These stories aren't about a destination. They're about the journey. Most of them won't have a goal in mind. They're a collection of stories. Sometimes of the past, sometimes of the present. They're about a character breathing and reflecting about their lives or just living life. There is no main star of these stories. They don't focus on any continuity. The characters are composites of their many adaptations, or can mostly all made be my interpretation. This isn't about how Optimus Prime and Bumblebee won the war with the help of a plucky human sidekick. This is about the little bots. Some grew up to be heroes. Some grew up to be villains. Some stayed who they were. Some are dead. I hope you like it. This is my first time writing something for this site, and the first time I've released a story in a long time. Enjoy. Dirge the Anti-Nihilist Sometimes, death isn’t what we asked for. Sometimes, we want more out of life. Fame, fortune, glory, justice, peace. Everybody wants something. “Doc? I’m going to make it, right?” “Of course, Backslash. Just rest back now and let me work.” Our unit was ordered to attack an Autobot base. We fired at them, killed many of them. I say we, but I am a medic. I stayed in the back, mending a broken leg servo while the gunshots echoed throughout the air. Funny how our own side did more damage to the unit than the Autobots. A Cosmic Rust bombing run, missed by a few meters. I say a few, but you would be surprised how much a difference that could make. Our side is the only one that uses Cosmic Rust, because our side is the only one with the cure for it. But we only have so much cure, and only one survivor eligible to determine who and who does not receive it. “Doc?” Speak of the Devil. “Doc? Is everything okay?” Of course, a lot of patients ask this. They need comfort, even if it has no basis. As if my words are magic, and a promise spoken through broken oral pistons will heal dented steel and melted slag. “You are recovering fine, Backslash, just like how you were a few nanoclicks ago when you last asked. Now be silent, this part is important.”My voice was made of woven lies, but with a smoothness poured over each thread to hide the truth. But he buys it like the idiot most bots are. I opened up his spark chamber. Slowly and delicately. I wonder what he expected out of the war. Glory? Kinship? Citizenship? Either way, it seems his dreams will be left to the scrapheap. “Just rest your optics and stay calm, cadet. I am applying the cure to your infected parts.” Comfortable. Distracted. The scalpel in my hand made a swift thrust, impaling his spark on it. He’s dead within moments, quietly and never expecting it. I was the only one capable of determining who lives and who dies. I judged their age, their worth, how far the rust had gone, and the chances of survival they have. Depending on all of this, I make my judgments. To those I can’t save or aren’t worth saving, I lie, and plunge my scalpel into their still burning spark. “Dirge!” “Hm…Angry, deep, and booming voice. Thunderous footsteps. A certain undertone of stupidity and dumb muscle. ”Ah, Brawl! How may I be of service?” “Demolisher! Where is he!?” “Ah, yes. Private Demolisher. I’m sorry to point this out to you, but seeing as he recently died, he is most likely being put in a coffin or melted down for scrap.” He knocked the rag and scalpel out of my servos. I could hear them hit the dirt, a sigh escaping my lips. I was just cleaning that scalpel. He grabs me by my shoulder, lifting me up to meet his own face. Melancholy meets rage. “Why could you not save him!? You let him die!” “Actually, I euthanized him, so in a way you could put his death on my servos.” I was thrown aside, hitting the side wall with a grunt and sliding down. I wasn’t even able to stand before Brawl was standing over me, spiked mace in hand. “What are you going to do? Get rid of this unit’s only medic?” “He saved my life!” “If you think the universe owes you or Demolisher anything, you are mistaken. It doesn’t care about how tough you are or how many lives you ended or saved. Nor do I. I deal with facts. Demolisher’s chances of survival were slim. The Cosmic Rust had already seeped into his innermost energon. I mercy killed him. “You little-!” “Brawl! Weapon down!” General Onslaught. One of Megatron’s first and best soldiers. A skilled tactician, a leader and inspiration for future Decepticons, and a warrior with few matches, though, if you asked me, a tad too alpha male. “Sir, this traitor-“ “Belay that answer, soldier. Outside.” “…Yes, sir.” “Good. Dirge.” He glanced at me. “Sir.” I nodded my head at the officer, and allowed the two to leave. They believed themselves out of range of my audio sensors, but I could still pick up the faint start of Onslaught’s scolding. “What the slag were you doing, Brawl?” “That glitchhead let Demolisher die!” “Demolisher died to save the lives of several other bots. The Cosmic Rust on his body was already in stage 3. He was dissolving when Dirge euthanized him. It was too late for him. Now if you really want to insult his memory, you’ll go back into Dirge’s office and whine some more. If you want to nut up and actually make something of yourself, you’re going to come with me and prepare for battle. Understood?” “…Yes, sir.” I’ve heard threats, cries, screams, and so much more. Being a Decepticon medic isn’t easy. You get the drunken, loud war-lovers more often than not. Bots who believe that just because they kill so many, they think they deserve generosity when the Necrobot’s shadow falls on them. But sometimes, you get special cases. “Doc…? Doc?” Her arm was completely infected. That was the good news. It was only her arm, and so, cutting it off was all I needed to save her. But the rust had corroded her shoulder. It was brittle, broken, and despite the stereotype you believe in, repairing a Cybertronian is not as easy as you think. We are hard to kill, that much is true. But I have found us even harder to repair. “You can save my arm, right?” “No. We’ll need to cut it off. Judging by the infection, you won’t be able to get a replacement for it. After this, I will suggest to the commander that your duty is replaced with something more your skill level. Congratulations, Fracture. You’re going home.” I felt her uninjured servo grab my own. I could feel her weak digits pathetically trying to squeeze my own. “Please. We have the cure-“ “The cure stops the spread of the rust. Not reverses it. Perhaps if you had joined a more elite unit, you would have been offered a more potent version of the cure. But we are limited to our resources. You should feel fortunate. Your infection was just small enough for me to save-“ “Kill me.” “…” I so wish I could forget this part. I wish the dumb slag would have just accepted her medicine and allowed herself to be shipped back home for a simple desk job. But no. She looked at me with flickering optics and shaking fingers and a broken voice. “You have to kill me. I-I can’t go back like this. I can’t fight like this. Kill me. Tell everyone I died on the battlefield, t-tell them you couldn’t save me!” She pleaded. “…” “Please, you have to kill me! I can’t go back a failure like this! Kill me!” “I won’t. Now be silent and let me heal you.” “No! You have to kill me!” An EMP charge silenced her. She went into stasis, her optics going black. I was allowed to work on her then, stopping the spread of rust and fixing what I could. Her being in stasis helped greatly. Her shoulder was still unsalvageable, though. I had left for some more tools when it happened. It was a gunshot. A single, loud, bang. I’ve heard thousands of gunshots. We all have. Comes with being at war. But this was at camp. This was from deep within. This wasn’t an attack. It was a suicide. Fracture had screamed for help. Security guards came rushing in. She stole a gun, and unloaded right into her own spark. Now she lies dead in my lab, bleeding all over my floor. Now as I stood there, over her body, I felt nothing but contempt. I don’t care about honor. I don’t care about glory. I don’t even care that she was leaking all over my nice, clean floor. No, what pissed me off about this glitchhead on my floor was that she was a waste. She died, wasting the cure I had used on her. She died, wasting the minutes I spent repairing her. If she had decided to kill herself sooner, than I could have used my time to save a life, I could have used the cure to rescue someone worth it. I repair somebot, it doesn’t matter if they die the next battle. Doesn’t matter if they don’t even get a shot in before the Autobots rip them apart and eat them while they’re still online. Doesn't matter if they die tripping over a rock and blowing their own processor into bits. It doesn't matter if an amputee has to go back home to a desk job. If they still want to help win this war, they work that desk with as much determination as they fought on the battlefield. They find energon reserves, act as mission control, brief soldiers, help others, they try. Effort. That’s what I seek out of others. Because we’re all going to end up in the same place. Autobots. Decepticons. We’re all going to end up in the Pit sooner or later. So you might as well make something out of your time here… What? “What did you say?” “I’m surprised. You’re a complicated guy, Dirgey.” Skywarp commented. He sat down at the table and slid the drink over to me. I caught it. “I always thought you were full of just doom, gloom, and sarcasm. I didn’t know you had such a spark!” “Pardon?” I hissed, glaring at him. “You do care about others. In your own way. You cared enough not to kill that one fembot.” “I’m a medic. I don’t kill bots. I save them.” “But you still mercy killed those infected with Cosmic Rust.” “They were going to die anyways. Better to live listening to lies than it is to live in reality…” “So why haven’t you killed yourself?” “…?” “I mean, you’re a depressing guy. I’ve never seen you smile. Are you ever happy?” “No. Every moment I live is just another prison of agony, disgust, and contempt.” I took a sip of my drink. “This isn’t what I ordered.” “Maccadam’s Oil House Special! I think you’ll like it.” “Those drinks are expensive, Skywarp, I don’t have the credits to pay for something like that!”” “Don’t worry.” He clinked his drink against my own, the engex inside shifting slightly. “I covered for you.” “…If you had paid attention to my rambling, you would see the theme of this story and the best lesson I ever learned.” I took another sip of my drink, the engex sizzling down my throat. I could my processor go slightly numb with the touch of the pink liquid. I closed my optics, enjoying the moment, letting Skywarp wait…Before I answered. “Life has no meaning. Primus? Slag Primus. He’s an idiot, a fool, and a monster to allow this war to happen. While we die by the shipload, he sits in the center of the universe stuffing his outlet with whatever he can find. We’re all going to die. Maybe tomorrow, maybe cycles down the line. Life is uncaring and cruel. So we might as well be good to each other, if even a little.” “…Damn. Deep.” “Yeah. Deep…Thanks, by the way. For the drink…” I mumbled. “Heh. No problem. Another round?” “Slag yes. Keep it coming.” Our drinks clinked against one another’s again. We took our swig, and I actually enjoyed the rest of the night. Not that I let Skywarp know that. END Hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully I'll make more.
Dirge is my interpretation of the character Dirge. He's a jet, just like the original, but here, he's a medic. The word Dirge means lamenting, or mourning, the dead. So I made him a Decepticon medic who mourns life, and because of all the death, he has become pessimistic and somewhat depressed. He doesn't believe in God, in destiny, or in much. He believes life is cruel and horrible.... But with that said, he also comments that since life is cruel, we should try to be good to each other because life is terrible enough. That's just my interpretation of him.
A Tale Of Two Brothers Me and my bro, we used to have cute nicknames for each other. Red and Bloo. Yeah, I know, slagging stupid, huh? But we were young. I was there for him as we grew up during the Second War. ...Don't look at me like that! I'm not that old! I was just around for the dying days of the war. Black Out's the only one here who was there for the whole thing. Well, him, and his creepy ass pet, Scorponok. Where was I? Oh, right. Childhood. Yeah, me and my bro were a couple of your classic sweetsparks. Opposite, yet similar. He was the quieter, more orderly of the two of us, I was the grinning, hot head big brother. Order and chaos. Red and Bloo. "Slagger!" The red robot was thrown to the ground, before a metal foot stomped on his head, dragging blue energon from his nose and mouth. The bully, Motormouth, was suddenly pushed onto the ground by Bloo. Metal fists attacked the older bot, bashing and denting his face. "Fragging, stupid, piece of scrap! I'll show you to mess with my brother!" We weren't even brothers. Never knew either of our parents. Just ended up finding each other in the wreckage of Iacon. Good enough, am I right? "You okay, little bro?" Red looked away from his adopted brother, keeping his distance from him as he hid his dented and'bleeding' face. "Come on, bro...Let me see," Bloo pleaded. He placed a hand on his sibling's cheek, moving it so he could see the wound. "There we go. Man, you got a slaggin big booboo." "Stop that. I'm not a protoform..." "Heheh. Sorry. I like teasing you. Come on, I'll go fix you up." We started growing, and...you know. Bots change. I got hotter, cooler, smarter, better looking, stronger, prettier, and all around better, and my little brother got a little smarter, a little taller, and got religious. I'm slaggin grateful he wasn't THAT kind of Child of Primus. He believed and prayed to the guy, but thankfully he stayed away from forcing me into it. It was actually kind of sweet to see him so happy. Then everything changed when we found that Church of Primus. They took us in, a pair of outcasts, when nobody else would. Nice of them, huh? That's where Red meant one of the charity workers there. A neutral, medical bot named Detecta. Sweet bot. Real nice... I mean, me being the hero that I was didn't want Red to feel bad that all the ladies wanted me. So I put in a good word for him to her, and she seemed to like the idea. The two were closer than a pair of magnets. Err...Magnets that have their opposites having each other, not their...you know what I mean. Yeah, those two crazy bots were more in love than pair of lovesick lover-bots. I remember seeing how happy Red was...Slagger had this huge grin on his face for days after the first kiss. He was a slaggin loser and a dork, but he was my slaggin loser and dork. And Dececta? She thought it was the cutest thing. Heh. Red? Cute. My afterburner, he is! Hahahaha...Yeah... Then IT came along... Slag, I wish it didn't, but it did. A Cosmic Rust cloud. Yeah...You heard about how that one boy, Oil Slick, weaponized the stuff? Not 100% true. He made it safe and easy to use that stuff. But sometimes, when the Cons got desperate for an area, they'd bomb an entire city with the stuff during the Second War. Heard the Cons who had to ship it would lose entire servos from the stuff. The sockets would be so badly rusted that replacements couldn't go in. They bombed the entire area with the stuff. Cosmic Rust clouds filled the city. We had to seal the place up to save ourselves. But Dececta...She wanted to go be a hero. She went searching for the less fortunate. Red wanted to go with her, but she said no. It'd be fine, she said. Slag... The gas cloud was coming. It was fragging terrifying. Before then, I was used to fighting stuff I could...ya know. Fight. Not here. When it came to Cosmic Rust, you either hide, or die. Some of the other bots wanted to seal up before it got any closer. Not Red, and not me. We saw her in the distance. She had survivors with her. Five or six of them. At least one mini-con with her. Everybot kept screaming, "Close the door, close the door!" Red kept fighting to keep it open, even as the Cosmic Rust was on its way. Look...I ain't as smart as my brother, but I knew what was going to happen. I had to make a choice. I knew my brother couldn't be logical like this. He was too emotional about the slaggin thing. I had to. I pulled him away from the door and kicked it shut. As soon as it was closed, it sealed itself up for five solar cycles. I could hear them banging. I could hear them screaming at us. I could hear them begging. I heard them dying. You ever heard someone die from Cosmic Rust? Its almost worst than seeing it. The pain creeps in slow....than in less than a solar cycle, you're screaming in pain as your spark weakens. Your body starts falling apart. You feel everything crumble into dust. Then you're dead. ...I never heard Detecta scream once. Maybe she was speechless. Maybe she was too tough for it. I don't know. All I know is, that I had to stay in a church full of strangers now, and my brother, who hated me. Actually, I don't know who he hated more. Primus, or me. Judging by the fact I found his necklace of Primus broken in two, I had a guess. I kept apologizing. Kept saying that, nothing I could do could ever make up for it. I was expecting a lot of things. "I'm not your brother." "I hate you." "Go away." "You killed her." But no. Wanna know what I got? "I understand why." I didn't know what to say. Eventually, the war ended. Red and I eventually tried to become scientists. I mean....religion didn't seem like his thing anymore. It was some of the worst years of my life. Red wouldn't talk to me. He was all about the work. Without Red there, I felt...I dunno, hollow. It wasn't like how it used to be. How it was supposed to be. I mean, we were brothers. Thick and thin. I didn't want to do it...I had to close the door. I didn't make any friends during our academy days. Neither did Red, but...that wasn't surprising. I thought that this was it. That I should start looking for new friends and forget about the past. That's when he spoke to me. "When was the last time we hung out?" "What?" I looked up from my desk to see Red, standing there, looking at me. "The answer is too long. Come on. I need a drink." "..." For once, I was the silent one. I watched him walk away, stopping at my door. He looked at me, a smile on his face. "Come on." We went out drinking that night. Something we hadn't done since....Actually. We hadn't drank before. Least, I didn't. Red did though, judging by the way he was taking his engex. "A-and remember when Motormouth was chasing us down for his oil! HAHAHAHA! Oh, oh, Primus, that was funny! The pit-dwelling tin-head tripped and fell into a pit. Slagger tried transforming, and...and...How'd that story go again, Red?" Red just smiled at me, and finished the story. "He tried transforming. And got stuck sticking up, the back end of his truck form looking like an ugly pole." "Oh yeah...! Heh. Funny. Hey, Red?" "Yeah, Bloo?" "You're my best friend." "...You're my best friend too, Bloo." "Aww...I LOVE YOU!" "ACK! Get off! My olfactory sensors can detect the engex on you. Ack!" It was just like the old cycles. Better, even. Primus, I miss those days. Getting engex together. Drinking like real bots. Even going to see the nice fem-bots over at Maccadam's Old Oil House. Those were the best days of my life. ...Then this slagging war came. "Hey, hey, hey! Ready to go, little bro?" "Poetry? Heh, are you already drunk, Bloo?" "No...I am just in the mood for, how do they say? Some arts and fine engex," I joked, making a series of flamboyant hand motions. Red laughed, shaking his head, but not leaving his seat. "Not today. I've almost got the the Project done with. I just need to tweek it a bit." "Ah, come on, Red. That's what you said last cycle. You need a break!" "Bloo, I-" "Ah, ah, ah. That's Doctor Bloo to YOU, little bro. Hmm....We need sixty CCs of engex for you! And a big, bouncing, fembot to oogle at." "...Do you even know how much a CC is?" "Why don't you tell me all about it at Maccadam's?" I gave my brother that million credit grin I have. He glared back at me with his classic scowl. CLASSIC Red. "Come on...When was the last time we went for a drink?" "...You really know how to sell a guy, Bloo. Okay. Let me lock up, and we can go." "Yes!" I was waiting outside the building for him, tapping my foot. Red was always so stingy about making sure every nook and cranny was closed, sealed, and tightly wrapped. I started getting a little worried about the whole thing. He had to hurry... "Bloo! Are you ready to go?" Red inquired, walking over. I smiled and nodded my head. We started walking to the Oil House. Yeah, we could have transformed, but we enjoyed taking it slow and just talking to each other. It was nice. I wish it could have lasted. I wish I could have done a better job stopping him. I wish things were different. Slaggin cliche to say that, but its true. "Wait....Did I lock the cabinet?" "Red, come on. If you locked all the doors, then it doesn't matter whether you did or not." "It matters to me. I feel weird knowing its open...I'm going to run back and check. I'll meet you there." "Red, come o-" "It will only take a nanoclick." "Red, wait!" He stopped in his tracks, and looked at me with confusion. Not that I could blame him. "Let me. You need a drink more than I do." "But-" "Go. Have fun. Drink a glass for me." Without another word, I transformed and flew off. Of course, the front door was unlocked. Of course, there were a pair of Decepticons inside. They looked at me, Ruckus and Windsweeper. The place was a mess. "The slag you doing here?" Windsweeper growled, glaring at me. "More importantly, where's Perceptor?" "Perceptor isn't your target. The Space Bridge Generator is. Haven't you found it yet?" "If it did, would we still be here?" Ruckus growled. I felt a twitch on my processor. "Its right there. Pop it open, take the plans and the device, and leave. I don't want you two being found out," I explained, pointing to the cabinet it was hidden in. "Why do you care?" "Yeah. There might be other stuff in here we can use for the army." "I don't care. Leave afterwards." "What kind of Con are you?" Windsweeper growled, only to be held back by Ruckus. "Fraggin scientist. Come on, Wind." The two looked through it, finding the black, box-like device, and plans. They started packing it all up. I was afraid they were taking too long and quickly started to help them, deleting any of the saved files about the Space Bridge Generator on our computers. We were so close. "Alright. You got it. Go!" "What about the rest of this tech? We don't want the Autobots using it," Ruckus argued. I pushed him back though. "I slaggin gave you the key to this place. Helped you find it. You two need to leave, now." "If we leave all these weapons around, or worse, let the Autobots use Perceptor's processor, a lot of Cons are going to die." "Listen here, you slaggin Pit-dweller. The Decepticons need to win this war." I was steadfast though. I was ready to keep arguing. Except I couldn't. I got shot in the back, falling to the ground with a hole in my side. "Ah!" "Traitor..." Red walked in, his body shaking and unhinged. His usual calming, blue eyes were icy. He had a blaster in his hand. He was resisting the urge to shoot me. I could tell. I can't really blame him for being upset. Only two bots had the key to this lab. He was able to put two and two together. "I...trusted you...Why...are THEY here?!" Perceptor roared, aiming the gun at the symbol he so hated. "Red, listen to me, they're not like the Cons that took Detecta! Things are different now! They're the good g-" "Slag this!" Wingsweeper growled, revealing a small knife and throwing it. It impaled his arm servo, making him drop the gun in pain. "AH!" "Red! Stop!" I roared, but Ruckus kicked me down. "Can it, Skywarp. This slagger is a liability." They bound him to a chair, cuffing him to it as they started grabbing various chemicals, metal tools, and anything else they could use to hurt my brother. I was barely able to transform with my injuries. I couldn't meet Red in the eyes...I didn't even want to think about what he was feeling. I really am a pit-dweller... "You know what this is? Course you do. You're smart. Its an EMP generator. Good for numbing pain. Slag that." Windsweeper threw the device behind him, as he picked up a metal saw. "We're doing this the old fashion way." "Our boss, Megatron, wants to make sure you can't duplicate the SBGs for the Autobots, and we could just destroy the plans for that. But Winds here was thinking. Why don't we take it right out of your processor?" He tried fighting back. He tried not to let them hear him scream. But Perceptor wasn't a soldier. He broke soon enough. Maybe it was seeing me walk away. Maybe it was the pain. Either way, he started screaming as his head was cut open. I could still hear his agony as I left the room, the SBG and a welding device in my hands... It took the longest while I'd ever experience, before it stopped. Windsweeper grinned as he looked at the processor. Perceptor was in terrible pain. Energon was leaking down his face as he struggled to stay out of stasis lock. He wouldn't give them the pleasure...or maybe he thought he deserved the pain. "Well...I know what we said...but there ain't nothing wrong with erasing a few other things, right? Maybe the ability to walk, or talk. Heh. The great Perceptor, nothing more than a rusting piece of scrap. Not being able to even feed himse-" I teleported in with a green light. I held up a gun and fired it, without hesitation. The slug tore through Winds head, and he fell to the ground, dead. I then looked at Ruckus, his partner. He was running away. I traded the gun with a [plasma knife, and teleported again. He ran right into the head, impaling his own spark. He was dead in nanoclicks. I pushed the body to the ground and looked at Perceptor. "Bro-" "Don't...call me that...We are not brothers." "...Alright. Alright, Perceptor." I nodded my head, walking over. I looked at the EMP generator laying against the wall. "I didn't want it to happen like this. I was going to talk to you at the Oil House...Show you these Cons aren't like the ones from the Second War." "My... tortured body would argue against that fact..." "They're desperate! They had to pick up criminals and murderers...That's why we need someone like you. Alot of bots look up to you. You're smart. Smarter than me. If you change sides, a lot of other bots may join us too. Better bo-" "Go rust in the Pit, Skywarp...I will never join the Decepticons." Perceptor's blue optics glared at me as he struggled to free himself. "I'll kill every last one of them! Like they killed Detecta! Like how YOU DID!" "...I'm sorry..." "Are you going to kill me?" "No! Of course not!" "You should. Because if I ever see you again...I swear, I'll kill you." I shot him with the EMP gun. It knocked him out, forcing him into stasis lock. I walked over to his head and quickly started working. I was careful about it, but soon I got it down. Perceptor had forgotten everything about the SBG. With the back ups and plans mine now, I was the only bot on Cybertron with the ability to make my own, personal Space Bridge portals. It wasn't worth it. Nothing was worth losing my brother. I haven't seen him since. I eventually made it to Megatron and fed him my story. I told him that Perceptor killed the two Decepticons and destroyed any chance of mass producing the stuff. I also told him that I was the only one smart enough to use the thing properly, but I wasn't smart enough to make more. He bought it. From there, I think you know my story. War started, I became an official Decepticon, even changed all my blue paintjob to purple. Now, well, here I am. ------------------- Slipstream stared at the obviously drunk Skywarp. She didn't expect this when he suggested they go drinking...He downed yet another bottle of engex and moaned as the liquid went down his pipes. "Then again...I'm obviously drunk. So for all you know...maybe I'm making this story up," he chuckled, wiping his lips. "I'll tell you what, though. You buy me another drink, and I'll tell you if its true or not. Heh..."
