The Lost Light Logbook 1: The Road Less Traveled
By Andromeda Medrexia/Whispers of the Ghosts
SUMMARY: After six centuries of conflict, the great Cybertronian Civil War has come to its close. Optimus Prime and Megatron are dead, the Decepticons and Autobots listless and confused, and the displaced NAILS are returning en masse. Unfortunately, with the eleventh Prime's death came the prophecy of Cybertron's end at the hands of a malevolent force. Their only hope—the long lost Knights of Cybertron. In a last ditch effort to save their race and home, Rodimus Prime leads a ragtag group of misfits on a space odyssey for their salvation, and the resulting adventures of the Lost Light will change the universe forever.
A/N: Once upon a time there was a fangirl who, while immensely fascinated with the major plot aspects, characters, and settings of Roche, Roberts, and Miline in The Transformers: More than Meets the Eye, hated pretty much everything else in the series (from the writing quality, to the eight million random plot holes that have yet to be resolved at the time of this writing, to the mercurial treatment of disabilities, the list goes on). Therefore, she decided to just stop bitching about it and write her own version of MTMTE. No regrets, and no going back.
OVERALL FANFIC RATING: M/R – X/NC-17 (if such content occurs, it will be posted off at AO3.)
PROLOGUE RATING: PG/K+
WARNINGS: This fanfic will include numerous triggering subjects such as ableism, bigotry/"racism", rape and other forms of sexual assault, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, issues of abortion and choice, genocide, war crimes, and physical, mental, emotional, and sexual torture. This fanfic will also buck the sexist trend of the ongoing comic by "femme-inizing" select members of the cast. There will be "same-gender" relationships between robots and they will be having robobabies. There will also be an extremely physically powerful, important, femme original femme OC coming in later and here to stay when she does arrive, so if the sight of any powerful female OC in a fanfiction makes you scream "MARY SUE" while your knees jerk so high in the air you might as well be doing yoga, this may not be the fic for you. There will also be numerous other femme, mech, and neutral (non-gendered) OCs in this fic, so again, same warning above applies here. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy!
Prologue: What's Her Name?
" Sooooo…this is her? This is my ship?"
The black and white law enforcement Autobot known as Lieutenant Commander Prowl—former second-in-command to the eleventh Prime and current co-ruler of post-war Cybertron—nodded in her usual solemn, critical fashion at the garishly red, yellow, and orange official leader of the Cybertronian race. Ah yes, their new leader, the twelfth, the successor of the dead eleventh. Their young, charismatic, uneducated, new leader. Their brash, overconfident, reckless new leader. The leader that could lead a swarm of scraplets off a planet with a shining grin and a handful of beguiling words. The leader who always shot first and asked questions later, and who thought all consequences could be handled with an injection of enthusiasm and a ream of paperwork. The leader who bled bravery, spewed informality, and swam in ego.
The leader that was leaving them all too soon.
" Wow." The mech formerly known as Hot Rod and redesignated Rodimus Prime just two weeks before strode closer to the edge of the classified dock with his usual springy gait, eyes trained up at the colossal white and red Cybertronian Class G Colonization ship. The ship was a relic from six centuries past—probably one of the last members of the Cybertronian Fleet constructed before the beginning of the war. After their conflict—and subsequently, their atrocities—spilled onto neighboring planets with dire results, the Galactic Council blacklisted the Cybertronian race from their membership and destroyed a majority of their once numerous Space Bridges in order to slow the descent of their madness onto council-protected planets.
Not that Prowl blamed them—it rattled her to her peds whenever she realized how many planets and civilizations both the Autobots and Decepticons had unwittingly destroyed and endangered with their vendettas against each other—however, it did not change the fact that the council's actions would make this journey all the harder. Not only was an officially designated "hostile race" traversing through council-controlled space just asking for a death sentence, but when the space bridges were annihilated, ship production on Cybertron ceased indefinitely, so the best vessel they had to rely on was a hastily-renovated six-century old ship that had disappeared from all public record until a gaggle of NAILS had hauled it into dry dock three weeks before for repairs and vanished without a trace. Plus, no space bridges equated to no intergalactic shortcuts; the absconding party would have to take the long way through the Silicate Galaxy, which could cost them time they didn't have.
Not the most reassuring start to the impending journey.
Rodimus scanned reverently over the ship for a few kliks before turning back to Prowl and the two other Autobots flanking her. " Will she do?"
"From what we can tell, she's in excellent condition. The blueprints of the ship are no longer on file, but we had Wheeljack and Perceptor pore over her engines, systems, weapons, and structures, and they gave her a clean bill of health." Lieutenant Commander Bumblebee—the second of Optimus's chosen co-council—sighed and leaned heavily his cane, right arm straining from the still unfamiliar effort. While walking and standing had once come easily to yellow minibot, high-velocity shrapnel had peppered his right leg during the twilight of the penultimate battle, resulting in a lifelong handicap that had further dampened his already dour spirits. " However, no matter what the results of that examination would have been, she's your only option. We have no other ships left that have the capability to both transport a bunch of people and defend them. Like it or not, she's the best you've got."
" No, no, don't get me wrong—I really like her." The grin on Rodimus' face should have been banned by the Tyrest Accords for excessive levels of charm. " She's got character. This is a ship that has stories to tell." After a moment, Rodimus' face fell into a mask of quiet contemplation, and he leaned against the guardrail, arms akimbo. " Speaking of scientists, I think Perceptor's going to go with us. Wheeljack's dedicated to staying, but I saw her and Drift's names on the early boarding docket when I checked it a groon ago."
" Not entirely unexpected." Prowl's dour expression softened at her third companion's smooth, lyrical voice, and the black hand twined around her white fingers gave her a reassuring squeeze. Glancing over to her right, she saw that her black and white bondmate Jazz—Lieutenant Commander, head of Special Operations for the Autobots, former third-in-command under Optimus Prime, and third co-council of Cybertron—smiling softly, though his visor was dimmed. "We all knew a lot of people were going to jump ship—literally—when we made the announcement. I think I was the only one not surprised that we filled up the two-hundred seats in an orn."
" I thought bots would wish to stay and fight." Prowl herself was even shocked at the icy edges of her clipped words, inadvertently releasing some of the seven centuries of bitterness wound up tightly in her core. " I thought they would want to help restore the planet we worked so hard to win, to change, to make our own. I thought better of them."
"Prowl." Bumblebee's voice was equally harsh, albeit exhausted. "Like it or not, these bots are still, in an unknowing way, fighting for us. We all know how this venture could turn out."
The resulting silence was so deafening that you could have heard a scraplet blink.
After a few seconds of suffocating in apprehension, Bumblebee noisily pursed his lips and continued, occasionally trying to shift more weight onto his right leg and failing. "These bots may be our only chance—our only hope of survival—so we can't keep everyone on the planet. Like it or not, the only ones that survive may be the ones that leave on the ship tomorrow, so let them go. Hell, I'm kind of glad Perceptor is going; Rodimus here will need all the help he can get."
" Hey, I'm still your leader, so show some respect." The words Rodimus spoke were harsh, but the smile with which they were said softened the blow. Bumblebee, Prowl, and Jazz lowered their gazes demurely at the gentle admonition and Rodimus soon returned his attention to the ship. " Anyway, Bumblebee's right. The bigger the variety, the greater chance we avoid a bottleneck if the last case scenario ever occurs." Rodimus paused for a moment, clenching his fists. " But we're not giving up on Cybertron yet."
" No, we aren't." Jazz agreed, but Prowl resisted the urge to keen in despair.
Why is this happening, Optimus, why did you leave? He can't lead, I can't lead, we can't lead, he's going to fail, he can't save us, we can't save ourselves, not without you, so please, please come back…
Jazz side-eyed Prowl at the distraught look etched into her normally stern faceplates as Rodimus prattled on, leaning over the guardrail to skim his fingers along the edge of the ship. The enamel plating was smooth and cool to the touch.
" Tomorrow will be a new beginning, a rebirth. We're going to head out there, find the Knights of Cybertron, come back, and kill whatever's coming to kill us. We won't fail—no, I won't fail my people." The uncharacteristic solemnity caused the co-council to tear their gazes from their peds and stare at his flamboyantly painted back.
"You better not," Prowl concurred. " Our entire civilization is on your shoulders now, and you can't afford to drop it. Not like everything else you've ever abandoned."
Rodimus startled, momentarily taken aback as his hand stalled in its tactile examination of the ship's hull. For a moment he seemed to consider whether or not he'd reprimand Prowl for her "insubordination", but then decided to change the subject instead, hand resuming its course along a mended gouge—he couldn't tell if it had been caused by weapon fire or space debris.
" So, does she have a name?"
" Huh?" The normally unflappable Jazz, already taken aback by Prowl's bold words, was reeled by the abrupt change in conversation. "What do you mean?"
" The ship, Jazz. What's her name?" The flame colored mech chuckled. "I can't well captain the Cybertronians' last hope for survival without knowing its designation."
Once again, silence.
" Her name," Bumblebee finally intoned, "is the Lost Light."