When Particles Collide

by Renzin

Cybertron was falling - a repressed effervescent desire for change was taking over. The rebellion would come. Cities would fall and warriors would be made. And as the two great titan powers of Autobot and Decepticon clashed, those that were left behind would be forced to adapt and survive. But no matter how fast Scythe ran, the ground was crumbling away at her peds.

2. Chapter 2

When Particles Collide

Chapter 2

Judgement Of Coding

~oOo~

"It was obvious that bigotry was never a one-way operation, that hatred bred hatred!"
― Isaac Asimov, Pebble in the Sky

~oOo~

She hurried out of the wide gates of the education centre, her cooling system instantly heightened to combat the burning Flexian heat. Before the others could exit as well, she leapt up a low wall and scrambled away.

There was a mouth-watering smell in the air; Scythe followed it with her twitching nasal ducts until she was in a docking station near the edge of the main market. It was a richer district, and upon recognising where she was, instantly slipped into a slim shadow that was peeling off a dead end. She watched several worker bots shifting heavy crates from a wide cargo board with thick sides that hovered at knee level off the ground. From between the crossing metal of the crates, gleaming translucent cubes of energon supplies could be seen.

Scythe's optics widened hungrily at the sight of one crate already on a merchants' stall. The mech was distracted, animatedly reeling in a femme who was eying the collection of imported high-grade energon. However Scythe's sight was set on the crate of energon sweets that gleamed in an array of colours, their warm fruity scent wafting over to her.

Quietly, she moved back the way she came and travelled around the wall of the buildings to arrive at one she guessed to be directly behind that particular stall. Scythe glanced around her. The street she was in had a few bots wandering around, but none were focused in her direction. Her optics automatically traced a path up the urban footholds and her servos and peds swiftly followed.

She clambered across the top and leaned over in a crouch; down below to her left were the labouring mechs, a little to her right the merchant almost finished with his sale. She waited a breem for him to finish and become distracted with another customer. The crate was moved below the stall and covered with a cloth, however the lid had been left off and a selection were now on display.

Scythe scowled, scraping her claws against the roof; she could see any way to get those delicious energon sweets without getting the enforcers called. Her optics flickered to the usual one that was on patrol, circling the maze of stalls with supposed nonchalance. She could waste too much time today. Dropoff had been very clear that she needed to be home straight after her lessons finished – her excuse for this stop was that it was on the way home.

And then, a stroke of luck – one blue toned sparkling close to needing its first youngling frame was tugging at his mech creator with ecstatic energy, pleading at the sight of the sweets. The creator was startlingly similar to his creation, and apparently a sucker for it was well, because soon he was sighing and gaining the attention of the happy merchant. A klick* later and both were wandering back into the crowd, the sparkling hanging off the mech's hand and clenching a small cube of packed sweets in the other. Several had already been ingested in record speed.

Seeing her opportunity, Scythe back tracked down the building and jogged back around to spot the couple exiting the main market area. She merged into the crowd, her dull colour forgettable and claws kept close to her sides.

Her targets were almost at the edge of the crowd now, so she started to gently push through and close the distance. The electricity in her wires began to tingle under her plating, and her vents seemed to echo like thunder under her mask.

The sparkling had slowed its pace to dig around the small container with a panting glossa, unaware of the predator that was stalking him. As he leaned further in, a large bot bumped into him and with a cry of surprise he let go of his prize as he fell to the floor. The mech creator quickly became alert and hurried back, chastising his creation for going alone. By the time he deciphered through the hiccups that someone had stolen their purchase, Scythe was rolling down from a drain onto the street parallel, the sweet cube already safe in her subspace.

She felt a sharp sense of jealously at the sight of them that she hadn't allowed to emerge for a while, so stealing the sweets didn't install any guilt in her. Besides, they were a luxury that Dropoff could rarely bestow on the orphans, and they no doubt would appreciate them more than some spoilt sparkling brat, Scythe reasoned.

~oOo~

"Where the slag have you been?" Dropoff snarled as soon as Scythe was in view. "Look at all this dust! Frag it, why are you always so filthy after school?!" Before Scythe could answer, Dropoff waved her away. "No, never mind, I'm not interested in your wild answers today. Go to the wash racks and get ready. We're going to the medics today, and if you don't hurry, we'll miss our appointment."

"The medics'?" Scythe said with confusion. "What for? Neither of us is sick."

Dropoff let out a bark of course laughter. "Haven't you been monitoring your growth rates? It's time for your new frame, youngling."

Scythe's optics widened with excitement and quick as a flash she ran up the stairs.

Cybertronian childhoods were specific to each individual. Each bot would grow into frames at different rates, which could be estimated by the genetics of their creators. Seekers tended to have an accelerated growth until becoming a youngling, when they would need to grow fully functioning wings. Praxians were the same, while the wild creatures of Cybertron and those with feral coding tended to reach maturity within 10 vorns – a precaution to minimise the risk of death while being vulnerable. Those from military classes such as Kaonians and worker bots tended to be well built and muscular – they took the longest to mature at 20-23 vorns. Natives of Iacon and other civilian cities had lighter frames, and became grown mechs and femmes at around 17 vorns.

Because of this, the frames of bots needed to be updated according to the growth rate of the individual. Having a qualified medic examine you was the best way to track your growth rate, however all bots could look up a predicted value on their HUB screens. Due to fluctuations in factors such as chemical imbalances, amount of physical activity and special functions that needed to develop, this value was often constantly changing.

Scythe was in her last frame as a youngling – if the medic cleared her, then Scythe would be ready to don the plating that would theoretically stay with her for the rest of her existence. Of course many bots installed all sorts of updates, as well as replacing armour and functions. A frame was the organic equivalent of skin, but more resembled the quality of an all over exoskeleton. Cybertronians still had an extremely sturdy endoskeleton, along with their metallic equivalent of muscle tissue, organs and nerves, however the frame was the base for outer plates and armour to be worn on.

Currently, Scythe's frame was squeaking at the edges and stretched to its very limits; growth spurts were uncomfortable affairs, and many younglings had certain diets to reduce the irritation. Scythe's armour wasn't exactly a perfect fit in the first place, but hopefully with a new frame it would fill out a bit more.

The Flexian council provided all funding for medical care and anything the orphans needed, such as food and the maintenance of their home; this included frame upgrades, though corners were often cut, meaning that Scythe wasn't the only youngling with poorly fitted armour. However once the youngling was ready for their adult frame, the government provided a fund for them to acquire a proper, well-made armour that would be tailored to the individuals. After that, they would be out on their own.

Scythe was very excited; this was probably the closest she had ever been to shopping, and with Dropoff of all femmes (but then again there wasn't anyone else). It was also a strange experience to be walking down the streets of the city without her usual shortcuts, and Dropoff's constant glances to see that she was still there.

When they reached the clinic that they were assigned to, there were several other bots waiting, and a nurse at a transluscent cubicle playing secretary. As Dropoff went to sign them in, Scythe leaned against a bare wall and took in the room. There was a sparkling crying in the arms of a rather bewildered looking sibling while their creator was trying to teacher the older of the two to look after the younger. An aged mech was wheezing quietly in the corner with a femme only a little older than Scythe herself accompanying him. One minibot was inspecting the copper dust on his peds and a couple were practically sitting on each other, most likely expecting since one was rubbing their servo over the other's sparkling chamber lovingly. Their intimacy made Scythe rather uncomfortable, and she was glad when Dropoff and her were quickly called to see the medic.

Suture was a common example of a bot that absolutely hated his job. He was only several vorns out of training and would much rather be working in a high end surgery in Iacon than a run down clinic for the lower classes here. However he didn't have much choice; by working at the clinic he would gain experience and have a better chance at becoming an apprentice to a surgeon later on.

When Suture noticed Dropoff and Scythe, he gave them an insincere greeting, then ordered Scythe to stand on a slightly raised podium so that he could thoroughly scan her. Scythe, who was familiar with the procedure as an older youngling, stood obediently still and fought the urge to shudder.

Suture's dull optics sparked for a moment and then the mech had practically thrown himself to the other side of the room. With bared blunt teeth he hissed, "Get out now. I don't want to see you here again!"

Instantly Dropoff was up and growling. "The frag if you have a choice. She has every right to be treated at this clinic, and we've never been turned away before!"

Suture's glare alternated between Dropoff and Scythe, now clearly being able to make out the odd proportions of the latter's form. "A choice? I have every right to turn you away. Go find some other medic, I refuse to deal with her kind."

"Well you've already scanned her. Is she ready for her next frame?"

He paused for a moment, internally going over the information, before scowling again. "Yes, overdue actually. But don't think for one klick* that me or any bot here is going to willingly get close enough to make her a custom set of armour."

Dropoff snarled and slammed a fist down onto the medic's desk. "By our laws my charges are to be provided with the appropriate medical treatment, and that includes a new adult's armour!"

Suture threw his servos up. "And I have the right to refuse treatment if I see fit; the way I see it, that barbarian-" Scythe's engines rumbled loudly, "- is a disturbance and a safety risk to other patients."

"You slagger!" Dropoff cried. "She can't spend her life in the scrap she's in now!"

"The frag if I care! If you're not going to let this go, then send her to Kaon, maybe some one in the forges will take pity. She'll at least be with her own."

Without a word or thought Scythe extended her claws, the tips shredding through her cheap servo gloves and stalked over to the medic, however Dropoff was fast enough to restrain her.

With wide and bulging optics, Suture yelled. "Get the pit out of here, and don't come back!"

Dropoff kept her tight grip on Scythe as she tugged her out, shouting back, "Rot in the pit, you scrapbot!"

~oOo~

Klick - 1 second

Breem - 8.3 minutes

Orn - 13 days

Joor - 1 hour

Vorn - 83 years