Tyranny and Peace

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by SPLIT LIP, Feb 8, 2014.

  1. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    A while ago, quite a while, I had an idea. When IDW's "All Hail Megatron" came out, it proposed the question of "what if Megatron won?" Sadly, I thought the answer was utterly bogus, because Megatron didn't actually win. Rather, he was simply unopposed, and the ramifications did not seem logical. So I started musing the subject. I'm sure the idea is nothing original, I doubt even the title hasn't been used verbatim by someone somewhere, but I still had my vision, and I wanted to see it through, to see if my idea was as good as it sounded in my head. And because I love to write, and hope to one day become good at it, I'm giving my idea a shot. I originally proposed this within the parameters of the IDW chronology, but the comparrisons are largelt superficial at this point since, well, I don't want to misrepresent any part of established continuity to myself or others.

    So, my first chapter:






    “The first time I ever thought we would win, really win, was when Optimus landed his last punch atop that hill. Time slowed, and life was a mural before me. As the cheek of Megatron’s helmet buckled inward, and the tyrant reeled back, a void of slaughter waiting to catch him below, I saw freedom itself as my eyes watched the light swirl around our leader as everything he stood for, and we fought for, culminated. And then the world crumbled, and our hearts sank to he depths of the inferno. The hill would forever be known as The Black Peak.”


    A blaring horn stirred Optimus from his sleep, as he leapt from the bed before his start up routine even finished. He looked at the caged clock on the dirt and stone wall as his auto timer blinked on to confirm it synced with real time, and flexed his arm. He fell asleep on it, again, and this habit was impeding his work.

    “Nightmares again?” Ironhide said. The old robot bent the flared detailing on his helmet back into place.

    “No.” Optimus said curtly, then looked at Ironhide’s bent flaring. “You sleep on a rock again?”

    “Rocks are softer than those slabs.” Ironhide said.

    “I heard they send low negative magnetic charges through them while you sleep,” Bumblebee chimed in, affixing roll bars to his shoulders. “Just to make you have nightmares. They’re THAT evil.”

    “If that’s true, then why do I dream of Engex springs and a dirt-free living environment?” Wheeljack asked, cracking his back and tensing his motors.

    “Wait, do you really?” Bumblebee asked.

    “No!” Wheeljack snapped. “Of course not. I don’t even get to sleep anymore.”

    “Hang in there, Wheeljack.” Optimus said. He knew Wheeljack was reaching his limit, and every day was just getting worse and worse. Everyone was reaching their limit. Which is to say, those who hadn’t already cracked, but Wheeljack was especially hard hit. Sized between a medium and small body class, they had fitted him with a medium class alt mode, and the extra weight was more than Wheeljack could handle. It disgusted Optimus the way things were, but for now, he had no choice but to follow the crowd, and be like everyone else. So like everyone, he grabbed a pickaxe, marched single-file out of the barracks and down the rocky mineral corridors. The clanging of footsteps were like the beats of a drum, and they marched to it. Optimus was not at the head of his bunk’s line when it merged with the others as corridors intersected, or the one after that, or the three more that followed until five bunks worth or weary Autobots walked in a line and out into the open air. Except it was open, it just looked open. The chasm was huge, the spiral walkways they walked upon coiled around, dizzyingly. You’re typical super-mine. Optimus always thought it looked like an inside out beehive, like those he’d seen on Earth.

    “Earth…” Optimus murmured.

    “What’d you say?” The Autobot in front of him said, almost like Optimus had said a bad word.

    “Dirt.” Optimus lied. “I’m sick of all the dirt.”

    “Oh,” The robot turned back around as he spoke. “Yeah, me too.” Optimus saw the empty holes on his back where wings or some other identifying parts used to be. Once upon a time he would’ve addressed this ex-warrior by name, and spoken to him like they were old friends. Now he didn’t even recognise his voice. And yet Optimus wanted to talk to him. He wanted to reacquaint himself, but knew better. Nobody talked for long outside the tunnels. Not while they were listening. Optimus didn’t dare look up to them. The brim above his eyes made it difficult to see up, so he couldn’t unless he arched his head back, something they’d definitely notice, because they were watching him. Especially him. Optimus could feel their eyes on his neck. If looks could kill, they’d be strangling him right now. Best to just get into the tunnels. The tunnels were safe.

    “Watch out.” The robot in front of him casually warned those behind. They side-stepped a gouge in the side of the thin walkway as they marched. Finger marks were visible on the edge, evidence of an “accident.” Accidents were common. Too common. Optimus burned inside. He wanted to make a fist. He wanted to do more, but a fist would be enough. But he didn’t. He didn’t even wince. They’d see. Wait for the tunnels.

    “Poor guy.” Bumblebee whispered softly behind Optimus. Primus protect Bumblebee, only he would risk talking in this group for a fallen fellow. The path had widened now, as it reached a plateau. Along the wall were many openings leading to tunnels, and all the robots sped off into them group by group, until it was Optimus’ turn. One by one he, Bumblebee, Wheeljack and Ironhide transformed into nearly identical vehicles, varying only in size. All generic, rigged blocks on four wheels. Totally devoid of visual independence. Though if you were “lucky“, you got a loading on the back so you could haul minerals in and out, like Ironhide. Wheeljack’s conversion was noisy, as the larger vehicle parts banged together on his smaller body. They did that to those who didn’t “fit.” If you were between “size classes,” they stuck you with the heavier of the two. Just out of spite.

    Wait for the tunnels.

    They drove off, through the threshold. The tunnels were dark, poorly lit, and the lack of traction on these stock alt modes, meant spinouts were common. On the plus side, they were hardly ever bad, as the alt modes only had a top speed of about thirty kilometres and hour. All part of the cruel joke. As gravel crunched under their tires, they moved lazily through the tunnels, like a reversal of the morning routine, splitting off at forks, until Optimus’ group reached the end of a narrow tunnel. They all transformed, and Ironhide punched the wall, leaving a crumbling hole, and Ironhide fuming with his fists up.

    “Jeez, you think he’s mad today or wh-?” Wheeljack was interrupted by Optimus likewise punching the wall. Ironhide dropped his hands.

    “You, too?” He asked. Optimus didn’t answer. He didn’t fume, he didn’t rev his engine, he just stood, ashamed at the outburst, but not regretting it.

    “I…” Optimus said. “I know it’s not easy. I know you can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it anymore.” Optimus turned and looked at the three. He stood tall, chest out, back arched, arms curved, and everyone looked at him intently. He was going to give a speech. An Optimus speech. A speech that makes you want to stand up and shout. A speech like the ones he always used to give. But he didn’t. He slowly slouched back over, shut his eyes, pulled his pickaxe out of it’s holster, and started mining. He felt everyone behind him deflate, and sink back into submission. Optimus had rarely ever cried. He rarely ever screamed, and he never punched walls. He gripped his pickaxe tighter. “Let’s get back to work.” And so they did. One day he’d make the speech. One day he’d tell them that he had a plan. Just not today. Not after that.

    ~~~~~~~~~

    “I, uh, I brought the numbers you wanted.”
    “Thank you. Please, leave them on the desk.”
    “Sure. Hey, can I ask you a question?”
    “You just did. But you are permitted another.”
    “Ha, yeah, um, forgive me, but what’s with the music?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “In here, it’s really… I mean it’s funky, but I didn’t peg you for, uh, techno beats.”
    “It helps me concentrate.”
    “It- really?”
    “Is that difficult to process?”
    “No, no. Just… the things I heard about you, it’s funny that you listen to music.”
    “I do not listen for entertainment, it‘s purely method of maintaining an even stream of processing.”
    “Interesting, interesting… can I ask you another question?”
    “Make it short.”
    “Why do you need numbers on this mine specifically? I mean, that’s not a very rich vein. I heard the ore pull is pretty unremarkable, barely cost effective.”
    “It’s not the ore I care about.”
    “Then what do you-?”
    “You have overstayed your welcome. Please leave.”
    “Yes, sir.”
     
  2. Combaticon711

    Combaticon711 SPARTAN-II

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    Very nice, but I'm a tad confused. Is Optimus still the 'good guy', except with his and Megatron's origins reversed? And that Black Peak intro doesn't make it seem like Megatron will win.
     
  3. Meta777

    Meta777 Dr Pepper Fan

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    Damn. That was grim, about as grim as a grim Grimlock in a grim situation with grim odds. There's a certain brutality to the writing, a certain kind of punch straight to the moral core that just wants to make you sob for these poor wretches. It's all there in the little descriptions and the little comments. Rocks are softer than the beds. There's finger-shaped gouges in the walkway. If you're between two sizes, they dump the heavier one on you. Little cruelties, minor cruelties, and yet as terrifyingly sinister as someone outright getting shot through the head.

    And then there's Optimus. He misses Earth, and he can't even vocalise it without having to cover it up as dirt lest darker ears hear it. He's strong, he's noble, he's brave and yet here he is dumped into a mineshaft just like everyone else. Megatron doesn't even care enough for a more elaborate fate for his nemesis; just dump him into the mine-shaft and make him suffer with the rest of them, make him watch the rest of them break down bit by bit.

    That part where they think he'll give a speech; he's just punched a wall, he expresses his anger and it seems he's ready to motivate them into a grand rebellion. And then he doesn't. He just slumps. It's horrible to imagine. Horrible.

    That was very well done, SPLIT. It's short and it's effective. It's simple and yet it's a Star Saber right through the heart. It's every part of dark and cruel as Megatron himself, and it seems very well fitting of what the tyrant would subject his foes to.

    Well played.
     
  4. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    This isn't an origin. It's past the origin. This is post-war, and the Black Peak is being told by someone who knows it, to someone who knows it. As I said, this is my first chapter. While this won't be a super-long epic, it is multiple parts, and I intend to fully explore whta victory means to Megatron.
     
  5. Combaticon711

    Combaticon711 SPARTAN-II

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    Alright, thanks for clearing that up!
     
  6. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    Chapter two:





    Optimus chipped away at the rock wall, just as everyone did, as Bumblebee picked up the chunks that rolled down and put them in a hover cart. Optimus tried his best to make the rocks manageable sizes. As they all dug and toiled, Wheeljack was swinging his axe with his right side, as he always did, when the large wheel and fender on his left shoulder fell off. Unbalanced, and with the axe over his right shoulder, he fell over, the back of the pickaxe digging itself into Bumblebee’s back. The small Autobot bot yelled in pain as Optimus and Ironhide both dropped what they were doing.

    “Bumblebee!” Wheeljack yelled in concern. The little robot fell on his knees, his face was a picture of pain, but the defiant pain of someone who was reaching their limit.

    “Hold on little guy!” Ironhide grabbed the pickaxe and forcefully, but carefully, pulled it out. Sparks and exposed circuitry sparked as Bumblebee groaned. Optimus held Bumblebee’s hand as the axe came out, the little Autobot squeezing.

    “This… has… to…” Ironhide wrenched it free. “End!”

    “Bumblebee, I’m so sorry-” Wheeljack said.

    “No, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Bumblebee said, the wound was loud and bright. “It’s their’s.”

    “It’s too much.” Ironhide said. “Every day another accident, every day another one of us suffers.”

    “I know.” Optimus said. Ironhide wasn’t speaking to him specifically, but Optimus felt responsible. He was responsible. “It’s time I tell you-” He was cut off by a loud, blaring klaxon. Without words, the four made it out of the tunnel. Even Bumblebee, who neglected a rider from Optimus. As they drove, four became eight, then eight sixteen, and so on until all tunnel entrances produced Autobot miners, who gathered on the walkways, and turned their heads skyward. At the top of the mine, a shimmering wave appeared. Like heat on a road, the sky above rippled, then what resembled a film peeling back exposed the outside air. The sight of the barrier dissipating was so rare, Optimus didn’t even pay mind to the armed guards stationed just below the brim. Thunder came from above, even though the skies were clear, as a streak circled the opening before stopping, then slowly hovering. The figure gleaned as the sun illuminated it’s leading edges. Where the white light wasn’t, blue metal was visible, and Optimus could see the metallic glint as subtle movements altered the colour’s shades. The figure was tall, lean, and had a jutting jaw line and squinting eyes. He looked around the mine at all the shocked and worried faces. This was not someone they wanted to see.

    “Autobots.” He said. His tone was low, but an artificial enhancer raised the volume as if through a loud speaker. Nobody could help but listen. “There will be changes now. Active immediately, we will be rotating units between mines.”

    No. Optimus’ worst fear had come to pass.

    “The following units will be transferred:” The blue robot said as four very large drop ships appeared overhead and descended into the mine. He started reading units. Optimus knew it. This was another of their plans to quell uprisings. The monitoring and segregation wasn’t enough, now they were rotating groups to prevent mingling and plotting. He looked at the blue figure hovering in the middle of the mine.

    “Damn you, Thundercracker.” The words just came out. And everyone around him moved away. Wheeljack moved Bumblebee back with the crowd for his own safety, as Ironhide was pulled back against his will as the crowd fearfully avoided Optimus like the plague. Optimus just stood there, waiting for it. And before he could even count the seconds it took, a sharp pain sent him face-first into the dirt. Two large ones were right on him, kicking and beating with clubs extended from their arms. Optimus covered his face, but didn’t fight back. He couldn’t. The savagery lasted far longer than even the best to bear, and Ironhide wormed his way out of the crowd long enough to run to Optimus’ aid. He was promptly shot in the shoulder from above, a laser sight lingering on his head. An immeasurable amount of additional lasers pinpointed every head in the immediate crowd. Auto cannons, above. Optimus had seen them fire other “deterrence” shots before. The beating stopped after the shot, and the two identical guards stepped away. Optimus didn’t wince, he didn’t show any signs of pain. Something was giving him strength, and he used it all to mask his injured state. But he was injured, and no willpower could overcome a brutal display of dominance like that.

    And that’s exactly what it was. A dominant display. Like animals, except animals do it to survive, to ensure the best wins. This was something else, something weaker. Something, ultimately, provoked by fear. And that’s why Optimus didn’t fight back. That’s why he pretended like nothing happened. Because the moment they attacked, he won.

    But it wasn’t over.

    “You called, Autobot?” The blue robot stood before him, Thundercracker. He wasn’t smarmy, but stood with authority. It was that lack of arrogance that seemed t make it worse. Once, Optimus actually believed he could be one of the decent ones. No, not decent, just not this. But the change brought promises, and Thundercracker, like them all, was promised.

    “I asked you a question.” Thundercracker said. He leaned down, but didn’t kneel, to mutter. “Filthy ground-crawler. What would compel you to break the silence? What makes a snake call to the eagle?” A creative use of Earthen terms. “To be so close to the ground, is it jealousy?”

    Optimus just now realised Thundercracker didn’t recognise him. They all did, but he didn’t. Of course, Optimus was keeping his head down, and the body he had was just like everyone else.

    “Speak your mind,” Thundercracker said, goading. "Please." Optimus obliged. He thrust forward and pulled his head back, hitting Thundercracker square in the chin and knocking him back. Optimus stood up, but he was still injured, and fell to one knee. Every single laser dot compiled on his chest and head, making him glow red. Thundercracker stood up, patting the dust off him with the same haste someone would brush parasites off them. He looked down at Optimus. His face was crumpled like a tin can, and as his mouth slipped agape it sounded like one. His expression was a result of his obviously just now recognising Optimus’ distinctive face. Thundercracker recompiled himself, and calmly turned around, walking past one of the guards.

    “Kill one.” He said. Optimus screamed no, but a single shot was fired off into the crowd behind him. There were murmuring sounds of shocks and screams, but no hysteria. Thundercracker flew away, the drop ships, following, their compartments filled with different units then when they arrived. Optimus chased after Thundercracker in vain, but a guard smacked him away.

    “Back to work.” It said in a deepened, augmented voice. Thundercracker was long gone, and everyone resumed their work. Optimus got up, turned, and walked to where the shot had landed. A medium sized robot lay in the arms of another. The one holding looked up at Optimus, their face utter despair. From the angle, it looked like the dead robot had moved to take the shot for the other. Optimus was panged by this fact, but it was the words the robot mouthed, but didn’t say, that made Optimus’s spark sink.

    “It’s not your fault.”
     
  7. Coffee

    Coffee (╭☞ꗞᨓꗞ)╭☞

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    It's funny, it was only this morning I was re-reading some of your 'Optimus' fic, and to think you're writing something new fills me with delight. I'll be looking forward to more, just keep up the good work.
     
  8. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    Thank you so much. That means a lot to me, man. :) 

    ----------------------------------------------------------

    Thundercracker didn’t slow down as he made his way to the security checkpoint, so the two guards were a bit jumpy when a large, dark robot seemingly meant to barrel past without clearance. While the younger one was diligent, it was the older looking one that stepped forward first.

    “You gotta check in, buddy.” He said. Thundercracker stopped, looked the older guard up and down, and noticed large wheels on his ankles. He scoffed, but surrendered his security card form his arm panel. The guard checked it. His face flickered a moment of what looked like worry, while the younger guard, watching the readout, became noticeably more troubled.

    “Uh, you’re cleared,” The old guard said. “Sir.” Thundercracker said nothing and stepped through the door as it peeled away with a beep. Now it was a short walk to the unchecked door. This was nicer, and Thundercracker felt more like he was entering a meeting room, verses the prison-feeling checkpoints that were enforced. As he walked in, he saw almost what he expected, but smaller. It was a very business-looking room, but the table was smaller, there were only two chairs, and it was devoid of visible function. A robot, similar to him, sat at one of the chairs.

    “Take a seat.” Starscream didn’t wave to the chair, but Thundercracker took it. After all, Thundercracker wasn’t going to sit on the floor. Starscream sat, hands in his lap, and wasted no time.

    “I heard there was an incident.”

    “It was nothing.”

    “And incident is something. The only way this will work is if we have total control.”

    “It was one guy.”

    “It only takes a single crack it the glass to lead to shattering.”

    “We killed one.”

    “But you didn’t kill them, did you? The incident? Because it was him.”

    “So if it was?”

    “Then that means he still has it left in him.” Starscream shouted, without changing his lax posture, then lowered his voice to a growl. “That fighting spirit. It kills. It kills oppression, it kills corruption, it kills everything we stand for, and will kill everything we stand to maintain.”

    “Then why don’t we just kill him?” Thundercracker asked. Starscream groaned as if he’d heard the question a million times. “I mean, what are the Autobots without Optimus Pr-”

    Enough.” Starscream sighed. “We can’t.”

    “Why not?

    “Because we just can’t.” Starscream said, and Thundercracker groaned. He knew better than to question further, because he knew the answer, and he hated it.

    “So how… how is he?”

    “Fine. He’s just fine.” Starscream said, then quickly changed the subject. “I heard you confronted the Autobot in question face-to-face. That’s not how we do things. I know you have pride, but it clouds you. Just… don’t let it happen again.”

    “Sure… yes, sir.” Thundercracker said. He got up, obviously having nothing left to discuss, and headed for the door. He stopped, briefly, and turned.

    “That was a good idea,” Thundercracker said. “Shuffling units. Clever.”

    “Yeah, well,” Starscream said, then almost subconsciously lowered his voice until only he could really here it. “Somebody needs to make good decisions around here.”

    “What?”

    “Nothing,” Starscream said. “Thanks.”

    ---------

    Optimus, Bumblebee, Wheeljack, and Ironhide dragged their feet back to their bunk, and got ready to shut off for the night. While the others followed the routine of complaining and analysing how close to breaking under the pressure they were, Optimus was noticeable silent. He could not help but be haunted by today’s events. What haunted him more was not the dead robot. That was a tragedy, one he couldn’t bear, but after decades of war he had almost become numb to death, which was just something else he hated. No, what killed him was the other. The robot who didn’t blame him. Why? Why couldn’t they blame him? He blamed himself, but even here, under these horrific circumstances, the Autobots still followed him. He didn’t even know the robot’s name, and yet they still believed in him enough to accept it. Accept how things were. That’s when he realised why everything was silent when the shots were fired. They all knew, deep down, they knew Optimus would make it out alive. This, he felt, was the heaviest burden. He had to do more than save them, he had to empower them. And he didn’t know if he could. A hand touched his shoulder, and he jumped.

    “Hey,” Ironhide said. “You okay, big guy?”

    “I’m fine.” Optimus let Ironhide sit him down onto his bed and proceeded to affix the charger to his hip. “I just…” Optimus looked at Wheeljack’s strained gait, Bumblebee’s wounded back, Ironhide’s blasted shoulder.

    “No, I’m not fine.” Optimus said. “I’m beaten, I’m tired, and I want to just…” Optimus became very aware of his words. He felt a speech coming on, and stopped himself, again. A year ago he would rally these weary troops and stage a revolt, but he barely had the strength to sit up, and even if he did, he had no way of doing anything. Not with these garbage alt modes imposed, the constant monitoring outside the tunnels, and enforced schedule. He wanted to fight back, but thought about the robot who was shot in his place.

    “I just want to go to sleep.” He laid down. The room was stricken by a gloom. How many times would Optimus hem and haw? How many times would he let slip his desire to fight? Every time he did, he killed their morale. He felt like a coward, he felt like a weakling. He felt like things needed to change. He decided, then, that if he was going to fight back, it would be alone. No more casualties, no more broken souls. The only person he could rely on was himself.
     
  9. Anodythe

    Anodythe Well-Known Member

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    Very powerful. I've been avoiding Fan Fic on TFW for a while...glad I came to look today.
     
  10. C888

    C888 Well-Known Member

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    I can't think of anything to say other than I really enjoyed your previous work and I already am greatly enjoying this one. Keep it up. :thumb 
     
  11. Galvatron II

    Galvatron II I can type whatever here?

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    I'm absolutely loving this. Megatron is just the type of petty despot who would force his greatest enemy to go through the same hardships he did, rather than kill him.

    Good stuff.
     
  12. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    Thanks again, everyone. :D  It really does mean a lot when I hear you enjoy my work.



    --------------------------------------


    Starscream barged through the front door into the foyer, and ignore the guards who warned him not to go any farther. Before they fully registered who he was Starscream had already pushed past, walking at a quick pace, his feet making heavy clanking noises as he stormed into the lift. As he was carried up, he tapped his foot incessantly, and when he was finally delivered to the penultimate floor, it was a short walk to the first door on his left.

    “Where is he?” Starscream barged in.

    “So you got my call, I presume?” Shockwave said. His tall, lanky and hunched image has long since ceased being of shock to Starscream, but the single hovering red eye in the void of his head always rendered his expressions unreadable. Coupled with his often monotone delivery, Starscream couldn’t tell if he was being a smart-aleck or not.

    “What happened?” Starscream ignored him.

    “I do enjoy questions,” Shockwave said. “Except when I can’t answer them myself.” Starscream was certain he was being snide at this point.

    “I mean what has he done, not why did he do it.” Starscream was losing patience.

    “Oh,” Shockwave said. “Well, he’s completely locked himself in. He’s not speaking at all, and his charger has been inactive for six days.”

    Six days?” Starscream was incredulous. “Why did you wait six days to tell me?”

    “It was only an anomaly after day five.” Shockwave said. “He hardly speaks or sleeps anymore, and can sometimes go days without contact. But never this long.”

    “I suppose you tried kicking the door down?”

    “He’d have my head if I did that. But I knocked, and tried to reason, to no avail.”

    “So what do you expect me to do?”

    “Talk to him. You're the only one who can if he's decided to wall himself away like this.”

    Starscream laughed. But his laughter was short, and he became dour.

    “Thundercracker asked about him.” Starscream said. “Yesterday, I was debriefing him on an incident, and he asked how he was. I said he was fine. I had to lie.”

    “You’ve lied before.” Shockwave stated the obvious.

    “But not because I had to.” Starscream sighed. “Never because, if I didn’t, things would fall apart. Skywarp asked before, but he’ll believe anything. But when the ones like Thundercracker start prodding the corpse… it gets harder to puppet it.”

    “Such grim poetry.” Shockwave mused.

    “If only it weren’t so fitting.” Starscream said. After a long pause he spoke again. “I’m not sure I want to talk to him. Do I have to?”

    “I told you, I don’t like questions I cannot answer.” Shockwave said. He walked away, sauntering like a burnt tree wavering in the wind. Starscream walked up to the large ornate door. This building was one of the few untouched pre-war structures, and it was covered in delicate crafted details like this doorframe. Intricate details so fine an optic zoom was needed to fully appreciate their craftsmanship. But to Starscream, this historical piece of art was little more than a door between them. He slowly raised his arm to the button on the side and dragged his hand over it, applying just enough force for the button itself to depress after scanning his code and recognizing his authority. And the door did submit, and after a short series of clicks, opened. The room was huge, with tall windows throwing lances of light along the floor and interior wall. The air was thick with dust, as if Starscream was entering a mausoleum. On the far side, before an open balcony, was a throne. He slowly stepped towards it, the windows’ light trails bathing him in light, followed by dark as he stepped out of one, then light again and so on as he stepped into another along his journey. Finally he was behind the throne. The back was broken. When was once a stylised Decepticon insignia had all it’s points broken off. Starscream stepped around and looked down.

    “My lord.” He said. Starscream gazed upon a very large robot. He was decidedly plain looking, and clad entirely in silver and black. He didn’t so much sit in the chair as lay upon it, his arms draped over the rests, his legs lazy dropped off and his heels alone touched the floor. His simple, squared head was sunk into his body as he slumped back, and his expression was distant and cold.

    Starscream had never seen him like this. He had stricken from his body any ornate or lordly styling’s, he was weaponless, and his posture made him a convincing body were it not for the dull red glow of his eyes to signal that he was still alive. He might as well be dead, as any attempt by Starscream to make contact was either not received or ignored. Starscream lowered himself to his level, and tracked his vision out through the open balcony, and saw nothing but the city line and afternoon sky. Starscream knelt with him a moment longer. It was quite possible that he was catatonic, and so Starscream thought of the only word that would wake him from a mental paralysis.

    “Optimus.” He said. But nothing. Not even a flinch. Perhaps he was dead, or had just completely shut down after all this time. Either or, Starscream got up and left. He took a single look back, then exited the room. Shockwave was waiting for him.

    “How is he?” Shockwave asked. Starscream, either by old habit or new routine, lied again.

    “He’s fine.”

    ---------

    Optimus woke up with a bruise on his brain. He had been pondering and self-loathing so much, he had given himself a headache. But he had made a resolve. He would se it through. And so he began to plot. While everyone woke, he looked at his recharge bed and the small status screen on it. He noticed it was cracked, likely from a falling rock in these dismal living quarters. He picked at it, and a small piece of glass came off. This would do. He took the shard and pulled off his finger. Carefully, he squeezed a drop of lubricating oil out of his finger onto the back of the glass. He put his finger back on with a click. It hurt a bit, from the squeezing of oil out, but he ignored it and fastened the glass shard to the back of his hand, using the oil as glue. It held, thankfully. He tested it’s reflectivity and saw his own face, and the wall behind him. All through the day, he used the glass shard to inconspicuously scout his surroundings, without looking up. Combining it with his macro vision, he could see all around the top edge of the mine. The guard postings, the auto cannons, but what he was really looking for was the barrier generators. It was a cruel fact of the technology that you could never place energy shield generators outside the “bubble” they formed, and in order to stop debris and the elements for collecting in and stressing the barrier, it had to curve out of the mine, which meant the generators would need to be inside the mine, with them. It took two days, but Optimus finally located one of them. While walking back to his quarters that evening, a fellow miner tripped and fell. As others helped him up quickly, it stalled the line just long enough for Optimus to really study the emitter of the generator. The emitter glowed a dull white-blue, and was hexagonal in shape. From Optimus’ knowledge on barrier generators, he knew this meant their were five other generators arranged in a perfect hexagon. This meant the shield would be very robust, and he’d have to disable at least two to create an opening for escape. But therein lay the problem, of how exactly he was going to escape. As Optimus spent the next day scouting, it was the third night of silence that finally caused Bumblebee to speak up.

    “So we’re just not talking anymore?” The little one said. “Have they finally broken us that we can’t even pretend like we care?”

    “Not right now Bumblebee.” Wheeljack said. “We should really all rest.”

    “This is important!” Bumblebee said. “They want us to break! They want us to lose every once of hope, and you’re letting them!”

    Optimus said nothing.

    “Ease, little guy,” Ironhide said. His shoulder wound had started to repair internally. “We’re not done yet, but…” Ironhide looked at Optimus. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

    “No kidding.” Wheeljack said. He reflected Bumblebee’s voice as best he could. “Hey Ironhide, how was your day of breaking rocks?” He switched to Ironhide. “Oh, pretty good! Yesterday I broke rocks, but today I broke rocks instead!” He made a dismissive noise and rolled over on his bed. For a moment he lay there, but eventually turned back around to see Bumblebee’s defeated face. Wheeljack sighed.

    “Sorry, Bee.” He said. “Maybe we should all just sleep. We’ll need our strength.” Bumblebee climbed onto his bed and hooked himself in. Optimus said nothing as everyone nodded off.

    “I’m going to break out, and I’m going to save you all.” He said. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t be quiet anymore. He wanted to shout it, scream it even. Run through the tunnels, breaking down every bunk door and rally an army like the good days when it looked like they would win. But they didn’t win. He led them to this, and it was his responsibility to lead them again. And this time, things would be different. He lay on the bed, holding his hand in front of his face, and seeing his own likeness reflected in the shard. But it was dark, as the glass was clear and the oil behind it black. But as he stared at it, he saw a younger version of himself. A brighter, more optimistic one. He saw blue skies behind him, and as he tilted his hand slightly, he saw that his body was not the mass-produced utility shell he and everyone else wore, but the heroic red he used to sport. For some reason, he didn’t consider it a vision of the past, but an image of the future. And that’s when he knew he was ready.
     
  13. Meta777

    Meta777 Dr Pepper Fan

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    Very nice. I liked the conversation between Starscream and Shockwave, with Screamer trying to gauge whether or not Mr Eyeball is being smart with him or not whilst he goes through the simple business. That metaphor of poking a dead puppet was particularly nice, and certainly something the oh-so eloquent Starscream ought to pride himself on, ha.

    Still, it's kind of funny seeing a Screamer being a bit more grave about this rather than his usual antics of treachery. Must be a pretty disturbing scenario to have even him a tad unsure. So, Megatron's in a slump, apparently. Not talking, not moving, not even bothering with weapons, armour or fancy thrones anymore. Just sits there, staring. Even the mention of his old nemesis didn't rouse him.

    Huh, I didn't expect that, to be honest. Has victory itself laid low the mighty Megatron? Intriguing.

    The Autobots are just as forlorn. Wheeljack's frustration compared with Bumblebee's attempts to keep up the hope was very effective, neatly highlights just how crappy their situation is, especially when he goes on to make up a conversation regarding how they break rocks, day in, day out. It's a great portrayal of how the Decepticon's cruelty is starting to really get to them, or at least strengthening the doubts.

    And Optimus dreams of a time when he was blue and red and the sky was beautiful. Poor bot. You really feel sorry for him; you want him to go what he wishes to do, to bust everyone out and save the day like he used to, but it's just.... grim. It's just so grim and he can't do much about it.

    Your description is gorgeous, SPLIT, and I liked the dialogue in this chapter. A few minor misspellings here and there (Ironhide says ease instead of easy, Optimus plans to se it through instead of see it), but they hardly detract from the experience. Good job :D 
     
  14. Coffee

    Coffee (╭☞ꗞᨓꗞ)╭☞

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    Awesome stuff as always. The sentence structure is a little awry in some places, but as Meta said it barely detracts from the story.
     
  15. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    While my auto-correct sometimes likes to make executive decisions, "ease" was not a mistake. Ironhide was telling Bumblebee to ease off, not telling him to take it easy. It still means the same thing, but it's those slightly-slang words that get across differences in mannerisms.

    I dunno why I felt like pointing that out, but I did. :D  Dunno ho "se" got in. Like, it's a legitimate typo, but it should've been fixed. Auto-correct, you ignorant bitch, why do you make me look dumb!? :lol 
     
  16. Coffee

    Coffee (╭☞ꗞᨓꗞ)╭☞

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    Autocorrect is totally a sentient being that preys on people's laptop's and phones just to make them look stupid. The amount of times I've accidentally said "in a sex" instead of "in a sec" is unfathomable.

    I also find it ironic that...


    Unless that was on purpose and I'm just an idiot.
     
  17. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    Oh yeah. Totally on purpose. :confused2 
     
  18. Meta777

    Meta777 Dr Pepper Fan

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    In fairness, you were explaining the given context of that which I was unaware regarding, given my personal aspects would have implored me to use easy in place of ease in the same scenario. But now I know, and knowing is half the battle :3


    Oh, forgot to mention before; the description of Shockwave 'sauntering like a burnt tree wavering in the wind' had me in stitches. I adore the imagination behind such an image :lol 
     
  19. Anodythe

    Anodythe Well-Known Member

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    Poor Megs...war's all over and he has no one to play with. There's nothing worse than a bored dictator, except perhaps his minions who are left to their own devices.
     
  20. SPLIT LIP

    SPLIT LIP Be strong enough to be gentle

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    “The numbers, sir, as requested.” The middle-aged robot stood rigid and at attention. His black armour was shiny, and sported the new variant of the purple Decepticon insignia, with smaller “eyes” and a more prominent border. I gleamed even in the low-lit room. As he waited to be dismissed he couldn’t help but study the room. It was bizarre, like the inside of a computer. Massive circuit boards, oversized cooling fans, and wires were everywhere, and it all seemed to funnel into a dark patch at the end of the room. Most unsettling was the music that lazily hung in the air. Not because the tune itself was eerie, but it’s trance-like rhythm beat the robot’s brain to the point of being mesmerized. He was already at a disadvantage, as he had heard stories about who he was reporting to, but he had never heard about the music. He felt ill at ease, standing in this overly-technical room, approaching this near mythical person. He jumped when the voice came.

    “Thank you, soldier.” It said, it’s voice was deep and metallic, but with an underlying growl. Like an animal growling at a trespasser in it’s den. “You may leave the data on the desk.”

    “Yes sir.” He put it down on a large desk in the center of the room. “And it’s Barricade, sir.” The robot said, still at attention.

    “I didn’t ask for your name.” The shadows moved slightly. Something big was speaking to Barricade.

    “I’m sorry, sir.” Barricade said. It was becoming difficult to hide his anxiousness.

    “Why are you apologising?” The mass said.

    “Because… I…” Barricade wasn’t sure what he meant, or if this was some kind of sick game. He wanted to leave. “Permission to be dismissed, sir.”

    “And why exactly…” The voice said, and the hulking figure stepped into the light. It’s lower legs were thick, yet it’s lower body was thin. The chest and shoulders were huge and broad, and it’s long skinny arms has massive armour panels with detailed circular pieces on them. It’s head was small, angular, and it had no discernable eyes, mouth or nose. Only a blank space where a face would be, with a thin red strip Barricade could only guess were “eyes.” It was a dark, almost black, blue, and the circles on it’s arms reverberated when it talked, as if they were the source of it’s voice. “…would you want to leave?”

    Barricade couldn’t hide that he was intimidated, but he was no coward, and so he willed himself to answer.

    “I don’t like it here, sir.” That was the exact thing he didn’t want to say, but it slipped out. Now he was panicking.

    “Really?” The thing almost sounded… what? Discouraged? It was the same casually dissapointed tone as when someone would clean up their home, only to find guests didn’t find it nice. This was another part of the mind game. After a moment it finally answered. “Well, then you are dismissed.”

    “Thank you, sir.” Barricade heel-turned and walked out of the bizarre room, trying not to sprint away from the feeling that entire room projected. But he stopped, and almost subconsciously. Against every will, he opened his mouth.

    “Sir…?”

    “Yes?”

    “What… what is with the music?” Barricade asked.

    “Somebody asked me that once before.” It said. “He was impertinent.”

    Barricade took the hint, and hastily exited while he could.

    ---------

    It was now or never. Optimus got up, and led his group in silence out of the bunk and down the tunnel. He tried not to rush, and seem as complacent and defeated as always. But the anticipation was becoming excitement, and that was dangerous. Every night following his days of plotting he planned and worked things out in his head. He needed to act fast. Once he was out, he would go about his day normally, except he would have an “accident.” He recalled the gouge in the narrow walkway, of a robot who tragically fell. That would be his opening. The walkways spiralled around the mine, so that meant there would be one below them. He would “trip” and fall, and land on the walkway below. The guards would be on him in an instant, so he’d need to move quickly and disappear into the crowd. One thing he always noticed was the sound of traffic below. Alt mode traffic. That would be his “escape.” The homogenous alt-mode everyone was saddled with would serve as the perfect disguise, briefly. There’s bound to be some form of tracking device in them. Something sophisticated. Optimus was hedging his bets that forcing himself into identical traffic would make it difficult to pinpoint his specific signal. Hopefully this would buy enough time to drive up the “roads” to the opposite side of the mine. He saw a lot of heavy equipment there, cranes and such. Heavy, and heavily guarded. Ideally the guards would be drawn away to search for him, after all, Thundercracker’s little show of dominance and reaction to Optimus’ face meant he was obviously quite special to them. Once there, he’d climb the equipment as high as he could, and scale the rock wall. It was morning, and the sun was coming from the opposite side, and cast the entire opposite of the mine in darkness. This darkness would be his advantage, until he could reach the barrier generators. He wasn’t certain, but they were embedded in the lip on the mine, tucked away. With any luck he could get to them and deactivate the necessary amount to escape.

    Optimus fidgeted. His plan was full of risks, guesses, relied on him being extremely fast and dexterous despite his lack of practice, and ended once he was out of the mine. He had no idea what was out there, and when his next plan was. But it would be better than here.

    “You feeling alright?” Bumblebee whispered behind him. Optimus looked at him. “It’s just, you don’t usually walk at the front. Are you feeling… I dunno, better?”

    Better than you could ever imagine, Bumblebee. Optimus thought to himself. I have hope now. Real hope. And if I succeed, so will you all. No one will die because of me again. No one will be miserable because of me.

    “Just ready to get this day over with.” Optimus said, putting on a dour voice. It was both easier and harder to do than he expected.

    They reached the end of the tunnel, and Optimus kept his head down. He discreetly moved himself into the line, and used his hand mirror to do a final scope. Everything was as it should be that he could tell. Guards all in place, turrets sweeping as normal. He changed his view to the opposite side. As it was early, it was dark, just as it should be. Good. His first move was coming up. He peered past his fellow Autobots and saw the gouge ahead. He again ‘flowed‘ back to the edge. Just in time for the gouge to show up.

    Now.

    Optimus stepped, tripped, and went over. But this time he threw his arms to the side, and didn’t so much grip the edge, as cusped it. If he had gripped, it would have given, and he would have fallen. This way it created and axis on which his entire body swung inward, and he let go as soon as that swing was achieved. He fell, farther than he predicted, into the crowd below. The walkway was only marginally thicker than above, but it was enough to land against the wall and slide down into the group. People reacted with shock, and a bit of panic. The laser sights were already sweeping the crowd, so Optimus moved. He shushed the crowd quiet so he could move, ducking so he was concealed. As he walked along the line he saw they all maintained formation, and much like he did, discreetly moved aside to give him room. Optimus saw it, now. What they were ding. Every robot was walking clockwise in the mine, with their right side out, and Optimus running along their left. All of them held their arms at their side, looking casual. But every one had their left hands giving a thumbs up. A hidden salute. They all knew what he was doing, but all knew not to acknowledge him. Optimus was nearly overcome by the camaraderie, and it bolstered him.

    The line stopped, and he was in the “open.” Much like above, there was additional space at the junction where the many tunnels into the mines were. Unlike above, the alt mode traffic was great, and so without missing a beat, Optimus transformed, and joined traffic. This pathway was much wider, with two-way traffic. Optimus hit the max speed his alt mode allowed, and swerved. He heard thrusters and yelling above. The guards were searching. More lasers cross-crossed overhead. He sped on. He had calculated the estimated distance to travel with his alt mode’s top speed, and the trip would be a full minute. A minute was an eternity now, but he pushed his wheels to spin faster, forced his engine to rev every ounce of power to get him up this road and to the cranes. He weaved through traffic, the opposite lane yelling and honking instinctively. He was careful not to run anyone off, but it was tight. He was nearing the end up the road, and took a risk. He transformed and hopped onto the forward traffic, running along his fellow Autobots like stepping stones. This actually proved effective, as their utilitarian designs kept them grounded, and the forward motion gave the same effect as running backwards on a conveyer belt. He was delivered to the cranes, where many a confused Autobot stood motionless amongst the chaos. Optimus ran past them, again trying to get as much advantage out of the crowd cover as possible. He reached the cranes. They were tall, angular, and Decepticon-purple. He scaled one using the side rungs, then climbed the boom itself. He climbed along the side facing the wall, again using as much cover as possible. He scampered, spark pulsing, like a panicked animal. Once at the top, he was in shadow, and wasted no time and left off onto the wall, the boom jostling slightly. Fear was absent from his mind, replaced with the fuel of desperation. He climbed the rocks, grabbing handholds or creating his own through brute force. He climbed as fast as he could, but already the laser sights were searching the darkness. He heard echoed screaming of thuggish guards, and the turrets started firing blindly. Optimus dodged and jumped to avoid them, using the brief blink of the laser that preceded fire as an indicator of when to leap. He didn’t stop. So close. Optimus was wheezing, his joints screaming, internal indicators were flaring. He was over-exerting himself, but he didn’t stop. He pushed his body. The lasers traced around, still firing. Dust and rock was blown in his face. The lasers all shot ahead of him, up the wall, and formed and even line. They began descending, and firing as they went. They were sweeping the area. Optimus desperately shimmied to his left, trying to get past the line. But they were too fast, and he was running out of time. Optimus thought fast, and reached into his back. He pulled his pickaxe out, unfolding it with a flick of his wrist. The wall of fire approached, and he waited until they were moments away, and swung his pickaxe in front of his face. He then flipped it upside down in his hand, and using the flat end, pried up from where he struck. A rock chunk came free, and fell. The way he had timed it, the rock fell behind him just as the laser sights descended. The rock acted as a shield, and the turrets blasted it to pieces. Optimus was pelted by debris, and with only a single hand gripping and the ledges of his feet cracking, he couldn’t hold on. He fell. End over end, he tumbled down. He was disoriented, falling fast, and had to act now, or die. He swung with his pickaxe, but hit air. He swung again, and hit the rock wall, but got no grip. With everything he had left, he swung again, and this time the pickaxe buried itself in the wall. He gripped with both hands as he smacked against the rock face, dangling from a tenuous grip. Debris fell around him, and he waited until it had stopped. He sighed in relief, and kept climbing. No stopping. They’d see he wasn’t in the rocks below soon, and he was only halfway there. The climbed, using his pickaxe, to the lip of the mine. He felt so close, he could see the barrier generators without optical zoom.

    The wall before him exploded, and Optimus nearly lost his grip. He looked around but there were no laser sights. There was a bang, followed by another nearby explosion Optimus had to swing leap away from to avoid. A deafening, pulsation sound cracked, and another explosion happened. The source of the fire was getting closer, and Optimus swung around with one foot in the rock, and one hand on his axe. A streak hurtled towards him, then stopped on a dime before hovering. It was Thundercracker. He was furious.

    “How-?” Thundercracker growled, disbelievingly. Optimus, still in a rush, thought of no better reply than to leap off the wall, before Thundercracker could react, and swing his pickaxe into the Decepticon, hitting him in the shoulder. Thundercracker screamed in pain, but Optimus didn’t let go. In fact, he swung around Thundercracker on the axe, using his momentum to land on his back. Optimus pulled the pickaxe, causing Thundercracker to fly off in an upward direction. As Thundercracker yelled and tried to fling Optimus off, the Autobot punched him in the head, and pulled again, steering him upwards. It was a chaotic and nauseating flight, but Optimus saw the generator ahead. Without hesitation, he pushed Thundercracker’s head forward and set him on a direct course for it. Optimus pulled his axe free and leapt off. Thundercracker crashed into the generator, and Optimus landed on the lip. The generator sputtered and failed. An opening began to materialise, but it wasn’t big enough. Optimus shimmied over to the generator. Thundercracker lay in it’s wreckage, and he was dazed and injured. Without hesitation, Optimus grabbed his arm. Looking it over, he saw the built-in null ray that Thundercracker had used just moments before. Optimus pulled it off, and it detached with a loud pop. Wedging his fingers up into it’s underside, he felt for the trigger. Explosions sounded around him, and he spied six Guards flying up to the scene of the disturbance. Optimus aimed the ray at them and fired many times, taking out two and injuring three more. Without wasting time, he aimed down the curve of the mine, and sighted the other generator. Optimus fired, destroying the generator, and widening the opening to about twice his side just ahead. The four remaining guards were right on top of him, now, and Optimus quickly finished off two with the null ray. In what was either a fit of bravado or madness, Optimus jumped from the wrecked generator, fired at the undamaged guard, and threw the ray at the other. Before the first guard could fall, Optimus landed on him, and pushed off, leaping towards the opening. He landed on the edge of the barrier opening, hitting his chest and head against it. He tried to pull himself out, but in doing so glanced into the mine. He saw movement, and took a moment to zoom in. There were many guards now, flying towards him, but beyond that he saw Autobots. Some cheered, many saluted, some heckled the guards and tried to get their attention by throwing rocks. Optimus saw them watch him dangle, like their futures hung in the balance. They did, Optimus realised. And so even though he was tired, even though it hurt, even though it was hard, he pulled himself up. Because he hadn’t done all this for nothing. He didn’t do it for himself. He didn’t even do it just for them. He did it for all Autobots, in every mine, in every prison, in every dark, soul-crushing hole the Decepticons shut them into. So he climbed up, and stood tall on the near-invisible barrier. He ran, not walked, to the edge, out of the mine. He made it to solid ground, and saw Cybertron before him for the first time in a long time. He sprinted full on from the mine. he wanted to relish the moment, this was the first victory of many battles to come. No, of many victories to come. But he could conceive war pathos later, there was much work to do. He continued sprinting, and was about to transform, when a loud ringing filled his ears. It was distracting at first, then became annoying. Then painful, then he felt loose, he shambled, then fell to his knees. The ringing was splitting him in two, and his body went limp. He couldn’t even speak. His vision began to darken, when he heard footsteps. Two sets, coming towards him. He thought he heard a familiar voice, but couldn’t make it out, and couldn’t focus on it before he blacked out.