A side-story I've been meaning to write for some time now. I might be alternating between side-stories like this and Pax Cybertronia.
TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:
TARNISHED: PART ONE
Cybertron, Cycle 8264 (550 years before the Second Great War)
Roller enjoyed watching television.
It was an interest that he always had difficulty explaining to his friends and peers. One of his earliest memories was becoming engrossed with a broadcast of Sentinel Prime’s State of the Commonwealth speech, oblivious to the world around him as his mentor tried and failed to get his attention. This obsession had persisted with him to this day, to the point that everyone he knew pretty much just accepted it and did not try to get him to change.
Perhaps part of the reason was him being constantly cooped up at whatever station he was assigned to that cycle. While the others got to go out and have their fun catching crooks and busting illegal operations, Roller was stuck here monitoring the monitors with his comlink nearby on the off-chance they needed him to haul away some heavy-hitter or a truck-load of contraband.
With no one to talk to and nothing to do, television was pretty much all Roller had. It was his only link to the world outside the station and the only thing keeping him from losing his mind to complete and utter boredom.
Which was all a moot point at the moment because there was nothing good on.
Click.
“—sparked a debate between High Councilors Decimus of Kaon and Shockwave of Tarn over the logistics of—”
Click.
“—has agreed to give the Functionist Council full jurisdiction over the Automica district—”
Click.
“—fire at an abandoned relinquishment clinic in Tesk has been contained—”
Click.
“Slow news day, eh?”
Roller peeled his optics away from the television screen to see a small bike-bot in blue armor plating step into the station, holding a datapad. He silently thanked whatever deity was listening for giving him something to break up the monotony.
“I’ll say,” he muttered as he switched off the screen and straightened up in his chair. “It feels like the stars are aligned to make me as bored as cosmically possible.”
Springarm nodded, not really looking up from his datapad. “Seems to be that way for everyone. That call we got turned out to be a bogus one.”
“I could have told you that,” Roller grunted. “Rattrap always puts out false leads to throw us off the trail of whatever crime lord he owes debt to.”
“Well, Wheelarch was the one who suggested we follow up on it, regardless of all the red flags. Thank Primus he’s the one who has to tell the chief and not me.”
Roller nodded, noticing that Springarm was still gazing at his datapad. “What’s that you got there? Another one of Stungun’s reports?”
“No, actually,” Springarm replied. “It’s Dominus Ambus’ newest publication. The Ascetic Cybertronian.”
“Dominus Ambus? As in the activist?”
“Activist, philosopher, scientist… he’s a lot of things to different people. Surely you’ve heard of him on that TV of yours.”
“Of course I have,” Roller said. “I just have a hard time paying attention to anything he has to say for more than three minutes. Five, at the most.”
“Well, if you ever get bored with flashing colored images, you can always borrow my copy,” Springarm said. “Believe it or not, it’s a real page turner. I’m already on the seventieth chapter.”
Roller snorted. “I’m sorry; seventieth chapter? Either the chapters are real short or you have the world’s highest threshold of patience.”
“Hey, don’t say I never offered you anything.” Springarm walked over to his desk and set down the datapad. He moved to take a seat only to stop halfway, his optics narrowing at something on his computer. “Uh, did you get a message from Optronix earlier?”
“Optronix?” At the sound of his old friend’s name, Roller rose from his seat. “I didn’t hear it go off.”
“Apparently it was received just a couple breems ago. Says he needs you to help him haul away a bunch of simultronic machines from Swindle’s.”
Roller shook his head as stepped away from his monitors, unable to help a smirk from appearing on his faceplate. “Now I know why there’s nothing to do around here; because he’s always getting things done himself.”
“He does sound pretty active for an Elite Guardsman,” Springarm remarked. “I always thought they just hung around Iacon and look badass around Sentinel Prime.”
“Most of them do. But Optronix is different. Always has been.”
Springarm raised an eyebrow. “In a good way or a bad way?”
Roller shrugged as he transformed into his vehicle mode, a heavily armored truck. “In his own way.”
* * *
Damus enjoyed listening to music.
It was always difficult for him to explain his interest to others, many of whom considered it to be senseless noise. To him, it was a form of personal expression; a means for one to show the world who they really were beyond what they transformed to or what they did in terms of function. In a world that was slowly being dominated by functionism with each passing day, such a thing was needed lest society spiral into permanent monotony.
A particular piece he enjoyed was “The Empyrean Suite,” written by Eucryphia in ode to the Citadel of Light. He would often find himself humming its melodic notes to himself during times of stress, as it would always soothe his processor and put him at a peace of mind.
Right now, however, it was not working.
He sat huddled underneath a table, his humming off-key and frantic, as he watched the remaining patrons of Swindle’s den be rounded up and escorted to a waiting transport. The den’s proprietor and namesake was desperately trying to defend himself to the Elite Guardsman that had led the raid on his establishment. Judging by the Guardsman’s face alone, Swindle was not making a successful case for himself.
“It’s called entertainment!” the gold-plated mech was saying, trying to look brave while shrinking under the Guardsman’s intense gaze. “Don’t you know what entertainment is? Is that a foreign word to you Elite Guard people?”
“Your concept of ‘entertainment’ has already broken more laws than I can count on both of my servos,” the red-and-black Guardsman replied, his yellow optics showing no sympathy. “Simultronics, syk deals… and I don’t even want to know where you got your hands on a shipment of skitters. That in of itself is a severe violation of the Tyrest Accord.”
“I had nothing to do with that!” Swindle protested. “I didn’t even know about that until you mentioned it! If I did, I would have called you guys in as soon as possible!”
“No, you wouldn’t have. Because you knew we would have shut down for all the other scrap you’ve been doing.”
As Swindle blabbered out excuse after excuse, Damus noticed one of the police officers — a black and purple bot with a broad chest — walking towards him. He instinctively drew his knees closer to his chest and buried his head deeper into his arms, pointlessly hoping that maybe they wouldn’t notice him.
“Hands where I can see them,” the officer said gruffly.
With a quiet whimper, Damus held out his hands, though they were more like claws. He missed his old hands, though he knew no amount of complaining would get them back.
“On your feet, glitch-head.”
Slowly, Damus pulled himself out from under the table and stood up, still humming. He kept his head down as the officer drew a pair of stasis cuffs and slapped them over his wrists, locking them in place.
“You have the right to remain the silent,” the officer grunted as he started to drag Damus away. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in—”
His spiel was cut short when the cuffs came clean off of Damus’ wrists and clattered to the floor. The noise was enough to attract the Elite Guardsman’s attention, who looked over in their direction.
“Everything all right there, Barricade?”
“Fine,” Barricade muttered as he brought another pair of cuffs. “Just a faulty pair. We really ‘oughta get new equipment.”
“Take it up with your district,” the Guardsman said. “I’m not the one you need to complain to.”
“Whatever.” Barricade grunted as he secured the second pair of cuffs over Damus’ hands. A few seconds later, the same exact thing happen. Barricade’s gold face twisted in annoyance as he shifted his glare from the two faulty cuffs to Damus.
“You trying to pull something, ya’ grease-stain?”
“I’m sorry, officer,” Damus said meekly, his single blue optic looking anywhere that wasn’t Barricade’s blazing red eyes. “I have a tendency to cause things to short-circuit and break down. I—I don’t know how to control it.”
“Well, you’d better start controlling it now or else I’ll have to put you in temporary stasis lock.”
“I—I can’t, sir. Please, you have to believe me—”
Barricade sneered. “Oh, I believe you all right.” He looked over to the Elite Guardsman, who had just finished putting Swindle in stasis cuffs and handing him off. “What do you say we do with him, Optronix?”
The Elite Guardsman walked over to them, keeping his eyes on Damus. The small orange bot continued to avoid his gaze, finding the floor more interesting to look at.
“What’s your name, bot?” Optronix asked.
“Damus, sir.”
“And what do you transform into, Damus?”
“A car. Just… just a car.”
“Is your ability — the thing you did just now — linked in any way to your alternate mode?”
Damus shook his head. “No, sir. Not that I know of, anyway.”
He risked a glance up at Optronix, who was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This was not the response Damus had been expecting; he had known bots like him who had been persecuted for their unexplained powers. He thought for sure Optronix would have locked him up in the transport by now.
“Let me handle this one, Barricade,” Optronix said after a minute. “Go ahead and take the rest of the prisoners back to the station for processing.”
Barricade gave him an odd look. “Are you sure? I say we just put him out and—”
“I gave you an order, officer.”
The sternness in Optronix’s voice was enough to get Barricade striding out of the room. Once he was gone, Optronix stepped closer to Damus, who was now fully looking up at the Elite Guardsman, his single optic wide with surprise and mild apprehension.
“Come with me, Damus,” Optronix said, placing a hand on the orange bot’s shoulder. “There is someone I would like you to meet.”
* * *
Dominus Ambus enjoyed writing.
In his mind, words were the most powerful thing one could have at their disposal. Words had the power to influence an individual, to move a people into action, to shake the foundation of society. Words could be dangerous tools, yes, but without them civilizations would inevitably collapse into stagnation. The world would become one of stagnation, with no hope of change or evolution.
It was a world Dominus feared Cybertron would one day become. That was why he wrote; to challenge the High Council and their functionist beliefs in the hopes of stopping their doctrine from becoming the only one. Naturally, his works had gotten him in trouble more than once with the High Council. If it weren’t for his high status as well as close connections with some of the Council’s more prominent members, he probably would have received the empurata treatment long ago.
Even so, he was not going to let their opposition stop him. Even though he had just finished and released his latest work, The Ascetic Cybertronian, that did not mean he was going to stop writing. Already had he started work on his next piece, one that he knew was going to shake society even more than Ascetic already had within two solar cycles of its publication.
“Alternity Today released an opinion piece today. Do you want to hear it?”
Dominus set down his writing tools and turned to look at his small assistant (and close companion) Rewind. “It’s not from Hatchet, is it?”
Rewind double-checked his datapad. “Uh… it is, actually.” He looked back up at Dominus. “I take it you don’t want to hear it, then?”
“Not at the moment,” Dominus said bitterly. “I have to be in a certain mood to read anything of his… usually when I want to throw something against the wall.”
“I’ll disregard it then,” Rewind replied, swiping a servo over the screen. “Besides that, reviews have been pretty positive so far. Councilor Proteus even appraised it in an interview he had this morning.”
Dominus smirked to himself. “Only because I didn’t say anything that outright blasted him and his party’s corrupt ideals and policies. I’m sure if he saw what I was working on now, he would have my face and hands removed in an instant.”
Rewind tilted his head. “Could he get away with something like that? I thought empurata was only reserved for bots of low social status.”
“Maybe so. But I wouldn’t put it past Proteus to go to such lengths, if only to show the world that he had that power over people like me.” Dominus sighed as he leaned back in his chair, staring forlornly at his half-written piece. “Honestly though, I could not care less about ratings and reviews. I’ve said what I wanted to say and I’m ready to move on; to bigger and greater things.”
“Like what? Your next book?”
Dominus shook his head. “No, I’m talking beyond that. Beyond Cybertron, even. I’m talking about things many have spoken of but few have dared to take action. I’m talking about things that people like Proteus could never wrap his processor around.”
He looked at Rewind, smiling at the confusion radiating from his partner’s faceplate.
“My dear Rewind… what would you say to a quest for Luna 1?”
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