Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, or the premise of the Transformers franchise, this is just my own alternate version of them.
Frog: In honor of my birthday, I am posting the beginning of my latest and greatest project: the Nevermore series! This is an original AU where the Autobot/Decepticon war never took place. In fact, only a very small percentage of the populace has ever heard of a Decepticon. I've taken many of my favorite characters ideas from various TF series and fanons and pulled them into one. I'll mostly be drawing from G1 interpretations for a start, though. Hopefully this will be a fun experience for all of us involved, but I understand if you don't like all of my ideas. You're entitled to your opinions, and this fic certainly isn't for everyone ;) I do plan to re-invent some characters in ways you probably aren't going to suspect.
Honestly, I could use a beta for this project, and the person I contacting some months ago never got back to me. Which I understand, life is busy. So if anyone is willing to do some editing for me, or give me some constructive critique, I'm readily accepting of it. Forethought isn't always my strong suit, I tend to leave plot holes by accident because I'm so focused on the point I'm at present trying to get across.
But enough of my rambling, please enjoy chapter one ;)
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Time measurements to approximate Earth equivalent:
Klik: 1 minute
Breem: 6 minutes
Joor: 6 hours
Orn: 360 hours (2 weeks)
Iorn: 540 hours (3 weeks)
Cycle: 60 days (8.5 weeks).
One Cycle is defined by two Iorns (light shifts) and one Orn (dark-shift). Could be compared to one Cybertronian day.
Para-Cycle: 12 cycles (2 years)
Vorn: 7 Para-Cycles (84 years)
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And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted-nevermore!
-from E. A. Poe's 'Nevermore'
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Chapter One: The Spark of the Matter
-10 vorns ago-
He was so unaccustomed to this….silence. To think it was something that he sought out cycle to cycle, but now that he had it, it was almost too much to bare. It…unnerved him to say the least.
And Ratchet was never unnerved.
The CMO's frame was unnaturally lax as it was slumped into his chair, making him appear almost small compared to the grim walls of his office. Inwardly he was chastising himself for being so weak. He knew this was going to happen, after all. The statistics just hadn't been in their favor. Even something as miraculous as the Cybertronian spark had its limits.
The spark was a marvelous thing. Life in a tangible form. Not fully understood, and yet at the core of each and every one of their beings. So very fragile and yet often described as strong.
It could be joined to other sparks and yet remain singular. Two sparks connected by such a bond could then communicate without the need of any device or program, regardless of the distance between them.
If two sparks that shared no natural bonds were connected, the beings attached to them then became "mates". These bonds were special in that as the sparks communicated back and forth, excess energy was produced. This energy could then either be used as emergency stores or harvested and formed into a new, smaller spark.
Ratchet had performed procedures such as these countless times before, but despite all the technology their race had been blessed enough to create, the mortality rate of these operations was still high.
The amount of excess energy needed to create new sparks as small as they did was astounding to those whom had never seen it first-hand. And it was all about timing. The procedure, when stopped too soon, could create backlashes of energy into the sparks of the participants, but if one waited too long, the energy drain could turn just as lethal. Not to mention that mates rarely had identical amounts of surplus energy, which only served to further complicate what had to be done.
Ratchet knew this. He had witnessed many sparks die out as they gave new life into the universe.
And barely a joor prior, his own mate had made that very same sacrifice.
"Ratchet?" a low voice called through the door. When no response was given, the unwanted guest simply let himself in.
The CMO barely glanced up as Optimus Prime stepped into the room and let the door hiss shut quietly behind him. With astonishing grace for a mech his size, he entered the room and debated taking the chair that sat lonely in the corner. However, his attention was rather soon drawn to the nesting box on the far side of the room.
Without so much as speaking to Ratchet, he approached the box in a matter of a few long strides. The bottom was made up of tightly wound wires that were interwoven into a springy sort of fabric. Various shaped pieces of warmed soft metal littered the bottom of the box, most congregated in the center around two softly humming Cybertronian frames, just the right size for newly emerged sparks, deep in recharge. Finally Optimus turned back to the CMO with a compassionate smile.
"Your mate would have been proud. Twins aren't easy to create, or so I'm told."
"I am aware of that Optimus," the medic sighed, begrudgingly rising from his seat and coming to stand by the leader of the Autobot Protection Forces, "As you should be, seeing as you and your brother were orphaned under the very same circumstances."
"Yes, but we didn't have either creator, these little ones at least have you."
A scoff, "Touching thought, but there are mechs who will think they would be better off orphans than have me raising them."
"Only because you are such a devoted, caring medic who is very busy tending to his patients," Optimus teased lightly.
The CMO gave him a dull look, "Irony and sarcasm are not your forte. Please avoid them in the future."
"If you say so."
They lapsed into silence as one of the small frames, sparklings they were called, twitched in a side-effect to all the varied programs and relays that it had to process through before it could truly come online for the first time. Some aged but adequate monitors beeped back in response, signaling that process was moving on as expected. Ratchet huffed in satisfaction, returning to his desk.
Optimus watched the quiet frames a moment longer and then finally turned for the door, "I shall leave you to your thoughts then," he paused, "Just…remember you're not alone, Ratchet. You are never alone."
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-9 klicks ago-
The number of orphans that Cybertron was home to was staggering. Blaster, as young as he was, could not comprehend why so many couples felt the need to put their own lives at risk like they obviously did. He had to guess that most thought "it wouldn't happen to them". And granted, there were many young bots that had both their parents, and several that at least had one.
As for orphans like Blaster, one of two fates awaited them. On the one hand, they could be adopted into hopefully loving families, allowed to make choices for the progression of them lives, but generally be doomed to an unremarkable sort of life of mediocrity. The other half was "apprenticed", taken in by adults who were too busy for relationships and too important to risk their lives in spark creation. These were talented individuals who trained their adoptees rather than raised them, following the intent that their ward would eventually be marked an equal in skill. Most officers, politicians and similar renowned or wealthy individuals had been apprenticed by their predecessors, and they would in turn take apprentices of their own who would take their place if worst came to worst or the bot in question chose to move on or retire.
Blaster fell into this latter category, and sometimes it made him wish his spark had never been created at all. Only four vorns in to the youngling stage of his life, he was well acquainted with the high expectations that came from being a pupil to one Soundwave, Commander of the Enforcers wing of the Autobot Protection Force. Other bots were always watching him, waiting to see how he would turn out, hoping they'd have another grossly talented expert on everything that would work for the Autobots until his spark died out like Soundwave was lofted to be.
He was tired of being compared to Soundwave. In fact, he was tired of Soundwave, period. The femme could die at her work station for all he cared.
It was all he could do to slip away a little each Cycle, away from everyone and everything Autobot, hiding away in his usual alleyway that gave him comfortable distance from the main Iacon Command complex.
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-8 Para-Cycles ago-
Nothing gripped his spark with such urgency as when he had a quota to fill. Whether it be for a shipment of questionable meds for an alternative care facility or weapons for a gang of thieves, Swindle lived for his bigger orders. Sometimes, when buying surplus of this, that or the other thing, he would set a goal for himself to sell a certain percentage by a certain date. It kept his drive going, keeping his edge over the competition when it came to black market sales.
Yet even a greedy merchant such as himself had a few moral standards that he would prefer to avoid. But it got complicated when the stakes weren't for profit, but for his own life. Serves him right for snooping around where he didn't belong. Now every few vorns, he had to pay the price with his own guilt.
His quota involved a bot. No one specific, but they did have to meet a certain set of parameters. The problem came in that one of those parameters required this bot be young, as in, pre-final frame young. It didn't really matter where they came from, he just didn't want to get caught, for obvious reasons.
He'd found a young spark that looked promising for his most recent quota. Just barely into his fledgling frame, the mech was a loner and all but absent from his own life. He had an ego from what Swindle had observed or otherwise discovered, and that always helped. It gave him something to play to. And young bots were oh so easily swayed by his silver glossa, that alone almost made him feel bad for doing it.
"So you can find a bot to apprentice me," Dead End repeated slowly, "Despite my age."
"Of course!" Swindle beamed pleasantly, "These mechs don't really…qualify for most apprenticeship programs, but…"
"So what you're saying is, it's illegal."
"Well not entirely, but," Swindle reset his vocalizer, "They are very skilled, I assure you. And in the end, what's more important? The legitimacy of your training, or the fact that you get training at all. I hear you aren't quite satisfied with you present education. This could be a chance to greatly expand your horizons."
The fledgling paused in thought, "What are their skills?"
"See, that's the beauty of it. They've got bots that are skilled in just about everything you can think of."
"Will I have any say?"
"Don't know, honestly," Swindle shrugged, "I'm certain they will place you where you can best test your abilities."
Dead End looked down again, then back at the route he had been taking to get home, and finally back up to Swindle, "I have nothing to lose."
Swindle smirked broadly, dropping an arm around the younger mech's shoulders and leading him away, "That's what I like to hear!"
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-7 klicks ago-
A familiar rhythm of quiet taps met Blaster's audios, bringing a weak smile to the youngling's faceplates, "Hey Steeljaw."
The cybercat uttered a small growl in greeting and padded over to plop down next to the young mech. They sat by the wall in companionable silence, both fulfilling what they had come out here to do just by sitting quietly; Blaster could sit in peace and ponder his thoughts uninterrupted and Steeljaw could watch over the small apprentice as per Master's orders.
Blaster was even willing to consider them friends sometimes, despite the fact that the cybercat's main job was to be a chaperone and guard. At worst he would have to insist that Steeljaw take his sentry to the shadows where the young mech didn't have to look at him. He'd given up telling the semi-sentient drone to just go away some time ago, orders from higher powers always overrode those of a grumpy youngling.
Right now, though, Blaster was strangely grateful for the company.
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-6 Para-Cycles ago-
"The incubation of the sparks for Project Seeker is nearing its completion," Perceptor reported almost before the door to Wheeljack's lab had fully opened.
"Uh-huh," came the distracted response from the back of the messy lab as the inventor fiddled with a complex knot of wires.
Perceptor frowned at the improper greeting, but quickly decided he should be used to it by now, "Please pass—"
"Word to Shockwave. Got it."
There was a lengthy pause, "Aren't you supposed to be on this project as well?"
The inventor finally looked up from his work, "Not interested."
Another frown from Cybertron's highest ranking scientific authority, "And why, praytell, not? Cybertronians built with flight capabilities will be an immense scientific breakthrough for all of us. Seeing as you are always in attempt to out-perform your teacher, as it were, I would have thought you would wish to be a part of the process."
That struck a chord as Wheeljack set his tools aside. He didn't especially like being reminded that he was now, and likely would be for a long time coming, only considered the apprentice of Shockwave. A full functioning "graduated" apprentice, but still but a student nonetheless.
Wheeljack huffed, his headfins flickering dismissively, "See, that's just it, we already have flying Cybertronians. Shockwave isn't building anything new."
"I presume you are referencing the shuttles," Perceptor sighed, "The primary difference with these 'Seekers' is that—"
"They fit safely indoors. I know!" the inventor grumbled to himself, "Just wait until I prove Shockwave wrong about my mass shifting idea. Then we'll see who's smartest."
"I will be quite interested to see you try that in the future," Perceptor shook his helm, sighing once again.
"I've made progress!" Wheeljack insisted.
"Oh have you?"
"Yep! Using subspace technology!"
Another pause, "As I recall that incident resulted in an explosion that nearly crumpled the entire eastern spire."
Wheeljack's headfins flashed happily, "And that is why I am currently turning that accident into a weapon!"
"Of course you are…"
"And just wait until you see my prototype warp drive!"
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-5 klicks ago-
Blaster yelped as barbs suddenly protruded from Steeljaw's once peacefully swishing tail and the cybercat launched into a defensive position. The young mech scrambled to his feet behind his friend, having the odd thought that the shadows in the ally hadn't been this dark a few klicks ago. Steeljaw growled his displeasure at the situation, trying to back both of them out onto the street.
The youngling, however, was feeling braver, "If you're out there, show yourself!"
A heavy foot, larger than any he had ever seen before emerged from the shadows with a dull thud.
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-4 Para-Cycles ago-
"Do you believe I'm unqualified?"
Kup dropped the forms unceremoniously on his desk to give the mech sitting across from him a critical look, "No Prowl, if anything you're overqualified. Which is why I've got a feeling there's something more to all 'o this."
The Praxian mech barely twitched his otherwise relaxed doorwings, "What makes you say that?"
"You've got some high marks, youngling," Kup gestured to the paperwork before him, "You come with the highest recommendations from all over Praxus as one of the best detectives they've got. In fact, I'd wager that they were unwilling to let you go. But this—" he gestured out the window to the dim skyline of Iacon as the planet itself powered-down for recharge, "Not only are you taking the dark-shift, but you're also out here on the rims of the province. You aren't exactly climbing any ladders, unless you like going backwards. What are you really looking for, Prowl? Got some personal case or other you want to solve."
Prowl frowned minutely, "You could say that."
Kup leaned back in his chair, "And what would that be?"
"Am I required to tell you?" he averted his gaze as the elder mech's optic ridges rose in intrigue.
"So long as it's not illegal, I s'pose not. Though I'm also required to tell you that it can't infringe on your regular work, not that I think it'll be a problem with how little there is to do around here," he smirked, "I'm guessing that was your intention on asking for an interview in my district."
"It was certainly the perk I was looking for, yes," Prowl replied easily.
"In that case," Kup rose from his seat, "Welcome aboard, Prowl. It'll be nice to have a mech with some initiative around here."
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-3 klicks ago-
Blaster had heard stories when he was younger, of giants that lurked the shadows of the dark shift. Monsters with sharp claws that snatched wayward sparklings and younglings and devoured their little sparks. And their defining features were narrow red optics that cast an evil, freezing glow on all they looked upon.
He refused to believe the red aura surrounding him and Steeljaw now could come from these mythical beings that only existed to get troublesome sparklings to behave. But against all better judgment and logic, he found his helm craning upward, gazing into the forboding light of a crimson optic band.
Steeljaw snarled and lunged to meet the hand that materialized from the shadows, but was entrapped by a second and Blaster could only watch in a stunned stupor as the spitting cybercat was brought up to be investigated by this monster of nightmares. He could have sworn he saw the large Cybertronian grin.
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-2 Para-Cycles ago-
Moonracer returned home from the dark shift with a contented sigh. Just another average orn with Kup's team of misfit Enforcers. Their boss had spent most of the shift relaying the same old tales of his glory days that they had heard a thousand times before, Springer had been the only one really paying attention, and even proceeded to act some of his favorite scenes out for most everyone's enjoyment, and Prowl had had the least fun, as always. Sadly, Streetwise had taken a better offer a few orns ago, and the team was sorely missing his presence in the now empty desk across from Prowl's. Kup was looking into finding a replacement. It was hard to find many bots willing to take their shift, except for the total slackers.
But Moonracer wasn't complaining. After all, she didn't plan to stay with Kup's team forever either, as much as she loved them. Right now, it just fit better with her social life. This was good practice, but whenever she decided she was ready to go up in the world, said world had better watch out! Because she was sharpening her skills, ready to come out of nowhere and take 'em all by surprise!
With a satisfied grin, the femme plopped herself down by the window that overlooked the expanse between Iacon and its neighboring provinces. Cybertron dark when she worked, but it was always dark out here. There were no buildings out that way, only a few criss-crossed roads and a lot of piled up debris from ages past. Absently she hoped to see Hound again sometime soon and hear about his patrols in a part of Cybertron that few bots were brave enough to investigate, herself included. Though that never stopped the mystery of it from enchanting her.
Wait…
Had that been there before?
Moonracer hopped back to her feet and parted the forcefield-screens that protected her home from the outside world. There, hanging just precariously from the rim, was a miniature replica of one of the elegant spires that surrounded Iacon Central Command, crudely crafted out some rusting scrap metal. Moonracer turned the item over in awe, finding a small inscription written on base.
"To my lovely guardian of Iacon," she read aloud with a smile, "May you always stand tall."
Enamored by the anonymous gift, she never noticed the red optics watching from the darkness below, nor the hulking figure that disappeared into the shadows.
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-1 klick ago-
"H-hey! Wait! Stop!" Blaster suddenly charged after the stranger as the immense mech turned to leave with a haplessly struggling Steeljaw secured in his grasp, "Give him back!"
The intruder glanced back over his shoulder, and this time Blaster could see for sure that he was smirking broadly, "What? This?"
The youngling paused. It…it spoke?
He gave a hesitant nod and the monster's smirk widened.
"You're gonna have to catch me first."
And with that he once again retreated into the shadows, easily able to outpace a desperate Blaster with his long strides. Eventually the little orange mech lost sight of the hulking frame and found himself lost in the backstreets and alleyways of Iacon.
"Excuse me young mech? Are you alright?" He jumped at suddenly being addressed, causing the black and white Praxian nearby to take a step back. Blaster just looked at him in a surprise as the concerned Enforcer again made to approach him.
"Young mech?"
And suddenly, all the fear and desperation of the past few klicks caught up to him at once.
"It-it was a monster! He took Steeljaw!" he keened desperately. The stranger's wings ticked up in alarm.
"Steeljaw? As in one of Commander Soundwave's symbiotes? That Steeljaw?"
Blaster nodded weakly as the mech knelt down next to him, "And it was a monster?"
The youngling snarled at him, "Look, I don't exactly believe in 'em either but I know what I saw!"
The mech barely twitched, "It's alright, I believe you."
He gave the stranger an incredulous look, "But no one believes in those old stories."
"There's a shred of truth in every myth," the mech explained, helping Blaster to his feet, "Now come with me. We'll contact Soundwave and confirm that Steeljaw is missing…what is your relation to our Commander if I might ask?"
Blaster scuffed his peds dejectedly, "I'm one of her apprentices…"
The Enforcer gave him an appraising look, "Then you must be Blaster."
He only gave a sigh in confirmation, allowing the mech to lead him up to the local Enforcer's headquarters. The Praxian took a pause at the door, kneeling down in front of the youngling once more.
"Steeljaw is very capable as I understand. You will see him again. And if he can't get himself out of this, I will find him myself."
Blaster looked unconvinced, but nodded just the same.
All he could do now was wait and hope that this mech was right.
