Hollow Vessel: A G1 "Spotlight"-style story

Hollow Vessel: A G1 Mirage “Spotlight”-style story

Writer's note: After reading the Mirage Spotlight story from IDW and scratching my head, I decided to write my own "Spotlight"-style story about Mirage. I wanted to expand the G1 character's background, and it's been fun. Here are the first two chapters, with chapter one referencing events at the end of More Than Meets the Eye, Part 3.

Comments appreciated. You can read my other fiction here: Before the Dawn (still in progress) and The Best Conviction


****** Chapter One ******


Mirage’s feet hit the ground of the alien world and it felt strange, foreign. On Cybertron, he’d trekked to the center of the wilderness in the Neutral Territories many times and felt the primal surface of the world he loved, the world he called home. It had felt ancient and purposeful.

This planet, this dirt and dust now under his feet, felt young, unstructured, chaotic. It wasn’t home. It could never be home.

Just behind him, the sea was boiling around the enormous aft thrust structures of the Decepticon space cruiser. Mirage watched the last piece of purple plating as it slipped beneath the waves. He had caused the ship’s demise, and as it disappeared under the corrosive liquid that covered so much of this planet, he felt a pang of regret.

Another pathway home is gone forever, he thought to himself. He didn’t dare say such a thing aloud as his Autobot comrades crowded around him, cheering and chanting his name. He nodded at them and accepted their thanks as he pulled free of his parachute tethers.

The crowd around him parted for Prime. Mirage was relieved to see he had survived the blast from the cruiser’s cannon, and the subsequent fall back to the planet. The Autobot leader’s almost supernatural resilience was part of his awe-inspiring persona. You couldn’t buy that kind of clout. Mirage had tried.

“We knew you were anxious to get back to Cybertron,” Prime said, “but at least you could have waited for us.”

Mirage smiled. At the end of this struggle, and after both of them beat such ludicrous odds, joking seemed appropriate.

“Sorry, Prime. The ship was…full.”

A chorus of laughter rose among his comrades as Optimus placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Well done, Mirage.”

Looking at the faces of those cheering around him, Mirage felt a vibration down his spine shaft. Here it was: that public, long-overdue show of vindication that he’d desired for so long. Each metal face was grinning or cheering, expressions he never dreamed he’d receive from some of them.

“Let’s get back to base. We have a ship of our own to repair,” Jazz said above the noise.

An ache in his shoulder pulled Mirage’s attention from the conversation. The source of the pain was a brown scorch on his plating courtesy of Starscream.

Ironhide stepped close and gave the back of Mirage’s neck a good-natured wallop. “Great job feeding the fish, pal. Hope they like the taste of Decepticreeps. Got a little memento on your shoulder there? Looks like something Ratchet can hammer out before you can say ‘wax 'n' buff.’”

Mirage nodded and caught sight of the one Autobot he was hoping to talk to for reasons other than medical care. But before he could catch up to Ratchet, Prime ordered everyone to roll out. Mirage transformed and took his place in the convoy. After a mile or two, his personal pulsewave receiver chirped with a private signal.

“Ironhide said you’re injured. Meet me at the repair bay first thing when we get to base,” said the chief Autobot medical officer.

“It’s just a scratch. Nothing as involved as replacing a knee joint. Which still works beautifully after all these millennia, by the way. I have no complaints.”

“Since you brought up old history, I have to ask the question. Is it done now? It looks like the ‘Cons laser cores are finally extinguished. Isn’t it time for this act to be over?” Ratchet asked.

Mirage saw Prime’s exhaust trailing behind him at the front of the convoy.

Optimus trusts me. Maybe he always has. But the others? Trailbreaker? Hound? Cliffjumper? Will crashing a Decepticon cruiser be enough to prove to everyone where my loyalties truly lie?

Or, had he gone too deep to ever come back?

“Mirage? Is it over?” Ratchet asked over the pulsewave, sounding uncharacteristically impatient.

“I’ll let you know.”


****** Chapter Two ******


Cybertron, during the Third Cybertronian War

“Now I know times are tough. Never thought I’d see a metal polisher like you in a place like this.”

Mirage brushed filings and crumbs from a chair and sat down at the table across from a purple, fan-tailed female Autobot and the less sober scrutiny of Brazen, a blue-plated Cybertronian with too much currency and too little good taste. He was one of the few Autobots, along with Mirage, who was wealthy enough to afford the annual commutation fee and avoid military service. He was also much too wealthy to be drinking in a sour-smelling, dimly-lit palace of vice like this one.

From the slurring of his vocal processor, Mirage guessed Brazen had already imbibed enough distilled energon to light the three of them up like rocket ships.

Mirage tapped his finger on the full glass sitting in front of him. “I’ve never missed out on an opportunity because of geography.”

“I know that. I know that because your shipping conglomerate is taking up all contracts along the Kaon border. I lost three bids just last week to those lousy, line-jumping pirates you call employees.”

The female Autobot sitting across the table from Mirage watched him with a gaze that could have pierced through solid Cybertonium. Pulsing lights from the gambling games that lined the walls of the casino reflected in her face. He hadn’t seen her before, but Mirage knew her role in this venture. The Autobot tycoon did all the talking while she saw every weakness, every tell that Mirage might let slip.

“It almost sounds like you are accusing me of a crime.”

“Almost?! No ‘almost’ about it. Crossing into Kaon is illegal.”

“So is knowingly selling defective goods. My sources tell me that you sold two thousand units of spent armament casings from my factories to Autobot Command last week, claiming they were brand new. And at cost, no less.”

Brazen put his glass down and sat back. He obviously wasn’t expecting Mirage to know that bit of information. “So what? So what if I jettison my surplus to the ’Bots? You’ve got no love for Command. What do you care?”

“Is that the point of this meeting in this shoddy excuse of a drinking establishment? Did you invite me to Kalis to make a deal, or to blackmail me?”

“No, I’m…” Brazen trailed off and looked for moral support from his companion. Her expression softened a bit as she watched him try to recover some high ground in the conversation. His over-energized processor was in a complete fog. “I’m saying that the two of us ain’t enemies, but you make it hard to know some times. If you want a piece of the deal with Command, no problem. I’ll sign a percentage over to you right now.”

The female lifted her fingers off the table, an obvious signal for Brazen to shut his mouth.

Mirage gulped his drink and grimaced at the burn as it went down. “I'm a non-aligned pacifist. I don’t do business with the military.”

“Right. Which military are we talking about?” Brazen muttered, putting his arm around the shoulders of the female.

"And if I wasn’t a pacifist I would take violent offense at the comment.”

“Calm down. He didn’t mean the ’Cons," the female spoke for the first time since the meeting began.

“Then what did he mean?”

“He means the council’s gone. The civilian authorities have either been assassinated or gone into hiding. No police force. No legal or political system. There is no such thing as dealing with the Autobots and not dealing with the military.”

“There’s no money in peace, friend. No one is buying,” Brazen said after a long drink, slurring even more now.

Mirage started to get up. “Are you both done? I don’t see how this meeting is worth any more of my time, and the smell in here isn’t encouraging me to linger.”

The female tipped the bottle and filled both glasses. “We’re not going to hound you about your politics. Brazen’s complaint is the tight margins we've got trying to ship cargo through the border states. Fuel costs are through the roof. Plus, we’ve had to hire security details to cover our shipping fleets. Unescorted vehicles come under fire from gangs of ‘Cons, or they disappear altogether. You always underbid us for every job in the region. Your fleet vehicles never have security escorts and they have yet to get raided.”

Mirage sat. “Obviously, you're the one watching Brazen's books. All that makes you conclude I’m working with the Decepticons?”

“You have to admit, it looks more than suspicious.”

“Maybe Decepticons aren’t interested in the goods I ship. No interest. No theft.”

“How much does this ‘disinterest’ cost?” The female said with a crooked smile.

The chime of his personal pulsewave rang in his audio receptors. Mirage excused himself from the table and walked to an empty corner past the rows of the empty gambling machines. It appeared no one had the energon or interest to risk on games any more. The real gambles of war were risk enough.

“I’m in the middle of a meeting, Graft. Why the interruption?”

“Stop everything,” croaked the nervous voice of his accountant over the pulsewave. “Cancel whatever deals you’re cooking up. You need to see me right now.”

“What could possibly be that urgent?”

“Altihex and Praxus just disappeared from the markets.”

“Disappeared?”

“The official statement from their regulator offices says that they’ve been 'liberated from the oppressive tyranny of free trade’ by Megatron. All commerce agreements with other city-states are now void.”

Mirage forced any calculations from his mind on what this news meant to his personal net worth. "Any word from the firm?”

“All accounts are frozen. I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. Commodities markets, energon trading…all of it just dropped into the basement. I can't get any brokers to speak to me. All the pulsewaves into Altihex bounce back like I'm broadcasting into a mirror!”

“Don't panic. My office in one hour.” Mirage walked back to the table and interrupted Brazen tickling his female under her chin. Caught in a moment of vulnerability, her smile disappeared.

Mirage didn’t sit down. He emptied his glass and placed it down on the table forcefully. “I’ll share with you my little secret for getting through the border states unmolested if you agree to cut me 15 percent of your contracts in the region. And, you stop selling junk parts to Autobot Command.”

Brazen and the female conferred softly as Mirage waited. “Four percent,” Brazen finally counteroffered, tipping his glass over.

“Nine. That’s my last figure. Take it or I walk out of here right now.”

Brazen’s smile nearly cracked his faceplate. “Deal!”

Mirage put an energon slip on the table but the female pushed it back at him. “We’ll pay.”

“We all will,” Mirage said and walked briskly to the exit.

“What did he mean by that?” She asked, watching him leave.

"...he felt a pang of regret. Another pathway home is gone forever, he thought to himself. Mirage didn’t dare say such a thing aloud as his Autobot comrades crowded around him.” My G1 "Spotlight" fanfic: Hollow Vessel

Holy tits this is awesome. Five hundred thumbs up, forever.

wow, I 'am impressed this is awesome be sure to check out my fan fic too.

Very impressive. Brings on a new light for Mirage while sticking to the source material

**** Chapter 3 ****

Before he reached the Kalis border, Mirage received another pulsewave from his accountant. Between his agitated gibbering, Mirage deciphered phrases like “break my thumb joints” and “never seen so many zeros.”

Graft shouted, finally becoming coherent, “The financial district is the belly of the beast!”

“Then get out of there. I’ll meet you at my apartment. You know the entry code,” Mirage said, driving in vehicle mode on one of the mammoth highways between the city-states.

When he entered, Graft was standing in Mirage’s living room, holding his accounting tablet. It was either vibrating under its own power, or the two-wheeler’s anxiety had devolved into a nasty twitch.

“It’s gone. All of it…gone,” said Graft as Mirage locked the door behind him. “I mean, you were already on the steep end of a long slide, but this market crash has just snuffed out your financial core. It’s gone.”

A long string of zeros reflected in Graft’s optics from the accounting tablet in his hands.

“So the Altihex brokerage firm is gone completely. Nothing in the residual accounts?” Mirage asked. He looked out the window out toward the gilded skyline of Praxus and traced the outlines of the buildings with his finger.

“Exhausted in the portable particle accelerator project. And I tried to apply for credit from Central Monetary, but customer service wouldn’t let me finish the application after I typed in your ID code. Instant rejection.”

“What about the fund set aside for research and development?”

“Sunk into that debacle with the photonic energy converters, and we know how that turned out. Boom.” Graft shut the tablet off.

“Sell something. Dump some long-term assets.”

“You don’t have long-term assets. None of your investments made returns in the last 500 years. You told me to dip into the reserve to make your regular payments. Well, I have, but nothing’s come in to replenish the reserve. You have no liquid assets, or assets that can be turned liquid. Every well is dry. Every sponge squeezed.”

“That’s your professional assessment of the situation?” Mirage stopped tracing buildings and let his hand fall to his side.

“I’d say the only assets you have are here in this apartment, unless you have some emergency funds that I don’t know about. At least, I’m hoping you do because I still need to get paid.” Graft muttered the last part.

Mirage turned to face his accountant. They’d been together for several thousand years, but they’d never been friends. Mirage had hired Graft out of his black market obscurity mainly because he had connections on the wrong side of the faction line. Usually prickly and always conniving, Graft didn’t wear the Decepticon insignia on his exterior, but Mirage had little doubt of where his loyalties lay.

“Graft, do you love Cybertron?”

“Huh?”

“Do you love this planet? Cybertron?”

“I love the other half of Cybertron and that’s where I want to be right now. I want a payout before I leave this room. I need some kind of cash to get as far away from here as possible. Maybe even get a refit so I don’t look like myself.”

Mirage continued, “I love this planet. I love doing business and finding opportunity in this city. I take risks to serve the things that I love. It means more to me than some temporary comfort.”

Graft started to pace the room. “I did some checking in on your investors list. Do you know who these bots are?! Your accounts payable listings look like Autobot Command’s most wanted list. I knew we were stepping over the purple line now and then, but…slag!”

Mirage sat down on a chair. “Sounds like you need to resign.”

“I made all those currency transactions using my real name. I didn’t even think to hide my identity. They know I’m your accountant. They’re going to come gunning for me.” Graft stopped pacing and jabbed a finger at him. “You knew this day would come. You could have at least warned me.”

“You think I orchestrated my own financial collapse?”

“Why not? It sounds like something you would do: take a big fall just to find out what it feels like. I know you. You’re too smart to be caught with your gear box open like this.”

“I love this planet,” Mirage repeated, looking over his shoulder to the window. “I take risks to serve the things that I love. It means more to me than some temporary comfort.”

The smaller bot paused and his expression changed from anxious fear to anger. At that moment, Graft realized he was the only other being on this world who knew just how far Mirage had fallen. Weakness like that was ripe for exploitation.

“You’re going to give me everything you’ve got left in this place. Every hidden energon slip, every bar of heavy metal. Give me what I want and I might not run right to every ‘Con safehouse on this side of Iacon to let them know where you are.”

“No, you won’t. I have 43466251,” Mirage said, standing up.

“What’s that bunch of numbers? That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Graft lied and put his shaking hands behind his back. How could he know about 43466251? It was buried under three pseudonyms and two shell corporations. Graft created the account two days after Mirage had hired him, and started depositing the extra currency he skimmed off his boss’s business dealings. Over 200,000 years, a few cubes here, some slips there had turned into a tidy fortune.

“This is what’s going to happen. You are going to offer me your resignation, and I am going to accept. I am going to request that we never speak to each other again, and you will agree. I am going to show you to the door and you are going to go downstairs, transform into that rickety alt mode of yours and go to an oil house at the location programmed into your tablet. The bouncer there will give you another tablet containing the code that will unlock 43466251.”

Graft hastily pulled out the tablet. He gaped at the coordinates displayed on the screen. “But that’s…that’s a place in Uraya! That’s at least two days drive!”

“The code expires tomorrow at moonrise.”

Graft gaped. “You knew. You knew everything all along.”

“It’s a shame that you’re resigning. Sorry to see you go.” Mirage pointed to the door.

Graft shuffled to the exit, but couldn’t leave without a parting shot. “Yeah, they might come after me, but I’m just a number cruncher. Once your 'partners' catch on and they find out you're tapped, they're going to pull out all your wires just to make you twitch. My only regret is I won’t be there to enjoy it.”

"...he felt a pang of regret. Another pathway home is gone forever, he thought to himself. Mirage didn’t dare say such a thing aloud as his Autobot comrades crowded around him.” My G1 "Spotlight" fanfic: Hollow Vessel

The bit about the gearbox was pretty clever, but not as awesome as Mirage vs accountant. XD

Chapter 3 - Continued


The door closed behind Graft and echoed against bare walls. Mirage leaned against it and held his hand over his optics. The stressful end to his partnership with Graft was disappointing, but Mirage had given up on finding anything redeeming in that bot long ago.

Mirage straightened up and looked around the room. His spacious apartment was lavish by Cybertronian standards. However, all the furnishings and trinkets had been sold piece by piece to finance his business ventures.

He made a mental list. In the next few hours he had three priorities.

He needed to buy a gun.

He needed to get away from Praxus. Maybe get all the way to Iacon.

He needed to get the Autobots’ attention.

And he had to accomplish all of this while still following the first rule of espionage: never drop your cover, even under extreme duress, even to trusted friends, or even when you think the mission is over.

He was Mirage, the once-wealthy entrepreneur, investment manager, shipping magnate, professed pacifist, war profiteer and traitor. He was all those things, and yet he wasn’t. The life of a double agent was a mix of paradoxes, but he had centuries of experience keeping the frayed cords of this manufactured persona together.

Reciting the mantra helped.

“I love Cybertron. I am loyal to my work. I take risks to serve the things that I love. It means more to me than some temporary comfort.”

Mirage walked to the only wall hanging left in his home and pulled it down. He touched a sequence of pressure-sensitive panels hidden in the wall and a secret vault slid open.

From the vault he pulled out three things: a thick bundle of energon slips, an unmarked canister containing six circular devices called blankers, and a red Autobot badge. As offensive weapons, the blankers didn’t have much value, but they were all he had until he bought a weapon. The blankers were highly illegal electromagnetic pulse devices, powerful enough to wipe clean any electronic device within a radius of 20 meters. Any Cybertronian within the blast zone of the device would get stuck with a decade-long headache and some holes in their long-term datatracks. Mirage shoved them and the slips in his back compartment. He ran his thumb over the badge, then placed it back in the vault and shut it.

Extraction might be a possibility if Autobot Command still had the resources for it. It had been centuries since he made contact with another Autobot agent, and there was only one place in this city where he knew to make such a connection, the Praxus Gymnasium.

"...he felt a pang of regret. Another pathway home is gone forever, he thought to himself. Mirage didn’t dare say such a thing aloud as his Autobot comrades crowded around him.” My G1 "Spotlight" fanfic: Hollow Vessel

And here's to getting out of the sinking ship, Go Mirage !!!!

Totally digging the spy-movie-esque business and internal monologue happening here. Also, the blankers = pretty hot. <3

****** Chapter 4 ******

To many, the Praxus Gym was an anachronism, a luxurious relic from a different era frequented by the disconnected elite. Whether it belonged or not, the building certainly hadn’t been spared from war-time austerity. The columned façade was cracked and marred; the front steps Mirage walked up were bent and uneven. Due to either a lack of building materials or concern, the decay was left unchecked.

At one time, Mirage would have gone straight to the front desk to complain about such defects. Today, it was the furthest thing from his thoughts. From here on in, he had to speak carefully, remember codes, try to discern intentions, and get a clear message across to other agents without breaking cover.

As he passed under a “Vehicle Modes Allowed in Designated Areas Only” sign, Mirage reached back in his memory for all the signs and countersigns that had been established for this contact site. There were questions he could ask, and the staff members who were Autobot plants would know the countersigns.

As the front desk attendant appeared, Mirage groaned inwardly, but kept his face impassive. He did not recognize this young ’bot at all.

“Welcome to Praxus Gymnasium, sir. I’m Juvo. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“Not surprising. I haven’t visited the Gym since they found retrorats in the basement.”

“Retrorats? When was that?”

The correct countersign mentioned exterminators. Mirage frowned. “When is Velox on duty next? I want to speak to her.”

"She joined up with the Autobots over five years ago, sir. Haven't heard from her since then. I’m here to serve you however I can."

Of course she’s gone. Waning Autobot reserves would require commanders to bring in lower ranking soldiers in from the field to join the main forces. Unfortunately, that left operatives like him high and dry. Was this Juvo an Autobot replacement, or just another gym employee?

“What about Tuneup? When does he work next?”

"Same deal, sir, left to become a soldier. I heard he was off-lined when Nova Cronum was invaded."

“That’s a waste, a sad waste. Fine then, you’ll have to help me. Is locker 51 available? I like the location and I want to rent for the short term."

Juvo looked confused and checked the terminal in front of him. "Locker use is first-come, first-served, sir. There are no long-term or short-term options."

That was definitely not the countersign he needed to hear.

"Is there anyone else here who I can ask?"

"My shift ends in two days and then Hustle takes my place. Used to be there were five bots on staff at all times, but there aren't enough members anymore to need that level of service. It’s just Hustle and me now."

Hustle. Mirage didn't recognize that name, and he didn't have two days to wait. He tapped his finger on the counter.

Juvo fidgeted. "Can I offer you a beverage sir? Rationing has limited our bar, but we still have an excellent selection of-"

"No, thank you. I want to use aerosol chamber four, and I want to be left alone." He placed an energon slip on the table.

Juvo bowed and palmed the currency. "Of course, sir."

Mirage glanced at the track area and obstacle courses as he walked by. Two females he didn’t recognize were doing sprints. The noise of their engines echoed off the cavernous chamber.

In the locker room, Mirage discretely hid the blankers and energon away and entered a foggy, dimly-lit aerosol chamber. After surveying the rows of empty benches, he took a seat near the back wall but facing the door. As he reclined and waited, aerosolized lubricants collected on his plating.

On most days this warm treatment soothed him, but the situation was too precarious for Mirage to relax. His exchange at the front desk confirmed that Autobot Command had abandoned the Praxus Gym as a connection point. His main channel to request extraction was gone.

"...he felt a pang of regret. Another pathway home is gone forever, he thought to himself. Mirage didn’t dare say such a thing aloud as his Autobot comrades crowded around him.” My G1 "Spotlight" fanfic: Hollow Vessel