I've finally written a few pages of Chapter Two, so I'm going to go ahead and start posting bits and pieces of it. Keep in mind that with Chapter One: The Alpha Conversion, I had it all written out already (except for the part where Starscream kills Alpha Trion; I had to add that in) and was just editing as I posted it. I'm posting this one as I write it, so it may be a little slow going, and maybe a tad less cohesive without the years of proofreads and edits. However, I promise I'll try not to screw it up. I must mention that I had to go back into the Chapter One thread and change something. You may remember Orion Pax thinking that he had heard the word "Prime" a hundred times and seen it seven...I changed the hundred to a thousand. I was never quite happy with the constraints the number one hundred put on the entire story (not just Chapter One, but all Twelve Chapters), and I thought that one thousand year timespans made everything a little more relaxed and realistic. I guess that's sort of a spoiler...:redface . Also, whereas Orion Pax became Optimus Prime in Chapter One, Don't look for a new Prime in Chapter Two. The obvious next step is Rodimus Prime, but he won't come along until Chapter Three: The Beta Conversion. The story generally goes along in that fashion; a Conversion followed by a linking chapter, and then another Conversion. For reference (and as a teaser of things to come), here is the entire table of contents for The Legacy: Chapter 1: The Alpha Conversion Part 1: The Coming Darkness Part 2: The Prophecy Chapter 2: Exodus Part 3: War on Cybertron Part 4: War on Earth Chapter 3: The Beta Conversion Part 5: Unicron Part 6: "...our darkest hour." Chapter 4: Rodimus Prime Part 7: Aftermath Part 8: Inside the Matrix Chapter 5: The Gamma Conversion Part 9: A Hun-Grr for Power Part 10: Fall into Darkness Chapter 6: The Delta Conversion Part 11: Nucleon Part 12: Gutcruncher A Book Apart: Love, Cybertronian Style Part 1: Springer and Arcee Part 2: Landmine and Waverider Part 3: Prowl and Strafe Part 4: Jazz and Scratch Part 5: A Fight for Love Part 6: Fireflight in the Middle Part 7: Discharge Chapter 7: The Theta Conversion Part 13: Smaller and Smaller Part 14: Apologies Chapter 8: Return of a Hero Part 15: Homecoming Part 16: The Grudge Chapter 9: The Omicron Conversion Part 17: Evolution Part 18: Clearing out the Trash Chapter 10: Hope and Disaster Part 19: News Part 20: Casualties of War Chapter 11: The Traitor Part 21: Building Pressure Part 22: The Link Chapter 12: The Omega Conversion Part 23: Thunder Part 24: The Legacy Epilogue: Night's End You'll probably notice that I skip a lot of the Greek Alphabet, but I really didn't intend for them to be a very important part of the mythos, just arbitrary names, really. And as you can see in the section titled "A Book Apart," I use a lot of characters that were originally male as females, such as the pretender Waverider and the Technobot Strafe. That was only cuz I thought the toys looked feminine when I was little so I always used them as girls. Twisting the fabric of the universe, I know. :redface Also, I can't guarantee that I'll finish the ENTIRE story within my lifetime, so if I don't, I apologize in advance. Anyway, story begins on next post.
Chapter Two: Exodus Introduction Any history set forth herein was gathered and condensed by Skydive, Autobot Historian, with aid from Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Kup, Ironhide, Cerebros, Grimlock, and Chromedome. Interviews and statements are used by permission of the interviewee (or in the case of Decepticon prisoners, by permission of their jailors), with all non-relevant discussion matter omitted for length and content. Subsequent English translations were edited and proofed by Spike and Carly Witwicky. The following is in no way intended to be a comprehensive dissertation on the Cybertronian Civil War; rather it is merely a cursory overview covering major events and military campaigns. Decepticon intelligence gathered by Autobot agent or agents who shall remain unnamed, lest his or her true allegiance be disclosed, thereby jeopardizing the cover of said agent. Part Three: War on Cybertron Cybertron’s Civil War began approximately 1,000 earth years before the date of this 2nd edition (January 2005; all subsequent dating is formatted to the Standard Earth Calendar [SEC]) with the eruption of the Iacon Cataclysm, an explosive blast that claimed the lives of nearly one million innocent Cybertronians (henceforth referred to as “Transformers”). This cataclysm occurred in the early morning hours of the tenth dekacycle of the ninth year, 49th century, 3rd Cybertronian Epoch (referred to as Cybertron’s Golden Age). The explosion was caused by a device of unknown design, and no other such device has ever been located or manufactured since. The immense destruction caused by this device was such that the Transformers who witnessed the destruction firsthand and lived to tell about it were convinced that it was not of Cybertronian origin. When asked to explain the reasoning behind the statement, the Transformers in question were unable to provide a viable response. “I built the device, true enough, but the design specifications never allowed for such raw power. [The bomb] was simply not big enough…there was no room in it to hold enough energon to cause an explosion of that magnitude. We believe we were assisted by an outside source…” Decepticon Shockwave, during interrogation 1100 AD. When asked to elaborate, the subject refused to comment any further. Subject’s escape occurred less than three days later, with assistance from a small detachment of Decepticon troops. 1100 AD, SEC Optimus Prime closed the data track momentarily. Just from scanning a number of other entries and listening to a few sound clips, it was obvious that Skydive’s investigative skills were without peer. Optimus had no idea that records containing segments of old Decepticon interviews still existed, so reading and hearing accounts of Shockwave’s statements were more than a little unsettling. The Cataclysm that Autobots spoke of in sorrowful, reverent whispers was spoken of by the Decepticons in tones bordering on religious awe. The smugness evident in Shockwave’s voice was sickening; rage and sorrow welled up inside him at the sound. He put his face in his hands and sat that way for a few moments, fighting to suppress the memories of that night. That had been the last night of the Golden Age, and the last night of many Cybertronians’ lives, including that of Orion Pax and Alpha Trion. Don't forget her… Of course not. She could not be forgotten. She— Optimus’s thoughts were interrupted by the signal for incoming communication. He reached to the far right side of his computer console for the comlink button. He pressed it, and the screen in front of him changed to display an image of a robot’s face. “This is Optimus Prime.” “Optimus, this is Red Alert,” the image said. “I have a status report for the last two dekacycles, as well as an message from a neutral named Chromedome. Are you familiar with the subject?” “I’ve heard his name mentioned, but I’ve never met him. Send the message through, and transmit the status report to my personal files. I’ll go over it later.” “Yes sir,” Red Alert replied, and his image was replaced by another, this one with a silver head, a single ocular unit, and an orange faceplate. The message was prerecorded, so it consisted solely of Chromedome speaking through the monitor. “Optimus Prime, my name is Chromedome. I am primary data collector and archivist for the Crystal City Hall of Records. Or rather, I used to be…” Here it comes, thought Optimus, his right hand curling into a fist. “Just one half of a dekacycle before today, Crystal City was bombarded by a contingent of Decepticon pyramid fighters, also known as ‘Seekers.’ Their primary target was apparently a nearby Protectobot Dispatch Center, but an area surrounding the PDC totaling three square blocks was leveled. Naturally, my concern is for the lives of any citizens living and working at the site more so than for my place of employment, but it was requested of me by my employers to contact you and alert you of the situation.” This sort of thing happened all the time. Decepticons, seeking new conquests, would storm a city and destroy all of its governmental and protection facilities in order to seize that city’s energon plants. Shortly afterward, he would receive a rash of angry video files sent by businesses that had lost their offices or distribution centers. More often than not, the management of these businesses would demand monetary compensation to be paid by the Autobot Resistance. Robots were dying grisly deaths, and all these fuel-grubbing neutrals wanted was energon cubes. Their reasoning was that since the Autobots were the only group on Cybertron that could fight the Decepticons, then their failure to do so was inexcusable. Never mind the fact that most of the Decepticons could fly and the Autobots could not. Never mind the fact that the Autobot Resistance was a third the size of the Decepticon Army, and armed not nearly half as well. They were expected to defend the whole planet at all times. Optimus sighed and reached for the button that would stop the message and erase the file, but Chromedome surprised him by saying something interesting. “They want energon compensation; I say to the Pit with them. One of my friends was a protectobot and he’s dead now. I fear my neutral days are over. Therefore, I hereby request permission to join the Autobot Resistance. I have no combat experience and no weapons training, but I do have a highly developed intellect as well as an unwavering faith in Primus and the Autobot cause.” The message ended, and at the bottom of the screen was the comlink frequency for Chromedome’s dwelling. Optimus folded his arms across his chest and looked thoughtfully down at the console’s instrument panel. It wasn’t often that a neutral addressed any member of the Autobot Resistance with the intent of joining, yet here was the latest in a whole string of such occurrences. Forty neutrals had joined in the last six dekacycles, and ten more hopefuls were awaiting a favorable response from the Council. Make that eleven now, counting Chromedome. Of course the Council would accept them all; it was a very rare event for them to turn anyone down. Even the smallest and weakest robots found a place within the Autobot ranks. Not everyone was suited to battle, and those who weren’t knew it. However, to these few, it was important to be a part of something the goal of which was to defeat the Decepticons. They were happy just to be weapons inspectors or ammunition stockers. Optimus sometimes wished that he could have a boring job like ammunition stocker. Taking inventory of photon charges and mortar shells seemed much more relaxing than leading an army of overeager young warriors, many of whom would not live to see their second tour of duty. Optimus sighed and placed his hand over the comlink keypad. He punched in the numbers that still showed on the screen, and waited. A voice answered, and it was recognizably Chromedome’s. “Chromedome here.” “Chromedome,” Optimus began. “This is Optimus Prime. How soon can you make it to Iacon?” There was a pause, and then: “The Decepticons have destroyed most of the lanes leading to and from Crystal City, so it may be slow going. I’d guess anywhere between three to five cycles.” “Be careful. You must approach from the north edge of Iacon; all other gates to the city have been sealed indefinitely. When you reach the north gates, you will meet an Autobot named Hound. Tell him that you are interested in joining the Resistance, and he will tell you where to go from there.” “Thank you, Optimus Prime,” Chromedome said. “I appreciate you getting in touch with me so soon.” “Absolutely. I have no doubt that we will find good use for someone of your intelligence.” He closed the communication channel and glanced at the chronometer above the monitor. He had a council meeting to attend in less than an hour, but he judged that he still had enough time to visit The Hall of Compassion’s third sublevel. “Bombshell, your status report.” Bombshell flinched. The voice startled him out of his calculations and grated on his nerves like broken glass. He sighed, set down his data pad, and turned around. “Starscream,” he said, “I had no idea that you would be coming down from on high today to mingle with us commoners. To what do we owe this dubious pleasure?” “Spare me your insolent remarks, vermin, and give me your ever-slagging status report!” Starscream shouted, his fists clenching in anger. “Fine,” Bombshell returned. “You don’t have to be so blasted melodramatic.” He turned back to the crate he had been using as a makeshift desk, and picked up his data pad again. “Ammunition production is up by 45%. Information from Shrapnel’s department indicates that production of incendiary devices is up by 20%, and Kickback wins today’s prize for greatest increase with a 67% jump in weapons manufacturing.” “And what does all that mean?” “Well,” Bombshell began, turning to face the Seeker lieutenant once more, “It means that my department has made 74 million photon charges of various calibers, Shrapnel’s department has assembled one hundred thirty thousand assorted bombs, missiles, and mortars, and Kickback has manufactured sixty thousand pistols, rifles, cannons, and missile launchers. In other words, business is booming. So to speak.” “Good,” Starscream said. He turned away and left the room, going back the way he came in. “I’ll see to it you and your colleagues receive commendations on your industrious work ethic.” Bombshell did not have to see the smirk on Starscream’s face to know it was there. He always said garbage like that, but never followed through with any recommendations or anything that could remotely be considered job incentive. Just more of the same. He wondered how pleased Megatron would be if he and his brothers withdrew their weapons support and offered it to the Autobots. He was sure that they would appreciate some guns. Even if they couldn’t pay as well, at least they wouldn’t be so smug and demanding. But the pay…that was the thing, now, wasn’t it? Megatron’s conquests had left him and his army very wealthy, and the pay was extraordinary. Bombshell, Shrapnel, and Kickback were earning five times as many energon cubes per unit than they had been receiving from producing weapons for the protectobots. All this extra income had left Bombshell considering turning his third of the business over to his brothers and retiring. He, as well as Megatron, was incredibly wealthy now, and weapons manufacturing just didn’t seem that important any more. The problem was that he was greedy. The more wealth he accumulated, the more he wanted. With things going the way they were, he would be foolish to quit now. An assault on Polyhex was planned, and the Decepticons would need firepower to accomplish that task; Polyhex had the largest protectobot force on Cybertron. There was also the matter of Megatron’s secret endeavor that was supposed to begin within the next year or so. No one knew what he was planning, but everyone agreed that it must be something big. In fact, an order was sent stating that 75% of all weapons and equipment produced should be held in storage until Polyhex was taken. At that time, it was all to be shipped to the Polyhex Municipal Complex. Odd that Megs would have the bulk of his firepower set aside until after the big Polyhex attack. Just what was he planning, anyway? The door hissed open and the room soon illuminated itself with banks of dim electric lights. These lights reached far into the distance, for the subterranean chamber was extremely large, lying under nearly half of Iacon. In it were titanium blocks, each holding the remains of an Autobot warrior who had fallen in battle. There were but fifty in the room at the moment, taking up a very small portion of the space, but Optimus Prime suspected that the number would grow exponentially in the years to come. The top of each block (save one) was engraved with a symbol, that of the Autobot Resistance. This symbol had marked the first page of the Covenant of Primus, the Data Volume Alpha Trion had left him upon his death. A metal plate bearing this same symbol was bolted to Optimus upper right arm. Each member of the Resistance had this same metal plate bolted either on his or her right arm, or on the chest. Some Autobots had the symbol painted on in various other locations. Optimus had one painted on his left shoulder to balance the metal plate, but that was all. He simply did not have the time to sit down for cosmetic enhancements. Most his time was spent either in council meetings, leading attacks, or reviewing status reports. In short, leading the Autobots. Any spare time he had he spent down here, visiting the dead. More specifically, visiting the one titanium block that had no Autobot symbol. Visiting Arial. He made it down here at least once a dekacycle to meditate, but once every ten days sometimes just wasn’t enough. He wanted to be here every cycle, for it was here that the portion of Arial that still inhabited his mind seemed the most alive. He had been living as Optimus Prime for one hundred years, and it suited him, but when he was with Arial’s body he felt almost as if he was his old self again, and that Orion Pax and Arial were sitting side by side in the gloom. He felt he needed this solitude now and then to keep his memories of her fresh; otherwise he would begin to take for granted that part of her that made up the mind of Optimus Prime. He feared that to do so would mean forgetting her, and he could not let that happen. He sat with his back to the cube, silent and pensive. If anyone had been in the room with him, they would see him with the word “Arial” etched in block letters in the corner above his left shoulder. He liked the image that raised in his mind; the thought that somehow Arial was always hovering above his shoulder, keeping watch on him. Thirty minutes passed and his internal timers warned him that the council meeting would begin in fifteen minutes. They would not begin without him, and it would be unprofessional for him to be late. Sighing, he got up and placed a hand on the top of the cube. It rested there for a moment, and then his fingers slid off the edge as he turned and walked away. Author's note: The "History" referred to in the introduction is represented in two ways: Us reading the 2nd Edition now, and characters within the chapter reading the original 1st Edition during the story. I just didn't want anyone to be confused. And there's an allusion to Grimlock 13's "Requiem" earlier in the post; did anyone catch it? Edit: Had to change a date; for some reason I thougth I was in the B.C. era, and was working backwards. Fixed, however.
It has been a long time since I posted in this story. I wouldn't even have done it now had not a rabid fan (I'm looking at you Flameshield ) asked me to. I've got a little more written and thought if I could get some new interest sparked, it might provoke me into continuing my story. Also, check out Chapter 1: The Prophecy. The easiest way to find it is to sort threads by thread starter, from the beginning, and in ascending order. Chapter 1 is one page 3. So here we go again. It's just a little bit, but maybe it will get the train rolling again. In 1200 AD Megatron and his squadron of Seeker class pyramid jets bombarded Crystal City in a four day air raid that left nearly the entire city uninhabitable and its entire population either dead or homeless. Neutrals forced from their homes fled to nearby outposts and cities, and a few of them went so far as to migrate to Iacon to join the Autobot Resistance. Following this attack, which signified the first such case of Total City Annihilation (henceforth referred to as TCA for expedience), Megatron demolished two more smaller municipalities. The bombing methods used were of surgical precision, destroying entire city blocks without causing the slightest collateral damage to any Energon Production Facilities. These facilities accordingly fell under Decepticon rule. Displaced citizens of the three consecutive cities destroyed by TCA accounted for easily two-thirds of the new recruits to the Autobot Resistance. At the inception of 1300 AD, the Resistance totaled approximately 900 Transformers of varying military skill. However, this total was far exceeded by even the most conservative estimates of Decepticon numbers. The data for this period of time heavily implies that the total number of Decepticon insurrectionists was in the thousands. 1200 A.D. 3000 miles away and to the southeast of Iacon was what used to be Crystal City. So named because of its proliferation of glass-walled architecture, Crystal City was now, in this 200th year of the Great War, little more than a wasteland of sparkling rubble. The Decepticons had done more than destroy the three square blocks around the Crystal City PDC, they had razed the entire city, leveling anything that could not be used by the Decepticon army. Three Energon Production Facilities had been taken, and one had been demolished by civilians in order to keep it out of Decepticon hands. Said civilians were later executed publicly by the Decepticon Commander Supreme, Megatron. Megatron stood now on the top floor of Crystal City’s former Institute of Aeronautics. The CCIA was one of the few buildings not destroyed when Starscream led the assault on Crystal City recently. Megatron, fascinated by the research that was rumored to be taking place there, had ordered it spared, and he had since adopted it as Decepticon HQ pro tem. The research that had been interrupted by the air strike had been recommenced under the direct authority of Shockwave and Soundwave. Other Decepticons working in the project included Starscream (whose insufferable slinking and whining belied his scientific genius), Scrapper, Bomb Burst, and Mindwipe. Of course, research and theory were far removed from development and practice. While it was true that the CCIA was on the verge of some very great breakthroughs, only Polyhex, the industrial center of this sector of Cybertron held the capital necessary to begin work on new technology. Foundries in Polyhex produced 75% of the metals used for manufacturing over the entire planet, and the manufacturing facilities in Polyhex alone were responsible for 95% of the transportation devices in use today. These proportions had risen since the Cataclysm, of course, but that was only because so many other cities had been leveled by the Decepticons. Megatron stood, his arms behind his back, at one of the large windows of the CCIA that overlooked the glittering ruins of Crystal City. His attention, however, was focused not on the shattered city, but on the sky. There were thousands of stars out there. The attack on Polyhex was planned to occur in two dekacycles’ time, and once that was accomplished, the real work could begin. Polyhex: Blades walked along, scanning a report on the attack on Crystal City. His jaw was set, his optics were narrowed, and such rage baked off of him that passersby gave him a wide berth. Blades had known some of the protectobots stationed in Crystal City, and according to all reports, none of them had survived. These were robots that he had trained with at the Military Academy, robots that had saved his neck on numerous occasions, and now they were all gone. For the Decepticons to have flattened an entire city was one thing. They had been killing, stealing, and destroying for two hundred years now, and to Blades it never seemed real; they were just reports…numbers…statistics. Now, however, it seemed as if the rebellion had suddenly become much more real to him. Rebellion, feh. Call it what it was:a war. And protectobots were never meant to fight wars. Their purpose was to protect Cybertronians from criminals and accidents and disasters. Part of Blades’s rage was due to his feelings of ineptitude. He wanted to do so much more, but protectobot command insisted on holding their ground and bracing for any chance of attack. Blades knew this was foolish. With the artillery the Decepticons were packing, they could sweep in and vaporize a PDC before its inhabitants had a chance to comment on the sudden communications failures that invariably took place before an attack. Not that any protectobots ever survived these attacks; this bit of information came solely from civilians. He tossed the report into a nearby waste receptacle and strode on. He had serious doubts about the competency of his superiors and was steadily growing more and more agitated with the inactivity of the Polyhex Protectobot Precinct. They assumed that their sheer numbers would protect them. He desperately wanted to go to Iacon and join the Autobot Resistance, but Stockade just would not let him go. He wanted to just leave Polyhex to whatever its fate may be, but his sense of duty kept him from disserting his post. As he passed by a shop window, he noticed something strangely awry behind the glass. This particular shop specialized in the sale of new and used telescreens, and as Blades came this way to the PDC every day, he had ceased to take notice of the various programs that usually flickered from behind the window. Only now, when there were no programs to see, did he stop to look. Every screen showed nothing but static. The proprietor of the shop was banging on the set closest to hand, but to no avail. The signal was dead. Blades felt his jaw drop slowly and the strength wanted to flee from his legs. In fact, his legs felt as if they wanted to flee from his body, leaving it there helpless and immobile. He began to turn from the window, but just before the pane of glass left his field of vision, he caught a glimpse of what was coming toward him. As he turned the full 180 degrees to face away from the shop, he saw them even better. A formation of fifteen Seekers was rushing down from cruising altitude, and as they emerged fully from behind the clouds, the one in the lead—a silver and red pyramid—opened fire on the civilians below. In the nanosecond before drawing his own blaster, the following thoughts went through Blades’s processor: “If I fire on them, they’ll know I’m a protectobot, and I’ll be dead where I stand. I can’t shoot fifteen moving targets before one of them mows me down. I have to take evasive action.” Unfortunately, his well-trained hand ignored this line of reasoning and before Blades could stop himself, he had shot two of the attackers down. “Slag!” he said. He turned to run and a searing blast of pain sent him sprawling. He rolled over, hoping to get another shot off at the Seekers, but just as he realized that the arm holding his blaster had been disintegrated, the side of the telescreen shop fell on him with a sickening crunch. Despite the horrific pain he was suddenly in, he realized that he was safer under the rubble than out in the open, and welcomed the cover. His last thought before losing consciousness was “Now, where is my arm?”
hehe, sorry, but i just wanted to learn more of what was happening. this is very good for a come back, and i hope it continues. Flameshield
