I LIVE! Though prolly not for long...*eyes horde of angry fans in distance* So yeah, for the last year-and-a-bit I had no computer. My only access was through phone/iPod and wi-fi spots. But y'all ain't here for excuses...onward! And Gods help me if the next one comes any later than, say...a month, max?
His first impression as he opens the file is that of chaos; that familiar tingle in his circuits that screams of battle. Human soldiers in strategic positions around a shape that is instantly recognisable as the Prime - one of the humans confirms it by his order of protection for this shell that was once his commander.
He is not often given to vulgarities, but it is not often one sees a beloved figure in such a state. -Holy frag. I honestly thought it was part of Sideswipe's sick sense of humor.-
An escalation, now. Decepticons making planetfall by the dozen - and a faint multi-colored speck at the foot of the farthest pyramid. He zooms in on this, and is momentarily taken aback. -Devastator?- He is in doubt; he personally terminated no less than three Constructicons himself - but then he remembers an old briefing: if even a single unit functions, they can and will rebuild.
The rise of voices in the temporary human encampment brings him back to those covering the body of Optimus, just in time to see two figures sprinting towards the farthest structure before the Decepticon lines. As they take shelter with the humans' commander, Mirage gets his first look at the face of the one who killed Megatron.
This is the first time that Mirage has seen Samuel James Witwicky, the young human who brought down the "Tyrant Of Cybertron". -And damned our race in the process,- he muses. Despite this statement, he feels no bitterness, no resentment toward this child. -Our race was doomed long before Mission City,- he reasons. And he is, after all, a fierce advocate of the argument that in certain moments, there is only one path to take. Young Samuel, it seems, shares this advocacy; he appears to argue momentarily with the older human warrior before the latter acquiesces.
The commander's partner turns toward him and mutters something, only to see his shoulders slump and an exasperated look in return. The other looks mildly sheepish for a split second before all four of them - the commander, his second, Samuel, and a young human femme - spring to their feet and sprint away from the lone barrier between the Decepticons and their fellow soldiers. Not a moment too soon it seems, as that area is awash with flame seconds later.
He sees Samuel break off from the others, going for Optimus - and sees a silver-armored figure emerge from the smoke and dust behind him. He seems to have temporarily forgotten this angry red-eyed behemoth; Megatron, on the other hand, clearly hasn't forgotten him.
A flash from Megatron's cannon arm sends the human flying, almost in slow-motion, several feet through the air. The youth's scream is naught but reflex; Mirage can tell, even with his limited knowledge of human physiology, that Samuel is dead before he hits the ground a second later.
Screams and sobs from what Mirage assumes are the boy's parental units join the sound of continued battle as a medic attempts to revive him to no avail. Yet, without warning, his eyes snap open and he draws breath, again and again, in the midst of an incredulous and bewildered audience.
Samuel leaps to his feet now, his eyes focused on a glittering metallic item that Mirage recognises from his early histories. -The Matrix! It was supposed to be a legend...- He is cut off as it flares to life at the young human's touch. It emits a brilliant blue glow as Samuel half-crawls, half-runs to Optimus' body. Mirage is beyond confusion and disbelief as he watches the youth climb up to the Prime's chest and all but slam the Matrix into Optimus' spark chamber.
Only extreme self-control stops Mirage from actually reversing into the wall of Bruce Wayne's self-proclaimed "Batcave" in shock as Optimus spasms once, then starts to rise. He is torn between shock and joy as he hears his commander, his leader, the authority figure so many of his faction would be proud to call "father", speak for the first time since Mirage had made planetfall himself over a year ago. "Boy," that deep gravelly voice that had inspired a distraught Cybertron countless millennia ago intones. "You returned for me." The boy in question looks up at him with mingled relief and a hint of guilt. Yet this scene, too, is interrupted.
A flash of light mid-air knocks human and Cybertronian alike to the ground, and a staff-bearing figure emerges in that same instant. Mirage can only watch, shocked, as another legend of old steps forth from the pages of forgotten lore. -This is almost akin to one of Kup's yarns. First the Matrix of Leadership, now The Fallen - who's next, Unicron himself?-
The legend in front of him has one taloned footpad on the Prime's chest as he telekinetically rips the Matrix from its current spot in the recovering Prime's spark chamber. "My Matrix," his raspy voice croons before disappearing into the distance - and reappearing in front of a glittering metallic construct jutting from the top of the farthest pyramid. Mirage's thoughts snap back to the rainbowed speck he spotted at the beginning of this file, and he scans for any sign of the mammoth gestalt. His optics rest upon pieces of what were, until recently it seems, the upper body of the combined titan. Any interrogatory thoughts are put on hold as his optics catch movement - human jets are moving toward the pyramid, and toward The Fallen and Megatron.
Their movement is abruptly halted - as is their continued existence - by the levitating debris now surrounding the pyramid. But now more commotion on the ground as a black-painted mortally wounded winged figure approaches the group. Mirage, silent observer, is in awe. -A Seeker. I didn't think any still lived.- The old mech speaks, beseeching Optimus. "Take my parts, and you will have a power you've never known." The only mech present older than even Ironhide falls to the ground as he takes his own life; and Ratchet, hardened battlefield medic that he is, wastes no time enlisting Jolt to magnetize the parts he is hastily grafting to Optimus' armor. Midnight wings and engines mesh with brilliant red and blue, and within seconds the work is done. The Prime nods, whether as thanks to his impromptu outfitters or in tribute to the fallen Seeker, then flies into the air with engines roaring.
The file skips here, and in that brief interlude Mirage becomes aware of the presence of his "driver" and his butler-slash-longtime friend, Alfred. They are in front the multiple monitors Wayne has set up here, with their attention focused on the largest one: a facial recognition program running alongside a video clip of a suited, smiling face waving toward the camera.
His attention is swept back to Ironhide's post-battle file as he sees Megatron and Starscream take off into the darkening sky, and he sweeps the dunes for any sign of Optimus. He spots him, finally, rising victorious from a smoking ruin that can only be The Fallen and rapidly shedding the midnight armor which had been hastily added to his frame seemingly seconds ago. Mirage cannot help but hear an echo of his commander's famous battle cry - "One shall stand, one shall fall." His optics rise to the top of the pyramid where he sees only wreckage. His gaze returns to his fellow Autobots, clearly victorious yet not without losses. He briefly winds back and sees the fall of the Arcee units. Ending the playback altogether, he utters a silent prayer to the Well for the brave femmes as he returns his attention to the two humans in the room with him.
Alfred is speaking to the younger man. "I trust you don't have me followed on my day off." Bruce's reply is lost as the disguised Autobot begins musing to himself. Mirage sees himself in Alfred, both what was and what will eventually be. This is a man who has seen his share of Hell in life and who, even now, is still experiencing a degree of it as he watches his adopted son wage war on Gotham-spawned crime. He, too, is a man who knows that sometimes the only choices are the hardest ones to make; that sometimes we have no other option but to walk a dark path.
But unlike Mirage and Bruce, he sees and acknowledges that at this stage in his life he can do little more in this crusade than watch, advise, and mend the young warrior's wounds. Mirage harbors a suspicion that, had someone stood up to the scum of Gotham twenty-or-more years ago as Batman is doing now, Alfred would be on the front lines himself.
Bruce rises and shrugs out of his black t-shirt. Even more than two meters away Mirage can see the scars that tell a tale of violence starting before the birth of Batman. "Know your limits," cautions Alfred. It is, after all, the only thing he can do at this point, save for offering a fervent prayer for Bruce's safe return every time he goes into battle. With a note of dark humor, Bruce replies that "Batman has no limits." -But you do,- Mirage silently contributes, and is unwittingly echoed by the veteran warrior. "Well, can't afford to know them," jabs the younger as he buttons his collared shirt.
Mirage is at once both contemplative and annoyed - the annoyance born of concern he has harbored for this human's safety for the past several months - at his statement. He had himself arrived at that same mentality eons ago. His own appearance is testament to that fact: where once were sleek and fluid curves are now bulky armored plates giving an almost ungainly boxy appearance in vehicle form, and a smooth if seemingly patchwork finish in bipedal mode.
Whatever the negative reactions of those closest to him, he at least has the wisdom to see what must be done, and from that Mirage muses that Wayne would make an interesting Prime.
-(^-^)-
Both men made to leave, with Bruce following Alfred. He'd had no intention being so flippant regarding his own safety, but he had long ago subscribed to that ancient saying: "Never let them see you bleed." Batman was a symbol; if he showed weakness, any kind at all, he'd be as effective in terrorizing criminals as a water-logged kitten. He'd read multiple studies on psychopaths – a necessity in his job, he figured – and in more than a few cases the individuals in question had attributed the heinous deeds they were accused of to a separate entity. Not so Bruce. When it came to appearance, he considered Bruce Wayne and Batman to be two halves of the same being. /Like a married couple,\ he grinned to himself-
He paused, gazing back at the Tumbler. /Movement? No...coulda sworn...hmm...\ Something seemed...-off- about his personal mini-tank lately. /Or maybe it's just me. Maybe Alfred's right. I'm getting too into this. Next time I run into those copycats, I might ask them to cover so I can take a night off, get some well-deserved rest...\ He shook his head and exited, the lights dimming as he left.
PARTING SHOT: To the reviewer who requested Prowl as the Tumbler, he will have a role in this. Not a huge one, but definitely a role. You'll know him when you see him...
