EPILOGUE: WHERE WE PART WAYS
If there was a book on proper etiquette for captains, Rodimus was most likely breaking every rule of it.Sitting in the command chair-- his chair-- of the Lost Light, he could not help but feel giddy. He looked around the bridge with a huge, stupid-looking grin on his face, spoke overly cheerful to anyone who spoke to him, and let out whoops and cheers whenever someone gave him a positive systems report. If they saw him now, 'bots like Prime or Prowl would no doubt be face-palming at all of this, but he didn't care.
He was living his dream.
As the countdown operator reached "20," Ultra Magnus walked up to Rodimus with a comlink. "It's Elita-One. She wants to have a few words with you."
"Sure thing!" Rodimus said as he took the communicator. "Hey, Elita! What can I do for you?"
"I just called to remind you that, even though I was only in command of the Lost Light for a month or two, it's still very much my ship, and if you so much as scratch it on your journey--"
"Hey, no worries, okay? She's a big girl; she can take a lot."
"How do you know? Who told you that?"
Rodimus cleared his throat, figuring it was probably best to not mention that it had been Swerve who told him that. "Uh... I just know my ships. Besides, you did that Terrorcon-killing thing, didn't you?"
"Yes, but--"
"Sorry, can't talk now, we're taking off." Rodimus quickly ended the call and handed the comlink back to Magnus. He then gripped the armrests of his chair as he eagerly awaited the end of the countdown.
"5... 4... 3... 2... 1."
--Nightbeat's datalog--
Can you believe it's been a thousand years since I last came to this? Seriously; exactly one thousand years ago-- give or take six months-- I was sitting in Maccadam's, trying to write this autobiography when I noticed two Decepticon goons running rampant on the streets. On that same day was the assassination attempt on Sentinel Prime, then the murders and the breakouts and the war... I just could never find the time.
And the thing is... I find that I'm a different person now than when I first started this datalog thing. Since then, I've seen so many deaths, so many atrocities, and so much... despair. Not only that, but there's my whole connection to the Heralds of Unicron; it may be irrelevant now but it's still a mystery I intend to look into.
Speaking of mysteries... there's something about this ship, something that strikes me as... I don't know. Like there's more to it than meets the eyes. I asked Nautica and Riptide about it, since they were serving on board before Elita took charge, but they knew not much more than I did. Then there's the matter of their previous captain....
Of course, those are all things that can wait another day. Right now, it's time to relax and enjoy the peacetime. After all, who knows when the next big war starts.
--Swerve's--
"Are you gonna order something yet, or are you too busy writing?"
Nightbeat looked up from his datapad to see Swerve waiting at the counter. With the faintest of smiles, the detective said, "Engex. Strongest you've got."
Swerve nodded before glancing at Nightbeat's datapad. "Working on a story?"
"Autobiography, actually."
"Oh." Swerve then grinned. "Am I in it?"
Nightbeat smirked. "You'd have to be if I'm going to recount everything."
"Awesome! I'm going to be a published character! With my own fanbase!"
"Don't you already have one of those?"
Swerve scowled at him. "Don't start with me...."
As the bartender left to prepare Nightbeat's beverage, the detective looked down at what he had originally written. Deciding it easier to simply start again, he began typing.
It was a night like any other....
THE END
The quest for the Knights of Cybertron shall continue in THE LOST LIGHT CHRONICLES
And the post-war life on Cybertron shall be detailed in LEGACY.
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