Many often spoke of the price of life. Philosophers in nearly every civilization had dedicated their entire lives to speculating on it. One race had even attempted to build a computer the size of a city in an attempt to quantify it. But whatever the price of life was, one thing was sure: It was steep.

It was sometimes easy to forget just how precious life could be after gaining immortality and leading a life of warfare. The Maximal who called himself Gunslinger was not only gaining a lesson in perspective, but economics. Security work paid dirt, even in the slums where guards were paid relatively well. Nevertheless, he had been scrimping and saving for the past thirty years, working until he had enough energon to build a new body one part at a time and grant it the gift of life. He had even sacrificed maintenance on himself and his blue and yellow paint job was mostly worn away. Though, it was hard to tell in the shimmering violet and blue hues of light provided by the cache of energon cubes.

Gunslinger labored putting together the circuit board that would contain the protoform's main programming. It was precise, delicate work, and for some reason one of the chips wasn't aligning even though he had checked it half a dozen times for any imperfections. A knock on the door interrupted his focus and he dropped the chip once again. "Ah, slaggitall," he cursed, setting the task aside to answer the door.

He couldn't remain upset at the interruption when he opened the door to see the very Maximal he had been expecting, holding in one hand the package he was hoping would arrive today. "Cybershark! How ya doing, Sailor?"

"Not bad, Cowboy," he said as he invited himself in, handing Gunslinger the package. "Slag, why is it so dark in here?"

"Well, y'know, gotta save power," Gunslinger answered as he opened the package and inspected the device critically.

"You'll strain your eyes."

"That's the perks of being a robot. I can get new ones."

"You go through parts faster than most Wreckers. You used to be human, I'd have expected you to be more cautious with your body."

"That's just it though," Gunslinger said with a grin. "I don't have to worry about losing any body parts any more. Something gets blown off, I can be good as new in a matter of days. It's a liberating feeling."

"It's still not fun."

"Trust me," he said, looking his friend in the optics. "'I've had worse.'"

"Monty Python and The Holy Grail?"

"Very good. Did you see Gunga Din like I told you to?"

"Last cycle," Cybershark nodded. "Loved the ending."

"It still moves me every time."

There was a small lull in the conversation, which gave Gunslinger an opportunity to offer his friend a drink. After he poured the liquid energon into cube-shaped glasses, he turned around to see Cybershark attempting to insert the chip into the board that had been giving him problems. "Hold on there," he spoke up, setting the drink down for his friend. "I'd like to do it all myself. Every wire, every piston, every circuit, I want to have put him all together with my own servos."

Cybershark backed off, taking the drink. "Okay, I can respect that," he said before taking a gulp. "But what I don't get is why you're even bothering in the first place."

"Lots of reasons."

"Which is Human for 'Damned if I know exactly why I'm doing what I'm doing,'" Cybershark pointed out. "Slinger, we've been working together, on and off, for almost a century. I'd like to think I know you pretty well. You having some kind of human mid-life crisis?"

"It's not like that," Gunslinger said with a sigh. "I just get lonely sometimes. And sometimes I feel guilt for having failed my daughter back on Earth. I was just thinking… maybe I want to give having a family another try."

"You're using some of your own CNA in the protoform's programming?" Cybershark sounded dubious. "That's risky, since your programming is… unique."

"I consulted with First Aid in Cybertroplis before I even got started on the construction," Gunslinger assured him. "He helped me put together what I could use and what I couldn't. The rest is standard Maximal programming, so I shouldn't have to worry about Robin going Frankenstein on me after he's sparked."

"'Robin'?"

Gunslinger grinned sheepishly. "Just what I'm calling him til he comes online and names himself."

"So… you're also looking for a sidekick."

"Well, I figured I'd train him in the 'family business' until he's capable of deciding his own path in life."

"Are you sure you can do that?"

"Sure, I've trained plenty of Maximals before, I don't see how this is dif-"

"That's not what I meant," Cybershark turned somber for a moment. "When the time comes that this young Maximal decides it wants a life of its own, will you be able to cut the interface wires and let it go? I know how protective you can be. And—don't take this the wrong way—you have a problem with letting things go."

"Oh…" Gunslinger didn't deny the truth.

"Cybertronian offspring are much more independent than human ones, from the get-go."

"I know," He preferred not to think about it. He planned to raise this being with some of his own human standards and heritage. Gunslinger wasn't fully Cybertronian, so why should his offspring be? The advantage of having a dual heritage was that one could pick and chose the best from both. "I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get to it."

The two friends' conversation drifted to less introspective subject matters after that, as they swapped stories and exchanged information on old enemies; who was still lurking about and who had been captured. Finally, Cybershark had to return to his post. Gunslinger thanked him for picking up the part he needed and promised to see him on his next shift.

Once Cybershark was gone and the door closed behind him, Gunslinger returned to the exact spot he had been sitting before. Reinvigorated, he managed to finish the motherboard quickly and get it inserted into the core processor that had just been delivered today. The protoform was almost complete. It only needed two things: armor, and most important of all, a spark.

That was what the cache of energon in his room was for. Half of it, anyway. The other half would be needed to support them for a few months, as Gunslinger had planned on taking a few lunar-cycles off to spent time with his new protégé. He had further stores of it squared away in various locations, as well. Gunslinger looked the blank over after he secured the core inside. He was on the cusp of seeing three decades of labor and love come to fruition, and he decided that he was unable to wait another day.

The next few hours were painstaking, as Gunslinger labored hard to wire the blank into the proto-initiator he had rented. He began feeding the energon into the machine, laboring to attune the protoform to the right frequency, the wavelength emanated by the source of life for all Transformers, the Matrix of Leadership. Even he had come from it, of a sort. It had been that enigmatic artifact that had transformed his human body into a spark just like every other Cybertronian's. As the atmosphere in the room cracked with static energy and the protoform in the center of his living room began to glow with life, Gunslinger had to resist the urge to scream "It's alive! It's alive!" Instead, he watched with reverent awe as a spark came into being in the center of his creation's chest.

As the new life came online, Gunslinger switched functions on the proto-initiator to life-support mode, while he studied the readings. It was perfect, it was…

"Female?" he looked down in surprise. He hadn't even considered the notion of sparking a femme. That altered many of the future scenarios he had envisioned, but the change was not unwelcome. "Well, guess I have more experience with daughters anyway."

Gunslinger took a seat by the table to watch the protoform as her systems stabilized. As soon as her optics flashed online, she sat up, looking around as if bewildered. Gunslinger couldn't help but smile. It was already apparent she had his fighter's instinct. He wanted to say something epic, something memorable for his first words to his creation, but right then, all he could think to say was a simple "Hello."

The young femme's head twisted around to face him. Her optics scanned him hungry for information. "Who…" Her vocalizer paused as her processor adjusted it. "Who are you?"

"I'm your creator," he told her. "My name is Gunslinger. Do you know your name?"

The femme shook her head. "No. Should I?"

Many Cybertronians instantly knew their names from the moment they came online. As they experienced their first moments of consciousness, it just came to them. Others needed time to decide what they would call themselves. Some were given names by their creators. "Robin" was just what he had called the protoform as a placeholder. He had decided that he would not be the one to choose it for her. "No, it's alright," he assured her. "It will come to you eventually, when you get to know who you are."

"Who I am?" she asked, pondering this. Her first moments of self-awareness were obviously confusing for her. There was so much information to process. "Who am I?"

"You're my creation." It was circular logic, but youthful minds were more accepting of such. To be was to be, and they did not question why. Such speculation was for older, world-weary adults. He promised her, "We're going to have an exciting life together, you and I."

"What makes you say that?" She rotated in her seat to face him.

Gunslinger was not sure how to answer. "Well, um, I've always had an exciting life. I'm an adventurer. We'll go see and do things most other beings only wonder about."

She tilted her head and mused, "Sounds like fun."

He chuckled. "It can be. Especially when you have someone to enjoy it with. But first, I need to put you in stasis for a while."

"Awww!" She didn't sound afraid, just disappointed. Gunslinger could almost guess how she felt: She had just come to life; she didn't want to sleep now. "Why?"

"Because I'm not done building you," he explained, gesturing at her bare circuitry. "You need armor so you don't damage your systems. And your programming still hasn't fully collated. Besides that, I have to go for a while."

"Where are you going?" So soon, her independence was beginning to show. She wasn't a follower who would blindly accept everything she was told. Gunslinger admired that.

"I have to work. Now, you just lie down here and close your optics. When you come online again I'll be right here for you, I promise."

XXX

"You're late, Gunslinger," Barrel sneered, looking down at him.

He ignored the statement. Despite having somehow climbed the ranks to become the head of security for the district, Barrel was an ignorant, prejudiced mech not worth wasting reason on to attempt swaying him toward a more tolerant standpoint. "Sorry, I got held up at home," Gunslinger hoped that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. "Do humans have to be slow in everything?" he asked, displaying his aforementioned bigotry as he did almost every day.

This time, Gunslinger wasn't going to allow his chief to ruin his day. Fire shot out of his optics. "Don't talk to me about being slow, Barrel. I fought in the Great War, before you were even a schematic on someone's drawing board. I've come in on time every day for two deci-vorns and if you want to ride my skidplate for one slip, I'm sure Optimus Protean would be more interested to know who trashed his apex armor last stellar-cycle."

Gunslinger was not above blackmail. Barrel stood down, and he had to resist the urge to smirk triumphantly. "Now if you'll excuse me," he said, "I'm late for work."

He clocked in and checked his station for data updates, like he always did. Today was the day he had planned to hand Barrel his retirement notice, but now he didn't want to give the bigot the satisfaction. He was also not above working a couple extra days just to spite someone who hated him. Robin wouldn't know the difference anyway.

"So," Cybershark said from behind him, "Barrel was the culprit. Why didn't you tell me?"

Gunslinger spun around and chuckled. "I was saving that gem for a rainy day. I was gonna tell you soon, leave you with the mantle of holding it over his head after I'm gone."

"Gone?"

"Yeah. Once Robin is up and running, it's going to be time for us to move on. This ghetto isn't the proper place to raise her."

"I see," Cybershark said, then paused. "Wait, 'her'?"

"Yep. I brought her online after you left, and… it's a girl."

At this Cybershark cracked up, slapping Gunslinger on the back. "So much for the rough and tumble life, eh?"

"We'll see. Something tells me she's gonna be a feisty one."

Before the conversation could continue, all hell broke loose, and the dimly-lit room turned into an inferno as red lights flashed on and off, followed by a blaring siren. That could only mean one thing, but as Gunslinger and Cybershark made their way to the armory, they found themselves having to explain the situation to a confused rookie.

"What's going on?"

"Incoming airstrike!"

"Pred insurgents. So get your aft in gear and grab as many weapons as you can carry!" Gunslinger ordered as he pulled out a specific grenade launcher for himself. "Hello, Betsy. Didja miss me?"

Cybershark noted the rookie's bewildered look. "It's a human thing," he remarked. "Gunslinger, I'll man Platform A. You need any backup, you let me know."

"Will do, Sailor." Storing the weapon into himself, he crunched over and transformed into a vehicle definitely Cybertronian in design, but with an aesthetic that evoked the look of a long-antiquated Ford Mustang. "Heat 'em up!"

"Smokin'!" his friend replied, before dragging the rookie off to their combat stations.

Outside, Predacons had already arrived and begun their offensive. But Gunslinger recognized their faction insignia: Reivers. They always sent an advance wave to soften up defenses beforehand. He knew the real threat had not yet arrived. Still, if enough fliers could be destroyed, the main attack would be called off. Whoever their leader was, he had the spirit of the Decepticon Warlords: a master tactician, but not afraid to sacrifice underlings. Gunslinger wondered if he kept a screechy, ambitious second in command by his side just to complete the portrait.

He returned to his humanoid form and brought his rifle to bare. One Predacon was flying lower than most, screaming challenges and vulgarities at the Maximals on the ground. His hubris would be his downfall. At times like this, Gunslinger was glad for his experience as a Targetmaster. He hadn't come out of that with just a name. His grenade flew right into the flyer's torso, igniting his insides and extinguishing his spark almost immediately. He allowed himself a triumphant cry as the flaming metal corpse hit the ground and exploded.

But that was all the reward he would give himself. There would be time enough to celebrate once the day was won and the terrorists had been driven off. Moving on, Gunslinger managed to take down several targets before the mother ship came into sight. It was a decent-sized warship that looked to have been constructed from the parts of several commandeered vessels. Despite the mishmash appearance, it was bristling with weaponry, including several mega-cannons. It was a true pirate ship if ever there was one. Gunslinger could not wait to get his picture taken standing atop it after they had shot it down from the sky.

Above him, hellfire rained down from the ship and up from the fortifications on the ground. Even though his own weapons would have no effect, he took a couple shots at the ship for the sake of personal morale before moving on to more of the raiders. Then he realized it. The ship was hovering right above his sector of the city—it was probably floating directly above his home. But that was not the frightening part. That sector had minimal relevance—no terrorist would bother targeting it. By the time the sickening truth hit Gunslinger hard, the second ship appeared, directly over Security Command. With all the gun towers pointed in the other direction, it managed to get a few good shots in before the Maximals even could react.

"NO!" he yelled. His attention was torn—should he go back to help his fellow soldiers, or should he try to drive the first ship away from his home? Gunslinger realized he had made a fatal error: he had become emotionally tied to someone. He felt paternal instincts over his "daughter." He loved her. The choice was obvious. He took off for home. He had to get her to safety. There was nothing he could do at Security Command anyway.

Transforming, he sped closer and closer to home, only stopping to blast any Con stupid enough to get in his way. He had made the transit between home and work twenty-one thousand, eight hundred and fifty-three times, yet this time it seemed to take five times as long. Behind him, he could hear the all-too familiar sounds of explosions. On his sensors he could detect reinforcements from other sectors coming in. He ignored it all. Despite having the robotic ability to focus on multiple things at once, his only thought was saving his offspring. He had failed one daughter already in his life. He would not fail another.

Or would he?

The second ship was not just hovering idly in the sky; it was using all its weapons to deadly efficiency, hitting targets without discrimination—whether they were tactically important or not. It was the second ship's job to take out the primary target. Now that the first ship's job of opening up a weak spot in the defenses was complete, it was inflicting as much collateral damage as it could. A mega-cannon began glowing as it charged up. Gunslinger calculated its probable target, then re-calculated it, then prayed that his processor was glitching. His home came into sight. The mega-cannon was either a PF-13 or a PF-18. There was a slim chance, a one in a hundred shot, that if it was a PF-13, Gunslinger could get in, grab the protoform, and get her out before it completed charging. If it was an 18, it would fire while he was still in the threshold of the door. He transformed, using the momentum he had from vehicle mode to hurtle himself through the door of his apartment building.

It was a PF-18.

He could actually see the fire from the blast tear through the side of the complex—and then the shockwave threw him through the hallway wall into an adjacent room before the structure became an inferno. The roof collapsed above him. All he could think before he went offline was I failed…

Once in a dream
Far beyond these castle walls
Down by the bay

Where the moonlit water falls
I stood alone while the minstrel sang his song
So afraid I'd lost my soul


There in the fog

His song kept calling me
Leading me on

With its haunting melody
Deep in my heart a voice kept echoing
I knew I'd soon be wandering


Far beyond these castle walls
Where the distant harbour meets the sky
There the battle rages like hell
And every dove had lost its will to fly


Far beyond these castle walls
Where I thought I heard Tiresias say

"Life is never what it seems
And every man must meet his destiny"

Lyrics copywrite Styx