Transformers Titan
Uprising
Chapter 1-Orion Pax
Iacon was the cradle of civilization on Cybertron. One of the first city-states to form during the Age of Evolution, Iacon was a cultural center that promoted the pursuit of knowledge and science in an era of war and savagery. The entire city was constructed of a golden—hued alloy that enabled the city to shine beautifully in the sunlight as if it was the fabled Crystal City. The buildings were towering and monumental, looking like they might take off at a moment's notice. It was a testament to the architects who built Icaon from the ground up, a monument to aspirations…only there were no aspirations among cybertronians anymore.
It was a common misconception among the populace that Iacon was a city without crime. It was a perfect settlement, devoid of the criminals and degenerates that marred the wholesome image of other city-states. After all, who would want to cause trouble in the seat of the Prime and Senate itself? They were wrong.
Iacon was no different from any other city when it came to crime, but much of its evil was of a more subtle sort. The kind of evil that you can't see with the naked eye, where you have to go deep under Iacon's shining surface of gold in order to find another layer of black slithering underneath. Because even the tall, golden skyscrapers casted long, dark shadows behind them.
It was the middle of the night in Iacon. The city was still alight with the blinding lights of the towers and streets that wove in between the buildings. So great was this radiance that the night sky was devoid of stars, covered by the combined lights of the city. Light pollution at its greatest. But the bots down below, the mechs and femmes of the planet's capital, didn't care about that. They were concerned about their own lives, trying to live every day without problems uprooting their usual routines.
But far from the heart of Iacon, in a district of the city known as Rodion, something big was about to go down. Near the factory sector where cargo and shipments from across the Toruc city-states arrived in, four groups of twelve mech squads of police officers and special forces soldiers were hiding amongst the buildings and rooftops, eying one particular warehouse with utmost scrutiny. They were in the process of raiding a smuggling operation going on near the port, a large one.
Sitting on top of a building close to the target zone with the rest of his squad, was a police officer named Orion Pax. A red and blue mech of average height and build, Orion was completely focused on the holo-vid in front of him it was showing footage of a drone that was recording what was going on inside. His expression was unreadable as he watched mechs lift and carry what were obviously crates of illegal shipments.
"Looks like we hit a goldmine." The blue mech next to him said. "I knew this was a big operation, but I didn't think that it'd be something this large. How did they get so many shipments into the city without people raising the red flag?"
"Bribes, murder, and a cut of the winnings Dion. You know how it goes." Orion said.
Dion leaned forward to get a closer look. "It looks that like most of them are just low level scrubs. Nothing we can't handle."
"Don't get too arrogant. We don't know what's in those crates. If they're shipping illegal weapons into our borders, then we'll be in for one hell of a night."
An officer jogged up to them and saluted. "I just got word from the Captain. She says that the operation is coming underway."
"Thanks." Orion nodded. He keyed his comm. unit. "All units are you in position?"
"Squad C in position."
"Squad B in position."
"Squad D ready and waiting sir."
Orion looked at his own squad and saw that they were also ready to get the party started. Dion nodded and Orion stood up, fingering his blaster, he nodded to his officers.
"Perfect. On my signal…"
Inside the warehouse, the unsuspecting mechs were moving large and heavy crates off the ship that just came in. On the side, Doubledealer, a blue and purple mech of questionable occupation, was overseeing the transport with a keen eye. His partner in crime, Axel, was checking out the merchandise like he just won a bet at a racing tournament.
"Watch it you morons!" He shouted at a group of mechs that dropped a crate. "Those things nearly cost me an arm and a leg to get. If they get damaged, I'm taking your heads!" He sighed. "Damn it. It's so hard to get good help these days."
"Whoo boy! These are beautiful works of art!" Axel grinned. He opened a crate and looked inside. "No way, is this a Nucleon Grade Positron cannon?"
"It is." Doubledealer said. "These weapons aren't the kind you'll find in the Elite Guard munitions facilities. This stuff is illegal as slag. Like the ion displacer." He hefted a large triple barreled cannon onto his shoulder with a grunt. "This thing is used by the Primal Vanguard believe it or not."
"But I thought it's illegal?"
"Of course it is. Doesn't stop those pompous snots in the Senate from stockpiling them though." Doubledealer laughed. "Big Zam sent out an order for this a few solar cycles ago, and they we're gonna pick some up for him."
"How much is he paying?" Axel asked.
"Nearly 10,000 Shanix." At Axel's look of awe he nodded. "Yeah, I had the same reaction. Now I think there's a fusion cannon somewhere around here, but I can't find the damn thing. The crates aren't even marked."
Suddenly the windows and doors were busted open and a flood bots in blue and white armor came flooding in.
"Police, lower your weapons and surrender peacefully!"
The smugglers didn't take too kindly to that. They either panicked and tried to run or they brought out their weapons and began shooting. Within seconds the entire warehouse was in chaos as both sides opened fire on each other. During the chaos Doubledealer and Axel ran through the chaos, shoving anyone out of their way as they made a break for the south entrance.
"Stop right the-"
Doubledealer blasted the cops at the door with his ion displacer, killing two of them in a shower of sparks and metal, and shearing the third cop's arm and much of his torso off. They pushed past the wounded cops and ran outside into the alley.
"Slag!" Dion shouted. "Orion, we've got two runners heading down the west entrance. One of them is carrying some firepower!"
""I'm on my way."
Axel tried not to let the sight of the police ships overhead make him panic but it was getting really hard to stay calm. He followed Doubledealer down the alley but nearly knocked him over when he stopped short. There was a squad blocking the entrance to the alley.
"Of fragging course." Doubledealer groweled. Dion appeared behind them and leveled his gun at them.
"Freeze! Put the weapon down and-"
"I'm not going to prison you slag sucking scraplets!" Axel shouted as he unleased a volley of missile fire from his shoulder cannons. Doubledealer did the same with his ion displacer and they forced the cops to take cover.
"Damn it." Dion cursed. He saw another officer get annihilated by Axel and tried to get a lock on the mech. "Where do they get these things?"
"Follow my lead!" Doubledealer shouted over the loud noise of the ion displacer, which sounded like a malfunctioning battleship engine. "I'm going to carve a path for us. On three! One…two…thr-"
A red and blue truck landed on top of Doubledealer, crushing him under its weight. Axel only had a second to process what happened to his partner when the truck reconfigured into a mech and did a spin kick to his face. Axel crashed into the wall, and tried to fire his missile launchers but Orion closed the distance between him and an elbow to the face quickly took him offline.
Dion and the surviving officers cautiously got out from their hiding places and saw Orion Pax standing over the two unconscious mechs, looking only a little dirty from the scuffle.
"Are you all okay?" He asked.
"We're fine, Pax. Just fine." Dion smiled.
And that's why they called him the supercop.
XXXXXXXX
The Rodion Police Department was nearly empty tonight. It was usually busy with either some officers hauling in criminals or some bots hanging around doing paperwork. But after the successful raid, things were quiet. Everyone went home or were out on patrol. Even in a sparkling city like Iacon, they had to be vigilant, for crime was not as see-through as it was in other cities.
Orion Pax sat in his office, which was situated near a perfect view of the downtown area, which was bustling even at this time of night. Having already given his report on the raid, and congratulations from Chief Quikshadow, he returned to the solitude of his office to finish up some last minute files he was working on. But somewhere down the line he got sidetracked by another thing that he had been planning to read for some time now.
For a member of the law enforcement caste, Orion was an avid reader. Dion often joked that with all the stories he read, he was probably a data clerk in another life. Orion was inclined to agree with him on that statement. For him, reading of old Cybertron was a good escape from his hectic life as a police officer.
He liked reading about what Cybertron was like during the Golden Age, when Cybertron had maintained links with other planets in the stellar horizon. Connected via a network of space bridges, populations of cybertronians colonizing far off planets stayed in contact with Cybertron. Archon, Neutronia, Nijita, all were a part of a great cybertronian commonwealth. Now the space bridges had long since fallen into disrepair and degraded. Only one remained intact, but Primus knows if it was still operational. It had been so long since it was last used, no one knew if it worked any more. Not even the data clerks of the data caste, who went their whole lives cataloging history, knew exactly how long it had been.
Orion was a mech who had no aspirations of traveling to the stars. He was no proud warrior who fought for the ideals of the Thirteen Primes or crusade amongst the stars mapping the universe. He was perfectly content living his (mostly) simple life doing what he did best-helping people and keeping the streets of his home safe. Other castes dealt with planetary defense, construction engineering…and energon mining.
Which had brought him to his current situation. He was reading a manifesto that was written by an enigmatic energon miner named Megatron. It was strange, as Tarn was a place known for its hazardous working conditions, terrible weather and harboring even worse denizens-not philosophers. But indeed he was holding the very popular writings of Megatron of Tarn. He had learned bits and pieces about this mech from the smugglers, drug dealers and petty crooks who came from the lower castes. One of them being that Megatron was a famous gladiator.
To say that the content of these writings were controversial was an understatement. They were downright blasphemous in some places, disrespecting the caste system and pretty much calling the Senate and the Functionist council out on having no reason for enforcing their rules other than to keep the power they had granted themselves through such a system.
Even now, Orion was reading a passage from the essay. It read:
In a society built around the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy that is excessively revised and reinterpreted, the one thing that never changes-the one thing that must never change-is the system that itself. Every revision, every reinterpretation, takes place within a rigid framework of social stratification. Nothing must threaten the functionists' core philosophy: utility as an organizing principal.
If you could step outside the system, you would recognize it for what it is: a prison. Worst than that, it is a prison full of willing prisoners. And not only a are you a prisoner within the system, you are a prisoner in your own body. Whether you were born or made, forged or constructed cold, you are trapped inside your alt mode. The functionists built the lock and the Senate holds the key; but most of us are unaware we are locked in.
Make no mistake: your life is being mapped out in front of you, as clear as the grooves in your T-cog. You can no more change jobs than Cybertron can choose to stop orbiting the sun. You can no more acquire a skill unrelated to you vocation than the sky can acquire a conscience.
In denying you the ability to reject you alt mode-in preventing you from pursuing a path of your own choosing-both the senate and the functionists say they are acting in your bests interests. They have a responsibility, they say, to ensure that you make the best use of you god-given form. If you turn into a drill, it is because Primus knows that Cybertron needs drills. To deviate from your function is to risk invoking the wrath of god and bringing the world to its knees.
In truth it is about control. A multi-skilled population is an empowered population. And if you reject your alt mode, what next? Would you reject your caste? Would you reject your government?
Even if you believe in the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy, ask yourself this: who decides on that order? And then: why should there be an order? And that is the question that the senate and the functionists fear the most, because they know that their world would collapse if people arrived at the answer. Why should there be an order? I'll tell you: there shouldn't be.
Be happy in your work, they say, for it enriches you. Be grateful for your alt mode, for it defines you. Be thankful for the system-it protects you. Be mindful of your betters-they think for you. I say enough. Reject your work. Reject your alt mode. Resist the system, and your 'betters'? You have none. We are all qual. And we have a right to decide how to live our lives.
'Bold words.' Orion thought. Those were certainly powerful and inspiring words coming from a miner.
This was from the fourth volume in a five volume series known as Towards Peace. These manifestos were all the rage in the Badlands, and it was also starting to pop up in middle caste city-states like Ky-Alexia and the Torus States. Orion read the first four, but not by choice, mind you. Someone kept leaving them there on his desk every few days and he had no idea who did it. The security cameras showed no one entering his room, and the door, which was always locked when he wasn't in the building, didn't show any signs of forced entry.
Orion enjoyed reading this anyway. He found himself unable to look away once he started reading. He could understand why Megatron got so popular among the lower caste bots. His words were powerful and attracted a lot of attention, not to mention oddly specific in how things are the way they are. Megatron was essentially encouraging people to open their eyes and see the world for what it was-a society trapped in a form of stasis that was too strong for one bot, mech or femme, to shatter alone. A stasis caused by functionism.
Functionism-a social structure that organized a cybertronian's role in society based on their alt mode. Upon maturation from the protoform stage, bots were taught how to transform, and based on their alt mode, they were placed within one of many different castes. Some were placed into labor castes, others into engineering, and some like Orion were placed into law enforcement roles. Different castes had different jobs, and your alt mode dictated what jobs you could take within a caste. It all depended on how useful your alt mode was in the long run.
It was way things had always been, since the waning years of the Golden Age as a way to bring order to the chaos caused by the scare of the Rust Plague that brought about the end of the space bridge network. Orion didn't really care personally for it, though he knew some bots who treated functionism like it was religious scripture from Primus himself. He never really heard anyone go into such detail about why the system as a whole was flawed and allowed corruption to fester in high places. This wasn't the ramblings of a lunatic-this was the words of someone who knew what they were talking about.
"Yo Pax." Dion appeared in the doorway. "Our shift's over, so we can leave now. You wanna head over to McAddams and get some drinks?"
"Sorry, I can't." Orion said. "I have someplace to go."
"You heading to the Hall of Records?" Dion grinned as he saw Orion's surprised face. "Don't look so surpised. There are only a few places you go to after work. Home, McAddams and the Hall."
"You know me too well." He smiled.
"Only because you're so predictable." Dion replied and waved at his partner. "See ya tomorrow, Pax."
Orion watched Dion go before packing up his things and leaving his office. Exiting the Department, Orion was met with the crisp night air of his home neighborhood, Rodion. The streets were still crowded despite it being the middle of the night, but he still had some time to kill before he had to head on home. He didn't want to turn down an invitation to free drinks at the bar, but he knew that if he started drinking he'd forget all about his plans, and be left with a headache the next morning. Not a good look for a model cop like himself.
Placing the data pad into his hip compartment, Orion transformed into his alt mode and drove down the dark street towards the Hall of Records.
XXXXXXXX
The Hall of Records is one of-if not THE most-important buildings on the planet. It serves as the repository of the accumulated sum of Cybertron's history, from the mythical battles of the warring tribes and the Patterner scribes that predated the Seeker group, to the end years of the Golden Age. Inside the domed building, data clerks and analysts roamed the large halls, recording, cataloging and storing data transmissions that passed through the Communications Grid that invisibly spanned all of Cybertron.
The Hall was closed to the public. No one saved government officials, military leaders and members of the cultural investigator caste were allowed to go into the Hall. But Orion had some friends in high places within the Data caste that allowed him to enter with a special pass. Why it was so, he did not know, but he was grateful all the same.
"Welcome to our humble abode, Orion Pax!" A sweet voice chirped.
No sooner had Orion entered the main hall had he found himself facing one of his good friends, Elita-1. She was a lovely femme with rose colored armor and the brightest blue eyes one could see on a femme from the data caste. She transformed into a car, but her body was slender enough to hide most of her alt mode's features. A lot of bots, himself included, wondered how he got to become friends with such a pretty femme when he had almost no social life outside of work. He would've said that Primus was smiling down on him, but he wasn't a religious mech.
"Hello, Elita," Orion greeted her. "Still working late?"
"I'm covering for a friend of mine who's helping out over at the Programmers Guild. Something about discovering clues to the Knights of Cybertron or whatever." She shrugged. "Anyway, you're right on time. Alpha Trion is waiting for you."
"Really? But I never called head." He said.
"He said something about having a strong feeling that you'd be here and asked me to meet you at the door." She replied. At his puzzled look, Elita gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. You know how he is sometimes. But I can't say that his little predictions aren't right on the dot though. Now I got to get back to work before the overseer scolds me again."
Orion gave her a pitying look and patted her shoulder. "He'll find an excuse to rat on you for something."
"I know." Elita sighed. "See you later."
He watched her go and jogged across the lobby towards the elevator, which he took to the very top of the building. The Hall of Records rose thousands of feet into the air, as well as thousands of leagues underground. Each floor holding billions of gigabytes of data pertaining to some aspect of cybertronian history.
Once the elevator reached the top floor, Orion stepped out onto the large floor and was greeted by an amazing view of the Iaconian skyline, lights looking like twinkling jewels. Looking out the window never got old, and it was even more amazing when seen at noon.
He approached the office, where he pressed the button to announce his presence. A second later the door slid open and he entered the room. Sitting at a lone desk amidst stacks of old data pads was an old mech writing in a large tome that looked almost as big as Orion's head.
"Alpha Trion." Orion said.
"Orion, it's good to see you again." Alpha Trion, Head Archivist of the data caste, looked up at the mech and smiled. "I was beginning to worry that you forgotten all about me. Congratulations on your successful raid last night."
"How did you-never mind." Orion had gotten used to Alpha Trion's seemingly uncanny habit of knowing things without anybody telling him. It was just one of many perks the old mech had that made him special.
Alpha Trion was an old mech, how old, Orion did not know. But he did know that he was surprisingly tall, a few inches taller than Nominus Prime in fact. His dark purple armor was worn with age with a long metal cape attached to his shoulders, and his yellow eyes dimmer than the average mechanoid. He even had a-what was it?-a beard, that most organics have when they reached a great age.
He had been a trusted friend of Orion's for as long as he could remember. The Archivist had met him when he was still attending the Iacon Institute of Science and Technology during a course on the history of Golden Age technology. In fact, Orion met Elita, who was Trion's personal secretary, through Alpha Trion. He had been a sort of confidant, someone he could talk to about politically sensitive subjects without fear of getting himself arrested or worse. The Archivist was an open-minded mech.
"It's nothing to be ashamed about, Orion." Alpha Trion said. "I'd expect nothing else from Rodion's supercop."
Orion groaned. That nickname was something one of his colleagues said to him in jest, and somehow I stuck with him for the rest of his career. He wasn't anyone special, just a mech doing his job.
"As appreciative of your coming here, I'm guessing that this is not just a social visit." The Archivist said.
"I seek advice." Orion took out his data pad and handed it to Alpha Trion.
He eyed the stylus sitting on top o the old crimson book lying on his desk. The Archivist of Iacon had databases and hard copy records of virtually everything that happened in Cybertron's history, yet he chose a stylus and book as his interface. Orion attributed this to his eccentric habits brought about by old age.
Alpha Trion tapped his stylus on the desk as he read the data pad, eyes set on an intense gaze of concentration.
"This certainly is interesting." He muttered. "Megatron of Tarn."
"Something about him caught my attention." Orion said. "He just appeared a few deca-cycles ago, but he's already gained a massive following through his writings alone. I thought it was strange, so I came to you."
"You are curious about him. An mech from the mining caste who speaks like an intellectual from Noav Cronum." Alpha Trion said. "Who is this upstart?"
"From what I could gather, he's an energon miner from Tarn. He also is a champion in the gladiator arenas. For someone who kills for a living, I never thought that such a person could get so famous through words alone. He speaks about how flawed the caste system and functionism in general is flawed. He seeks to change cybertronian way of life in a way that is nothing short of ambitious." Orion noted.
"Ambition," Alpha Trio said wistfull. "That is not a quality encouraged on Cybertron."
Orion noted the far away lok in the Archivist's eyes, as if he was remembering something from long ago. Considering how old he was, he had probably been in a situation like this before and this news of Megatron was just bringing back memories. After a few quiet moments of silence, Aplha Trion spoke once more.
"Go home, Orion. I will look into this Megatron. Once your shift ends tomorrow, return here and I will tell you what I have learned."
XXXXXXXX
Alpha Trion watched Orion leave his office and gave a tired sigh. Odd how a mech from the law enforcement caste could have such knowledge of the past. He would've made a great data clerk. But alas he had some work to do, not just for Orion, but out of his own personal curiosity as well.
Megatron. That name brought up a lot of memories for him. Memories that he had spent a long time trying to bury. For such a mech to be born with a name like that, and then go down the path of most resistance to change an entire world and its way of thinking-the similarities were startling.
Alpha Trion could tell that this was only the start of something big. Megatron's actions were to be the powder keg and all it needed was a spark to light the fuse of this growing unrest. It was only a matter of time before Nominus and the seante encounter growing opposition not just by Megatron, but also those who were not afraid of retaliation, but instead welcomed it.
"Oracle," he spoke to the book in front of him. The tome shook before opening, the incomprehensible words on its pages, written in a language not seen on Cybertron since time immoral, beginning to glow. "Tell me about this Megatron."