Lizard: Okay, I know Vulnerablity isn't done, but I couldn't help myself! This is the story from my poll, and I am crazy excited for it ever since I started writing! This first chapter is sort of a prologue, but whatever.
Please keep in mind, some of the characters may seem a little OOC, but this takes place very early on in the war. Like, before it was even a war. So I think a lot of their little personality quirks and such came from being at war so long, meaning they might not have those, at least not to the same extent. There willbe OCs in this, because that's the only way it will work. Sorry if some people don't like that.
In addition, this is kind of AU, because I'm no expert on G1 verse so I took some creative liberties.
...please don't hurt me?
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Just any OCs mentioned.
"The future belongs to those who give the next generation reason for hope."
-Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
Sometimes, it's hard to see the big picture. You think you have it figured out, everything makes sense, then you catch a glimpse of something else, something new, and your whole perspective has to change, to compensate. Then you get comfortable with this new view, and it just happens all over again. It's why we underestimate, over-exaggerate, or completely ignore what's going on. We simply can't see. But then, every once in a great while, we don't just get a glimpse of a small section, we aren't confined to our narrow minded views.
No.
Every once in a great while, we see it all.
And it terrifies us.
.............
Prowl stared tensely over the barren landscape before him. Supposedly it had once been a small town on the outskirts of one of the larger cities on Cybertron, but right now he wasn't seeing any resemblance to a place mechs and femmes once called home. It was decimated, reduced to a large pile of scrap and debris. Every now and then his optics would land on a body, strewn awkwardly across the ground, metal frames unnaturally cold and stiff with death. At these times he would look away quickly, making a mental mark of each new statistic, because that's what he had to tell himself they were.
Statistics. Not lives.
This new group, the Decepticonsas they had come to call themselves, was surprisingly brutal in their attacks. It was sickening, but no one felt particularly threatened, nor did Prowl think there was reason to be. It was a rebel group, lead by the one time respected official Megatron. But from what they could tell, this resistance force was disorganized and would not be to difficult to take care of. Everyone just wished it wasn't at the cost of so many lives.
Presently the tactician felt his doorwings twitch as they picked up an approaching body and he turned just enough to see the imposing form of the Autobot CMO Ratchet. He gave a brief nod of greeting, before turning back to the destroyed town.
"Three hundred lives lost, in only three deca-orns. It's disturbing," the medic murmured slowly, optics distant.
Prowl glanced at him momentarily, "It won't last long, we need only to find their center of operations to put these rebellions to rest permanently."
The other mech's systems hummed softly in response. No one was happy with what was going on, but none were as agitated as those who were treating and losing patients to the acts of violence. Ratchet was no exception; in fact he was perhaps the most affected of all of them. His gruff exterior had hardened further ever since the beginning of the problem, and his temper was beginning to flare more often. Prowl was just thankful it wouldn't last.
Right?
'Scanning complete. All units report back to base. Area has been cleared. No more survivors in the vicinity,' the hard voice of one of their communications bots echoed across the general frequency.
With a resigned vent of air, Prowl turned and started back towards the Ark. Ratchet didn't move.
"Are you coming?" the tactician inquired, keeping his ever present mask of professionalism.
The medic responded with a distant, contemplative voice, "I will follow shortly."
His younger companion frowned, but decided against pressuring further and simply started on his way again. All the way back, he kept telling himself it was only temporary.
Only temporary.
.............
Bluestreak looked up at the sound of heavy footfalls. In marched the dirty, weary forms of his fellow Autobots. He stood and saluted his superiors as he had been trained, trying to smile, maybe to brighten their orn even a little. A few returned the gesture, and the twins shot him looks of amusement, Sideswipe making a face. He grinned back, and then paused when he saw his mentor stride in. Even covered in enough dust to coat their entire city, Prowl's very presence demanded a level of respect Bluestreak was sure he himself would never know. He carried himself with a dignity that could challenge even Optimus Prime at times.
"Bluestreak," the black and white tactician acknowledged briefly, sparing him a quick nod before he headed swiftly off to his office.
The young gunner watched him go. Prowl had taught him more than anyone else, and had had more patience with him. He caredand believed Bluestreak could actually become something. He wasn't so sure himself. He wanted to be like Prowl, to have an aura that exuded calm and control, to be so commanding everyone had to look to him. But he didn't think he could.
"Bluestreak, are you thinking again? I've warned you about that…."
The young gunner turned around to see Sideswipe grinning widely at him.
"You would know, wouldn't you?" he shot back without missing a beat.
The red twin's grin widened, if that was even possible, "You have learned well, my apprentice. Now go and conquer the galaxy in the name of smart-aft-ness!"
He said this with enough grandeur to choke a gestalt and a pose that made Bluestreak wonder how he had even become a warrior in the first place.
The grey mech snickered and shook his head, looking back over his shoulder at where Prowl had disappeared.
"Why do you look up to him so much?"
Bluestreak was surprised to hear a level of actual sincerity in the infamous prankster's voice, and naturally answered with the same level, "I dunno, I guess it's just cause he kinda took me in and all and so I just feel indebted to him, ya know? And he's really impressive you gotta admit when he-"
"I will admit no such thing," Sideswipe interrupted swiftly with mock disgust, then grinned, "I get it, I get it. Just don't turn into another Prowler, kay? You're too much fun for that."
Bluestreak jerked his head a little in surprise, "Um, okay, but I couldn't do that anyways, cuz you know I'm not cut out for it like he is and I could never-"
"Bluestreak, just take the advice."
"Okay…so long as you never change either."
"Deal, buddy."
.............
"How was it?" His sparkmate's voice met Ironhide's audios the moment he stepped into their shared quarters.
Chromia was lounging on the berth, optics scanning over a datapad held in her hands. He vented heavily and dragged his feet all the way over to sit next to her.
"That bad, huh?"
His systems thrummed in frustration, "These slaggin' rebels are gettin' outa control. Ah don know how we're goin' ta deal with 'em anymore."
She hummed quietly, "I take it then there wasn't much left?"
Ironhide shook his head in anger, "Fraggers burned it to th' ground."
The feisty blue femme scowled. She was tired. They both were, and nothing was going to change that at this point. She couldn't wait to get her chance at firing a few rounds into one of those Decepticon creeps, they deserved worse after all. All those innocent lives lost, it was so pointless! Chromia was never one to back down from violence, or even avoid it at all, but this was just so wrong. She couldn't quite place what it was, but something was definitely different about this.
"Somethin' on yer processor?"
She looked up at her sparkmate, wincing internally at the sound of his exhausted systems wheezing in discomfort. Pushing herself into a somewhat sitting position, she patted her abdomen invitingly. He looked for a moment like he might refuse, but finally the red weapon's specialist leaned back and rested his helm on his sparkmates lower chassis.
"You're getting to old for this scrap," she chided, gently sliding her slender fingers under his shoulder plating, massaging the overstressed and out-of-alignment wiring.
He snorted, "No kiddin'."
.............
"We have to try sometime."
"But not now. You're drawing energy directly from subspace, meaning there are many possibilities for instability and-"
"A: you talk too much, B: you think too much, and C: you worry too much. And you wonder why you have such bad processor aches."
"Catalytic, this is a bad idea; I'm really not-"
"Shiver, please. I've got this. Nothing will explode, if anything does go wrong, we can fix it easy. Alright? Trust me."
"…I do trust you, but not with this."
"Ouch."
"If you get permission from the commander, I may approve."
"I already did. You didn't let me get that far."
"I…Oh, well then…I'm still not happy, but if you must…."
"I must. Let's give it a shot."
.............
Prowl strode swiftly into the medbay's office-like area in the Ark, Ratchet's primary residence anymore, faceplates carefully trained into an emotionless mask. Upon entering he was met with the sight of two of the mechs he had come to meet with, along with one femme. The quirked optic ridge he aimed at Ironhide was met with a shrug. Chromia glared at both of them, then went back to her discussion with Ratchet, something about one of the patients, a youngling it sounded like. Not surprising, if Chromia wasn't asking for her own peace of mind, then any of the other femmes would have liked a report on the youngling's condition. Maternal programming; he would never understand it, but he supposed their race couldn't survive without it.
A hesitant ping suddenly came over his comm. link.
'Go ahead,' he responded.
'Um, okay, Prowl I know you're all having a meeting in the medbay and everything since Ratchet can't leave or something, but Optimus said I needed to talk to Ratchet about something cuz Blaster asked me to, so would it be okay if I came, in? I mean I know that I'm not supposed to-'
As Bluestreak was talking, Prowl walked quietly over to the door and waved a hand over the controls, revealing the young gunner on the other side, who jumped in surprise.
Prowl tilted his head ever so slightly, "Next time, Bluestreak: knock."
With that he turned and strode back over to the other bots assembled in the office, where they could meet in peace and Ratchet could still be close in case of an emergency with their survivors. Bluestreak stared in surprise for a moment longer before following him in to the room, with a quiet, "Yes sir."
.............
"Is it…supposed to do that?"
"Uh…no. No it's not."
"Cata-!"
"I know, I know! Okay, look I'll just…uh…I can fix that."
.............
An odd shudder ran through the room, and everyone stopped, turning instinctively to Prowl. The tactician frowned and activated his comm.
'Prowl to Optimus Prime.'
No response.
He twisted his faceplates in confusion, 'Prowl to Optimus Prime, please respond.'
That was when the room twisted. It blurred, shifted, and faded.
"What the slag?!" Ratchet's shout was nearly lost, though there was no noise to drown it out.
Prowl staggered back when the ground seemed to rotate beneath them, and he grabbed Bluestreak's arm to prevent him from keeling over.
.............
"CATALYTIC!!!"
"I'M WORKING ON IT!"
"What is that?!"
"What is…oh. Um, that's a…portal?"
"A…? Oh Primus, Cat, you didn't."
"Look, chances are nothing will come through, except maybe some energy or…something. We just…wait it out?"
"…I am going to disassemble you."
.............
A shock wave rocked through the room. It rippled and shifted, and a deafening ba-boom! resounded through the ship. Everything twisted as a kaleidoscope of dancing, whirling color, and then…silence.
"…Oops."
Lizard: And so it begins....
If you see mistakes, let me know, my fingers tend to get going a little too fast so I don't catch the errors. That and some words just don't want to be spelled or used correctly by me....
Okay, review if you want more!
LIZARD OUT