Chapter Text
“You will learn at your own expense that on the long journey of life you will encounter many masks and few faces.”
The descent is less complicated than he feared, thankfully.
Although perhaps, knowing his luck, he'd better wait until he gets to the bottom before making judgments that could easily prove premature…
Admitting that his knee is starting to seriously bother him, insistently sending alert pings through his hud covering his view with suggestions to visit the nearest med-center as soon as possible.
It's a shame that he's at least a half-day's walk from the only known inhabited settlement on the entire planet, holding another injured creature with a surprisingly high level of sentience, but yet to be precisely determined, walking towards an ugly and smelly alien ex-spaceship.
Speaking of the cat, it is obvious, despite the lack of speech, that she is suffering. Despite his attempts to move it as little as possible, it is inevitable that, descending that steep descent, there will be some more critical points and some glides that were narrowly missed.
Let's really hope the High Guard has a doctor…
Honestly, I don't remember if Hook, Knockout, or any of the other more famous Decepticcon medi-bots among the extras in the film but I seriously doubt they survived here on the surface for 50 megacycles without the support of a doctor.
Could they perhaps be running low on supplies since their only known source of energon were trains that brought energon to the quintessentials?
Thinking about that… Why the frag do the quintessentials need energon for?
He is so lost in his reasoning that he does not realize he is putting his foot on an unstable section of ground, another warning fills his view and the rock collapses under his weight.
Oh, Sweet Primus on a stick!
No, honestly, why the hell don't he ever keep his intake shut, every now and then?
It slides along what remains of the descent with an extremely annoying and not at all silent screech, small fragments of metal and stones that slip between the folds of its plating and its seams.
It's really fortunate that it was almost at the end of the descent.
Now he's sitting on the floor, dirty and scratched, holding an injured creature with a surprisingly high level of sentiment looking at him like he was an idiot, in front of an ugly and smelly alien ex-spaceship.
The little black nose approaches his faceplates, purple eyes that glide with a yelp along her frame, it almost seems as if the girl is more concerned about his health than her own.
-Everything's fine! Just a couple of scratches!-
He tries to reassure her by giving her a couple of caresses on the head, she seems to calm down a bit’.
At this point he prepares to get up from the ground, shifts the cat's weight onto the left servo while pushing the other one at the ground as he levers the right knee… Which does not move.
Oh, scrap!
In fact, it seems that his fortune reserves are running out and that his body has decided that now is the time to calm down and rest, so he has activated the emergency joint lock.
Probably, at this point, any other healthy processor transformer would have stopped, recognizing and admitting its physical limitations by allowing its frame some well-deserved rest since it would certainly be the smartest and most wise choice to avoid future complications.
Too bad Rea never claimed to be either smart, wise or to have a working processor…
With a series of maneuvers unthinkable even for a Cybertronian contortionist and, appealing to the full balance of a lifetime performing strange maneuvers with a cat in his arms, he rises to his pedes through a pistol squat that would have made a flamingo proud.
I still have it!
In response to that series of absurd movements the cat, about whose origins he is beginning to have suspicions on, raises an eyebrow looking at him through her purple optics as if he were an idiot.
Rude but not completely off!
The remains of the quintesson spacecraft stretch dark, skeletal shadows that extend from the rock of the mountains like tree roots exposed to the interperies while a red light illuminates the remains ominously from inside, painting the crowd frames as shadow silhouettes.
He slowly limps towards with his stiff knee, making sure to keep most of the weight on his functioning leg. As the indistinct frames approach they take shape, helmets, wings and wheels of the high guard, all concentrated towards something at the end of the nave.
It seems that no one even realized or bothered to come and check that strange series of sounds he had caused with his fall, and, even more absurd, no one is even realizing that he is approaching!
Where are the sentinels? Please don't tell me everyone's on break having energex!
I can't complain about government employees if you behave the same way!!
Braziers of carmine-tinged amaranth fire illuminate the remains of the ship and its inhabitants under a menacing reddish light. Three identical seekers are talking to each other at the light limit, blue, green and yellow, low but passionate voices.
Maybe Rainmakers? Hard to tell with the reddish light warping colors… But that one almost looks like Thundercracker…
-...I would have just shot them on sight! We don't have resources to waste on Sentinel spies!-
Oh, looks like we got there just in time!
I wonder if we’ll get some interesting lore reveals!
-You are right Nova, it’s ridiculous how much time we spend interrogating those vehicons! And the only people who actually have fun are the High Command Trio! That’s not fair! -
The one who looks like Thundercracker responds in a rebellious tone, a deep discontent hidden and kept inside by who knows how much. Maybe even since before the whole Sentinel mess happened…
-Yeah! Who even decided that they were the one in charge? We can't keep playing Prime favorites! They're dead!-
It seems that this time the words have hit an ugly spot, for a moment tempers calm down and a shadow of remorse briefly passes in their gaze before being drowned in red anger and resentment.
-Fragging Sentinel…- Nova, the yellow-one, says angrily.
-Yeah!- The blue-one answers quickly.
-Frag him!- The green-one concords enthusiastically.
-Frag that evil carrierfragger backstabber!- Rea supports supportively.
A moment of silence as time seems to stop for an instant, optics becoming brighter with surprise and their gaze slowly passes in perfect synchronization from one member of the Trine to another. Then their optics lower in unison to find the unknown eavesdropper who decided to join their conversation.
-For the love of Unicron! Who are you supposed to be?-
Ops!
Ok, maybe that was not his brightest moment but, in his defence, Sentinel is a bitch.
He is so caught up in mentally kicking himself that he does not even realize the inquisitorial gaze of the trine in front of him who studies him like a judge before realizing who he is holding in his servos.
At that point he almost has a lie ready. to try not to join the quartet of protagonists tied like salami a little further, but he is interrupted before he can say a glyph by the yellow seeker.
-We won’t report you this time, since you manage to arrive on time but make sure that does not happen again! Am I clear?-
His penetrant red gaze suggests that the only reason for his salvation is the cybercat in his arms.
Oh, cool!
As he walks away thanking them for their pity (them and Primus) Nova issues a last warning. The tone is abrupt and rude, skillfully but not entirely masking the note of concern.
-Oh, and make sure you check those injuries! We cannot afford to have debilitated soldiers with injuries at the risk of a rust infection! -
He has no idea if they refer to him or the cybercat, probably to her and yet those words lift his spirits. Looking back, this it's the first time anyone has spoken to him directly in a while…
-Yeah, sure thing, boss!- He answers as he walks away with a smile that the trio can't see. -Now… How about we go see your creator, mh?-
The cat in his arms responds with an excited sound stained by a burst of static as he continue nonchalantly limping as he slowly begins to make his way through the chaos of frames that separate them from what is about to begin.
-Excuse me, coming through, excuse me!-
The murmur stops when the “guests” wake up, Starscream's voice resounds theatrically from the top of his throne, every movement that seems to want to underline his superiority but feels disconnected from the environment that surrounds it.
His throne is in ruins, nothing more than fragments of an enemy ship repurposed to boost his ego or perhaps to establish some semblance of power scale within the ranks of the High Guard.
-Are you spies… Or just incompetent lackeys?-
There are more characters than he remembered, the throne is still far away and his likely goal is right there by the Drama King side.
-We’re not spies…- Orion starts with a soft voice before being interrupted by Elita -But he is incompetent!-
Yeah… Thanks girl, really helpful! Couldn’t you wait just a click?
The blue space cassette player steps closer, servo pressed to the side of his helm as his monotonous voice breaks the audience's background murmur.
-Scanning electrical impulties. He speaks the truth.-
Sounds… What in the Holy Primus are impulties? Did you mean impulses?
He doesn't have much time to mentally complain about the vocabulary of space alien robots because the cat in his arms, hearing the monotonous voice, has a surge of vitality.
Her optics scan through the crowd for the source of the voice as the feline ears rise to pick up sounds .
Thanks for confirming my suspicions Ravage!
The drama continues to unravel at the end of the ship, too far to see more that the Main Evil Trio standing on the throne stairs.
-That just means he believes in himself! Like any spies would!-
Starscream's sweet, melodious and very irritated voice is interrupted by a series of muffled sounds, words stuck behind a metal plate, excited noises, and impatient gestures.
-Uhhh, why is he gagged?-
Shockwave responds to Elita promptly, irritation shining through his only yellow optic, the corrupt purple body moving abruptly reflecting his emotions.
-Because he wouldn't stop talking!-
So… Does Shadowplay exist here or not? Maybe only Empurata does? I’m getting really confused by this whole situation!
Finally Elita asks the first smart question of the moment.
-Even when he was unconscious?-
-Especially when he was unconscious!-
The poor purple guy looks traumatized…
-Enough! Two options for you! One: we slowly dismantle each of you one bolt and screw at a time and really make sure you feel it… Or two: In exchange for a quick death you give us intel on the enegon trains, access to the mines or anything else that could hurt your boss Sentinel Prime!-
Oh, yeah, I should really reach Ravage’s mama before they start punching each other!
I really don’t want to traumatize the little one with the masochist tango…
-Uh…Who exactly are you guys?-
Oh, good job Orion! Finally the right question!
At that point it allows its processor to momentarily disconnect from the speech. If he wants to get to Soundwave before they start messing around, he has to get past that little group of mechs who look suspiciously like Constructicons. Which seems very strange, given that, if he remembers correctly, the entire high guard had flying alts.Or maybe not?
Don't tell me that his memories are already starting to fade! We're not even at the end of the movie!
-He’s right! I read all about you in the archives! You used to be the most legendary warriors of all or Cybertron!-
Once a nerd, always a nerd.
He is so caught up in his goal that he doesn't even realize the astonished looks that are being directed at their strange duo, whispers that expand like waves among the crowd that begins to open up a just bit to allow them to pass through.
-LOOK, LOOK LOOK! That’s Starscream! And you're Shockwave and Soundwave… Gosh, raise your servo if ”Wave” is in your name! There’s a lots of Wave’s…-
Starscream's voice, high-pitched but not as annoying as it might become in the future, promptly interrupts the little yellow bot rant.
-SILENCE! The yellow annoying one is correct…- An almost respectful silence falls as he begins to recount what happened to what was once the largest defense force of Cybertron, a team of elite soldiers directly serving the Primes. -We were once the High Guard... We witnessed Sentinel betrayal, saw the Primes fall. Since that day we ‘ve been fighting in the shadows, doing what we can to sabotage Sentinel…-
Rea just zooms out of the conversation again as he proceeds towards his objective.
Bla, bla bla, sad backstory, I know that! I just need to bring the kid home to his mama!
-The idea of a unified Cybertron is a myth! All that counts is the strength of one bot over another!-
The crowd of cheered bots erupts in a supportive ovation, the sound echoing through the destroyed spacecraft.
What in the Fallout bullshit does this come from? Someone better call Bethesda to come and take their rights!
-EHI! What are you doing!?-
Oh, frag! Please, don’t start punching each other now! We’re almost there!!
-I tell you what I'm not doing! I’m not cowering in some busted ship playing king on the throne! I’m not pretending like I'm making a difference by throwing a punch and then running away to hide! I found out that Sentinel was rotten today! I’m going to make him pay for it… Today!-
His poisonous words resonate like an oath, golden optics tinged with an orange patina, like a tyrant without empire, a king without crown...
-You think you can insult me and just walk away? No one leaves here unless I say so…-
It's just another attempt to keep them in check, to mantein the control of the status quo. So worried to let it slip that he doesn't notice how it slides like sand between his digit due to the wind of change.
-Is that right? Well… How can you say so with my helm in your teeth?-
Sbang, right in his denta!
They fight, they punch each other, they kick the other in the metaphorical balls and the worst thing is that it almost sounds like they like it! It's the masochist's festival!
-Hit me! Come one! More! Do it!-
Star… Could you try not to make me sound right? At least one time, please?
The crowd erupts for the show of force from that mysterious newcomer. A chorus begins to grow among the high guard, chanting the strongest mech’s denominations, a foretaste of what will become…
-You want to see the strength of a bot over another? Huh? -
Another punch lands on Starscream faceplate, then another, and another, and another. The servo around the seekers throat tightens as the punch get stronger and his voice falters.
-Is that all you got?- The sound breaks into a familiar screech under the pressure. -Come on!!-
Starscream continues in that screen tone until the last punch, when the arm of the former miner and future tyrant transforms into the weapon that will become his symbol.
The fusion cannon resounds with a hum, loaded and ready to fire.
-I beg you!-
You see this kids? That's why you have to discuss kink beforehand!
Orion's voice sounds like a distant prayer barely reaching the hearing receptors of the future Decepticon leader.
-Stop, Dee! He’s not the enemy!-
The cannon powers down but his owner has enough fire for both himself and the whole High Guard and he is so kind to share it!
-Bear witness! This is the last time I show mercy! Decide right now! You can stay here in hiding, bowing before your pathetic leader or follow me, as we march on Iacon and I take down Sentinel once and for all!-
His words are the red spark of anger that rekindle the embers of vengeance.
Red as anger, red with vengeance and conquest, like blood covering what was gold.
Unhealthy enthusiasm pervades the air as sound waves echo and expand like an earthquake shockwave, screaming at distant stars.
A cheerful tune whistled breaks that poetry, passing through the ovations of future Decepticons, a high-pitched melody alien and unnatural to the living metal planet.
-Damn girl! What a girlboss! We get it: you’re the prettiest girl at the party… Can we get over it now? ‘Cause I bet 67 shanix that you just give away fifty megacycles of hard work with that pretty light show and I’m running on a tight schedule!-
His own voice sounds strange, maybe just because he's never spoken in front of all these people in the space of two lifetimes, or maybe it's just the echo ringing strangely. That doesn't matter anyway!
The important thing here is to be able to bring ravage back from its creator, fuck the rest!
-Hi! I found her outside in the wilderness. I am no medic but I don’t think it is anything life threatening!-
The telepath's visor lights up for recognition, coming towards the couple with a couple of steps. Hands outstretched in an exceptional "non-manifestation of emotions".
-Ravage: Status Report.-
She simply restarts her optics and then stares at her creator with a disapproving look and then at her comfortable but temporary slave with an exasperated exvent.
-Well I do believe that she has some issues with her vocalizer… But as I’ve said, I'm not a doctor and we’re running on a tight schedule! So, if you could…-
Soundwave's visor moves from its creation to begin staring directly at him, as if he only realized at that instant that he didn't know the mech holding his older creation.
The telepath blue helm leans slightly to the side as his gaze seems to run like a scan across his frame, focusing particularly on areas where the exterior paint has been damaged, revealing wounds and underlying internal plating.
He can feel himself mirroring the pose with no problem, inclining his own helm to match the telepath’s.
OMP! Just like Ravage, how cute is that?
In response a light weight, like a soft blanket, appears to prick slightly in his processor, reading the superficial neural pathways. Or impulties, I guess…
-Ravage: Return.-
The cassetty-cat transforms into his arms obeying the command, legs and fangs that change into right angles and coils of the space cassette as she gets incorporated into her creator chest. At that point soundwave's mirrored red headset refocuses on him.
-Query: ETA?-
Well, that's a good question…
-More or less 15 nanoclicks? If we’re lucky, obviously…-
The peaceful moment is immediately interrupted by a flood of voices that all seem intent on speaking at the same time. Denial, illogicality, expectation, miracle, impossibility…
Dozens if not hundreds of glyphs overlapping each other, the auditory receptors whistling at the sudden excessive input of data until a voice finally makes some silence.
-Silence, you fools! Online your weapons and...-
Starscream, praise to your sweet and delicate voice, may it remain so until the end of your days!
-INCOMING!-
A family voice screams from outside. The Rainmakers?
It does not matter in the end.
A metallic roar explodes through the remains of the spacecraft, the ground shakes beneath their pedes, echoing through the metal as the shelter becomes a trap. The explosions open breaches in what remains of the ceiling, fragments of incandescent metal fall like a shower of molten lava onto those who have not yet managed to leave the wreckage.
A chaotic muffled jumble of screams, calls and shouted orders that no one can really follow nor understand. Despair that mutates into pure violence, each blow charged with repressed anger and disillusionment.
He is lost in this chaos, the air is boiling, the flashes of explosions covering the view, the whistle of his auditory receptors that cannot process the intense input of the sound.
Dermas moves, someone attacks, someone runs.
Somehow he manages to slip out of the wreck just in time before it collapses under the weight of enemy fire, dragging himself behind his right leg.
At this point, there is just a way to describe what is happening outside the burning alien ship:
It's raining mech, hallelujah,
It's raining mech, amen
Ow!
A scream, a male voice that seems to be approaching from above.
A voice that seems to be approaching very, very quickly!
Oh, shit, is that?
He barely has time to raise his eyes to see a screaming metal guy before falling again into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
Fuck… AGAIN!?!?
He really called that on himself…
Featuring, in the next chapter:
Honestly, I'm starting to get tired of losing consciousness every fragging chapter! Can we find an alternative, please?
Thank you!
[...]
His digits linger, cold and with an unnecessary pressure tracing his jaw with stern efficiency.
The touch lays heavy, almost sticky as it slips like a caress, manipulating his body like a doll. He can feel his own chin tilting upward as his gaze moves to meet the Prime's hypnotic electric blue optics.
The noble features relaxed in a worried smile, who on earth could hate the Prime? So magnanimous he is, to worry about ordinary mortals!