Summary: Thousands of vorns after Great War, Cybertron is reduced to a shrunken shell of its former self. The Great War had triggered its apocalypse. In a mass exodus, thousands of inhabitants fled to other planets and colonies. But a handful chose to stay. This is their story… (Alt-verse, takes place after G1)
One-shot, unless suggested otherwise. ;)
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Taking in the desolate sight before him, Quickstealth wished he were back at the Shack, repairing equipment or tending to the ever-growing work at his desk. In no way did his job description include salvaging usable junk from the planetary refuse yard. Yet with the shortage of hands, one had to be flexible.
Debris crunched beneath his steps as he scanned his surroundings. Mounds of scrap metal, wiring, and shattered electronics stretched as far as the optic could see. Afar the towering slab-gray buildings of the shadows of Iacon loomed, shrouded in the billowing smog belched from the smelting factories hunkering along the Rust Sea. The acrid stench of oil and burnt circuitry added to the foul scene. All this was a grim reminder of the detrimental effect the Great War had on their world.
But that was eons ago, when the land was torn with strife, a sprawling hellish battlefield. Only the Elders recalled those dark times and would speak of tales of the endless murders and violence that prowled the streets. Those of the Remnant generation, children of those who did not leave during the mass exodus, knew none of this but were left the bitter inheritance of a post war reality. They did not revere the memories of Megatron and Optimus Prime as the Elders did, but saw them as mere giants of myth and legend, synonymous with death and decay.
And so Quickstealth was doing what was typical of mechs of his age. Salvage, repair, reuse. Such was the way of the junker.
A clatter from about 500 yards roused Quickstealth from his work and his hand went to his gun. He tensed, audio receptors activated at full range. For a moment he considered hurling one of his precious grenades but thought better of it. Until he was sure that it was a gang ambush, his hand would stay.
From the corner of his violet optics, he saw it. A bumbling figure ambled out from behind one of the skeletal frames of twisted metal. The battered mech smiled jovially at Quickstealth and waved a mismatched arm. His motley painted armor made him barely distinguishable from the junk around him.
"Quick, where the slag you've been?" the mech called out. "Most of the good stuff's been taken. You missed the load the Nova Star dumped this morning."
Reholstering his firearm, Quickstealth let out a sigh as he approached his old friend. "And let me guess, Rivet, you've got something that you think will interest me." Crossing his arms he stared expectedly at the stouter mech.
"Ah, come on, you know I've gotta make a living somehow." A broad crooked grin crossed Rivet's feature. "Just look at it. For once, I think you'll agree its worth something."
Shaking his head, Quickstealth began to regret not coming earlier. Among the pirate ships that use Cybertron as a dumping ground, the Nova Star was notorious for throwing out perfectly useable stuff. Rumor said that its crew was so successful in their raids they could afford the waste. Yet the backlog of invoices had kept Quickstealth from taking first pickings. It was scavengers like Rivet that he had grown to envy and resent. On one hand, the mech had a record for getting a hold of scare goods and was willing to sell. On the other hand, getting him to sell them at a decent price was a different matter.
Raising an optic ridge, Quickstealth gave the fellow junker a dubious look. "Worthwhile eh? That probably means it'll cost me more. Well, lets see this all-so-wonderful junk that you're harping about."
The toothy grin widened. "There's a sport, pal," he said, clapping a hand on Quickstealth's useless wing. By the stench of his breath, the jet could tell that the scavenger was at Maccadam's Oil House again. "I'm sure you'll get it in working order again. Of all the salvagers, you're the best. So the repairs will take you no time."
"Humph. Damage huh? Then can I expect a discount?" Quickstealth asked dryly as he followed Rivet.
A snort came from the other. "Not after the hell I went through to extract it." He brandished a crudely welded gash at his shoulder. "This I got off from a Chop. A far from easy getaway I might add."
Quickstealth hissed in sympathy. At least the wound looked authentic enough. The Chop gang was known for its ruthless possessiveness for the best spoils from the refuse. There were designated parts of the dump that they claimed as their turf. Only someone brave, or foolish, as Rivet would dare trespass.
At the outskirts of former Iacon, they entered the dingy bunker that served as Rivet's retro-rat hole. Anything and everything was stocked that the scavenger managed to get his greedy hands on. Somewhere in the mess was Rivet's recharge berth, but Quickstealth had yet to find it.
"Why your place had not burned down is a mystery to me," Quickstealth commented as he eyed the boxes stacked precariously in the corner. "So where is this junk you were talking about?"
A muffle voice came from the back of the room. "In a click, pal. I've hid it somewhere." More rummaging sounds ensued.
In the end, it took the two of them to haul enough crates aside to clear a spot. Placing a steel box there, they began attacking it with crowbars. The lid popped off with a reluctant screech. Brushing off the packaging foam, Quickstealth felt his mouth drop.
"You slagger. How the frag did you get a hold of this?" Nestled inside the box was a X-12 power engine. Small as it was, the device could be put to many uses. Already ideas of what he'd do with it went through Quickstealth's mind, but the foremost of them was for his salvaged hover cycle. Enough with his useless wings. He would not only fly, but do it with style.
"How much?"
"2000 cycles."
"1600, since it's broken."
"1700 and you've got a deal."
"Done."
They shook on it, each pleased with what they got. While bartering of goods was the most common form of exchange among the Remnant, the fact that Quickstealth was a salvager meant he traded his services of repairing things was a far more precious commodity. Whatever he fixed the scavenger could sell it at twice the normal value. By getting 1700 cycles of free labor, Rivet's profits would boom. Such was the hard bargaining of the market.
Judging by the extent of damage on the engine, Quickstealth reasoned he would have it repaired in about three mega-cycles.
"Enjoy it my friend." Rivet said with a wink. " 'Cause some poor Chop sure as hell won't."
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Whistling a jaunty tune, Quickstealth entered the two room and garage home/shop lovingly known as the Shack. A persistent shrill whine came from the garage. With his newly acquired engine riding on his shoulder, he stepped in and found his sister sitting idly on the workbench. Her optics fixed on the form half-concealed under a dozer. The whining sound came from there.
" 'lo, Quick," the slender black femme greeted, waving an arc wielder. "Kup's as stubborn as ever trying to fix the factory truck. He's been at it since you've left." Her quick optics darted to the crate. "What'd you got there."
"Remember that old and busted thing I've been working on and off."
Shadowhydra jumped off the bench. "You don't mean…" Her lavender optics peered at the box he set down. A broad grin spread on her thin features. "By Primus, you didn't!" She laughed gleefully.
"He didn't what?" A gruff voice called from under the dozer. Dragging himself out was blue-green mech whose armor seen better days. But the sharp look in his sky blue optics still showed he had mind about him. Now he stared crossly at the younger mech and if it wasn't for the oil blotch on his forehead, Quickstealth would have bulked under it.
"Well? And what's this about old and busted?" he demanded. "You best not be talking about me."
"Oh Kup," Shadowhydra giggled. "We weren't picking on you."
"No sir. But just you feast your optics on this, Kup." Stooping Quickstealth revealed his engine. Sleek, equipped with hydro ion impulse cylinders, the engine left even the grizzled old mech speechless.
A whistle escaped his lips. "How much you got it for?"
"1700."
"1700. Not bad." Kup nodded his approval. "Presuming you can fix it. I guess I could give you a hand with it, but only if I get a turn on the hover cycle."
An exasperated sigh came from the other. "First Rivet, then it's you Kup. Is nothing free these days?"
A chuckle was shared among the three.
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Sprawling atop the roof, Quickstealth stretched out his aching cylinders and smiled contently. Beside him, his sister sat, arms wrapped around her drawn up legs, chin resting on her knees. Her bright optics shining with contemplation.
For a long while they said nothing but watched as night veiled the land. A cool southern wind from the seas dispersed the last whips of smog that lingered. It was rare times like this that the moon shone with all its radiance, casting its silvery glow on the towers of the Iacon ruins. In this light the ancient city seemed surreal, haunting yet mysterious. The two could almost imagine the Cybertron Kup told them in his tales, the buildings alit with lights, the city gleaming as one massive many facet jewel.
Only then would they start talking.
"You know, Quick," she mused. "Do you ever wondered if what Kup says about Iacon can ever happen again?"
If he could, the silver-hued mech would have rolled his optics. As much as he loved his sister, there were times even he never understood her. As sparklings, they played a game in which they try to describe their own pre-war Iacon based on Kup's stories. Quickstealth knew that it was just mere fancies, a fantasy world to escape the reality of their own. Yet as they grew older, he began to wonder if Shadowhydra would ever come to the same realization. Every night on the rooftop she would gaze wistfully at the ruins, her mind dwelling in that world they had visited as children. Now, her strangeness upped another notched with this new question.
He mulled over her words before he replied. "Because things can't ever go back to the way they were before, Shadow."
The femme stared at him as if he were the insane one. "I'm not talking about the past, slagger. I say we build a new Iacon, better than even the old one Kup talks about." Standing, she stretched an arm in the direction of the ruins. "This, all of it, can be ours again."
"Frag. You talk as if you can conquer the world." Quick chuckled. "You're forgetting that it's the Chop's domain."
"What right do they have to keep it to themselves? It's a disgrace to Cybertron. Someone ought to face those thugs and give it to them."
Yet before the debate could escalate, they could hear Kup calling for them below. As he watched her disappear into the trap door, Quickstealth could not help but frown with worry. Though he joined them for dinner, his mind was ever replaying Shadowhydra's words.
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"Kup, do you have an astro-click?"
Those age-filled eyes raised up at him as the Elder put aside his datapad. "Sure thing. What's on your processor?"
The silver jet shrugged, not knowing how to begin. "It's about Shadowhydra. Lately, she's been a bit, well…"
"Problematic?"
"Crazy."
The grizzled vet shook his head, knowing where this was heading. "And you want me to stop talking to her about Iacon, the Great War, and all that. Am I right?"
"Exactly," Quickstealth blurted. Now that the cap was off he was building momentum. Kup's chuckling didn't help to stop the mounting tension in him. "I mean it Kup! You've filled her head with your stories. Now she thinks she can change the world."
Cackling, Kup stood up from the workbench and began wiping up the stray dust motes by the dozer. "Funny, at your age I thought the same thing. A little passion can't hurt nobody, son."
"But it can get you killed," Quickstealth growled. "You should have heard her on the roof, mouthing off the Chops. She acts as if she can take them all on."
Kup cleared his throat. "I trust our little 'Hydra is smarter than that. She's a bit impulsive, but she'd know better than to pick a fight with that lot." He stared at the younger mech. "You on the other hand, I'm more concerned about."
Quickstealth winced. "Please, Kup, we're talking about my sister here."
But the Elder ploughed on. "And I'll say it again each time you bring this topic up. Your sister, a dreamer as she is, at least lives with hope. What about you? Are you just going to continue through life as it's nothing more than one request order after another? No purpose, no aspirations? A pointless existence?"
"At least I'm the only one sensible around here," Quickstealth replied hotly.
"So simply accepting the Chops as the vigilante authority is being sensible? Good Primus," Kup sighed. "Have I taught you nothing? While it is good to let well enough alone, there are times you have to fight. The problem is you've become comfortable with the present situation that you can't see what you can change or even dare to change."
"As long as I we play by their rules they'll ensure protection against the other gangs. But I wouldn't mind a little change if it's possible." Quickstealth frowned. "But it would take a massive force to bring it about. Or are you suggesting we bring about another glorious war with false promises of peace?"
He turned his back on the Elder, and looked over his shoulder. "The Great War brought about the Age of Desolation. What would we accomplish if we destroy what little we do have?"
As the jet's footsteps faded away, Kup frowned. "At least Optimus Prime died with dignity, boy," he said quietly. "Which I could say otherwise about you." His features soften. "But then that's our fault isn't it? For in seeking to preserve life, we inevitably brought this on ourselves. In a war, there are no true victors."