TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED:
TARNISHED, PART TWO
Cycle 8814 (moments before the rise of Megatron)
“Hey, Orion. It’s Roller. I heard about what happened to Optronix and, uh, I was hoping we could get together and… talk about it. If you don’t want to or if you’re still trying to sort your feelings out, then… then I understand. Just let me know, give me a call or whatever. Just give me a sign that you’re still functioning. So, yeah. That’s it. See ya.”
Roller ended the voice message and sighed. It was probably the seventh one he had left in as many cycles and he still had not heard back from Orion ever since his brother Optronix had perished during a mission to the Decepticon planet Lucifer. Orion was as much a friend to Roller as Optronix had been — perhaps even more so — and Roller had been worried about him ever since he had gotten the news. It didn’t help that they had both been reassigned to separate divisions and were no longer working together.
Knowing there was nothing more he could do about it than what he already had, he picked up his remote control and turned on the TV.
“Bored, are we?”
Roller involuntarily flinched at the voice coming from behind him. His co-worker at the station, a red and black femme named Shatter, had a knack for getting on his nerves. Between her condescending tone and holier-than-thou attitude, Roller often found himself wishing he was taking a dip in a smelting pool rather than endure another mega-cycle with her.
Quickly turning off the TV and putting aside the remote, Roller swiveled around in his chair to look at Shatter. “How was your patrol?”
“Uneventful,” she said, arms behind her back as she strode into the room. “Things have been awfully quiet around here lately, haven’t they?”
Roller shrugged. “In my experience, there’s always been on days and off days. Plus, ever since the assassination attempt on Sentinel Prime, security has been a lot tighter than normal.”
“Point taken.” The way Shatter was looking at him made Roller feel uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and pretended to look at one of the monitors, even though he knew there wasn’t going to be anything there.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, trying not to sound too irritated.
“I was just curious if you’ve read anything decent lately,” Shatter said.
Roller shook his head. “I’m not much of a reader. My old buddy Springarm tried to get me hooked on some of Dominus Ambus’ works, but I found them to be a slog to get through.”
“Well, I have something that might be a bit lighter.” Shatter pulled her arms from behind her back and presented a datapad. Roller regarded it with mild suspicion before taking it. On the screen were the words “Towards Peace - by Megatron of Tarn.”
Roller winced slightly, recognizing the name as a modification of Megatronus, the ancient fallen Prime. While he was not much of a believer in those type of stories, he knew the name to be something of a curse and that naming oneself after the Fallen was considered sacrilege at best.
“Can’t say I’ve heard of this guy,” he said, unable to bring himself to say the name.
“You wouldn’t have,” Shatter replied. “It hasn’t been officially published yet; I was lucky enough to get my hands on a recent draft through some… mutual acquaintances.“
Roller was about to ask who these “mutual acquaintances” were, but he knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. Instead, he simply said, “Thanks, Shatter. I’ll, uh, I’ll try and give it a read sometime.”
Shatter smirked. “See that you do. You won’t regret it.”
Roller already was as she turned and exited the room. Giving the datapad one last wary look, he set it aside and turned the television back on.
A few minutes later, he wished he hadn’t.
* * *
Knock knock.
“Password.”
“Delta’s Malady.”
“Sorry, that was last orbital cycle’s password. I need the new one.”
Damus sighed in exasperation, rolling his single blue optic. “Come on, Anode, you know its me. You can see me on the security cam.”
“It’s not working today.” Damus knew that was a lie, since he could see its glowing red light above the door. “Give me the new password or else you’ll just have to sit out there and rust.”
“Fine,” Damus muttered. “Then I’ll just have to tell Lug that you were the one who stole that data disk she found.”
Silence at first. Then, the door slowly creaked open to reveal a green bot with tan wings, glaring daggers at Damus. “That’s just playing dirty, Glitch,” Anode growled.
“Welcome to the receiving end,” Damus retorted as he pushed past her, entering the building.
The meeting place for the Anti-Vocactionist League was not much to write home about. Not only was it close quarters, with all of its members being within hearing range of each other, but there was pretty much nothing of note in terms of technology or furniture, save for the odd computer or two. This was a necessity as they never knew when their hiding spot was going to be busted and they would be forced to relocate — if they even could.
In the center of the main living quarters — the whole building was pretty much just one big room — was a makeshift table where members of the A.V.L. were already seated. Sitting at the head of the table was the A.V.L.’s leader Clicker while his advisor Decibel stood to his right. Upon noticing Damus’ entrance, Clicker beamed and waved the orange bot over.
“Glitch!” the skinny white-and-blue bot said. “Glad you could make it!”
“Glitch” was what everyone at the A.V.L. called Damus. It was a nickname he had earned back at the Jhiaxian Academy for his machinery-disabling powers. While he did not mind the name (he had grown used to it by now), it was not a moniker he necessarily identified with. Of course, he had yet to tell them what his real name was… or that he even had a real name. It was simply not something he thought anyone needed to know.
“Please, take a seat,” Clicker said, gesturing to an empty chair to his left. “We were just about to start.”
“Really?” Damus looked around the table, noticing that only a small percentage of the league’s membership were present. “Not many of us here, though.”
“Our membership has dwindled since our last meeting,” Clicker said gravely. “Many have gone to join the Decepticon movement.”
Damus looked back at him. “It sounds like you don’t approve.”
“I’m not convinced the Decepticons’ goals are fully adjacent to our own,” Clicker replied. “While they oppose the High Council and its functionist practices as much as we do, the damage they caused in the Great War cannot be ignored.”
“Maybe they’ve changed,” Damus suggested. “They’ve been in exile for a thousand years now, haven’t they? Maybe they’re ready to take on a more peaceful approach.”
Clicker scoffed. “If Trannis is still at the helm, then I highly doubt that. But let us not discuss the Decepticons today. We have our own agenda to attend to.”
“Were you able to get in touch with Shockwave today, Glitch?” asked Lug, a white and red member of the disposable class sitting across from Damus.
Damus shook his head. “I only got to speak with his assistant Fistfight, who said he was busy today. Wouldn’t tell me what he was up to though.”
“I’m still not convinced Councilor Shockwave is fully on side,” said Clicker. “I feel like he often plays Chaos Bringer’s Advocate simply because that’s what his base expects of him and so that Proteus and his ilk don’t gain full control of the Council. Anything he says or does is for his own personal gain; he has no love for people like us.”
“Ever the cynic, aren’t you, Clicker?” Anode remarked from the front door. “And I thought Lug could be a downer.”
While Lug shot a glare at Anode, Clicker fixed her with a frown. “A leader must always put realism before optimism. While I would like to think someone as high of status as Shockwave could be an ally of ours, I wouldn’t put much faith in such a concept… if any faith at all.”
Damus tapped his fingers on the table, glancing between his teammates. He had been hearing rumors of the Decepticons’ resurgence for some time now, which were validated when his people he knew even outside of the league started to join them. He had always been on the fence about following suit; while he was aware of the Decepticons’ less than savory history, he wasn’t sure if a movement less aggressive than them would have what it took to finally bring change to Cybertron. Maybe the Decepticons were the answer.
Decibel cleared his vocal processor, pulling Damus out of his thoughts. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m picking up a high frequency of transmission traffic. Higher than normal.”
“Disregard it for now,” Clicker said. “We need to start—”
“What if it’s something important?” Damus asked. “I’ve heard word that a High Councilor was found dead near Rodion. Maybe it’s something we need to pay attention to.”
Clicker sighed as he waved a hand. “Fine. Decibel, turn on the main screen. But I’m turning it off if its just more political squabbling.”
Decibel walked over to the room’s only television screen and turned it on. It took him a few minutes to adjust the controls in order to get a clear signal, but before long the gathered members of the A.V.L. were all watching the current broadcast from Iacon.
Immediately, Damus wished he hadn’t said anything.
* * *
“Dominus! Dominus! I just picked up a signal from Cybertron! Sentinel Prime is—”
“Dead, I know.” Dominus Ambus grimaced as he gazed upon the screen situated above the ship’s viewport. Countless stars and planets laid before him and his partner, and yet the only thing he could focus on was the mutilated corpse of Sentinel Prime as it laid at the front steps of the Grand Imperium. Other Autobots surrounded it, frozen in shock and fear as a gray and black figure emerged from the opening that had been blasted into the Imperium’s central tower, smoke exhuming from a massive cannon attached to his arm. Sky spy drones quickly shifted focus to the fearsome warrior, centering their cameras on him.
“Attention, Cybertronians, one and all!” the warrior bellowed. “Your age of anarchy is over! Sentinel Prime is dead, and with him the legacy of the Primes! Now… kneel before MEGATRON!”
Dominus flinched at the name, well aware of its connotations. Rewind was standing beside him, his head-mounted camera recording everything even as he raised a hand to cover his faceplate.
“What are you waiting for?” Megatron snarled. “I said kneel!”
He fired from his cannon and killed a member of the gathered crowd. Screams of terror preluded acquiescence to the murderer’s demands, falling onto their knees.
Unable to watch any more, Dominus switched the screen off before pivoting his chair to face Rewind. “Set a course for Cybertron. We’re returning home.”
Rewind stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Are you crazy? You saw what just happened—!”
“Yes, and I intend to do everything in my power to put a stop to it,” Dominus replied. “I may have had no love for Sentinel Prime and his rule, but this is not at all what I envisioned the future of Cybertron to be. I desire peace through change… not through tyranny.”
“But… we’re not soldiers,” Rewind said quietly. “We can’t… we can’t fight people like him.”
“We can,” Dominus reassured him. “Maybe not by ourselves, but with the help of others, I am certain we can topple wannabe-tyrants like this… this Megatron in no time.”
Rewind looked up at him. “Really?”
“Really.” Dominus smiled as he took his partner’s hand into his own, squeezing it. “Cross my spark.”
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