CHAPTER TWO
It had been a very long time since Cybertron had last seen sunlight. Due to the Great War, the sky had long been clouded by haze and smoke. Thanks to the cleanup and restoration efforts that followed the war's supposed end, the gleam of Hadaen once again graced Cybertron's metal surface.
Yet not even the long-forgotten and greatly missed sunrise could lift Elita-One's spirits up. Nothing could, save for a gold glint in the sky, heralding the return of a massive spaceship.
One hundred and thirteen years. The number itself was a very common occurrence. Some said that the reason for this was that it was the lucky number of the Guiding Hand, but Elita held little regard for such myths. The only meaning that number had for her was that on this exact day 113 years ago, the Ark took off from Cybertron, never to be seen again.
Despite herself, she almost hoped that some of those superstitions were true and that she would see those she had lost with that ship again. Of course, she wasn't just going to sit here and let fate take its own sweet time.
She had to make things happen.
* * *
"You are asking a lot, Elita."
"I know," she replied, folding her arms defiantly. "But it has to be done."
Ultra Magnus shook his head. "But it's improbable. You're asking for a hundred Autobots to find Optimus Prime and the Ark."
"It's not as if they have better things to do."
"But we don't have any ships to carry that many Cybertronians!" Magnus protested. "They're either all destroyed or out of commission. Not to mention how risky it would be; if something happens to you-- like whatever befell Optimus and his crew-- we would be even more closer to the brink of extinction."
Elita sighed, bowing her head. She knew that Magnus was right, but almost did not want to admit it.
Magnus walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know how close you were to Optimus and how much he meant to you. But you can't sacrifice anything just to find him."
"I know," Elita murmured, lifting her gaze to Magnus' office window. Through it she could see the city of Iacon, slowly reclaiming its lost glory. "Maybe I just need to think on a smaller scale."
* * *
"What does this button do?"
Brainstorm shot an annoyed look at Swerve, who was holding one of his many inventions. "Don't press it. Didn't I just tell you to not touch anything?"
The red and white Autobot grinned. "I probably wasn't paying attention when you said that."
"You didn't press it, did you?" Brainstorm said sternly, slightly alarmed. "Please tell me you didn't press it."
"I didn't," Swerve said. "But what if I had?"
"Then you would have activated a meta-fictional bomb and you would become convinced that you were a fictional character in someone's narrative." Brainstorm quickly took the object from Swerve before the smaller Autobot could test it for himself. "It worked once when I was hanging out with the Wreckers early on in the war, but High Command banned it when it accidentally went off in Ultra Magnus' face."
"So you're illegally making a new one?"
"It's not illegal!" Brainstorm protested. "Just... High Command doesn't know about it. Yet."
Well, good luck then." Swerve then went over to his friend Tailgate, who was looking around Brainstorm's lab in wonder. The two had become best friends when Swerve volunteered to help Tailgate learn about the Cybertron he had missed out on during the six thousand years he had been unconscious.
"Guess what," Swerve whispered to him. "I pressed it. Nothing happened."
"Really?" Tailgate said. "I didn't see you press it."
"Heh, yeah, it must've happened before the scene began."
"What are you talking about?"
Before Swerve could answer, a tall, lean figure in violet armor appeared in the doorway to Brainstorm's lab. The Autobot scientist immediately turned to face the newcomer.
"Elita-One. How may I help you?"
"I need a scientist for my crew," Elita said.
"I'm a scientist!" Swerve said excitedly.
Elita gave him an annoyed look. "A competent one."
"I'm the mech you need, then," Brainstorm said. "What's the crew for, though?"
"To find Optimus Prime and the Ark. They've been missing for exactly one hundred and thirteen years."
"There's that number again," Tailgate said. "I'm seeing it everywhere: the 113th Battalion, Room 113, the 113th Destron Legion... why's it so popular?"
"It's the number of the Guiding Hand," Swerve explained. "They say you'll get good luck if you use that number."
Elita nodded. "I might not be one for superstitions, but I need to put my faith in something if I want to find Optimus and the others."
"Can... can Swerve and I come to?" Tailgate said innocently. "I've always wanted to meet Optimus Prime. I hear he's one of the greatest Primes ever in Cybertronian history."
Elita smiled wistfully. "He's more than just that. He was also a great friend."
Swerve snickered as he nudged Tailgate with his elbow. "She's got the hots for him."
The deadly glare from Elita was enough to keep the small Autobot silent for a while.
* * *
In short time, Elita had gathered a team of ten Autobots, including herself. It consisted of bots who were skilled in their chosen professions (except for Tailgate-- who needed the experience and social interaction anyway-- and Swerve, who was just there at Tailgate's behest).
Their chosen vessel was a second-hand light freighter which Elita had named the Voyager. She was admittedly in the hopes of finding a larger ship along the way, but this one was doable for now.
As she settled into the pilot seat next to her co-pilot Windblade, Elita turned to regard the rest of her crew: Brainstorm, the inventor; Glyph, the scientist; Strongarm, the muscle; Chromedome and Rewind, the brains; Nightbeat, the detective; and Swerve and Tailgate, the tagalongs.
With a smile she hoped was encouraging, Elita said, "For Optimus Prime."
With those words, the Voyager took off from Cybertron.
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