to fashion them into coverings that protected most of the armour's weak-spots, they also allowed Moonrock to snuggle in close enough to keep out of sight.
“Who are the ones behind the fences?”
“They're the ones who haven't deactivated yet. Not everyone really wants to be fighting, so a lot of the soldiers in Magnus' forces are a voluntary militia, of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“If they pay you in extra energon-rations, is it really voluntary? There's food, resources and for the most part, protection. If you don't want to fight or defend the city, you get put over there. Walled off 'for your own safety.' What do they know?”
“Hey, you!” a voice behind them called. Rodimus turned to see a large, blocky Autobot pointing at him. The twin-shoulder cannons lowering to take aim at him. “I've not see you here before... you militia?” As he said the word 'militia', the Autobot slapped a red band painting on one arm, Rodimus had seen it on so many of the 'bots walking about here, he didn't think that it was some kind of rank. Rodimus shrugged. “Hey, I just arrived.”
“Yeah?” The Autobot pulled a data-pad and consulted it. “No new arrivals on the sheets. Besides, we don't let new arrivals roam free around the city. Especially ones wearing Pretender armour or carrying weapons. You might be scavenger's or belong to Springer's Wreck-Lords.” The Autobot spat at this name. “So, I have to ask, identity?” The shoulder cannons were now locked on him, Rodimus' sensors flashing him this warning.
“Look,” began Rodimus. “I can't take the armour off, bad injuries. I had to be wired into this damn thing. You open it up, you're pulling out a corpse and believe me, it's not going to be pretty.” He patted the armour and the tarp robes helplessly. “I'm sorry, I was looking for someone. I'm here on urgent scientific business.”
“Scientific business?” the guard sounded unimpressed, Rodimus honestly didn't blame him. There wasn't much he could do, taking off his armour was the last thing he wanted and-
Something flew through the air, hitting the guard on the side of the head, Rodimus took a second to realise what it was. It was one of the slime covered rags he'd wiped his armour down with.
“Hey, guzzler!” Moonrock's voice cried from across the square. The Micromaster was standing on a metal storage crate. “Why not pick a fight with me? You might actually win!” How he had managed to climb free from Rodimus's robes with Rodimus finding out, he didn't know, but as the guard turned his attention to Moonrock, he didn't hesitate and as a second rag flew through the air, this time hitting the guard directly in his visor. The guard growled and turned, starting to give chase to Moonrock. Rodimus turned and ran, hoping he'd be able to help the Micromaster later, he'd started to grow fond of him, after years alone though, Rodimus couldn't blame himself for forming such a fast friendship.

No alarm had been triggered and as long as he kept to the shadows, no Autobot seemed to either notice him or show any desire to harass him. Keeping close to the huge shadow that Metroplex and Trypticon's body's let fall on the surface, Rodimus kept watch. He recognised a few of the Autobots, plenty more that he only knew as a photo on a personal file. What had he been expecting? Who knows what the war had done to people and how the differing factions would have split? Maybe it was time to swallow his fear and just hand himself over to Ultra Magnus and get it done with. Better that then just standing around doing noth- A familiar figure turned the corner of one of Metroplex's feet and Rodimus heard himself whispering a prayer to Primus, a deity with whom Rodimus' relationship was more than just a little 'complicated.'

Brainstorm had seen better days. The old Headmaster's body was faded and dented, Rodimus followed as discreetly as he could, watching his former crewman walk into Metroplex, one leg trailing lamely. Following inside Metroplex, Rodimus saw what they had done to the innards of the giant Autobot, a lot of the lights and interior power had been stripped out of ceilings and welded to walls and floors for the parts where the interior of the building no-longer made sense thanks to how Metroplex had fallen. Just like the Scavenger's thought Rodimus, maybe not on such a grotesque scale, but it was taking the remains of the dead and reusing in ways that might go against the wishes of the dead themselves. He was a scavenger too, he had to admit, Rodimus hadn't exactly come across his Pretender Armour by tripping over it in a storage crate.
“I know you're following me, friend.” Brainstorm had stopped where he was. “I don't have a blaster on me. But be warned, I will talk you to death with my brilliance.”
“I hope it won't come to that,” Rodimus took a chance and stepped out into what flickering light there was, hands raised. Brainstorm looked at him.
“Do I know you?”
“I'm Rodimus.”
“Really?” Brainstorm gestured at him with a wave of his hand. “You don't look like Rodimus.”
“And your head used to transform into a little man. But why quibble? We were on the Steelhaven together, but-” He looked around him, to make sure no-one else was around. Satisfied, Rodimus let the armour open, just a little bit, enough to surprise Brainstorm. It worked and the look on Brainstorm's face was so, incredibly worth it.
“You're alive? Well, I always suspected, I had theories, lots of theories.” Brainstorm leaned in close. “Does anyone know you're here?”
“No. Brainstorm, I need to talk to you, I need to talk to you about Cybertron.”
Scratching his chin, Brainstorm put a hand on a scan-plate and the door he was standing before opened. “Get inside,” he ordered.

Most of Brainstorm's equipment turned on first try, the rest of it took a little more persuading, but soon relented after a few good whacks. Most of it was cobbled together from various sources, an old Ark-console here, a left over piece of Earth's Autobot City there, even an old Earth supercomputer had been messily welded into place. Rodimus ran his hands over the familiar human letters, what even was a 'Cray?' After double-sealing the door, Brainstorm got Rodimus to climb out of his armour while he got a series of small cleaning drones to check inside for damage or corrosion.
“Magnus gives me a higher energon ration than most, even then, I've got to have most of my equipment shut down most of the day. I'm the closest thing he has a to a chief scientist.”
Brainstorm sat down by his equipment, passing Rodimus a ration-pack of energon. Refusing, Rodimus passed it back. “Have you been keeping an eye on the various phenomena occurring around the planet?”
“Of course,” Brainstorm almost sounded hurt. “I may not be Perceptor, although, I think he'd be too precise for Magnus' desire to lessen needless power consumption.” A map of Cybertron displayed itself on the screen, a few more taps brought up a red overlay, each one displaying recent geological and seismic upheaval. There were still enough satellites up in orbit for Brainstorm to get regular data on the planet and they updated every three days. Bringing a second overlay, this one in different shades of green, showing time and correlation of each of these events, the more recent an event, the darker the shade of green.
“I've been begging Magnus to let me look at one of those growths for months now. For a metal surface like that to undergo such intense changes in atomic structure in the space of minutes in such a way, in such a scale, it's not only incredible, it might even be scientifically impossible! And then there's the speed.”
“The speed?”
“Cybertron's an old planet, it was ancient even before the Ark left. We've been fighting for so long that a lot of the major geological upsets occurred and we just assumed that, it was us, war is hell, go figure. But now we're getting a whole series of these events and they're violent and they're bad. Sectors collapsing underground, mass upheaval in the sewer systems and the underworld beneath and the thing is, the war's pretty much stopped. Okay, don't look at me like that, yes, the war's still going on, but the scale and ferocity of the Autobot/Decepticon War has all but died down, we're a few scattered tribes fighting over energon resources and taking petty potshots at each-other while we're getting all too concerned about protecting our own. We can't pin the blame on the war anymore and so we can't ignore what's going on beneath our feet. Cybertron is a dying planet, maybe it's been dying ever since we destroyed Unicron, but we've always been lucky. Something came along to help the planet for a little while, the Last Autobot, the Matrix, but we just kept on fighting and now, we're out of chances, we're past the point of no return and what we're seeing now is a planet not on the verge of collapse, but took a running jump off the verge and just gone 'to hell with it.'”
“I thought so,” said Rodimus, he hated to feel right about this and he knew it, but being told by Brainstorm just served to make all his worst fears and dreads into reality.
“Of course you do,” said Brainstorm. “You're carrying around a part of the planet with you.” Reaching up, Brainstorm gently tapped Rodimus' chest. “You might have the last, lingering remnants of this planet's soul in the Matrix. Congratulations Rodimus, you are potentially keeping the planet alive just by continuing to have a working spark of life in there.”
Placing a hand on his chest, Rodimus could feel the power of the Matrix deep inside him, it was warm to the touch, although it was quite possibly just his imagination. The thought that had hounded him for fifty years came to mind, something he hadn't even spoke aloud when he was on his own. But maybe Brainstorm would know, telling someone like Brainstorm, who didn't seem to think in straight lines, but still stumble across sheer genius would have some hint of what he was saying.
“The Matrix... is keeping me alive,” said Rodimus. “I mean, look, it's probably been fifty years since I've had any energon. At first, it was just-”
Suicide. Cowardice. Just starve yourself to death than have the courtesy to just pull the trigger yourself.
“-Circumstances.”
Collapsed on your knees, weeping and screaming while friend turned on friend and one war rolled into another.
“But, even when my body had run out of fuel. I still kept going.”
“Interesting,” said Brainstorm. From the table, he grabbed a scanner and ran it over Rodimus' body. “Of course, we never did fully investigate your body after your transformation into Rodimus Prime. Is it real? Some kind of construct created by the Matrix itself?”
“It made me stronger, faster, tougher,” said Rodimus. “Perhaps it also makes me immortal.”
“No indestructible though. An important distinction to make.”
“So the next question is, what happens wh-”
“If I remove the Matrix and revert back to Hot Rod?” Rodimus completed the sentence for him. The idea of pulling the Matrix out, turning back to Hot Rod and promptly dropping dead gave him a sardonic grin. He was about to ask Brainstorm what he thought when the doors to Brainstorm's lab slid open and an Autobot Rodimus didn't know stepped in. The Autobot was huge, nearly as tall as Ultra Magnus and looked at Rodimus with an imposing glare.
“This is Rodimus Prime? From everything I'd heard, I thought he'd be taller...” He smirked at Rodimus nastily. “... or more cowardly looking.”
“What do you want, Sixknight?” asked Brainstorm. “I told Magnus he's no clearance for my lab.”
“The clearance was revoked when we found out you were harboring a wanted fugitive.”
Rodimus stepped forward. “A fugitive? I'm-”
“You're nobody. A runaway, a deserter.”
“I've heard what you do to deserters here.” Rodimus looked for his rifle, it was with the rest of his equipment, waiting by his armour. “I don't like it.”
“I don't care,” said Sixknight. He pointed at the two of them in turn. “You're both coming to see Magnus and if either of you have any problems, I'll drag you there myself!” Taking one step forward, Sixknight looked Rodimus up and down. “I think I could take you.”
“Fine, fine,” Rodimus lifted his hands in surrender. “I've better things to do than deal with thugs. Take me to Magnus.”

TO BE CONTINUED

[Grand Moff Muffin]

This is one bleak Cybertron.

Do you have a plan for the story, or are you (like me) making things up one chapter at a time?

Martin

[manmiles]

Sept 26, 2018 15:57:44 GMT Grand Moff Muffin said:

This is one bleak Cybertron.

Do you have a plan for the story, or are you (like me) making things up one chapter at a time?

Martin

I have a plan... much in the same way that Michael Caine hanging on the bus at the end of the Italian Job has an idea.

Well, I have an outline in my head for the general flow of the story and the Point A's to Point D's. I'm honestly really trying to focus my plotting and streamline my own tendency to ramble and fall into the trap of 'I'm good at dialogue, quick, throw more dialogue at it!'

Then there's my spell-check, which is annoying American and keeps telling me I'm using the letter 'u' incorrectly. If the words lose their 'u', assume that spell-check won.

[blueshift]

Just caught up, this is great stuff!

[manmiles]

CHAPTER FIVE

They didn't drag Rodimus far, the old situation-room in Metroplex was possibly the most well-maintained thing that he'd seen in years. Most of the scanners and screens were still operating, flashing streams of data every second, each console manned by Autobots taking careful notes of everything. In one corner of the room, one of the few parts of the room not drowned out in the light and sound of perpetual computer-speak or satellite footage sat Ultra Magnus. For a moment, Rodimus was surprised, he'd almost thought he'd find Magnus sitting in a throne, an old king sitting resolute as the walls to his city fell, but that was too grandiose and the reality was far too sad. For as long as he'd known him, Ultra Magnus had been a towering giant, even when Hot Rod had been Rodimus, it was the sort of presence the City Commander had just radiated. Now, sitting alone in a corner, deep in thought with his head resting in his hands, he looked small and defeated.
“I brought him, Sir,” Sixknight pushed Rodimus forward before Magnus. Magnus turned and stood up. “Don't do that. We're not savages.” Magnus' face was flaked with rust in places, in other places, the metal had faded and simply gone dull. The bright colour's of Ultra Magnus' body had all faded in places, the brilliant blue and red had long gone and the white was covered with patches of dirt. As he stepped forward towards him, Rodimus could see Magnus' hands were shaking and without a word, Magnus clasped them behind his back. Resisting the urge to strike him or something else, Rodimus didn't know.
“Rodimus. It's been a while.”
“Hello, Magnus. I don't like what you've done with the place.”
“A necessity. Keeping our race alive is harder than I'd like.”
“And you're doing such a great job of it. Warring factions, cannibalistic scavengers, not enough resources, too many people.” Rodimus leaned in, staring up at Magnus defiantly, daring him to do something, swing a punch, pull a gun,m anything. “Shooting deserters?”
“What else can I do?” Magnus bellowed. Around them, Autobots snapped up from their positions to look at them, even Sixknight, standing tall behind Rodimus straightened just a little but more. “I send more patrols to hunt for survivors or to confront the scavenger's, that's one hour, two hours of power lost. I try to maintain decent fortifications, Springer's men destroy them, three hours of power wasted, the resources gone forever. When Autobots try and desert, they're stealing the very supplies we need to keep the rest of us alive, they're killing the rest of us to save ourselves. Do I like it? No. But I'm not looking for a fight, Rodimus, not with Springer, not with anyone, I'm just trying to do the best I can and I'm failing at every turn!”
“Then-” began Rodimus, but Magnus silenced him with one jab of his finger.
“No. You don't get to come back and lecture me on what I'm doing wrong. You forfeited that right, Rodimus, when you let us fall apart into another damn war.”
“Magnus, I'm sor-”
“NO!” The finger jabbed again, this time, hitting Rodimus' chest with enough force that Rodimus felt his metalwork dent. Magnus' face was unrecognisable with rage now. “You don't get to apologise either. It's too late for that.” Magnus stepped back, hands retreating behind his back, the calmness returning. “It's too late for any of that anymore. Why have you even come back, Rodimus? Couldn't you have done the decent thing and just died out in the Wastes? I don't need another mouth to feed.” Magnus wearily gestured to Sixknight. “Take him away. I'll talk to him later.”
Rodimus stood silently, trying to think of anything he had to say that was even worth saying to Magnus. That was the difference between Magnus and Springer. Springer was a soldier and Springer was a very good soldier, tell him to jump and he'd jump. Magnus though, Magnus would tell you what he thought about the matter and for the longest time, facing that again had scared Rodimus. Letting Magnus down was like letting down Optimus and Rodimus had let Optimus down every single damn step of the way. In the end, he only had one thing worth saying right now. Sixknight took Rodimus by the hand and started to lead him away, but Rodimus still looked back at Magnus, pleading with him.
“Go easy on Brainstorm, Magnus, please. But you have to listen to me, we're in danger, the seismological events-”
“- are the lowest on a very long list of concerns,” said Magnus. “We'll deal with it when we have time.”
“You don't have time, but you do have a ship!” Rodimus broke free of Sixknight's grip and turned on Magnus. Sixknight came up behind him, but Rodimus spun, swinging his arms and knocked the warrior away. The Autobots around the room turned again, this time drawing their weapons. “Cybertron is dying, Magnus. We've got to get as many people off-planet as we can. There has to be enough power for that.”
“No,” said Magnus. “There isn't. And even if I could find the fuel, how many lives am I saving? How many more am I killing?”

The door slid open and an Autobot guard stood, holding a datapad in one hand. The Autobot soldier looked at Magnus, Rodimus and all the guns pointed at Rodimus and smiled inanely. “I can come back later.”
“No,” said Magnus. “I need to hear it.” He gestured at Rodimus, his voice drained of bitterness now. “He needs to hear it.”
The guard skirted around the fracas and handed the datapad to Magnus. Magnus read it, his optics blinking out as he shut his eyes and wearily passed it back. Gently pressing the bridge of his nose, he simply said, “Read it, soldier.”
“We've had twenty-seven Autobots deactivations today. Twenty of those were in the storage tubes, suffering from permanent energy fatigue. Seven from outstanding injuries and fault that we've not been able to repair.”
“Right,” said Magnus, regaining a little bit of his old steam. “Pick the lowest powered and the most faulty Autobots we have gated off, put them in the energy-conservation tubes.” Magnus looked at the Autobots around him. “Put your guns down. It'll be a waste of bullets just shooting him. We couldn't even fix the computers if any of them got damaged.” Awkwardly, the Autobots obeyed. Rodimus stepped forward towards Magnus, hand outstretched to try and comfort his former friend. From behind, Sixknight slammed into him at high-speed, forcing him to the floor.
“Magnus. I have a friend out in your 'city.' A Micromaster called Moonrock. If you find him, at least go easy on him.”
“I'll do what I can,” said Magnus. “Take him away, Sixknight.”
Hoisted onto his feet, Rodimus lowered his arms and let himself be pushed out of the control room.

The thing about Punch was that he'd been a spy for a very long time. Quite literally built for it in fact. Of course, it was a complete surprise to him that he'd managed to make it this far through life without being found out and killed. Even more of a surprise was that he'd managed to survive everything and make it to Ultra Magnus' fortress even when the whole of Cybertron was coming down around them. Punch watched as Rodimus Prime was led out by Sixknight and felt the familiar old tingle in his circuits. The tingle sustained him through the boredom of his monitor shift, even though it made the boredom far more intermitable. He was a spy, a one-of-a-kind construction, he was built for espionage and with the Autobot and Decepticon war over, he was now without a job. But the thing was, being a spy was the most central part of his being, it was so programmed into him, it was quite literally a compulsion. Until he realised that it was still possible to fufill his functions as a spy, just for a new boss. A pat on the shoulder meant he was relieved and Punch got up, quietly and slowly leaving the room, not wanting to draw attention to himself. From there, he let himself get lost in Metroplex's dead labyrinthine guts until he knew he was truly alone. Sliding open a secret compartment on his chest, Punch pulled out the small signal communicator that he had gotten from Springer himself and began to send the message. Springer would want to hear this news as soon as he could.


The raid had gone well, very well indeed, Springer mused to himself as Topspin and Twin-Twist led out the remaining Scavenger's. Like the others who had surrendered, they were knelt in front of Springer and the rest of the Wreck-Lords. Standing tall, Springer lifted his sword and brought it down against the ground, causing a sharp, ringing noise to reverberate all around them.
“Scavengers, you are guilty of theft, chaos and murder.” Springer spoke these words loudly, so that everyone could hear them. “You have broken the law-”
“What law?” spat one of the Scavengers, so many parts had been replaced from so many different Autobots, Springer found himself wondering if there was anything of the original Transformer left. Maybe this had been a friend once, a brother in arms. But whoever that was had been dead and gone a long time, drowned out by the madness of scrambled circuits. “There is no Law left, only survival.”
“There is always Law,” said Springer. “As long as there are those who still enforce it.” He lifted the sword high, the signal for the present Wreck-Lords to raise their guns. “And as long as fuel pumps in my body, I shall enforce it. I hereby sentence you all to death.” The sword came down, cleaving the Scavenger who had spoken in two, straight down the middle, the others fired, leaving the Scavengers more than dead piles of metal. Sheathing his sword, Springer sighed. The numbers of Scavengers were growing, it seemed that more and more of the Autobots who hadn't chosen a side had simply decided to choose madness instead. This batch of scav's had attacked a small enclave under Springer's protection, killed them all and stole all their energon, there had been no other alternative than to hunt them down and dispatch them.
“Throw the bodies into the nearest pit,” he commanded to one of his men. That done, he strode forward towards the cave, gesturing for Broadside to follow him.
“Where was this?” Springer turned to look at Broadside, waving a hand across the barren wastes. “I can't tell anymore.”
“Dunno,” said Broadside. “It's always looked like this to me.”
“There used to be something,” Springer said. “Mountains, maybe even a few spires of the nearest city-states.”
“We blew 'em all up. Too many 'cons hiding in them.”

The Scavenger cave was filled with stolen supplies, fuel and worst of all, body-parts. Enough fuel to keep them all going for at least another month, Springer estimated, but even his estimations had been wrong before. To keep them all at peak energon efficiency, Springer had been forced to turn away people wanting to join his army, only ever taking on new men when others had been killed and he'd been forced to keep the numbers of his troops up. Everyone else, he let them go their own way, so long as they didn't start any fights with them, or break the law. That was really all that mattered now, to him, to protect the 'bots who were pathetically trying to rebuild, so long as they paid the energon toll for their protection. Satisfied that everything was safe, he gave the order for the Wreck-Lords to come in and take every single piece of fuel, weapons and ammunition they could find in the cave. As he'd been giving the order, Broadside strode to the other end of the chamber, finding a metal bulkhead door bolted into the wall.
“I think I hear something on the other side,” he grabbed the turn-wheel with both hands and effortlessly unbolted the door. The sounds of the wailing becoming louder the moment the door broke free of it's seal. Broadside silently gestured for Springer to join him, the horror evident on his face.

Micromasters, about fifty of them, each one contained inside a crude, metal cage. Their arms and legs had been melted and left to fuse with the metal framework of the cages themselves, leaving them trapped and unable to transform without tearing themselves apart. Their tiny chests opened with minute cutting gear and a series of pumps and siphons implanted into each-one, draining them of their fuel. Another Micro-farm, just another example of the Scavengers and their insane cruelty. Springer looked to the Micromasters and then looked to the collection of fuel that all the siphons led to.
“There's nothing we can do,” he said aloud, hoping that at least one of the Micromaster's would hear him. There was nothing they really could do, except one alternative. With a nod of his head, Springer gestured for Broadside to take the collected energon while Springer prepared the grenade. In cases like this, he kept telling himself, death was probably the only preferable answer. The others were nearly finished, loading up all they could use onto their one working shuttle. Once they were done, Springer let them all file out before finally priming the grenade. He always preferred to do it himself. After all, he was the Leader and these were the actions, that Springer thought anyway, that made a good leader. Not like Rodimus, preferring to sit in Autobase, dictating the last years of the war from behind a table, sending others out to their destruction.

The chime from Springer's personal communicator disrupted his thoughts, while most of his men were out here in the wastes, a small staff always stayed back at the fortified bunker they called home.
“Yes?”
“Message from Magnus' camp, Springer. From our 'internal source.'”
“What is it?”
“Rodimus Prime has finally shown up. Apparently he got caught sneaking into Fortress Magnus and Magnus had him locked up.”
Springer's hand squeezed tightly on the grenade, it took all of his strength to maintain a calm facade. “How long ago was this?” he asked, almost in monotone.
“We got the message about ten minutes ago, it took us that much time to decipher it.”
“Any indication that Magnus is preparing his troops?”
“None. He sent some troops to try and secure the Energon Factory three days ago, but that's it.”
Springer relaxed the grip on the grenade, a small blinking light on it's surface telling him that it was good to throw. Carefully, he considered his next plan, he had forces out all over the quadrant, looking for supplies and Scavengers. It wouldn't be easy to gather a force together without Magnus' satalites spotting it. Springer felt that he had more strength and firepower on his side, Magnus was far too generous with his supplies, but Magnus had the upper-hand of maintaining control of all of the old Autobot spy satalites and whoever had designed the codes that Springer's own men couldn't break was a genius.
“Thank-you,” said Springer. “We'll be heading back to base now. I want you to prepare a report on all our troop locations. I think I have a plan.”
With that, Springer hung up and pressed the button on the grenade. Casually, he threw it underarm where it rolled into the chamber where the Micromasters were caged. Springer could still hear the screams as he turned and walked out as quickly as he could. He'd have a plan by the time they returned to the bunker, he knew it. A rumbling could be heard far off to the west, probably another fissure opening up in the planet's surface, another piece of ancient Cybertronian architecture swallowed up into darkness. It honestly didn't bother Springer, he hadn't lived back in the Golden Age of Cybertron, all he'd ever really known was a planet of ruins. Climbing onto the shuttle, Springer looked at the smoke rising from the scavenger's hideout. He wished he could have saved the Micromasters, but he wished for a lot of things he had no power over. Besides, at the end of the world, Springer thought, what use were wishes anymore?

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Can this get any more grim???!!!

Martin

[manmiles]

Oct 4, 2018 20:49:51 GMT Grand Moff Muffin said:

Can this get any more grim???!!!

Martin

Yes?

I'm sorry?


I might be using the story to really just deal with a lot of frustrations with the world right now, both politically and ecologically right now.

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Where there's life, there's hope... I hope...

Martin

[manmiles]

Oct 4, 2018 21:14:05 GMT Grand Moff Muffin said:

Where there's life, there's hope... I hope...

Martin

I'm definitely hoping.

[manmiles]

This isn't a new chapter, but while writing the new chapter, I realised with begrudging acceptence that Moonrock, in my head actually sounds like Korg in 'Thor-Ragnarok.'

[Grand Moff Muffin]

Best character in the film! I'll make sure I read him with that voice in my head from the next chapter onwards.

SPOILER: Click to show

Martin

[manmiles]

NOTE: Sorry for the delay. November is always a busy month and my writing duties were elsewhere.



CHAPTER SIX

“You'd tell me if it hurts, right?”
Rodimus tried to fix Brainstorm with a glare. The piece of apparatus holding him was uncomfortable enough, let alone Brainstorm's utter lack of bedside manner. The scientist on the other hand had finished attaching the various scanners, power conduits and every other device in his collection of parts of Rodimus' body with the Matrix, nestled still with Rodimus' open chest unit impaled with devices. If Brainstorm had possessed any reservations about what he was doing, they were well and truly gone by now. The tests had started a week ago, shortly after Rodimus' imprisonment. They had progressed from uncomfortable to actually quite painful very quickly.
“Have you ever tried to bring something to life? There is that whole 'Creation' aspect to the Matrix.”
“No. What's the point? The last thing Cybertron needs is more mouths to keep on-line. Honestly, I don't even think the Matrix can do that anymore.” Brainstorm took another note, consulting the next dial on his console. They had been at this, on and off for the week and results were slow in coming. Somewhere far down the line, Rodimus' spark had been absorbed into the Matrix and was effectively keeping him alive.
“Right,” Brainstorm muttered. “I think it's time to prepare the next set of te-”
The power started to die, lights dimming, dials slipping to zero. Brainstorm's energy rations were finally starting to run out. But, this didn't deter the scientist who moved quickly to a dial and prepared to turn it.
“This might hurt,” he said, just as he turned it. Rodimus' body writhed in the restraints, his mouth open in a silent cry of pain.




The quake came without any warning. Springer, leading his party of Wreck-Lords was driving ahead of the other land based Transformers and the few shuttles that were flying above them. The ground shook and split apart so unexpectedly, Springer shifted into robot-mode instead of helicopter mode. As he fell head over heels, Springer drew his sword and slammed it into the ground, the other Wreck-Lords either swerving to avoid the new crevice or breaking in time. Two were not so lucky and before anyone could do anything, they were forced to watch with horror as they fell to their doom, unable to hear them hit the bottom.
“That was a big one!” Springer climbed out of the pit. Sandstorm, who had been quick enough to transform from buggy-mode to landed beside Springer, changing to robot-mode.
“We didn't even detect that one!” Sandstorm knelt by the crevice, looking down. “I can't even see the bottom of the damn thing. What do you want us to do?”
“We keep going,” said Springer. “We've got a meeting with Ultra Magnus.”



Deep in the bowels of Cybertron, the planet shook. Ancient, long-rusted over pipes and conduits bursting with heat and electricity. The creatures scream, their claws and talons cutting and stabbing into each-other as they crowd and crush each-other trying to escape the inferno. Their world-womb is dying, they've known this, deep in their race-story. The seals breaking away, crumbling under their strength and number. There was no more nourishment here and feeding upon their own held no luster. So they squeezed through the tunnels and vaults deep beneath the home, each broken barrier breaking beneath them, and so, they had kept traveling, crawling, scrabbling up and up towards the surface-land. Plenty of them had already made their way to the top, they were all coming now.
To the food.
To the energy.
To the surface.



The dead devices lit up again, returning to life. After a minute of waiting, Brainstorm flicked a switched and turned down the dial, Rodimus slumping into his restraints.
“Incredible.” Brainstorm indicated a power-meter. “These computers, all these are being powered by the Matrix. The energy was stored in the generators, I was able to harness the Matrix itself... How do you feel?”
“Hurt,” Rodimus pulled at his restraints, his voice sounding weak and slurred. “But I think I'll live.” After all that, he hoped that some good would eventually come from it. With a tired finger, he pointed to a flashing light. “You've got a call.”
Brainstorm hit the switch, Ultra Magnus' voice was heard loud and clear across the communications system. There had been another tremor, Magnus was asking if there was any damage to report. Brainstorm was confident that everything in his lab was alright, better than alright in fact and then, Rodimus watched as Brainstorm froze and asked one single question.
“What time did the tremor begin?”
After Magnus had told him, Brainstorm made his excuses and hung up before Magnus could get the answer he was demanded in. Grabbing his reports, Brainstorm quickly checked over everything, ignoring all of Rodimus' urgent demands for Brainstorm to tell him what was going on. Putting the reports down, Brainstorm made a long, drawn out sound like he was taking a deep breath.
“This... This isn't good... Because...” Brainstorm trailed off. He began to pace around the room awkwardly. Every few seconds, he looked to Rodimus before looking back down at his feet. “Well... It might be vitally important that we keep you alive. How were we meant to know?” Brainstorm lent against the wall, looking utterly shocked. “How were any of us meant to know? Oh, this is bad, very bad.”



“They passed into our scanner range about two hours ago. Three attack shuttles and at least ten traveling in alt-mode.” Sixknight placed the report in front of Magnus. “With the power cuts, the tremors screwing with everything and the loss of reception, it took us this long just to get the report.” Magnus picked up the report Sixknight had presented and read it. He really didn't like what this implied. Springer and his Wreck-Lords may have taken to roaming the lands, dispensing mob justice however they liked, but they kept away from Magnus' forces at Autobase, the fighting over the last few energon deposits the only real outlet left in the Second Civil War. If they were coming here, now, that can only mean-
“They know about Rodimus,” Magnus muttered to himself. “Someone talked.”
“That narrows it down.” Sixknight indicated the various Autobots all around them. The only ones who knew, the only ones who really knew that Rodimus Pri- that Rodimus had returned had been all of the staff present and working on Metroplex. “Could it be a trick?”
“A trick?”
“We only have Rodimus' word that he wasn't allied with Springer. After all, it was him who nomina-”
“No.” With one word, Magnus had delivered an entire argument, counter-argument and rebuttal on the whole matter.
“How can you trust him?” asked Sixknight, exasperated. “You've said yourself-”
“I know what I've said.” Magnus also knew how much of what he had said was tainted by the things that deep down, Ultra Magnus believed. “Whatever I feel about Rodimus, I have to trust him in this at least.”
“Fine, fine. So what do we do next?” Sixknight flexed his arms, he was eager for this, Magnus could tell. “We don't have much of an army.”
“Don't worry,” said Magnus. “You won't have to go out and fight,” He stood up and patted Sixknight on the shoulder.
“I want to fight though,” said Sixknight. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don't know,” said Ultra Magnus as he left the control room.



“Meant to know what?”
Rodimus had probably asked that one question half a dozen times and half a dozen times, Brainstorm hadn't answered. It was getting infuriating. The energy readings from the Matrix had been captured, collected, studied and finally, out of sheer desperation, compared to what few library computers they hard left. Brainstorm had used an entire day's worth of his rations for that last one. As Cybertron slowly died, huge sectors losing power and falling into disuse, certain energy sources had also faded from strength. “And we didn't know what they all were,” said Brainstorm. “It's not as if the planet left us an instruction manual or what not to do to it!” He tapped the Matrix, only stopping to remove the probes. “The energy in the Matrix matches energy patterns that have been detected on Cybertron since we first started noting and cataloging things scientifically. In fact, this is the strongest concentration of that energy that we've seen in six-hundred years. The Matrix, the Matrix-Flame, Primus... they're connected, but far more than we every thought. Think about it... Primus is dead or dying, the Flame has been lost and our world is dying... but don't you see?” Brainstorm clutched both sides of his head. “No, you wouldn't see, why would you see? Why would you ever think that you might be the last thing keeping our planet alive?”
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying, Rodimus... you might be the only thing keeping Cybertron from actually dying. The Matrix is the last natural bit of life this world has... and it's connected to you. If the Matrix is destroyed... Cybertron would probably die with it. Don't you get it? The tremor started the moment I tried to draw power from the Matrix. We can't rule out a connection, even if I'm having to extrapolate a lot” Hurriedly, Brainstorm started pulling out the last of the probes. “I need to talk to Magnus. We've got to get you somewhere safe.”
“Magnus isn't going to let that happen.”
“He might have to!” Brainstorm snapped. “Cybertron's already screwed as it is, last thing we need is making it worse. Fifty years? You were alone out in the wastes for fifty years?” His optics flickered conspiratorially about the room. “There's no listening devices in here as far as I know... But, I fixed your Pretender Armour for you. It might even respond to your thoughts.” Brainstorm leaned in, if Rodimus didn't know any better, he'd say that Brainstorm was trying to wink at him. “If you ever need to... go away?”
Giving Brainstorm a conspiratorial nod, Rodimus stretched his arms.
“I just really hope it doesn't come to that.”



Ultra Magnus sat alone, even more than usual. He very rarely used his own quarters, even though he had them ('the perks of command' according to someone long ago was the guarantee of your own bed.), even though a lot of Autobots were stuck twenty bots sharing a recharge slab. The room, one of the few rooms big enough to fit him had never felt comfortable. Not that Magnus ever felt comfortable anyway in Metroplex or in this latest incarnation of Autobase. It was always hard for him, to be one of the biggest people in the room in so many ways and simply just wanted everyone not to look at him or leave him alone. The responsibility was maddening, the expression on the faces of all the Autobot who served him scared him. They looked at him like he actually knew what he was doing.
They thought he had a way out.
He didn't, Ultra Magnus had long ago started to realize that this was what it felt like to be Optimus. To have no power, no real ability to effect any real choices or changes, but simply assure people that, after everything that was going on, all they could do was stay the course. What was it he had said to Optimus, on his death-bed, no less? He was just a soldier, he wasn't worthy.
Had Hot-Rod? Some punk with an malfunctioning attitude problem with more bravado than common sense? That was what the Matrix looked for in it's chosen one? Apparently so and for the next few hundred years, Magnus had stood back and done what he was told, regretting far too much of it, until he came to the simple and uncomfortable truth that he was envious that, despite his earlier misgivings, he hadn't been chosen. And so, when fate had thrown him into this position. Ultra Magnus had tried to do a better job, avoid all the mistakes that Rodimus had made. Try and focus on building something, maintaining it instead of eternally focusing on an aggressive strategy at hand.
And he had failed.
Ultra Magnus had failed from the moment that 'preserve as much energon as you can' had become a perfect reason to let good Autobots die. How could he think that he could do it better? What a joke. But, that would be the difference between him and Rodimus, he was still going to try and make a difference.
Standing up, Magnus rubbed the center of his forehead. There were no easy solutions to difficult demands. What he had to do? Magnus wasn't sure, but he hoped he'd have an answer soon. As he stepped outside his quarters, Sixknight was waiting for him.
“Springer and his forces at on the horizon. They'll be here in one hour.”
“Prepare the city defenses. Pick a force of six Autobots, give them full energon rations and have them meet me by the gates.”
“Will I be coming?” asked Sixknight. “I can do it, Magnus. I can fi-”
“No.” Magnus cut him off. “I understand that you're eager, but I won't have you risk your life.”
“It is my life to risk. And I want to be on the battlefield. I need to be-”
“Don't make me repeat myself.” Ultra Magnus' words were superficially calm. “I want you here, back in the city. If Springer has a spy inside our ranks. I want you to find him.” He patted Sixknight on the shoulder. “I trust you to do that.”
Sixknight nodded wearily. “Very well.” With one final glance, the Autobot Six-Changer walked off to fulfill his orders. It was a shame, Magnus knew, that Sixknight had been forced to survive to such times. As the world fell apart, what use was one more warrior?
“Sir?” another Autobot was running towards him as he was preparing to leave Metroplex. “Brainstorm is in your office, he seems rather urgent about speaking to you.”
“Brainstorm is always urgent,” said Ultra Magnus. “And it can wait. We've got a city to fortify and resources... people to protect.” The Autobot saluted and ran off, not noticing the look on Ultra Magnus' face. When had he started to put 'resources' ahead of 'people?”



“Was this how it was always going to go?” Rodimus placed a hand on his chest. “Did I somehow know this?” In his early years, he could always feel the Matrix in there, warm and sleeping inside him. If it was alive, Rodimus had an inkling, if it was a sentient intelligence, that was out of Rodimus' department. As time went on, the people who would know better than him on the subject were all dead and as Rodimus grew more distant to everything except ending the war, the warm feeling was soon blocked out by pain, misfortune and a lot of emotional damage. Nothing had ended in the way anybody had really wanted.
“You've got company!” The door to his cell slid open and an Autobot guard stood in the doorway, holding something under his arm. The guard pulled back his arm and threw whatever it was into the cell. Moonrock hit the wall, bounced, hit the floor and slid to a stop. Before the Micromaster could jump up, the guard was gone and the door was shut.
“Pity he's gone.” Moonrock dusted himself down. “I'd prepared some really nasty insults. The real 'dig into your spark' kind of insults.”
“He didn't look like the easily insulted type.” Rodimus pointed to a small bowl of energon rations. They had been collecting there for five days, Rodimus hadn't needed to touch them. “Dinner is served.” When Moonrock had finished eating, the Micromaster started to move about the cell excitedly. “Oh, you should have seen it! They caught me in the end, but I made sure they worked for it. There was running, jumping, maybe some biting but I'll deny that, oh, those guzzlers move so slowly, it almost started to feel like I was bullying the poor bastards!”
Unable to help himself, Rodimus laughed. He was glad to be reunited with Moonrock. It was nice to have a friend who treated him... as a person. It reminded him of being Hot Rod, no deference, no reservations, just two people sharing a connection.

The door to the cell slid open again. As Rodimus looked up, his eyes fell first on the blaster, then on the face of the Autobot wielding the blaster. Punch had an apologetic look on his face.
“I'm going to need you to come with me, Rodimus... and, for what it's worth... I'm sorry.”
“Sorry?” asked Rodimus as he stood up. “Look, Punch, you can put down the gun, I'm not going to try and escape. Ultra Magnus is being para-”
“I'm not here on behalf of Ultra Magnus.” Punch's grip on the blaster tightened. “I'm here to take you to Springer.”

[manmiles]

I'm sorry. Words have been hard.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Why are you doing this?”
Rodimus' question got him a blaster barrel pushed against his head. Punch was escorting Rodimus at gunpoint through the corridors of Metroplex, from the route they were taking, Rodimus was sure that their destination would be the small shuttle bay located at the very top of the giant transformer.
“Doesn't matter,” said Punch. “When I'm done, Springer promised me enough energon rations to die a happy, energon-filled bot. More than you ever paid me.”
“We were fighting for peace.”
“And look where it got us all. A dead world and we're just fighting over who gets the last scraps.” Punch pushed the blaster against Rodimus one more time. “We should have let the Decepticons win, the Cybertronian Empire, Unicron, any of them, better any of that than our last moments being...” Punch indicated the corridor and Metroplex with a wave of his free hand. “... any of this.”

Sixknight had heard the cries all the way down at the end of the corridor. He was surprised that the small Micromaster could actually be so loud. Moonrock was climbed the bars of the cell, slamming his head and screaming for attention. The moment Moonrock finally calmed down and started speaking into actual words and sentences that Sixknight could understand that he saw what was missing from the cell just at the same moment that Moonrock's words of 'Someone took Rodimus' took route in his brain-unit.
“Who took him?”
“One of your guys,” Moonrock jumped down from the bars and scrambled to the cell-door. “Look, let me out!”
“You're a prisoner.” Sixknight stepped back, the door to the cells opening. “Besides, Springer's about to attack. You're safer than I am.” Moonrock's arm slammed between the bars, groping at Sixknight.
“Oh shut up!” The Micromaster snapped. “You guzzlers are all the same. Think just because we're small, we can't defend ourselves. I've spent I don't know how many Cycles out in the wastelands, it's a dangerous place for guys like me to be, guys like you started to consider us fast food. How long as it been since you left this crappy little city? Fine, maybe you'll do a better job of finding Rodimus without me, but...” Defeated, Moonrock slumped to the floor. “...he's my friend, man. I don't have many of those le-”
The sound of the door shutting behind Sixknight interrupted Moonrock. Alone in the cell, the Micromaster rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.
“I might only even just have one of those left.”

“Have the main gunnery batteries been brought back on-line yet?” Magnus' right forefinger was tapping against his shoulder in irritation. All around him, the team of Autobots moved from control to control, checking wire, replacing burnt out connections and turning machines on and off again.
“We've got half of them partially running,” said an Autobot.
“Which means?”
“They can move. They can aim. If they can fire...”
“... they'll probably explode.” Another Autobot sat in his chair, looking utterly defeated. “We've not used half the defenses in fifty years, a lot of it's probably corroded.”
Ultra Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. No defense force-fields, what troops they had in the city itself was pitiable and underpowered. Some of his militia were working off rations so small that they didn't even have enough power to transform. Springer didn't need to attack them, he could have just left them to starve. The team of five Autobots was waiting for him by the city gates. They'd have to open that by hand as well. It wasn't even a proper gate, it was a giant metal slab they'd cut of the ground lifted on it's side and pushed it against the biggest hole in the wall.
“I'm going.” Ultra Magnus picked up his rifle and checked the power-pack. There was enough power to put up a good opening salvo or two. If the battle got too drawn out, he might be able to club a few skulls with it. “If you get it working, I want to know.” Leaving the control room, Ultra Magnus considered his strategic options. It was daunting to realize that he didn't have any. Springer had been working, placing spies inside his ranks, probably locating and salvaging every single weapons storage cache all over Cybertron and Magnus? All Magnus had done was sit in a makeshift castle that'd probably be blown over by a hard enough wind and wasted all his time trying to do...
Do what?
Do anything?
Do something?
Do nothing except sit on his backside and think to himself 'when I've got enough resources, I'll do this, but not right now?”
Do nothing then.

“I think you're right,” said Rodimus. Just hearing that, it gave Punch the one real thrill to embrace his emotional circuits in the longest time. “But what's the point of dredging up the pas-”
“Three-hundred years!” The kick took Rodimus in the side, he hit the wall hard. Punch's gun was now pointed directly at his face. “Three-hundred years,” the spy hissed again. “Three-hundred years behind enemy lines. Three-hundred years amongst the enemy, having to always be on guard. Always scared, never trusting, always seeing people who would shoot you if they knew the truth.” Punch's face was all but touching Rodimus' now. “And what did you do for three-hundred years except sit behind a table a dictate a war effort? What have you done ever since this war started? You walked away? Too much for Rodimus Prime? Well-” Punch stepped back, composing himself. “I couldn't even walk away... deserting the Decepticon ranks got you nothing but shot in the back. I should know... Sometimes I was one of the ones in the firing squad. I would love nothing else but to just turn around, wash my hands of everything and just walk away. That's what Springer is going to give me. When I turn you in.”

Springer's face, Ultra Magnus noticed, had changed color. The colors were faded, left out too long under the light of dying suns. Everything else was just like him, the confident stance, the weapons and blasters hanging from every surface, the sword in one arm. All just like Ultra Magnus had remembered. And Rodimus was going to make him Leader?
“It's been a while, Magnus.” Springer looked to the motley collection of Wreck-Lords standing beside him, each-one looking far more armed and full of energon that Magnus' meager troops. “How's it been?”
“Not great,” said Magnus. He just wanted to cut to the chase, try and circumvent a gun-battle so close to base.“What do you want, Springer?” The Wrecker unfolded his arms, hands open and weaponless. Like the old days, before they'd ended up trying to kill each-other over this flattened, desolate world. Just two Autobot friends, no, they had never been friends, Magnus thought to himself, only team-mates.
“How's Rodimus?”

“Is it worth it?” asked Rodimus.
“Three-hundred years surrounded by people who'd want to see you dead. Five-hundred years living on the barest amount of energon, spending your days with a starving fuel pump? I've had time to think, consider what's important and I think, above all else, I think dying of an energon binge might be the best way to go.” Punch kept the gun level at Rodimus' head. “Get up. We're getting out of here.”
“Punch!” A voice called from the end of the corridor. “Put down the gun. Give up now.”
Sixknight's frame and bulk kept him having to all but crouch at the end of the corridor. He reached out to Punch, no weapons in hand. Grip tightening, Punch kept the blaster pointed straight at Rodimus.
“And what? You and Ultra Magnus are going to drain me of energon? You going to keep me in a cage, near-dead?”
Slowly, the six-changer dropped to one knee, hands still out, conciliatory. “Punch. Look, I could take you apart in so many ways. You think I need a gun to kill you? I wouldn't want to, but I could. Put the gun down, we'll talk to Magnus. We'll work something out. Maybe we can even give you to Springer.”
“Listen to him,” said Rodimus, shifting so his back was against the wall. Punch still had the blaster pointed at him, but Rodimus felt that Punch, like so many people here would be sluggish from energon-depletion.
That's right, the mocking voice in his head. Jump him, try and take the gun. Worked so well last time.


“I don't know what you mean.”
Springer's laugh was bitter and tired. “Magnus, you were never very good at deception. I've heard that our wonderful former Leader. Matrix-Bearing Rodimus-Used to be a Dumb Kid-Prime finally got of feeling sorry for himself and dragged himself out of the wastelands. I know you've got him locked up in that giant tomb you call Autobot City. I also know how badly you're all doing for Energon. Why do you think I've left you alone all this time? Easier to let you rot while I go about trying to bring order to Cybertron.”
“There's no time for order,” spat Magnus. “We need to rebuild.”
“And that's what I'm doing,” said Springer. “That's what Rodimus wanted me to do. But to rebuild, there needs to be order, there needs to be law.”
“Order at the end of a gun?” Magnus felt the grip on his rifle tighten. “I get reports from my scouts and the surveillance sats. Killing half-mad scavengers and raiding parties, is that really the Autobot way?”
“It has to be. I'm Autobot Leader,” Springer stood back. “I make the Code.”
“Optimus wouldn't make that the code.”
“Optimus died, Magnus. He's really not part of the equation anymore.” Springer turned around, kicking at a loose piece of metal ground, the fragment flew across the air, banging against the side of Magnus' leg. “And that's your problem, that's what the problem always has been, Magnus. You just can't change your way of thinking. We can't just bunker down and struggle to survive, the planet isn't going to transform back to... let's be honest, an idyllic peacetime we were never even alive to be part of, so we have to transform to fit the planet. We were created as warriors and that's how we're going to survive.”
“By giving up who we are?”
“We were always warriors, Magnus, you just wanted to be something you were never built to be.”
The smile on Springer's face unnerved Ultra Magnus. It wasn't insanity, not in the way he had seen replicated on hundreds, thousands of kill-crazed Decepticons. Springer's face, everything Springer was saying was a cold, perception of the insane reality around him and, frighteningly, even if Magnus found it abhorrent, it made a perverse sort of sense. He thought back to Brainstorm's words, just before Springer had arrived, there had never been any choice in the manner.
“I can't give you Rodimus-” Magnus began, his next words were drowned out by everything around them going straight to hell. The sword was in Springer's hand faster that Magnus' own optics could trace, slashing up, just barely scraping against Magnus' chest.
“Then I'll take Rodimus and I'll take the Matrix,” Springer lifted his free arm, speaking into his wrist communicator. Then came the unmistakable sound of rockets hurtling above them. The shuttle must have landed out of range, Ultra Magnus realized now, too late. Springer and the others could easily walk here on foot with the shuttles just on the very horizon. Out of range. Turning to impotently watch, Ultra Magnus was fumbling with his own communicator as Springer slammed into him from behind, toppling him. The last thing Ultra Magnus saw as his face hit the ground was the missiles slamming into Metroplex's gut.

Rodimus lept for the blaster, the utter insanity of the action distracting Punch enough that it worked. With one hand, Rodimus slammed the Autobot spy into the opposite wall while his other hand grabbed Punch's gun-arm, pushing it away from him. Sixknight could only watch helplessly, too big to swiftly move in his robot form as Rodimus twisted and threw Punch to the floor. Now, the blaster fell from Punch's hands and as Rodimus moved to grab it, Metroplex began to shake violently as all three Autobots heard the unmistakable sound of missile impact.
“Who's firi-” Rodimus began, just as the floor fell out from underneath him.

If Metroplex had been alive, he might have been able to shrug off the missiles. It would have hurt, but the great form of the City Autobot was built to withstand most weapons strikes. The damage to the outer body would have been easily repaired. But Metroplex was dead, nothing more than a precariously positioned statue towering above a pathetically fortified camp. If Metroplex was alive, he would have been able to move with the impact, steady himself and keep himself from falling.
But Metroplex was dead and there was nothing to keep him from being knocked backwards from the force of not one, but two missiles. Dying with his hands wrapped around Trypticon had given Metroplex one dignity, even in death.
It had kept him upright.

It all happened in a horrible slow motion, as he picked himself up, Magnus couldn't help but keep his eyes fixed on the toppling Metroplex. Somehow, Trypticon was still standing, but Metroplex was falling backwards. Thankfully, the space-port would be safe, Magnus hoped.
“Rodimus was in-” he began. Springer's sword stabbing into his back, pinning him to the ground, turning his last words into an electronic shriek of agony.
“Remove his arms,” Springer said coldly, stepping over Magnus to watch Metroplex hit the ground.
“Did you hear what he said?” asked Broadside. Springer simply nodded as the shock wave hit them and the ground continued trembling.
But the ground kept on trembling and far ahead of them, there was a new and more terrifying sound.
The ground underneath Fortress Magnus was creaking and breaking. In an instant, Springer snapped around and transformed into helicopter mode. Two of his men had torn off Magnus' arms.
“Take him!” he ordered as he took to the air. “We have to go, Metroplex has set off another damn earthquake!”

A nearby handrail kept Rodimus from falling right onto Sixknight. Punch, on the other hand, fell right onto top of him, the six-changer had slammed his hands and feet right into the wall, bigging in hard enough to keep from falling himself. The blaster hit Sixknight, bounced and fell into the gap between Sixknight's right and left legs, falling into oblivion. Taking a moment to steady himself, Rodimus started to look for another handhold, a way to climb out. Everything was still shaking around him, even though by his own reasoning, Metroplex had hit the ground. An alarm had weakly started to echo throughout the corridor, consisting of a one word message, a plea to evacuate. As Rodimus hang helplessly, he found himself laughing.
“I would if I could!” he screamed to no-one in particular. And then, Rodimus' world started to spin yet again, followed by the feeling of the world dropping out underneath him.

As Ultra Magnus' entire scientific staff, Brainstorm was granted a great privilege of a higher-than-average energon ration. Transforming into his aerial mode was effortless and with most of his data kept backed-up in his own memory files. He was one of the first of Magnus' staff to get out of Metroplex. Not everyone was so lucky, even what few fliers they had didn't all have enough rations to transform, much less fly. Shooting straight up into the sky, Brainstorm turned gracefully enough to see the ground crack open, breaking like a brittle shell underneath Metroplex, swallowing him whole. Watching dumbstruck, Brainstorm's subconscious, brilliant mind worked overtime to calculate Metroplex's weight, the rate of impact. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, and he'd stop soon. There were faint screams of Autobots falling into the chasm after Metroplex, many of them the energon-starved Autobots Magnus kept cordoned off for their own safety, who knew how far they'd fall?

Metal ripped apart as the wall tore open, sliced open by a huge jagged spike of Cybertron's surface. As Rodimus now found himself dangling over an abyss, outside there was only the darkness of Cybetron's vast and unexplored depths. Metroplex was falling and breaking open as he went. Looking down, across, up at Sixknight, Rodimus tried to reach out to him. The two were too far away for Sixknight to grab him and the tumbling Metroplex made it too dangerous for Sixknight to turn into one of his flight-modes and grab him. A new creaking sound caught Rodimus' attention. The handrail, the only think keeping him from falling was breaking apart as the huge cracks and tears into Metroplex's body finally reached it and before Rodimus had any time to react or even think of a plan-
-The handrail was no longer a handrail, it was just another broken piece of metal in Rodimus' hand. A broken piece of metal that Rodimus still kept a tight grip on as he fell out of the giant gash in Metroplex's side and fell into the shadows.
The shadows which fell forever, swallowing Rodimus up.