Cybertron. A war-torn world, left to die after countless centuries of strife and chaos.
Two sides collided over its control: the Autobots, protectors of life and justice, and the Decepticons, a ruthless faction of killers, former criminals, and those disgruntled by the government. The robotic life forms were led by Optimus Prime and Megatron respectively, two of the greatest warriors in the known galaxy. Their century-long conflict destroyed the planet they called home, and saw thousands of Cybertronians die in vain.
As their conflict raged on, one thing was clear: the Decepticons were winning. It was only a matter of time before Megatron would claim his throne as tyrant of the decayed world. In a surprising decision, Optimus Prime let him have it. With barely any resources remaining, and their enemies now attempting to purge them from Cybertron, the Autobots fled their home in search of a new one, leaving Megatron with his dead kingdom so they could rebuild society someplace else.
Unfortunately, surrender was not enough to please the tyrant Decepticon. Upon hearing of his enemies departure, Megatron sent out hunting parties to exterminate the Autobots on other worlds, hoping one would find his mortal enemy Prime and bring him back for a personal execution.
The Autobots, aware of this attempted genocide, landed on planets devoid of sentient life, in hopes that no other races would be brought into their seemingly endless conflict.
For a group of five Autobots, however, this would not be the case. Their ship, damaged in a skirmish with their Decepticon hunters, went off course and landed on a lush green and blue planet in the Milky Way galaxy.
This twist of fate would go on to change the life of one particular denizen of this planet Earth forever.
"So… Jones Alexander, right?"
For someone in the small forest town of Keepsbare, Washington to not recognize a fellow resident meant either one of two things: either they were new to town, or they were a complete idiot. Jones Alexander could tell right away that the manager of this used car lot was probably a combination of both. The young shit's bright green hair, nasal piercing, and black lipstick pushed him a bit more towards the latter category, but then again Jones was 51 years old. Maybe this is what the kids considered fashion nowadays. It was dumb as shit, regardless. How did this guy even get hired for this kind of job?
"Uh, yes, that would be right," Jones replied, feeling it better to keep his criticisms private, "But you can just call me Jones, sir."
The manager gave him a look. A nasty one. The kind someone gives you if you accidentally curse in front of an infant.
"Is… something wrong?"
"I am not a sir."
Jones looked over the person again. "Uh… My apologies, ma'am?"
"No, no, no... I identify as pangender."
Oh, hell, Jones thought. Not one of these people. "I beg your pardon?"
"Pangender means I identify as all genders. You must respect my identity, or I will be forced to ask you to leave."
"How was I supposed to know you identified as… whatever you just said?"
The manager pointed at the charm hanging from his neck. "Do you not recognize this? This symbol represents my gender identity. I feel that you, along with most people should know…"
Jones saw the manager's mouth moving, but the words didn't reach his ears. This must be one of those indoctrinated college millennials he heard about on the news. God damn these crazy kids anymore. Eventually, the pan-whatever stopped his yammering, and Jones snapped back to the interview.
"Sorry, Jones. Just got a little triggered there, that's all. Now that you have been informed, I think we can continue."
Jones would have walked right then and there if he wasn't so desperate for a job. At least the night guard position he was aiming for meant he wouldn't be dealing with this guy."Uh, yeah… Anyways, where would you like to start?"
"Previous job?"
"Grocery store clerk. Car washer. Garbage man."
"Reasons for leaving or quitting?"
"Store closed down, out of business, and smelled horrible. Not in that particular order, mind you."
"What makes you qualified for this job, then?"
"I suppose if I can do anything required of my old three jobs, I can sure as hell walk around the dealership at night with a flashlight to scare people away."
"How many days a week can you work?"
"There's seven of those, right?"
"…When can you start?"
And with that, Jones Alexander secured his fourth job in two years. He walked out through the dealership lot to his own car parked on the curb. It was a beaten down pickup truck, the front ready to fall off from the accumulating rust and holes. Poor middle aged man like himself couldn't afford a replacement, not even a junker from his new job's selection. The little pine forest town he called home his whole life had only two classes: poor and dirt poor. Jones sat in between those two. Not completely broke, but no money for luxury. All he had for entertainment was an old boxy computer straight out of the 90's, siphoning his internet connection from a completely senile old lady down the street. He felt bad about that, sure, but literally everyone else in town did it too. What was one more leech going to harm?
Other than that community secret, Keepsbare was a peaceful – but completely uneventful – place to live. No gossip, no conspiracies, no trouble aside from the random bear walking into town. It was the most mundane place in all of Washington State, and it matched Jones well. He was just another Average Joe. Not too tall, not too short. Bit of a beer belly. Trucker cap, slightly balding, 5'o clock shadow. Nobody special. Such a plain existence really dug into Jones's soul sometimes.
Jones reached his truck, opening the door and tossing his new uniform inside onto the passenger seat. He'd have to take it to the laundromat in town before his first shift tonight; the outfit reeked of gasoline. As he sat up before the wheel, he saw a vehicle being towed up onto the lot. It was an old Volkswagen van straight out of the 60's, just as beaten up as his own ride with shades of baby blue underneath the layers of grime and rust. He could see strings of Christmas lights through the windows, hanging tackily from the inner roof. For a moment, he swore he saw them flicker on and off.
Shrugging it off as a trick of the eye, he backed his truck out, his eyes still glued to the strangely fascinating vehicle in his rear-view mirror. The last detail he remembered of it was a funny-looking logo, triangular in shape, printed above the back license plate before he drove off on his way home.