The Begining of the End
TITLE: THE BEGINING OF THE END
AUTHOR: ROSE0MARY
RATING: Kindergartener to Teen
CONTINUITY: PREWAR, (Pre-earth, so any)
GENRE: General,
CHRACTERS: Originals, with mentions of various cannon (SideSwipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz, Prowl, Megatron, in this chapter)
PAIRINGS: Nothing explicit. Platonic friendships (not yet planned/written)
WARNINGS: Um, don't think there's any here. Maybe future updates? (when they get written)
Twilight had fallen across the city - most individuals retired to their homes. The few buildings with false sunlight were dimly lit, because few mechs had the funds to properly illuminate rooms once dusk settled.
Even the public streets, once lit up as brightly as the daylight permitted, had long ago ceased to be properly illuminated. Shadows ruled in the dusk and twilight, not artificial lamps and lights.
Enforcers roamed the dark streets, urging the loiterers to go somewhere else. Outside was not safe, it rarely was safe for the homeless even when broad daylight ruled the land. But now, with night fallen, paths illuminated only by starlight, the scavengers grew bold and vicious. Empties, unable to maintain a steady job, roused from recharge, found themselves wearing manacles, escorted to underground holding cells where morning shaft would either release them or order them sent to a concentration camp.
The streets, dark and dingily, was not motionless as the still shadows indicated. Nocturnal wildlife, vermin hiding from the hustle and bustle of the day, used the shadows and boldly scurried everywhere, climbing onto trash heaps, digging into slag heaps, scattering garbage across the streets. Now that no watchful eyes or able-bodied steetlings were around, patiently waiting for the mechanics to cross their path, the animals of prey ruled while the hunters slept.
Along one of these many allyways, mechs traveled from shadow to overhang, to corner posts, and dead streetlights. Thieves could operate with obscurity now that enforcers were forced to deal with loiterers and other public disturbances - recharging home owners failed to awaken as thieves walked by their buildings, and security systems had been put on standby, so not to give false alerts caused by mechs, femmes, and younglings suffering from insomnia. One particular mech speed walking down the streets, moved as if his grey armor gleamed faintly with the starlight. Perhaps it did.
He traveled in bursts, always keeping to the darker paths, even though it meant stumbling into unseen obstacles, ramming into perilously stacked garbage heaps meant to be transported to the smelters and foundries in the morning, or stepping on the tail of omnivore scavengers. Constantly on the lookout for patrols, one audio tuned into the Enforcer frequency radio signal, he skillfully avoided the enforcers on the lookout for mechs much like him. When his hazardous, always uncertain path sent metal scraps clanging down the uneven rough road, he pressed closer tot he nearest building, accepting the sharp nips and claw scratches from disturbed petro rabbits, glitch-mice, and other feral creatures. He needed the enforcers to believe the commotion of the mechanoids knocked over piles of slag.
Sometimes the enforcer responding to the commotion added the ally-way to the list of streets that needed to have the entire contents (scans houses) transported to the smelters, starting at dawn. Sometimes the responding enforcer decided the metal mess was not a serious safety hazard and the owners or property maintainers would be fined if they did not clean up the mess before next twilight.
By the time the lone grey mech made it to his destination unseen, his previously pristine and polished armor resembled the appearance of an empty struggling to survive from one morsel of energon to the next. He moved without hesitation, walked like the nobles he'd been trained to emulate.
The grey mech increased his speed once he got off the streets. Once behind closed doors, he broke into a run, moving down the empty corridor sure footed, as he made tight turns without hesitation. He'd traveled these vary same pathways many times, and knew his destination within the building. No guards were on duty to see him, and even the security forces had been sent home - no one was to have any notion that this middle of the night meeting was in progress. All sane mechs were deep in recharge, preparing mentally for the long orn ahead, or healing from the long orns earlier.
He pushed the heavy-duty doors hard enough to fling them open, slamming the thick protective doors into the posts lineing the walkway. "It Is True!" He called out, his loud cry echoing louder than the shriek of metal-impacting metal. "Our stockpiles are gone!"
The ornate chambers, built to accommodate well over ten thousand mechs, looked empty with only nine hundred thirty-eight members of the assembly present, scattered across the room. They broke into frantic whisperings as the fearful news made its impact in their processers.
Senax, the old indigo mech who'd organized this clandestine meeting motion for silence. He got it. The frantic mutters, the anguished gasps, the shifting of uneasy peds and servos stopped as each member here focused on Senax. They ignored other matters entirely, wanting to hear what he had to say. The unofficial Speaker of the Consortium did not disappoint.
"Mecha, we all know the history of our empire, kept ourselves resigned to our tiny portion of the galaxy, blocked from expansion by our neighbors. Obeying the Bill Of Rights written by our for-fathers.
"At first, the armistice worked in our favor - our population devastated in the war, freeing ourselves from the slavery of the Quintessons, eradicating our former masters - but now, our needs have outstripped the energy production available to us.
"For us, only two generations have passed since our ancestors signed the nonaggression pact with the space-faring species that helped us reach our freedom. For those same allies of long ago, the space-war has long since faded into myth - any record of the treaties with us have been lost to the ravages of time.
"It is time to rise up and take the unused worlds, the planets deemed 'worthless' by them for a variety of reasons, including, too hot, too cold, no atmosphere, or too dangerous, utilizing them for our own purposes." Senax sat down, letting his speech, the rumors, the fears of permanent energon shortages, and the chance of rebuilding that, which had fallen into disrepair wok its magic.
One by one, each representative came to the conclusion Senax wanted them to. He had carefully selected each of them, manipulating the system so that mechs who could see things his way ascended to power, while those who blocked him, lost the respect and authority that was rightfully theirs. Now, with a quorum ready to authorize the unthinkable, Senax got down to business. "We need more energon. But how?"
Jingoist, one of the first mechs recruited by Senx leaned back in his seat. "I propose we organize raiding parties " his proposal was quickly shot down but not formally defeated.
The discussion, tuned to other matters, talked of increased trading were raised up - realistically impossible, for the allies the Cybertronian empire once depended on for raw materials had long since scattered, disbanded to the far flung reaches of space and lost all space-flight capabilities.
The internal corruption and civil wars that wiped out the galactic empires keeping Cybertonian control at its present level left many untouched worlds ripe for the taking - if these leaders and city directors, most of them managers of one successful business or another, could find it within themselves to poach on another's territory.
HighBall, a mech who always had some high-grade on hand stood up, sloshing his drink as he waved his arms in emphasis. "Why not send empties to these rich worlds, let them work off the fee it takes to transport them?" His idea had merit, and since these dark times began, empties filled the temporary holding cells. Removing the unwanted empties, reformatting them into mining modes, sending a score of mechs to distant planets from every city, would result in lover population density, thus decreasing the strain on production facilities, while simultaneously increasing the incoming energon. Plus, empties had no one to cry out on their behalf when they went missing - the same was not true for traditional miners.
Soon plans for hidden facilities were being discussed even as aids prepared to gather empties from crowded holding cells while jerry-rigging frames were unofficially prepared for the soon-to-be-shanghaied workers. Officially, those emergency frames were supposed to be held back for emergency spark-transfer - no mech had a second intact frame on stand-by in the very unlikely event he suffered an accident that left his current body wrecked and sent his spark into shock. Accidents that left mangled frames without unduly harming the spark permanently were rare to say the least.
"Adding productive mines is not enough" warned Senax "for our many moons were once rich in energon, and they exist only in our memories." Cybertron's moons had, over the vorns, been stripped mined for the energon crystals, then disassembled and sent to the smelters piecemeal, till nothing remained. Only two remained, their rocky cores held no usable ores or any viable chemicals - they remained in orbit, merely as launch pads to distant reaches.
The small gathering of representatives, merchants, and nobilities debated through the long joors of the darkest night - they failed to authorize the building and supplying of a raiding party, led by one of their own on the sly, but for a single third-orn of work, much had been accomplished.
Senax motioned for the messenger, the harbinger sent to assess the true situation of ancient storerooms, to remain behind as the informal syndicate exited, ready and willing to maintain the illusion this clandestine meeting had not convened. "Derringer, you have some suggestions?"
It was only the two of them. Jingoist waited out in the hall, while HighBall led a small contingent to his city, for a fortifying drink. Still, Derringer bowed as was proper. Both mechs ignored the disheveled appearance of his frame, for haste and secrecy had been of the essence. "I do, my liege. For warlords, we should look to Kaon glad -"
"Kaon?" interrupted Senax. "The entire city is nothing but a bunch of brutes. If we didn't need medics capable of building or maintaining warframes, I would have ordered the whole city razed down long ago."
"And that is why a Kaon mech is believable as a renegade warlord. Take a mech from any other city, put him in charge of a raiding party, and there will be inquires. But Kaon Everyone knows Kaonites are uncivilized, unable to interact properly in polite company."
"Hmm," Senax thought about it some. He had no rational argument against a Kaon warlord, and after a breem of intense thinking, said, "It has merit. Anything else?"
Derringer bowed low again. Every breem they delayed, meant a higher chance of them getting caught - and if the extreme methods put into place to stave off energon starvation failed, were stopped, or postponed, a civil war would break out and consume the empire. "Not at this time, my liege."
"Good. Good. See you get home unscathed." Senax dismissed his personal aid, left via the hidden passages only the oldest mechs in the Consortium knew about.
Derringer turned and ran, retracing his path back home. He winced as the dawn's coming illumination revealed scuffmarks and other minute traces of the council member's passing. There was nothing he or the others could do about it now. Emerging into the wide-open spaces, Derringer had to slow, allocating more processing power into avoiding the emerging early crowds and the increased load of enforcers on patrol as shift-change drew near.
Based on his current appearance both the late-night and morning shifts of enforcers would assume him to be an empty - and since all able-bodied empties were being forcefully relocated to uncharted worlds, he'd never see home again.
Derringer made it home, just as Languor emerged from recharge. "Derringer?" she called.
The grey mech pushed aside all fatigue. He'd gone five orns without recharge before. He could handle two full orns again. "I am here, Languor. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said, struggling to get up without assistance. Derringer let her. The more she could do on her own first thing every orn, the better she felt, and that pleased both of them. "Do you know when we can make the trip to Vector-Sigma?"
Derringer froze.
Languor picked up on his uneasiness. "Der, what's wrong? What aren't you telling me?" Her pale red optics took in his scuffed appearance, spotted the tiny nicks and tears in the energon cabling where scavenger claws bypassed his armor. "Did Senax send you undercover to a concentration camp again?"
"No dear," Derringer sat on the edge of the recharging bunk, averted his saffron optics. "Now might not be the best time to request a new-spark from Vector Sigma."
Languor vented, carefully maneuvered her way out of the sleeping room to the kitchenette. "Now is never a good time, Der. Our caretakers thought that, and their caretakers knew it too - didn't stop them." Her voice echoed through the tiny domicile. She came back into view, two small energon cubes in hand. "Drink up. Problems look better on a full tank and under a decent recharge."
Derringer took the cube, did not drink. His empty tanks churned, demanding the fuel, but still he delayed, ingesting the energon. "Not this problem."
"Der,"
"I am sorry, Languor. I cannot tell you. I cannot tell anyone."
Not even a hint?"
Derringer put the full cube on the recharge bunk, stood up and embraced Languor. "No, not even a smidgen."
"Der - Der, promise me, that before the vorn is up, we will approach Vector Sigma and ask for a new spark - a spark that can assist you, help find a solution to this problem, a new spark to bring joy to our family, and encourage everyone."
Derringer smiled. "That is a tall order for a new spark."
"And if it is possible, Vector Sigma will grant us our request. If it doesn't, it is impossible for any to fulfill."
"Alright, we will go to Vector Sigma."
"Soon?"
"Soon." Derringer agreed. He drank his ration of energon fuel. "Now, come on. This orn's a brand new orn - full of possibilities.
Languor shook her head. Sometimes I do not know if you really believe what you spout, or are trying to fool yourself.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The reflective gray-colored mech blended in with the crowd who came to Kaon for one reason and one reason only - to watch gladiators fight starving packs of turbofox's reenact ancient battles that none alive had fought in or maul each other. To the paying, jeering crowd, it did not matter how much vital coolant, lubricants or precious energon seeped into the sands of the pits, only that the opponents keep moving long after sane mechinoids would have quit or died.
Derringer wasn't there for the gory entertainment. A raid was scheduled to begin any moment and he planned to use the confusing to approach the Kaon fighters while their 'masters' were struggling to escape.
The current round ended and a pair of melee swordsmen - completely red armor for one, fully yellow armor for the other, - emerged from the underground chambers to face off against the undisputed champion. These two, covered in color beyond basic gray, were not simple gladiators. Gladiators, when they wore any color beyond the bare-metal, were adorned with small brightly colored swaths designating which side they fought.
Derringer took note. Slaved gladiators were always solid grey - except for a master's mark on the arm or chest - no fancy paint to distract from bare metal. Individuals who were free could arrange for combat, and sometimes did test themselves against the highly trained war specialists. Typically though, those bouts were set against the lowest ranking gladiators, not the best fighters. Here now, two had proven themselves in past fights, deemed skillful enough to brawl against the top gladiator. Mendacious, frequently pummeled his opponents so badly medics trained for war-like battlefield conditions were hard pressed to keep the looser from deactivating - and these two nongladiators were arranged against him?
The joust started. The crowd jumped and cheered!
Most of the audience did not recognize the skill or coordination all three displayed. Derringer did. It looked like a frequently preformed dance where the performers knew the steps by heart. The trio on the grounds below were good. Very good.
The trio on the make-shift battle grounds below had faced each other before. Red and Yellow moved in tandem, neatly sending Mendacious on the defensive - for a moment, just an instant, Derringer though the fight would be over in just three swings and slashes from the energon swords.
Fights over in a breem meant one or another happened to be severely outclassed. Mendacious, never on the defensive when fighting other gladiators, proved to have been feigning all along. One silver-grey arm shot forwards with speed not previously displayed, nocked Yellow's sword from his hand. Two blades, shimmering with repressed energon, slid forwards, shielding both Red and Yellow as the duo retrieved the fallen swords. The three fighters circled in the middle of the pit, when the raid began.
As expected, the paying crowds panicked, rushing for the exits, trampling over each other in a futile attempt escape. Derringer shoved his way against the gridlocked traffic and dropped into the sand-filled pit.
The abrasive microscopic particles of broken rock dug into his peds, working their way past the gaps in his armor, to irritate the sensors underneath. All the spilled internal liquids did was make the jagged rocks stick better to dry surfaces. "I presume you have a secret way out?"
Red and Yellow disengaged their swords. Both had thick gouges in their paint jobs and slashes in their armor - but none of the important plating had been severed completely. "In this mess?" Red pointed towards the mass of crushed mechs. "Not likely."
"Sides," stated Yellow, "Running now will only alert the enforcers to our presence, and reveal hidden paths they don't know about."
Derringer shuttered his optics. He hadn't thought about it like that. The only reason he'd known about the imminent raid was due to the request to borrow enforcers from nearby-cities. "Right. I've got a proposal to make to you, Mendacious, and others of your ilk who are interested in escaping Kaon."
Mendacious chuckled. It unnerved Derringer, as the large gunmetal mech only laughed as he dispatched opponent after opponent in the ring. "After you."
Derringer turned, wanting to protest. It was his first time on the combat floors - none of the caverns, caves or natural underground passageways were on any blue-prints or building plans. Then he saw Red and Yellow lead the way, their steps assured, their path deliberate. Some side tunnels the group of four traveled down, some tunnels were avoided complete. Once or twice, the path grew treacherous and narrow, making them trek one at a time. Always, the two never stopped to consult Mendacious, or even pause to examine the rock-face around, seeking other tracks.
Derringer swallowed. These two knew their way around the confusing chambers as if they'd lived in the hidden gladiator pits for vorns. "How did you escape?" Derringer took a wild guess.
Yellow took the lead even as Red tilted his head, examining the stranger with a keen optic. Both mechs remained silent even as they gave a signal to the trailing mech. Mendacious spoke of their tale - highly edited, Derringer didn't doubt.
"These two saw an opportunity during a raid much like this one - the rest of us found out later their master argued a bit too enthusiastically with the enforcers and was cut down. - They made a break, escaped, and became mechs in the o outside world. More than that, they'll be the ones to tell you, if they are ever inclined to make it known."
The cries of enforcers calling for a 'Halt and desist' faded out completely. Clearly this tunnel took them far way from the chaos raging outside. The tunnel opened up into an impressive chamber. From its immense size, Derringer knew it could hold all the gladiators who'd fought earlier today, and still more mechs streamed from side caverns.
Derringer rarely felt impressed by size or by crowds. This place, hidden from outsiders, a natural refuge from raids, surpassed the gradual of the Councilor’s Senate Building.
"Make your proposal, Government lackey."
Derringer did not know which of the many-scarred gladiators spoke. He did not intend to inquire this time. He refrained from bowing, just barely. "Mechs of Kaon", a stifled cough from the back ranks had him amending his statement - and from the barely hidden distain he garnered from the unnamed Red and Yellow Duo, Derringer decided to skip the prescribed (pre-written) speech dictated to him by Senax. He'd already modified portions of it, removing much of the tautology, knowing the bombastic phrases would not help his case here.
"Mechs and femmes of Cybertron, as you might have heard, Cybertron is experiencing an energon shortage of likes we have never faced before - and the situation will not resolve itself if we do not do something to change the course.
"We need new sources of revenue - and it has been suggested, in secret unfortunately, that to alleviate the current energon crisis, raiding parties go out to plunder abandoned and dead worlds.
"If any of you are willing to take this opportunity, all records will be expunged and you have the opportunity to control your own lives." Derringer almost added Like These Two Here indicating the only mechs that did not blend in with the walls and scattered machinery, but refrained.
"That's it?" Mendacious frowned. "We go into voluntary exile, enriching the overseers and Senate, while our brothers and sisters starve?" The entire audience listened intently.
"I admit, the plan is not well thought out, but if you have any improvements to make or changes to suggest, I am here, listening."
Yellow grated out, "You, yes. Your masters, no."
Red nodded in agreement. "Thanks, but the two of us are not interested. We've made our livelihood here - risk it all so a no name public scavenger and thief can legally take it over? No way in Pit!"
The two turned as one and made their way to a tunnel Derringer had not noticed before. Considering the far half of the cavern he couldn't make out, other than the solid wall was back there, holding up the massive rock-shield above them, that wasn't too surprising. What did shock him, was the fact that the gladiators opened up a path before them, letting the two walk straight through the crowd, without having to detour or stop. They must have been impressive fighters before they escaped this brutal life, and freed themselves. Derringer found himself wanting to know more about them, but he'd have to inquire at a much later time.
Following the departure of the outspoken swordsmen, low muttered conversations of displeasure made themselves audible through the entire room. Derringer knew the Kaonites would be displeased, but hadn't realized just how badly he and the others had misjudged the city's inhabitants. Visually scanning the uneasy crowd, Derringer noticed several groups form, mechs and femmes of similar opinion scattered all over the room. Many wanted to be free, but only a few were willing to be excommunicated.
He spoke nothing; letting the dissenting voices reach their own conclusions. His audios, remained running, catching snippits of conversation here, a half-sentence there, and disjoined words everywhere. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he noticed semi familiar designations being repeated.
To his shock, Derringer recognized a few of the designations. And his opinion of the mech wasn't much higher than the grumbles being spat by mechs nearby when they heard that designation. "Tax Shelter?" He blurted out in astonishment.
Silence returned to the chamber.
It took several breems for Derringer to realize they were waiting from him to speak. Waiting with the patience instilled in them by thousands of mock battles, where haste and impatience led to defeat. He, a mere aid to a well-connected city director could not hope to outlast them. "Do you want Tax Shelter removed? I can arrange for a temporary set back or a permanent loss of position."
From the feral grins and brightening of magenta colored optics, Derringer knew he'd guessed right.
Mendacious slung a arm across Derringer's shoulders sending the smaller built mech to the floor. "You have no compulsions keeping you from deactivating him?"
Derringer shook his head slowly, mostly to resettle his scattered processors. That non-blow had overwhelmed him. "The mech has not appealed himself to me - he wants to send empties straight to the smelters and recycle all usable parts from the 'undesirable' caste, since a reduced population needs less resources. I've no love lost for Tax Shelter, though killing him directly is a bit out of my league." He scrambled to his feet, began to brush the rock pebbles off his frame, stopped the motion before it could be completed.
A smaller gladiator spoke up. "I can take him."
Mendacious growled. "Megatron, until I stop whipping your aft in training rounds, you are not to assassinate anybody, or even attempt to take someone out for real - especially not a government official."
The gunmetal grey mech, lacking may of the scars others were sporting, crossed his arms, muttered something like 'fine'. Or maybe he grumbled a few curse words, too quietly for any to hear.
One of the femmes strolled up. She and Derringer were the same height, though their builds and frames were widely different. "Can you make his untimely demise look like an accident? Say, a land speeder crash?"
"I could, though to do so would send his bodyguards to their deactivation as well. Might be easier to have him simply disappear in the Badlands - if he was the sort to take trips away from his city." Derringer knew he was beginning to ramble, did not care - he'd just realized that he, an outsider, a non-Kaon, knew one of the city's best kept secrets, and his life could be forfeit. "I could arrange for him to drink high-grade made with arsenic and Bromine."
"That's nasty, muttered a green-plated medic, fixing one of the gladiators who'd lost an earlier bout. Derringer hadn't realized the medics in the area were listening too. Just as well, since the offer to escape the confines of Kaon was not reserved for the gladiators only.
"Or make it a wrong time, wrong place. A riot that turns murderous, medics and enforcers unable to reach him in time." Derringer forced himself to stop speaking. He'd nearly revealed plots discussed that did take the lives of mechs who'd opposed Senax and his plans.
Mendacious looked at Derringer with new optics. "You are an assassin." he stated with certainty.
"Saboteur," he countered reflectively. "I failed both the physical dexterity test and the mental agility checks."
Scattered laughter among the listeners.
"Not to worry, lackey. We won't be deactivating any mech this orn." an unseen signal made its way through the crowd, and the two brightly colored mechs - the only mechs who wore something other than shades of gray, silver, or black - emerged from the back tunnel they'd disappeared to. "Most of the round-up is over. These two will escort you to the overseer’s escape hatch. What happens on the other side is up to you."
The dismissal plain, Derringer bowed out of reflex and stepped after the Red and Yellow pair. He noticed with idle curiosity the tattered armor had been buffed, for the scratches even the dings and dents had been filled in with some kind of polymer and painted over - either that, or the duo had identical amour slabs hidden in these vast depths to utilize after their winnings were paid to them.
"May I know your designations?"
"No," came the curt reply. "You know we were once gladiators, and that is far more tha most know of our pasts."
"Sides, you haven't given us yours," countered Red, just as stubborn as his partner.
"Call me Derringer."
"Is that your designation?"
"Derringer is what I've been known by since before I became a consortium aid." The response, not a true answer to the question, seemed to satisfy their curiosity.
The rest of the too long (paradoxically too short) trip went by in silence.
Red and Yellow took two long steps to the side, making a gap between them, revealing an unmarked tunnel - one closed off by a metal plug complete with wheel and cogs, wedged into place with bars sealing it in place. It looked like it could withstand a battering ram, or be utilized as a one-way private exit.
"This is where we part, Derringer," spoke the red mech. His servos grasped the wheel, tugged, and bars inserted in holes along both sides of the door retreated. The hatch swung open.
Derringer paused at the threshold. "Am I supposed to eradicate Tax Shelter, or was that a test?"
"Don't know, don't care - that's your problem to deal with."
Strong arms pushed Derringer out. It only took one solid shove and he cleared the threshold. The metal door slammed shut behind him.
Derringer pushed himself up. "Second time in under a joor." he said to himself, brushing at the worst of the clinging sand and other partials. The rest of the grime would have to wait until he could access a proper cleaning rack. "At least I can keep the promise I gave to Languor." He strolled off, whistling a jaunty tune.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Lord Protectorate Wastrel of Cybertron, stood next to Amaretto Prime, overseeing the ceremony.
Derringer and Languor were just two in a multitude petitioning Vector Sigma for a newspark. Many of those asking were a paired couple, but some were by their lonesome. The absence or presence of a helpmate had no influence on the granting of a spark.
One by one, or two by two, the line grew shorter as those in the front made their request, and either received what they petitioned for, or did not. Regardless, once made, the one(s) on the platform turned and assembled onto the balcony overlooking the procession.
Amaretto Prime and Lord Wastrel had opened the once every three hundred orn ceremony, welcoming all prospective caretakers, then stepped asside, allowing the audience to come forth.
At long last, it was Languor and Derringer's turn. Together they stepped up - Derringer opened his mouth to repeat the promise he gave Languor almost two-thousand orns ago, found he'd forgotten the specific of the new spark qualities they wanted. So, he improvised, going with a fairly generic description. "We want newsparks who will benefit Cybertron, who will rich the lives of all who know them, who will respect life in all its forms." Inwardly, Derringer kicked himself mentally, until the squeezing on his arm revealed to him Languor approved the changes.
As Vector Sigma's light focused in on them, Derringer remembered Languor's words and subvocalized, 'A new spark to assist us in finding solutions to secret, hidden problems, a newspark to bring joy to our family and their friends'. The light became brighter, more concentrated. Derringer wanted to shield his optics from the sudden intensity, found he couldn't move.
Strangely, the light, brighter and stronger than the star Cybertron circled, did not harm him. His optics did not hurt at lal. He though he heard a strong voice announce, Request Granted - and A Boon to You Both, but his audios recorded no voice.
The light shifted, returning to an earlier intensity, lightening the whole room and not just the asking duo. Derringer took one step forward, one step down, turned to assist Languor down. Received the shock of his life.
TWINS! Languor held two small frames against her chassis - both of them bare metal in coloration.
TWINS! The thought had to make itself known again, even as Derringer grabbed first one, then the other. He locked his legs in place as Languor descended down the steps. Once off the platform, Derringer handed one of the new sparks over - the winged mech. It wasn't every vorn that Vector Sigma granted twins. In fact, Derringer couldn't recall the last time twins made an appearance.
He'd once heard rumors indicating that the last pair of twins somehow ended up in the gladiator circuit. But that was the gossip of younglings, wishing to see war frames in action, and not just news vids or history reels. Most of the whispered talks of gladiators and the expressed desire to see the forbidden attraction came after learning that gladiators were the 'actors' for battle-scenes when the vorn of remembrance came about and visited every major city one-by-one. Actual mechs play-fighting and fake-off lining, instead of the boring war-footage shown all the time.
He had Languor had planned on one designation. Now they need to think of a second.
The two new caretakers joined the hundreds of adults who preceded them, found seats and turned to watch the rest of the group, the remainder of this tricentenorn visit to Vector Sigma. Derringer watched, but did not see as one by one or two by two the line ebbed and flowed until only Lord Wastrel and Amaretto Prime remained on center stage.
The opening ceremony had started with the Prime welcoming every hopeful applicant. Now it closed with the Lord Protectorate thanking everyone for participating. Together, both blessed the new caretakers. Then, the crowd was given leave to disperse.
Most didn't, wanting to touch the brand-new twins, to get a closer look, even though they'd been watching and waiting in breathless anticipation as Vector Sigma responded. Or didn't.
"What are their designations?" asked a Elite Guardian, sometimes Enforcer Derringer recognized, though, he couldn't, for the life of him, put a name to the gold and blue mech.
Languor shifted her small burden higher, so the sparkling could look around with curious optics - actually, his frame came equipped with a visor, instead of the traditional two optics. "This one will be Jazz."
Derringer relaxed his grip on the grey winged sparkling sitting in his lap. "This one is Prowl."
OTHER/AUTHOR NOTES: *Sigh* I was trying to create an AU verse, where Megatron is the leader of a bandit group, as befitting one definition of 'War Lord'. This is what came out - and I don't think my muse is dead. Just recuperating. (tell me if you want more, and what you'd like to see more of, please)
AUTHOR: ROSE0MARY
RATING: Kindergartener to Teen
CONTINUITY: PREWAR, (Pre-earth, so any)
GENRE: General,
CHRACTERS: Originals, with mentions of various cannon (SideSwipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz, Prowl, Megatron, in this chapter)
PAIRINGS: Nothing explicit. Platonic friendships (not yet planned/written)
WARNINGS: Um, don't think there's any here. Maybe future updates? (when they get written)
Twilight had fallen across the city - most individuals retired to their homes. The few buildings with false sunlight were dimly lit, because few mechs had the funds to properly illuminate rooms once dusk settled.
Even the public streets, once lit up as brightly as the daylight permitted, had long ago ceased to be properly illuminated. Shadows ruled in the dusk and twilight, not artificial lamps and lights.
Enforcers roamed the dark streets, urging the loiterers to go somewhere else. Outside was not safe, it rarely was safe for the homeless even when broad daylight ruled the land. But now, with night fallen, paths illuminated only by starlight, the scavengers grew bold and vicious. Empties, unable to maintain a steady job, roused from recharge, found themselves wearing manacles, escorted to underground holding cells where morning shaft would either release them or order them sent to a concentration camp.
The streets, dark and dingily, was not motionless as the still shadows indicated. Nocturnal wildlife, vermin hiding from the hustle and bustle of the day, used the shadows and boldly scurried everywhere, climbing onto trash heaps, digging into slag heaps, scattering garbage across the streets. Now that no watchful eyes or able-bodied steetlings were around, patiently waiting for the mechanics to cross their path, the animals of prey ruled while the hunters slept.
Along one of these many allyways, mechs traveled from shadow to overhang, to corner posts, and dead streetlights. Thieves could operate with obscurity now that enforcers were forced to deal with loiterers and other public disturbances - recharging home owners failed to awaken as thieves walked by their buildings, and security systems had been put on standby, so not to give false alerts caused by mechs, femmes, and younglings suffering from insomnia. One particular mech speed walking down the streets, moved as if his grey armor gleamed faintly with the starlight. Perhaps it did.
He traveled in bursts, always keeping to the darker paths, even though it meant stumbling into unseen obstacles, ramming into perilously stacked garbage heaps meant to be transported to the smelters and foundries in the morning, or stepping on the tail of omnivore scavengers. Constantly on the lookout for patrols, one audio tuned into the Enforcer frequency radio signal, he skillfully avoided the enforcers on the lookout for mechs much like him. When his hazardous, always uncertain path sent metal scraps clanging down the uneven rough road, he pressed closer tot he nearest building, accepting the sharp nips and claw scratches from disturbed petro rabbits, glitch-mice, and other feral creatures. He needed the enforcers to believe the commotion of the mechanoids knocked over piles of slag.
Sometimes the enforcer responding to the commotion added the ally-way to the list of streets that needed to have the entire contents (scans houses) transported to the smelters, starting at dawn. Sometimes the responding enforcer decided the metal mess was not a serious safety hazard and the owners or property maintainers would be fined if they did not clean up the mess before next twilight.
By the time the lone grey mech made it to his destination unseen, his previously pristine and polished armor resembled the appearance of an empty struggling to survive from one morsel of energon to the next. He moved without hesitation, walked like the nobles he'd been trained to emulate.
The grey mech increased his speed once he got off the streets. Once behind closed doors, he broke into a run, moving down the empty corridor sure footed, as he made tight turns without hesitation. He'd traveled these vary same pathways many times, and knew his destination within the building. No guards were on duty to see him, and even the security forces had been sent home - no one was to have any notion that this middle of the night meeting was in progress. All sane mechs were deep in recharge, preparing mentally for the long orn ahead, or healing from the long orns earlier.
He pushed the heavy-duty doors hard enough to fling them open, slamming the thick protective doors into the posts lineing the walkway. "It Is True!" He called out, his loud cry echoing louder than the shriek of metal-impacting metal. "Our stockpiles are gone!"
The ornate chambers, built to accommodate well over ten thousand mechs, looked empty with only nine hundred thirty-eight members of the assembly present, scattered across the room. They broke into frantic whisperings as the fearful news made its impact in their processers.
Senax, the old indigo mech who'd organized this clandestine meeting motion for silence. He got it. The frantic mutters, the anguished gasps, the shifting of uneasy peds and servos stopped as each member here focused on Senax. They ignored other matters entirely, wanting to hear what he had to say. The unofficial Speaker of the Consortium did not disappoint.
"Mecha, we all know the history of our empire, kept ourselves resigned to our tiny portion of the galaxy, blocked from expansion by our neighbors. Obeying the Bill Of Rights written by our for-fathers.
"At first, the armistice worked in our favor - our population devastated in the war, freeing ourselves from the slavery of the Quintessons, eradicating our former masters - but now, our needs have outstripped the energy production available to us.
"For us, only two generations have passed since our ancestors signed the nonaggression pact with the space-faring species that helped us reach our freedom. For those same allies of long ago, the space-war has long since faded into myth - any record of the treaties with us have been lost to the ravages of time.
"It is time to rise up and take the unused worlds, the planets deemed 'worthless' by them for a variety of reasons, including, too hot, too cold, no atmosphere, or too dangerous, utilizing them for our own purposes." Senax sat down, letting his speech, the rumors, the fears of permanent energon shortages, and the chance of rebuilding that, which had fallen into disrepair wok its magic.
One by one, each representative came to the conclusion Senax wanted them to. He had carefully selected each of them, manipulating the system so that mechs who could see things his way ascended to power, while those who blocked him, lost the respect and authority that was rightfully theirs. Now, with a quorum ready to authorize the unthinkable, Senax got down to business. "We need more energon. But how?"
Jingoist, one of the first mechs recruited by Senx leaned back in his seat. "I propose we organize raiding parties " his proposal was quickly shot down but not formally defeated.
The discussion, tuned to other matters, talked of increased trading were raised up - realistically impossible, for the allies the Cybertronian empire once depended on for raw materials had long since scattered, disbanded to the far flung reaches of space and lost all space-flight capabilities.
The internal corruption and civil wars that wiped out the galactic empires keeping Cybertonian control at its present level left many untouched worlds ripe for the taking - if these leaders and city directors, most of them managers of one successful business or another, could find it within themselves to poach on another's territory.
HighBall, a mech who always had some high-grade on hand stood up, sloshing his drink as he waved his arms in emphasis. "Why not send empties to these rich worlds, let them work off the fee it takes to transport them?" His idea had merit, and since these dark times began, empties filled the temporary holding cells. Removing the unwanted empties, reformatting them into mining modes, sending a score of mechs to distant planets from every city, would result in lover population density, thus decreasing the strain on production facilities, while simultaneously increasing the incoming energon. Plus, empties had no one to cry out on their behalf when they went missing - the same was not true for traditional miners.
Soon plans for hidden facilities were being discussed even as aids prepared to gather empties from crowded holding cells while jerry-rigging frames were unofficially prepared for the soon-to-be-shanghaied workers. Officially, those emergency frames were supposed to be held back for emergency spark-transfer - no mech had a second intact frame on stand-by in the very unlikely event he suffered an accident that left his current body wrecked and sent his spark into shock. Accidents that left mangled frames without unduly harming the spark permanently were rare to say the least.
"Adding productive mines is not enough" warned Senax "for our many moons were once rich in energon, and they exist only in our memories." Cybertron's moons had, over the vorns, been stripped mined for the energon crystals, then disassembled and sent to the smelters piecemeal, till nothing remained. Only two remained, their rocky cores held no usable ores or any viable chemicals - they remained in orbit, merely as launch pads to distant reaches.
The small gathering of representatives, merchants, and nobilities debated through the long joors of the darkest night - they failed to authorize the building and supplying of a raiding party, led by one of their own on the sly, but for a single third-orn of work, much had been accomplished.
Senax motioned for the messenger, the harbinger sent to assess the true situation of ancient storerooms, to remain behind as the informal syndicate exited, ready and willing to maintain the illusion this clandestine meeting had not convened. "Derringer, you have some suggestions?"
It was only the two of them. Jingoist waited out in the hall, while HighBall led a small contingent to his city, for a fortifying drink. Still, Derringer bowed as was proper. Both mechs ignored the disheveled appearance of his frame, for haste and secrecy had been of the essence. "I do, my liege. For warlords, we should look to Kaon glad -"
"Kaon?" interrupted Senax. "The entire city is nothing but a bunch of brutes. If we didn't need medics capable of building or maintaining warframes, I would have ordered the whole city razed down long ago."
"And that is why a Kaon mech is believable as a renegade warlord. Take a mech from any other city, put him in charge of a raiding party, and there will be inquires. But Kaon Everyone knows Kaonites are uncivilized, unable to interact properly in polite company."
"Hmm," Senax thought about it some. He had no rational argument against a Kaon warlord, and after a breem of intense thinking, said, "It has merit. Anything else?"
Derringer bowed low again. Every breem they delayed, meant a higher chance of them getting caught - and if the extreme methods put into place to stave off energon starvation failed, were stopped, or postponed, a civil war would break out and consume the empire. "Not at this time, my liege."
"Good. Good. See you get home unscathed." Senax dismissed his personal aid, left via the hidden passages only the oldest mechs in the Consortium knew about.
Derringer turned and ran, retracing his path back home. He winced as the dawn's coming illumination revealed scuffmarks and other minute traces of the council member's passing. There was nothing he or the others could do about it now. Emerging into the wide-open spaces, Derringer had to slow, allocating more processing power into avoiding the emerging early crowds and the increased load of enforcers on patrol as shift-change drew near.
Based on his current appearance both the late-night and morning shifts of enforcers would assume him to be an empty - and since all able-bodied empties were being forcefully relocated to uncharted worlds, he'd never see home again.
Derringer made it home, just as Languor emerged from recharge. "Derringer?" she called.
The grey mech pushed aside all fatigue. He'd gone five orns without recharge before. He could handle two full orns again. "I am here, Languor. How are you feeling?"
"Better," she said, struggling to get up without assistance. Derringer let her. The more she could do on her own first thing every orn, the better she felt, and that pleased both of them. "Do you know when we can make the trip to Vector-Sigma?"
Derringer froze.
Languor picked up on his uneasiness. "Der, what's wrong? What aren't you telling me?" Her pale red optics took in his scuffed appearance, spotted the tiny nicks and tears in the energon cabling where scavenger claws bypassed his armor. "Did Senax send you undercover to a concentration camp again?"
"No dear," Derringer sat on the edge of the recharging bunk, averted his saffron optics. "Now might not be the best time to request a new-spark from Vector Sigma."
Languor vented, carefully maneuvered her way out of the sleeping room to the kitchenette. "Now is never a good time, Der. Our caretakers thought that, and their caretakers knew it too - didn't stop them." Her voice echoed through the tiny domicile. She came back into view, two small energon cubes in hand. "Drink up. Problems look better on a full tank and under a decent recharge."
Derringer took the cube, did not drink. His empty tanks churned, demanding the fuel, but still he delayed, ingesting the energon. "Not this problem."
"Der,"
"I am sorry, Languor. I cannot tell you. I cannot tell anyone."
Not even a hint?"
Derringer put the full cube on the recharge bunk, stood up and embraced Languor. "No, not even a smidgen."
"Der - Der, promise me, that before the vorn is up, we will approach Vector Sigma and ask for a new spark - a spark that can assist you, help find a solution to this problem, a new spark to bring joy to our family, and encourage everyone."
Derringer smiled. "That is a tall order for a new spark."
"And if it is possible, Vector Sigma will grant us our request. If it doesn't, it is impossible for any to fulfill."
"Alright, we will go to Vector Sigma."
"Soon?"
"Soon." Derringer agreed. He drank his ration of energon fuel. "Now, come on. This orn's a brand new orn - full of possibilities.
Languor shook her head. Sometimes I do not know if you really believe what you spout, or are trying to fool yourself.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The reflective gray-colored mech blended in with the crowd who came to Kaon for one reason and one reason only - to watch gladiators fight starving packs of turbofox's reenact ancient battles that none alive had fought in or maul each other. To the paying, jeering crowd, it did not matter how much vital coolant, lubricants or precious energon seeped into the sands of the pits, only that the opponents keep moving long after sane mechinoids would have quit or died.
Derringer wasn't there for the gory entertainment. A raid was scheduled to begin any moment and he planned to use the confusing to approach the Kaon fighters while their 'masters' were struggling to escape.
The current round ended and a pair of melee swordsmen - completely red armor for one, fully yellow armor for the other, - emerged from the underground chambers to face off against the undisputed champion. These two, covered in color beyond basic gray, were not simple gladiators. Gladiators, when they wore any color beyond the bare-metal, were adorned with small brightly colored swaths designating which side they fought.
Derringer took note. Slaved gladiators were always solid grey - except for a master's mark on the arm or chest - no fancy paint to distract from bare metal. Individuals who were free could arrange for combat, and sometimes did test themselves against the highly trained war specialists. Typically though, those bouts were set against the lowest ranking gladiators, not the best fighters. Here now, two had proven themselves in past fights, deemed skillful enough to brawl against the top gladiator. Mendacious, frequently pummeled his opponents so badly medics trained for war-like battlefield conditions were hard pressed to keep the looser from deactivating - and these two nongladiators were arranged against him?
The joust started. The crowd jumped and cheered!
Most of the audience did not recognize the skill or coordination all three displayed. Derringer did. It looked like a frequently preformed dance where the performers knew the steps by heart. The trio on the grounds below were good. Very good.
The trio on the make-shift battle grounds below had faced each other before. Red and Yellow moved in tandem, neatly sending Mendacious on the defensive - for a moment, just an instant, Derringer though the fight would be over in just three swings and slashes from the energon swords.
Fights over in a breem meant one or another happened to be severely outclassed. Mendacious, never on the defensive when fighting other gladiators, proved to have been feigning all along. One silver-grey arm shot forwards with speed not previously displayed, nocked Yellow's sword from his hand. Two blades, shimmering with repressed energon, slid forwards, shielding both Red and Yellow as the duo retrieved the fallen swords. The three fighters circled in the middle of the pit, when the raid began.
As expected, the paying crowds panicked, rushing for the exits, trampling over each other in a futile attempt escape. Derringer shoved his way against the gridlocked traffic and dropped into the sand-filled pit.
The abrasive microscopic particles of broken rock dug into his peds, working their way past the gaps in his armor, to irritate the sensors underneath. All the spilled internal liquids did was make the jagged rocks stick better to dry surfaces. "I presume you have a secret way out?"
Red and Yellow disengaged their swords. Both had thick gouges in their paint jobs and slashes in their armor - but none of the important plating had been severed completely. "In this mess?" Red pointed towards the mass of crushed mechs. "Not likely."
"Sides," stated Yellow, "Running now will only alert the enforcers to our presence, and reveal hidden paths they don't know about."
Derringer shuttered his optics. He hadn't thought about it like that. The only reason he'd known about the imminent raid was due to the request to borrow enforcers from nearby-cities. "Right. I've got a proposal to make to you, Mendacious, and others of your ilk who are interested in escaping Kaon."
Mendacious chuckled. It unnerved Derringer, as the large gunmetal mech only laughed as he dispatched opponent after opponent in the ring. "After you."
Derringer turned, wanting to protest. It was his first time on the combat floors - none of the caverns, caves or natural underground passageways were on any blue-prints or building plans. Then he saw Red and Yellow lead the way, their steps assured, their path deliberate. Some side tunnels the group of four traveled down, some tunnels were avoided complete. Once or twice, the path grew treacherous and narrow, making them trek one at a time. Always, the two never stopped to consult Mendacious, or even pause to examine the rock-face around, seeking other tracks.
Derringer swallowed. These two knew their way around the confusing chambers as if they'd lived in the hidden gladiator pits for vorns. "How did you escape?" Derringer took a wild guess.
Yellow took the lead even as Red tilted his head, examining the stranger with a keen optic. Both mechs remained silent even as they gave a signal to the trailing mech. Mendacious spoke of their tale - highly edited, Derringer didn't doubt.
"These two saw an opportunity during a raid much like this one - the rest of us found out later their master argued a bit too enthusiastically with the enforcers and was cut down. - They made a break, escaped, and became mechs in the o outside world. More than that, they'll be the ones to tell you, if they are ever inclined to make it known."
The cries of enforcers calling for a 'Halt and desist' faded out completely. Clearly this tunnel took them far way from the chaos raging outside. The tunnel opened up into an impressive chamber. From its immense size, Derringer knew it could hold all the gladiators who'd fought earlier today, and still more mechs streamed from side caverns.
Derringer rarely felt impressed by size or by crowds. This place, hidden from outsiders, a natural refuge from raids, surpassed the gradual of the Councilor’s Senate Building.
"Make your proposal, Government lackey."
Derringer did not know which of the many-scarred gladiators spoke. He did not intend to inquire this time. He refrained from bowing, just barely. "Mechs of Kaon", a stifled cough from the back ranks had him amending his statement - and from the barely hidden distain he garnered from the unnamed Red and Yellow Duo, Derringer decided to skip the prescribed (pre-written) speech dictated to him by Senax. He'd already modified portions of it, removing much of the tautology, knowing the bombastic phrases would not help his case here.
"Mechs and femmes of Cybertron, as you might have heard, Cybertron is experiencing an energon shortage of likes we have never faced before - and the situation will not resolve itself if we do not do something to change the course.
"We need new sources of revenue - and it has been suggested, in secret unfortunately, that to alleviate the current energon crisis, raiding parties go out to plunder abandoned and dead worlds.
"If any of you are willing to take this opportunity, all records will be expunged and you have the opportunity to control your own lives." Derringer almost added Like These Two Here indicating the only mechs that did not blend in with the walls and scattered machinery, but refrained.
"That's it?" Mendacious frowned. "We go into voluntary exile, enriching the overseers and Senate, while our brothers and sisters starve?" The entire audience listened intently.
"I admit, the plan is not well thought out, but if you have any improvements to make or changes to suggest, I am here, listening."
Yellow grated out, "You, yes. Your masters, no."
Red nodded in agreement. "Thanks, but the two of us are not interested. We've made our livelihood here - risk it all so a no name public scavenger and thief can legally take it over? No way in Pit!"
The two turned as one and made their way to a tunnel Derringer had not noticed before. Considering the far half of the cavern he couldn't make out, other than the solid wall was back there, holding up the massive rock-shield above them, that wasn't too surprising. What did shock him, was the fact that the gladiators opened up a path before them, letting the two walk straight through the crowd, without having to detour or stop. They must have been impressive fighters before they escaped this brutal life, and freed themselves. Derringer found himself wanting to know more about them, but he'd have to inquire at a much later time.
Following the departure of the outspoken swordsmen, low muttered conversations of displeasure made themselves audible through the entire room. Derringer knew the Kaonites would be displeased, but hadn't realized just how badly he and the others had misjudged the city's inhabitants. Visually scanning the uneasy crowd, Derringer noticed several groups form, mechs and femmes of similar opinion scattered all over the room. Many wanted to be free, but only a few were willing to be excommunicated.
He spoke nothing; letting the dissenting voices reach their own conclusions. His audios, remained running, catching snippits of conversation here, a half-sentence there, and disjoined words everywhere. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he noticed semi familiar designations being repeated.
To his shock, Derringer recognized a few of the designations. And his opinion of the mech wasn't much higher than the grumbles being spat by mechs nearby when they heard that designation. "Tax Shelter?" He blurted out in astonishment.
Silence returned to the chamber.
It took several breems for Derringer to realize they were waiting from him to speak. Waiting with the patience instilled in them by thousands of mock battles, where haste and impatience led to defeat. He, a mere aid to a well-connected city director could not hope to outlast them. "Do you want Tax Shelter removed? I can arrange for a temporary set back or a permanent loss of position."
From the feral grins and brightening of magenta colored optics, Derringer knew he'd guessed right.
Mendacious slung a arm across Derringer's shoulders sending the smaller built mech to the floor. "You have no compulsions keeping you from deactivating him?"
Derringer shook his head slowly, mostly to resettle his scattered processors. That non-blow had overwhelmed him. "The mech has not appealed himself to me - he wants to send empties straight to the smelters and recycle all usable parts from the 'undesirable' caste, since a reduced population needs less resources. I've no love lost for Tax Shelter, though killing him directly is a bit out of my league." He scrambled to his feet, began to brush the rock pebbles off his frame, stopped the motion before it could be completed.
A smaller gladiator spoke up. "I can take him."
Mendacious growled. "Megatron, until I stop whipping your aft in training rounds, you are not to assassinate anybody, or even attempt to take someone out for real - especially not a government official."
The gunmetal grey mech, lacking may of the scars others were sporting, crossed his arms, muttered something like 'fine'. Or maybe he grumbled a few curse words, too quietly for any to hear.
One of the femmes strolled up. She and Derringer were the same height, though their builds and frames were widely different. "Can you make his untimely demise look like an accident? Say, a land speeder crash?"
"I could, though to do so would send his bodyguards to their deactivation as well. Might be easier to have him simply disappear in the Badlands - if he was the sort to take trips away from his city." Derringer knew he was beginning to ramble, did not care - he'd just realized that he, an outsider, a non-Kaon, knew one of the city's best kept secrets, and his life could be forfeit. "I could arrange for him to drink high-grade made with arsenic and Bromine."
"That's nasty, muttered a green-plated medic, fixing one of the gladiators who'd lost an earlier bout. Derringer hadn't realized the medics in the area were listening too. Just as well, since the offer to escape the confines of Kaon was not reserved for the gladiators only.
"Or make it a wrong time, wrong place. A riot that turns murderous, medics and enforcers unable to reach him in time." Derringer forced himself to stop speaking. He'd nearly revealed plots discussed that did take the lives of mechs who'd opposed Senax and his plans.
Mendacious looked at Derringer with new optics. "You are an assassin." he stated with certainty.
"Saboteur," he countered reflectively. "I failed both the physical dexterity test and the mental agility checks."
Scattered laughter among the listeners.
"Not to worry, lackey. We won't be deactivating any mech this orn." an unseen signal made its way through the crowd, and the two brightly colored mechs - the only mechs who wore something other than shades of gray, silver, or black - emerged from the back tunnel they'd disappeared to. "Most of the round-up is over. These two will escort you to the overseer’s escape hatch. What happens on the other side is up to you."
The dismissal plain, Derringer bowed out of reflex and stepped after the Red and Yellow pair. He noticed with idle curiosity the tattered armor had been buffed, for the scratches even the dings and dents had been filled in with some kind of polymer and painted over - either that, or the duo had identical amour slabs hidden in these vast depths to utilize after their winnings were paid to them.
"May I know your designations?"
"No," came the curt reply. "You know we were once gladiators, and that is far more tha most know of our pasts."
"Sides, you haven't given us yours," countered Red, just as stubborn as his partner.
"Call me Derringer."
"Is that your designation?"
"Derringer is what I've been known by since before I became a consortium aid." The response, not a true answer to the question, seemed to satisfy their curiosity.
The rest of the too long (paradoxically too short) trip went by in silence.
Red and Yellow took two long steps to the side, making a gap between them, revealing an unmarked tunnel - one closed off by a metal plug complete with wheel and cogs, wedged into place with bars sealing it in place. It looked like it could withstand a battering ram, or be utilized as a one-way private exit.
"This is where we part, Derringer," spoke the red mech. His servos grasped the wheel, tugged, and bars inserted in holes along both sides of the door retreated. The hatch swung open.
Derringer paused at the threshold. "Am I supposed to eradicate Tax Shelter, or was that a test?"
"Don't know, don't care - that's your problem to deal with."
Strong arms pushed Derringer out. It only took one solid shove and he cleared the threshold. The metal door slammed shut behind him.
Derringer pushed himself up. "Second time in under a joor." he said to himself, brushing at the worst of the clinging sand and other partials. The rest of the grime would have to wait until he could access a proper cleaning rack. "At least I can keep the promise I gave to Languor." He strolled off, whistling a jaunty tune.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Lord Protectorate Wastrel of Cybertron, stood next to Amaretto Prime, overseeing the ceremony.
Derringer and Languor were just two in a multitude petitioning Vector Sigma for a newspark. Many of those asking were a paired couple, but some were by their lonesome. The absence or presence of a helpmate had no influence on the granting of a spark.
One by one, or two by two, the line grew shorter as those in the front made their request, and either received what they petitioned for, or did not. Regardless, once made, the one(s) on the platform turned and assembled onto the balcony overlooking the procession.
Amaretto Prime and Lord Wastrel had opened the once every three hundred orn ceremony, welcoming all prospective caretakers, then stepped asside, allowing the audience to come forth.
At long last, it was Languor and Derringer's turn. Together they stepped up - Derringer opened his mouth to repeat the promise he gave Languor almost two-thousand orns ago, found he'd forgotten the specific of the new spark qualities they wanted. So, he improvised, going with a fairly generic description. "We want newsparks who will benefit Cybertron, who will rich the lives of all who know them, who will respect life in all its forms." Inwardly, Derringer kicked himself mentally, until the squeezing on his arm revealed to him Languor approved the changes.
As Vector Sigma's light focused in on them, Derringer remembered Languor's words and subvocalized, 'A new spark to assist us in finding solutions to secret, hidden problems, a newspark to bring joy to our family and their friends'. The light became brighter, more concentrated. Derringer wanted to shield his optics from the sudden intensity, found he couldn't move.
Strangely, the light, brighter and stronger than the star Cybertron circled, did not harm him. His optics did not hurt at lal. He though he heard a strong voice announce, Request Granted - and A Boon to You Both, but his audios recorded no voice.
The light shifted, returning to an earlier intensity, lightening the whole room and not just the asking duo. Derringer took one step forward, one step down, turned to assist Languor down. Received the shock of his life.
TWINS! Languor held two small frames against her chassis - both of them bare metal in coloration.
TWINS! The thought had to make itself known again, even as Derringer grabbed first one, then the other. He locked his legs in place as Languor descended down the steps. Once off the platform, Derringer handed one of the new sparks over - the winged mech. It wasn't every vorn that Vector Sigma granted twins. In fact, Derringer couldn't recall the last time twins made an appearance.
He'd once heard rumors indicating that the last pair of twins somehow ended up in the gladiator circuit. But that was the gossip of younglings, wishing to see war frames in action, and not just news vids or history reels. Most of the whispered talks of gladiators and the expressed desire to see the forbidden attraction came after learning that gladiators were the 'actors' for battle-scenes when the vorn of remembrance came about and visited every major city one-by-one. Actual mechs play-fighting and fake-off lining, instead of the boring war-footage shown all the time.
He had Languor had planned on one designation. Now they need to think of a second.
The two new caretakers joined the hundreds of adults who preceded them, found seats and turned to watch the rest of the group, the remainder of this tricentenorn visit to Vector Sigma. Derringer watched, but did not see as one by one or two by two the line ebbed and flowed until only Lord Wastrel and Amaretto Prime remained on center stage.
The opening ceremony had started with the Prime welcoming every hopeful applicant. Now it closed with the Lord Protectorate thanking everyone for participating. Together, both blessed the new caretakers. Then, the crowd was given leave to disperse.
Most didn't, wanting to touch the brand-new twins, to get a closer look, even though they'd been watching and waiting in breathless anticipation as Vector Sigma responded. Or didn't.
"What are their designations?" asked a Elite Guardian, sometimes Enforcer Derringer recognized, though, he couldn't, for the life of him, put a name to the gold and blue mech.
Languor shifted her small burden higher, so the sparkling could look around with curious optics - actually, his frame came equipped with a visor, instead of the traditional two optics. "This one will be Jazz."
Derringer relaxed his grip on the grey winged sparkling sitting in his lap. "This one is Prowl."
OTHER/AUTHOR NOTES: *Sigh* I was trying to create an AU verse, where Megatron is the leader of a bandit group, as befitting one definition of 'War Lord'. This is what came out - and I don't think my muse is dead. Just recuperating. (tell me if you want more, and what you'd like to see more of, please)