Plenoptic
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers or any related titles. I just put them through whatever sick plots I can come up with. Please don't sue me. Trademarks of Hasbro and Dreamwave and all that good stuff…thanks to the genius named Simon Furman for coming up with these maniacs (in the comics).
Not many notes to leave here. I wrote this awhile back, when I was still considering entry with the Transformers Archive. We've got some Autobots, some Decepticons, some Aerialbots, some Dinobots, the works. For all of you G1 lovers...hope this is up to your standards. It's not my usual style, but hey. Oneshot, more may come in far future. Please enjoy, please review, in that order.
. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .
The lights of New Iacon winked brightly below, inviting the weary traveler to alight upon its steel grounds and have a drink, reunite with some pals. Many air travelers were happily obliging, and their drunken laughter floated up high into the Cybertronian sky. Air Raid flew as high as his orders allowed—high enough that no one could spot him but low enough that he could monitor any activity below. He abruptly dropped a few feet, and for a moment his Spark froze in horror; but once again the engines groaned and lifted him back up. For what felt like the millionth time that night, he relaxed, having completely expected the engines to give out and drop him into the middle of the Decepticon civilization. Primus, how he hated these backup engines. But they made less noise than his larger ones, and subtlety was the only thing Prime was concerned about. Who cares if I die in the process, Air Raid grumbled silently, though he knew he wasn't being fair.
A shiver of reassurance passed through him as he noticed Silverbolt circle around beneath him. Air Raid wondered vaguely how his leader was doing; the poor Aerialbot had a killer fear of heights. Hang in there, big man. He dipped the nose of his vehicle mode a bit, just enough to make out the small vehicle passing below him on New Iacon's streets. Poor Bumblebee must have been terrified, stationed in the heart of enemy territory, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for in courage, and at the moment was certainly determined to bring success to the team in this, the most important mission yet.
Somehow things had gotten screwed up not so long ago—somehow Megatron had his stupid hands on the Matrix of Creation once more. Who knew how it happened anymore; all that mattered in particular was getting it back. Prime and Grimlock (somewhat reluctantly) both agreed that for now, the best strategy was to go in small and attempt to take it back stealthily. Bumblebee had loyally obliged to his infiltrator role—didn't he always?—though every Autobot and Dinobot knew deep down that this mission was going to get ugly, and fast. As if Megatron was going to leave his trophy sitting around in the open, devoid of security. Hah. If they'd learned anything after so many years of war, it was that the big man was probably sitting on the thing right now like a bird on its nest. Even as he flew, Air Raid chuckled subtly at the thought of a bird-Megatron. He didn't dwell on the image long; Bumblebee's mission could go wrong at any given time, and in such an event he and Silverbolt would have to get the poor Autobot out as soon as possible.
It was going to be tricky, and their nerves were on end, even though they all knew that Ultra Magnus, Kup, Prowl, and a delegation of other Autobots were on stand by even as they moved. Not that their seniors let them forget; one of them was constantly muttering nervously into the headsets, and had more than once startled Air Raid so badly he'd dropped a good hundred feet—which wasn't much in the long run, but it was absolutely essential that he stay outside the Decepticon sensors' ranges.
"Surprise, surprise," Kup's voice came over the radio, and there went about a hundred feet.
I swear I'm shooting him when we get back, Air Raid vowed to himself. "What's a surprise?"
"Oh, it's not really. I was exercising what one would call sarcasm?"
"Did you call for no reason or what?"
"Sorry. No, Skydive just reported that Megatron has a delegation of about fifty Decepticons stationed at various points around and inside the Gladiator's Arena, where we know the Matrix is located…"
"Fifty? That's all?"
"It's enough," Magnus growled, intruding upon the conversation. "After that last hit we took just outside Cybertron's first moon, you think we've got the manpower to overtake fifty 'Cons? We'll need some serious tactics out there, which I hope someone is working on."
"You called?" Prime asked wearily, connecting com links with the rest.
"Yeah I did. You got a plan or do we just go in and shoot?"
"Plan. Er, somewhat."
"Greeeeat. Where are you?"
"Brawn and I are traversing the outer ring of New Iacon; it's completely desolate, save for a few drunks."
"Why'd you bring Brawn?"
"Because this mission won't take a genius," Prime said softly, allowing Air Raid and Kup to snigger a bit (with all affection for their less-than-genius comrade). "It's not that funny—Grimlock took Sludge with him to the east."
Air Raid snorted. "This is gonna be fun, huh, Boss?"
"Trying to fly here," Silverbolt said faintly.
"Uh, hey, believe it or not, I'm getting just a tad nervous," Bumblebee said loudly, searching for their attention and reassurance. "I keep feeling like any second now, they're gonna go 'Hey, an Autobot!' and blow the slag out of me."
"I promise I'll stop them before they blow the slag out of you," Air Raid said solemnly.
"Not if I stop them first," Magnus countered. "I'm here, Prime, just circling the city a bit. You on West side?"
"Yes, Brawn and I. Ah—there's Hot Rod."
"Ah, great, now it's a party," Magnus groaned. "Bring the runt why don't you?"
"Sorry, Magnus…okay, we've got to converge upon city limits, so all communications off. I'll deliver orders as we get there, just go in and start blasting for now. Oh, but do wait until some others arrive, don't do anything reckless like going in alone."
"Us? Reckless? Perish the thought," Magnus replied, with such sincerity that they couldn't tell if he was joking or not.
ATTENTION SHIFT--BUMBLEBEE
The one thing every Autobot recruit was taught was that in battle, things could often go from bad to worse. Bumblebee had only vaguely heard his seniors tell him that, but it was as though it became increasingly true every day he spent under Optimus Prime. Things had been bad when Prime had suddenly lost communication, although the words "Megatron" and "your way" had made it through before his voice was lost in a maelstrom of static; okay, so the situation was already worse. Funny how three simple words could freeze the energon and stop the Spark. Megs aside, it had become indefinitely worse when Magnus radioed from the Arena reporting that the Decepticons had reinforcements.
"Anyone been able to get a hold of Prime?"
"Nah—his com is shot, definitely."
"Aw, Primus, this is just wonderful…"
"Wonder how Grimlock looks as a smoldering pile of slag?"
"You know what? After all he's put us through, I'd pay to see that."
"Hah. As if we get paid."
"Hah is right. If we all get out of this alive we should see Prime about that."
"And I say again. Hah."
"Let a man dream why don't you?"
Bumblebee almost wanted to shut off his com, blot out their negative conversation as it certainly wasn't boosting his confidence nor helping calm his nerves. Though a paycheck at the end of the month would definitely make putting his life on the line a little more worthwhile. Oh, he could just imagine the lecture Prime would give if he heard them discussing it; he'd undoubtedly remind them that they were fighting for the sake of Cybertron's, and the entire universe's freedom.
Still, there was a lot Bumblebee could do with a couple extra bucks.
"You know what? I hate this arena," Hot Rod announced, his voice loud and obnoxious compared to the others' nervous mumblings. "It seems like every time we show here, we get creamed."
"I'll cream you if you don't move your metallic butt and get over here," Magnus growled, his voice at a bad frequency. "Primus, I don't have time to argue with some punk, just all of you get down here cuz I need reinforcements."
"Yessir," Bumblebee said feebly, trying very hard to not slam his brakes and head straight back to base. Maybe he would get struck upside the head and awake to find them all safe and sound in base, maybe reliving the mission's events over a drink.
Or maybe this was going to be hell.
Personally he was more confident in the latter.
The Arena seemed to loom upon him as though it had popped out of limbo, its tall dark walls signifying its death trap-like attributes. Bumblebee reverted to his humanoid form and readied his weapons as though in a dream, wondering vaguely if he was ever going to speak to his seniors again, if this was his last mission, if he was going to die at Megatron's feet, his energon spilling all around as Rippersnapper or Hun-Grr lapped it up…he shook his metallic head to clear it of these thoughts; there was no use dwelling on what-ifs. Isn't that what his seniors always told him?
"Head high, lad," Kup said gently, as though he had sensed the young Autobot's apprehension even though they were miles apart. "We've been in worse scraps this and come out okay."
Bumblebee couldn't bring himself to answer; to his own surprise he just really wanted to get into the Arena and start shooting. Fear and pain had virtually no meaning in battle. They just faded into the background, another distraction for the warrior mind to barely acknowledge but miraculously overcome. If Bumblebee could only fire that first shot his fear would evaporate, leaving him only with the instincts that he'd been programmed with, the instincts that would let him transform into that magnificent warrior who could take on anything… Primus let this turn out okay. And as he charged into the Arena and fired that first shot, it did fade away; it was as though his sensors had been turned off, blotting out everything but the sound of his own fire. Underneath the surface he worried; not for himself, but for the safety of his many comrades, already swarming the Arena, united under a common enemy, all focused on the prize atop the many risers:
The Matrix.
ATTENTION SHIFT--RATCHET
Ratchet definitely had his work cut out for him.
It was really a shame there was only one of him and a lot of needy Autobots; calls came for him left and right, leaving the poor medic to scamper in and out and around the Arena, sorely missing his station at the computers on base. Man, it was times like this that being a techie was a highly coveted job. On-the-scene repairs were a tricky business and not easy to hide; the Decepticons seemed to get their kicks out of watching him dance under their fire. Luckily they weren't so amused when he returned it, but Ratchet had only two hands: one for shooting, one for saving Sparks. I should see about an upgrade.
"How's it going, Ratchet?"
"Wheeljack? Thank Primus, finally a voice that's not screaming 'Dance, Autobot, dance!'"
"Bet you're making lots of friends, huh?"
"Oh, oodles, Ravage and I are going out for dinner next week. Are you okay, or did you need some assistance?"
"Just checking up on you. Oh, Prime radioed in a few minutes ago—seems that his com's going dead and Megatron's coming our way."
"Fantastic, Megatron brings me so much business," Ratchet groaned, sealing the various circuits of some poor old Autobot who seemed ready for the scrap pile anyway. Prime's clearly hurting for forces.
"Hey, Ratchet? I think it's really great you can crack jokes in the middle of hell," Wheeljack said in what he must've thought was a comforting way.
"Thanks," Ratchet said glumly.
The coms fizzled into a mass of static, which Ratchet turned down before resuming his work. The battle had spilled more outside the Arena; it appeared that the Decepticons were effectively driving them out. Of course, according to the plan it was better this way. It would be easy for someone of Bumblebee's size to slip through the Decepticon ranks undetected and reclaim the Matrix of Creation. But Megatron was one factor they hadn't counted on—though Ratchet felt they'd been fools not to. Perhaps Prime had, in fact, factored in the Decepticon tyrant and had already apprehended him. Maybe the cruel dictator had fallen and Prime would soon be joining them triumphantly, damaged but glorious and most importantly alive. Maybe with Megatron gone the Decepticon forces would scatter into nirvana, or better yet join the Autobot ranks, and Prime would reclaim his rightful place as the holder of the Matrix, and peace would be restored to Cybertron within the night…
And maybe Sludge was actually a genius.
Okay, so peace was going to take some more effort than that, and Ratchet forced himself to abandon the fantasy in his mind. There was no time for fantasy now; the plan was in motion, the Arena was nearly empty, and Bumblebee would be making his move soon, Primus bless him. Megatron would also be here any moment, in all of his malice, his hunger for Autobot blood (energon, the author corrects) and death in general overpowering even Prime's desire for justice on the planet he so cared for and the inhabitants he cared for even more. Eh, at least the Decepticons knew how to throw one hell of a party.
"Hey, Ratchet!" Sunstreaker called brightly, as he and Sideswipe pounced on a few Decepticons that seemed to have been lurking behind the medic, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. "Qui'cher daydreaming and get yer head in the game!"
"It's in the game," Ratchet said, somewhat irritably. "But thank you anyway."
"Aw, what're friends for? Hey—I heard from Magnus a minute back," Sideswipe broke in. "Optimus got his communications back up, and he's converging on Megatron; oughta be one helluva blowout, eh?"
"Those two always promise a good show," Sunstreaker said, sighing reflectively. "Anyway, so many 'Cons to kick, so little time. Keep on rollin, Ratchet, don't give up on us!"
"Don't be too reckless!" Ratchet called as they transformed and took off, though he knew his warning would be very conveniently not heard.
All chaos suddenly broke out as one of the Arena's walls exploded, reducing everyone within a hundred yards to burning piles of slag and sending shrapnel flying into everyone else. Ratchet ducked behind the corpse of an enormous Decepticon as chunks of Cybertronian steel flew in all directions. Horror swallowed his Spark as he realized that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had taken off in that direction; without a doubt they were dead. He allowed himself to be overtaken by grief for a moment before getting to his feet, his mind once again focused on the job at hand. The Commander was on the way, but so was Megatron; it looked like the medic's work wasn't done just yet.
ATTENTION SHIFT--OPTIMUS PRIME
Fusion cannons can be very scary things when in the right hands, and in Megatron's hands they were regular terrors. Not that you'd ever go out to the local weaponsmith and pick out a Meggy-style fusion cannon; no, this was a one-of-a-kind-nightmare-in-a-barrel.
And somehow Optimus Prime was usually on the other end of that barrel.
Funny how much you can hate one gun barrel.
The battle had extended into New Iacon, toppling buildings and bringing on more and more reinforcements. In the frenzy it had become hard to tell who was Autobot and who was Decepticon and who gave up trying to differentiate and just decided to shoot. Optimus found himself ducking from plenty of those, and it didn't help to be avoiding some mad cadet while also trying not to let some insane Decepticon blow your stupid head off.
"May I?" Prime panted, taking a gun from a cadet who had recoiled into a fetal position. The cadet's only reply was to faint on the spot. "Thank you."
Prime spun as Megatron barreled around the corner, his cannon leveled with his opponent's head; on sheer, carefully honed instinct that had really become second nature Prime fired. It certainly wasn't a fatal shot—mostly due to the awful quality of his weapon—but it was certainly enough to stun the Decepticon long enough for Prime to dive in and knock the fusion cannon from Megatron's hand. It flew about a hundred feet through the air and spun along the ground a few more, finally twirling elegantly to a stop beside a collapsed building.
The truly unfortunate thing about fighting one like Megatron was that bots like him simply didn't need firearms to rip enemies apart. A truly gifted commander could fight with a stick and win if he had his mind set to it, and at the moment Megatron would've fought with a piece of toilet paper to take Prime down.
"Such heroic nonsense," Megatron snorted, and the cliché almost made Prime want to vomit (had his waste system been capable of such). The Decepticon thrust his knee up, catching Prime full in the face and throwing him backwards; he hit the opposite building with an awful thud, energon leaking from his cracked faceplate. It was into the fusion cannon's barrel that he looked as he lifted his head, dizzy from the blow. "I really had hoped you'd put up more of a fight," Megatron sighed, seeming truly disappointed. "Oh well. I can never gloat over your death without one of your annoying Autobots interfering so I may as well finish this n—"
A single ray of energon issued from some unknown firearm above them, knocking Megatron into the opposing wall and collapsing him immediately, stunned.
"You know, out of all of your troops, I swear to Primus I've got the best timing," Elita One said, leaping down from the building's roof and landing gracefully at Optimus's side.
"Took you long enough," he grunted, getting to his feet with some difficulty, though he'd mostly recovered from Megatron's blow.
"You know what, I'm just gonna let you die next time."
"I was kidding."
"Yeah, you say that now. Oh—your faceplate's cracked."
"It's nothing—lucky shot on his part," Prime grumbled, a little embarrassed. She knew him well enough to recognize it and let the matter drop. "Anyway, let's move before he gets up; we'll have a better chance of taking him out if we can get to the Arena."
"Isn't that where the Matrix is?" she questioned as they hurried back onto the main road.
"Yes, but Bumblebee should have it by now," he replied, reverting to his vehicle mode, and she mimicked him.
"And if he doesn't?" she asked skeptically, following him down the road and towards the Arena looming dark and gloomy in the distance.
"Ah. Then we have a problem."
ATTENTION SHIFT--BUMBLEBEE
One would think that by this time the Autobots had become very accustomed to problems and complications and all other applicable synonyms of such, but some just never learn. And it was at this point that Bumblebee was feeling that Primus must really, really hate him.
"Well well well, lookit what we gots here," Runamuck sniggered, his huge form bearing down upon the small Autobot. "Looks like a runaway cadet to me."
"Naw, he's a grunt, he is," Runabout snorted, jabbing Bumblebee sharply in the chest and toppling the poor kid. "Even less—he's Prime's errand boy, eh?"
"Yeah, yeah, that's it!"
Why me? Bumblebee wondered miserably, daring a glance back at the top of the Arena. Where the torch was usually lit rested the Matrix behind a reinforced glass cage, full of majesty and glory. Oh, the leaders who had borne that magnificent artifact, the life it had given…it was second only to the Allspark itself. And he was so close…oh so close to completing the mission… the mission Prime had entrusted to him and to him alone… Forgive me, Optimus…
"You'd better back off," Bumblebee managed, his voice, much to his pleasure, sounding much more confident than he felt. "I'm on a mission here—I don't like it when others interfere with my missions."
The two guffawed for a moment, and Bumblebee felt a needle stab his ego bubble, felt the air leak from it with a pathetic wheeze.
"Well, little Autobutt, we're on a mission too," Runamuck teased, lowering himself to Bumblebee's level. "Y'see that shiny thing up there?" –Bumblebee groaned inwardly, unable to believe he was going to lose to an idiot who called the Matrix 'that shiny thing'—"We're on strict orders to guard it even at the cost of our lives…or anyone else's. And as soon as Megatron finishes off those commanders of yours, he's gonna be coming to get it and deal with the rest of yous."
Bumblebee's energon froze in his circuits, and a sick feeling washed over him. Commanders. As in plural. Were both Optimus and Elita here, there, anywhere really, falling victim to Megatron's wrath? The sickness was quickly overcome by hopelessness, and Bumblebee was tempted to give up right there. He'd always believed that any mission was possible with Prime at the lead, shouting orders and taking on every obstacle fearlessly, but without his leader the future seemed bleak. Would they even be able to recover if they lost Prime? Perhaps Magnus would take over, and though his skills as a leader were great, the Autobots wouldn't be the same…
Another common lesson amongst the recruits: Don't worry needlessly. It was now in particular that Bumblebee was reminded of this, for at that moment the Arena's great domed roof gave, and Optimus Prime and Elita One both came crashing down upon them.
"Evening, gentlemen," Prime said pleasantly, before grabbing Bumblebee by the shoulder and literally dragging him up the coliseum's stairs. Elita quickly disposed of the two Decepticons, placing a hand on either side of their heads and promptly knocking them together. The two crumbled in a heap, and the femmebot joined her comrades up the stairs.
"See? Tell him, Bumblebee," she said brightly, watching with the stunned young Autobot as Optimus effortlessly smashed the glass and opened his chest cavity; a brilliant blue light issued from the Matrix as it and Prime were reunited once more. "Tell him I've got great timing."
"Time to talk later," Prime said shortly, already racing back down the stairs. "We've a lot to do, Elita, and no time for idle chit chat. Roll out!"
"You know, that doesn't have the same effect when you're only talking to two troops."
"Just shut up and shoot."
ATTENTION SHIFT--CONVERGING
Recruit lesson number three: A situation can also go from worse to the best scenario even imaginable. Sometimes seniors didn't mention this to the young grunts; best not to get their hopes up all the time. But at that moment Bumblebee's spirits were lifted as though by Primus's (who, it seemed, didn't hate him at all,) noble hand, following in the footsteps of his brave commanders that night. As he lapsed back into his warrior's state he was left only with his own fantasies and dreams, of peace and prosperity on Cybertron for the first time in years and years, since before his own creation. Maybe it was a sign of his youth and immaturity that he was able to dream of victory so late in the game, that he didn't exactly realize that only the additions of Prime and Elita may not be able to turn the tide of battle, but no one bothered to snap him out of wonderland.
If the lad was going to die with the rest of them, let him die happy at least.
Both Autobots and Decepticons were resorting to drastic measures: Superion loomed above them all, Shrapnel was even more annoying than usual with his tendencies to repeat himself, Blurr was talking so fast his voice was a bunch of garbled decibels, and the Terrorcons were firing in every random direction imaginable. Worse yet was the fact that Megatron had arrived on the scene, and without his prize was not a happy prize. From the moment they stepped out of the Arena the Decepticon leader leapt upon Prime, snarling hatred, his energon boiling. Elita passed her gun around in dizzying circles as the commanders scuffled on the ground, afraid of hitting Optimus by accident. Personally, Prime just wanted the mad man off of him; Megatron had completely lost it, trying to manually rip the Autobot's head off (which actually relieved the bolt tightness Ratchet hadn't been able to fix). After a few moments of mindless clawing and punching, Prime managed to lodge his feet against Megatron's chest, jerking his knees straight and throwing the tyrant off.
"Go!" he shouted over his shoulder at Elita and Bumblebee. "I'll hold him off; start to evacuate the troops, we've got what we came for!"
Elita nodded and grabbed Bumblebee, and once again the poor kid was dragged away.
The rest of New Iacon was in chaos; Autobots and Decepticons flashed by in vehicle modes, scrambling to reunite with comrades or to just get the hell outta there. Elita and Bumblebee both transformed, tearing along the stronghold's torn roads and shouting the retreat order through their radios. It was replied to by no one, but it was of no concern; they were probably busy hauling their metallic butts out of there. The Aerialbots raced overhead, spreading the word. Bumblebee could only watch helplessly as familiar faces and vehicle modes whipped by: Wheeljack, Cliffjumper, Ultra Magnus and Hot Rod, Inferno at a fleeting glance, Perceptor and Trailbreaker…he thought he caught sight of Grimlock's giant Tyrannosaurus Rex, but decided not to double check as an explosion resounded from that general area. Sludge raced by, his huge Dinomode feet making the ground shake, causing Elita to veer slightly off course. She regained herself quickly, cursing the Dinobot in very fast traditional Cybertronian—which Bumblebee actually found a little humorous.
"Wham! Take that, you dirty Decepticrap!" they heard Swoop shout above the chaos, clearly enjoying himself.
"Idiots," Elita muttered.
The Autobots left New Iacon in flames, though it didn't weigh too heavily on their conscience. Optimus and Elita headed the group as the various vehicle modes raced back to base, wanting nothing more than to leave the painful memories behind to burn. Miracles filled their Sparks as much as the losses, as much as the pain; Sunstreaker had made it back, but Sideswipe's body was currently in Prime's trailer. Grimlock and his team followed far behind, somehow different from them even in victory. But was it victory, really? When so many had been lost, when so much pain had been shared…but at least we shared it, Prime reasoned silently, finding comfort in it. Even in the face of such grief, we remain united…
"…How many did you get?" Elita asked, her inter-com link with him private.
"I don't know. Ten or so."
"I got twelve. I win."
"…I didn't keep count exactly."
"You were amazing today. You don't need to feel guilty about a thing. Once again, you've led us through hell and back."
"…Yeah. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately."
. T R A N S M I S S I O N . E N D .