Fallout
"Introductions: Part 3"
by Nan00k
Thanks for the comments and favs guys. I appreciate the feedback. I can't believe I'm posting this next chapter so soon! I'm never this fast. Don't get used to this frequent updating; I'm a notoriously slow writer. Also, twenty-one pages for this chapter? WHAT? This like...never happens. Don't get spoiled. ;)
Many thanks to my beta and friend, Kelly, for the help with the German in this chapter!
Introductions continues, introducing two new characters as well as uniting five of them together.
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Disclaimer: Transformers © Hasbro/Dreamworks. The original characters in this story are mine, however.
Warnings: character death, violence, foul language, disturbing imagery
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Europe
2043 AD
He was no strategist. His brother had been the strategist, making plans, scheming, thinking ahead—that was never his style. He had no reason to think about the future, because Onslaught did it for all of them.
But now Onslaught was dead. Swindle was dead. Brawl, Blast Off—
Vortex was alone.
Memories of his brothers—the ghosts of their psyches—were all Vortex had left of them, of their bond. Bonds were never supposed to break, not like that. They had had no warning when Galvatron began the executions. They had thought it had been for traitors, which they were not. They never expected the new pets their master had received from his anonymous new friend to suddenly turn on them.
Vortex had escaped only because he could fly and because he had been faster than Swindle and Blast Off had been. He escaped into the wilderness of a burning Earth. He didn't get far. The shattered bond sent him into a temporary coma—a cold, cold madness. He couldn't breathe or think. All he felt was the agony of his brothers' deaths echo over and over in his Spark. He felt their pain, their terror, their final moment of realization before their sparks were extinguished like flames.
He did not expect to wake up from that living hell.
But when his processors did online, he was alone. He had never been alone. Ever. The gestalt team had onlined together and, Autobot-esque sentimentalities aside, he had expected them to offline together as well. It was just the way it was. Gestalts did not survive a loss of a member, let alone the majority of each other.
Vortex walked back into life with a hole in his spark…but very much alive. He didn't know where on this organic planet he was, or where the other Decepticons were. He didn't know if it was safe to look for any. There were no guarantees about anything now. He just...walked onward.
It was strange; he could think clearer than he ever had before. That was because of the silence. The silence was horrible. He couldn't hear Swindle's inane conversation or Blast Off's arrogant self-appreciation. There was no snarky bickering between the conniving Onslaught and the violent Brawl. For the first time, Vortex's mind was his and his alone. He hated it.
He wandered aimlessly. His propellers had been torn up by the drones and then smashed horribly when he crashed back to earth when the backlash of the bond hit him. Vortex contemplated just ending his life; his gestalt and ability to fly were gone. He had no purpose, not with Galvatron gone and the drones mindless murderers. The war was over, as far as Vortex could reason. He had no purpose, not when there were no longer Autobots to torture or intel to steal.
But Vortex snapped out of that line of thinking quickly, because every time he considering igniting his weapon's protocol, something else went wrong with his internal systems. Energy levels were reaching critical lows. Increased damage to his dermal plating due to the natural environment or a tight scrape with a swarm of drones. Every time one of those warnings popped up on his HUD, thoughts of suicide dried up quicker than high-grade at a party in Kaon. He needed to survive—he had to. There was no other option.
Onslaught had been the thinker. Vortex needed that skill now to survive—so he remembered what Onslaught did. How he thought, how he felt through their gestalt bond. Vortex prided himself on being himself. To be unique, in a gestalt team, was everything. They had to stay afloat in the midst of five other personalities, who were always connected and always touching.
Now was no time to be unique. He had lost the need to be that individual when his brothers offlined. He would be whom he needed, not what he wanted.
So he became a thinker. He stole what he remembered of Onslaught's intelligence. He thought before he moved, watching for details. Vortex found himself making plans and considering the future, something he never did before. There had never been a need. In a world like this, he had no choice but to plan. He planned for everything.
Several solar cycles after the fall of the Decepticon army, Vortex found himself making another plan. This time, the plan did not just mean scavenging for left over energy materials from fallen human machines, or attempting to create a solar array from an energy plant.
No, today, he was following two mechs and a human.
He had found them by accident. They had apparently all chosen the same town to ransack. The moment he had sensed the mechs in the area, he hid in one of the abandoned buildings, weapons raised. He did not know what to expect, especially when one of them still registered as Autobot on his sensors.
Vortex wasn't surprised when the Autobot walked out (albeit warily) into his line of sight, oblivious to his presence. It was a small grounder, probably a survivor from one of the later teams. He didn't look too shabby. Vortex could take him in a fight, even without his wings.
That sentiment promptly imploded in his processor when the Autobot's friend—big, big friend—came out from behind the wall. The new mech was gigantic and a flier; his wings were in far better condition than Vortex's propellers. Both mechs were healthier looking than Vortex had expected; his abused systems screamed silently in jealousy.
But what really threw him for a loop was the fact that this new mech was not an Autobot. On his broad blue and gray chest stood out a purple sigil that Vortex also wore—the face of the Unmaker, the symbol of the Decepticon empire.
A Decepticon and an Autobot were walking through the city, clearly working together to find resources or something else of value. Vortex stared in disbelief. The scene only grew worse when a small native, a human—who seemed disgustingly cheerful for such a horrid terrain—joined the two mechs. The three talked quietly, clearly wary of their environment, but they seemed comfortable with each other at least.
…Why? Why was the Decepticon there, with the Autobot? There was no way this was a hostage situation, from either angle. If Vortex didn't know any better, the two mechs were almost amicably talking, making odd conversation between them and the disgustingly small organic. They kept pace with the rodent even! He could understand perhaps why the Autobot would degrade himself to enduring the seemingly inane noise the human was making, but—
It was when the Decepticon willingly reached down toward the chattering human and let her cling his hand to get her over the barricade of cars and debris that Vortex almost lost his cool. He wanted to react in the way he always did. He wanted answers. His curiosity demanded them—he wanted to beat it out of them, make them scream that precious intel to him, just like they would have before, when the world made sense, and he was still a Decepticon, and Bruticus still lived—
When he was still Vortex and not trying to live his brother's life.
Limbs shaking, Vortex let his helm rest heavily on the wall of his hideaway. His energy levels were still too low. There was no way, even if he were fully charged, that he could tackle them anyway. That jet could probably rip him in half. The Autobot was probably vicious too; only the strongest survived the initial assault. Vortex would have no chance getting answers the way he had always gotten them before, through brutal force.
He tried to think of what Onslaught would do. Even what Swindle would do, considering his level of intellect. They wouldn't charge out there to cause a fight. They would stay back, observe. Brawl and Blast Off would have wanted a fight, as would the old Vortex…but something in his processors told Vortex to mimic his eldest brother right now.
He crept slowly toward the quickly departing trio, mindful of his footsteps. Tracking them would be easy enough; with only one flier, they were as much pinned to the ground as he was. He would observe, just like Onslaught would have said. He would follow a tactical strategy, one that would make his eldest brother proud. Being Vortex could wait until he had the opportune moment—whenever that was.
Reaching the edge of a half-crumbled building, Vortex saw the trio again. They were stopped at a fueling station, attempting make the crude energy source work for the Transformers. Vortex's systems churned at the idea of using that substance again. It was a horrid product and wreaked havoc on his innards. His energy levels were always desperately low, but he couldn't bring himself to use the human-made slag.
The Decepticon and Autobot didn't seem to mind the rancid mix, filling their tanks manually. Huh. Vortex would have to try that rather than attempting to drink the vile substance.
He watched with a patience he had never expected would come from him, as the two mechs re-fueled and conversed casually with the human. They spoke the native tongue of the human, making their conversation unintelligible to the lurking Decepticon helicopter. He wished he had managed to obtain the basic intel files before everything went to Pit, but none of the newest arriving teams had the chance to do so. Earth's languages were alien to him, just as its culture and environment was.
Vortex didn't need to understand their language to understand their body language. The casual caresses shared between the mechs—the easy smiles exchanged between all three—the overall gentle atmosphere of their unit—it made Vortex want to scream. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair that he was left to wonder and stew in his curiosity.
He would follow them until he found out the truth. There had to be a secret involved, something sinister, or at least bizarre, that an Autobot and Decepticon would willingly travel, let alone with an organic. There had to be an insanely complex reason for why they traveled together. Vortex would find out what it was—no matter what.
The trio re-fueled quickly, obviously wary of an incoming attack from the drones. Cities weren't the best place to hang around for long. After a few cycles, they began to walk away. Vortex watched them, deciding to follow at a distance. He couldn't let them be aware of his presence. He had no worries about losing them; his radar tracking was more than adequate for keeping tabs on them. He could give them miles of a head start.
Once they had disappeared from visual sight, Vortex moved forward, walking toward the fueling station. He didn't know what he'd find, but he would find it. After so long with just the ghosts of conversations replaying in his processors, this chase was a gift from Primus. He could make this his purpose, for just a while.
Vortex stopped where the mechs had been standing moments before. He stared at the fuel pump and pondered.
Adaptation was the key to survival. To survive, Vortex needed to use the methods of others. He needed to become someone else. He needed to wear masks—and wear them well.
At least, that's what Onslaught would have said.
Vortex reached down and grabbed the pump.
00000
Western Switzerland
2044 AD
The sound of the river flowing reached Barnaby's ears all the way up the incline where they had made camp. It had taken he and Goddard almost all day to carry up all the rocks they needed. His hands were cold and bright red, achy from having to haul the rocks up. Barns ignored them, focusing on making sure the graves were properly stacked. He wouldn't stand for imperfection in their form.
Behind him, Goddard was holding up his finished pack; they had condensed the supplies from the packs his grandparents had carried for so many years. Piers Goddard was a soldier, an American refugee. He was probably half his grandparent's ages, but he was quicker and faster than anyone Barns had ever met before. They had met at a camp when Barns had just been five years old, and Goddard offered to stay with the Rancourts. They had traveled together ever since.
Goddard was the closest thing Barns could have to a father, but sitting there in front of the stone pyramids they had built from river rocks, Barns felt alone. In his lap, Armand Rancourt's compass sat heavy. The glass cover was cracked and the needle never pointed north. But it was a remnant from the days before the war. It had been Armand's father's compass. Barns had often questioned the point of keeping the broken heirloom, which never worked and weighed them down heavily—
But as he flipped the compass in his hands, Barns suddenly could not imagine leaving the object behind now.
He was twelve years old. His grandmother was vigilant when it came to telling the time as well as the date. They had just celebrated his twelfth birthday last week. They had celebrated by telling stories of his family's history, about previous birthdays, and of the most memorable ancestors. Barns had gone to sleep that night content and happy, and that feeling persisted every night for a week.
Barns had not expected waking up that gray Saturday morning and being unable to wake his grandmother. He had tried to wake his grandfather in a panic, but realized with belated horror, that both were dead.
There were positives to be found here, he told himself, as he adjusted the makeshift crosses he had made from sticks and twine. They had not died a violent death. They had died in each other's arms, safe, warm, with family by their side. In a world like this, their sort of death was almost a luxury.
As much as that idea soothed his heartache, Barns could not help feel as though he were falling. To lose both of them at the same time, without any time to say goodbye…
It was as though when they decided their time was up, they did so together. Barns smiled softly. The love his grandparents had shared was both heartbreaking and heartwarming.
"Does this look alright?" he asked, accent tinting his words just barely. His grandmother had forced the French out of his English. He didn't feel like trying to hide it today, though.
Goddard smiled kindly, his stubble-covered face wrinkling. "It looks just fine, Barnaby," he said. He had a loud voice, but he seemed like he was trying to speak quieter, to match the gentle look on his face. "You've done them proud, kid. They couldn't ask for more."
Barns stared at the graves and sighed quietly. He had prepared himself for this moment over the last few years, as he began to notice his once-energetic grandparents starting to slow down. Armand Rancourt had to be helped up and down hills. Barns had to carry both his and Allete's supplies, because she just couldn't carry her own anymore. It still hurt, though.
"I wish we had more time, grand-peré," Barns murmured, reaching out with the compass. He meant to set it up against the wooden cross sticking out from the rock tomb that now housed his grandfather's remains.
But a weathered, strong hand stopped him. Goddard crouched, hand wrapped around the wrist holding the compass. The American smiled gently at Barns.
"They would want you to keep that, son," he said, pushing the hand and compass back toward the boy.
Barns hesitated. He did want to keep it, but… "It doesn't feel right to take it, though," he said, looking away.
"Keep it," Goddard replied, shaking his shoulder, comforting. "It's a part of them you can carry with you, no matter what."
Nodding, Barns stared down at the compass, realizing that the man was right. The compass didn't work anymore, but it was still a part of his family's history. It was only worthwhile in a sentimental sense. Barns didn't know if that meant it was worth keeping…but he did want to keep it. He tightened his grip over the round object and tried to memorize the grooves and dents, the same ones his grandfather had probably memorized over the years.
"I am selfish," he said suddenly. He stopped, surprised at his own words.
Goddard flinched, also surprised. "No, you ain't, kid," the older man said firmly, frowning in disapproval.
Barnaby stared at the graves. He couldn't help what he was feeling and he indeed felt selfish for those thoughts. "I would rather them continue to live in this horrible life…always running…always afraid…" He stopped and then closed his eyes, fist clenching tighter over the compass. "I would rather them still be alive with me in that life, than at peace like they are now."
"Wishful thinking doesn't make us selfish," Goddard replied, shaking his head. He stood, standing far taller than Barns would for several more years. "Letting go of the ones you love is never easy, Barns."
Barns stared down at the grave and then back at the compass. To think, things had been normal last week. It had just been the four of them, but that had been enough. Now, only two remained. Barns had no idea how he would survive if he didn't have Goddard there with him.
But there was no time for pity. Barns sighed again and sat back. Stopping for too long was not safe. His grandparents had done everything they could have possibly done to keep him alive, against all odds. He would not give up now and make all of their sacrifices go to waste. It was the very least he could do.
"…I am happy they went this way," Barns said, standing slowly. "Without pain. Together."
Goddard looked down at his long time friends and nodded. "Yeah. Me, too."
Compass tucked away in his pocket, Barns stared down at his grandparents' graves, wondering if he'd ever be able to pay them respects again. Perhaps he would. He would have to reference his grandmother's maps with extra care. He would mark this place off, to find again, if fate ever led them this way later on.
"What now, Goddard?" he asked, turning to his only companion. Armand had always picked the locations, being the eldest, or he and Goddard decided together.
The answer was what Barns had been expecting. "We move," Goddard said, adjusting his much heavier bag awkwardly on his shoulder. "We do what we've always done." Goddard smiled wryly. "You're a big boy now. Almost a man. You have to worry about your own future now, just like your grandparents would have wanted you to."
Barns couldn't argue with that. Survival was always what mattered the most, right after family. Life moved on, leaving the dead behind.
Taking a deep breath, Barns faced the graves of the only blood family he had left. Letting go would be impossibly hard. But he had to begin somewhere. And somewhere began with this. He crouched before the graves one last time.
"…Au revoir, grand-meré. Grand-peré," he whispered, his heart somehow sinking and flying with emotion all at the same time. "Thank you. For everything."
He stood and grabbed his bag. Every step he took, it was as though his pack grew lighter and lighter until he thought he could just fly away. But he kept himself grounded—eyes on the horizon.
00000
Germany, Europe
2045 AD
"Jazzzzzzzz."
Jazz pretended not to hear the tiny femme's exaggerated cry as he sidestepped a fallen tree.
"Jazz. Jazz. Jazzzzzz."
Thundercracker was immensely less patient than Jazz was. "For Primus sake, answer her," the jet snapped, a few paces ahead, ducking tree branches. He was still pissy over the fact they were taking the low route through the dense forests of Germany. He preferred the open paved roads, even if they were more obvious to enemies.
Jazz glanced down at Rachel who was trying to keep an angry face, though he could see a grin breaking through the surface. "What's up?" he asked with perfect innocence. That sent the girl grinning stupidly.
"You jerk," she said, giggling. "I wanted to ask for a lift. I'm tired of walking."
With an exaggerated heavy sigh, Jazz turned and crouched, a hand extended. "Geeeez, you're such a pain. Hop on."
They bickered amicably, even as Rachel carefully sat down on Jazz's razor sharp claws. Well, they were very dull by now from lack of maintenance, but Rachel was still deliberately careful.
Inwardly, Jazz was very pleased at her quickness to trust him with such deadly hands. To think he had set up such a repertoire with the stubborn and cynical child was astounding. Three years had gone by as quickly as time would allow it to pass. He had expected the child to run off at the first chance, but Rachel had apparently found a reason to stay. Jazz couldn't fathom why, even after they had run into a few other refugees, she didn't want to go with her own kind.
Then again, it pained his spark to think of the human leaving. Three years used to be nothing. But not on Earth. On Earth, a single day lasted forever.
"I can't see anything," Rachel complained from Jazz's back, where she had climbed on, wrapping her legs around his neck. She was still too short to see over the trees, which Jazz had to carefully duck around now, with her there. "You're too short, Jazz."
"Says the four foot tall human!" Jazz laughed. He laughed again at her slapping hands on the back of his helm. "A'ight, a'ight, four and half foot tall."
Rachel looked over at Thundercracker. "Can you see ahead, TC?" she asked, intent on getting some answers. "Are we almost to the river?"
"All I can see are trees. And more trees. Always more fragging trees," Thundercracker replied, not even looking at her. Jazz suppressed a smirk that would have earned him a snarl from the ex-Decepticon. "You'd think without the leaves, it'd be clear as day in here."
"It's smoky," Rachel commented, frowning.
"It's fog," Jazz replied. Which was always good; no fire meant no nearby attacks. He was about as relaxed as he dared to be while not in a cave. The drones could still sneak up on them. They had been particularly active in that area, so they kept to the dead forests.
They walked in silence, ducking branches. Jazz liked to talk about human culture, which was something Rachel was moderately affiliated with, and Thundercracker didn't mind learning (not that he'd ever admit that, though), but the comfortable silence they fell into was nice enough. Far away, he could hear birds chirping, a rare sound. It warmed his spark to know that life was returning to the area. So much had been lost.
He was so caught up in the peace and quiet the forest seemed to emanate that he almost didn't catch the blip on his radar. Thundercracker's fritzed out often, due to the high-capacity Seeker model needing advanced fueling, so Jazz was left to monitor duty while they traveled. It took everything Jazz had in him not to freeze and drop into a defensive stance. Whatever was on his tracker was big—and Cybertronian. His radar wasn't in much better condition than Thundercracker's and the image faded quickly from sight, but it was still registering on radio wave as a presence a few hundred yards in front of them.
He had options to chose from, other than turning and running. Jazz almost didn't believe that it was possible that he was picking up a definite Cybertronian signal that wasn't a drone. It…seemed like a mech.
But that could still be bad news. Even an Autobot could be a threat at this point; allies were rare in this harsh landscape. One false move could send an Autobot after Thundercracker or a Decepticon after Jazz and Rachel. To say the situation was delicate was an understatement.
So, he picked his choice quickly, trying to avoid scaring the teenager sitting on his shoulders. Panicking was not a good option.
"Hey, TC, com'ere," Jazz said carefully. He turned slightly, optics still focused straight ahead, but gave Thundercracker access to Rachel on his back. "Why don't ya give Rachel a lift? She could see better from yer shoulders."
Thundercracker looked both startled and annoyed; he had long since been acclimated to Rachel's presence and even tolerated the human as much as he tolerated Jazz, but he did not share Jazz's inclinations to pick the child up at the spur of the moment.
But TC was a smart mech, much smarter than Jazz ever thought he'd believe a Decepticon could be. He heard the silent warning in Jazz's request, and, with only a small frown, went and retrieved Rachel from Jazz's shoulders. Rachel probably sensed something was up and began to look around nervously from Thundercracker's hands.
"Are there drones?" she asked, lowering her voice. That was unlikely.
Jazz grinned at her, comfortingly. "I dunno. They do seem to be everywhere, huh?" He continued to walk, but now increased his speed, putting himself further in front of the other two, who followed at a slower pace. "I thought I saw somethin' ahead on my radar, so I'm gonna check it out, 'kay?"
Rachel scowled grumpily, but remained in Thundercracker's grasp, looking around vigilantly. She wanted to be able to get into the fights they were often forced to fight, but like any refugee, she understood her limits. It was relieving for Jazz to know she was that savvy when it came to their situation, but he hoped this time, he was only being paranoid.
Weapons just slightly activating, Jazz pressed on through the foliage, trying to peer out into the fog. He saw, finally, the end to the line of trees, where the fog finally bled out. He could see dead grass ahead; perhaps a field.
"If they're drones, they're really quiet this time," Rachel whispered.
Thundercracker grunted noncommittally. "Could be more refugees."
Jazz motioned at them to be quiet and he crept closer to the edge of the forest. He heard Thundercracker stop and he moved ahead alone. He could hear the sounds clearer now; a thudding sound. Footsteps.
Then, in the midst of the other silence, Jazz heard a sound he hadn't heard for a long time: a child giggling.
It was soft, the origins still far ahead. But it was human and it strangely made his spark ache.
The second sound was more startling that anything else. Footsteps. Large ones. A mech's footsteps. Creaking of metal. A louder, duller thud, of someone large sitting. More giggling. Rubber bouncing. A low, but very much defined voice carried in the air.
Primus above…!
A mech. There was a mech there, sitting in the field. A human was running around him, both occupied by something being through between them.
He had never thought he'd see another mech, let alone an Autobot. He didn't doubt the mech's faction, considering how familiar the mech was being with the child, who was clearly about Rachel's age.
His first instinct was to run out, jump for joy, and make contact with his estranged brethren. But the reality of the situation sunk in. Running out would only startle to Autobot and, if it were him out there, he'd consider such rash action to be an attack. He had to approach the two carefully.
Luckily, he had a human of his own.
Turning around, Jazz found Thundercracker and Rachel waiting. Both were alert and waiting for his report on what was going on.
"Hey, Rachel, com'ere," Jazz said, reaching for her. Rachel looked surprised and Thundercracker was unamused. He grinned at them both, mischievous. "Trust me."
Rachel trusted him as much as the poor survivor could trust anyone, but was very tense as he carried her forward toward the tree line.
"Not drones?" she asked, glancing back at him.
"Nope. I think I found ya a playmate, though," Jazz replied, grinning. He glanced back at Thundercracker, shaking his head. "Hang back, TC, we may need some support, but I doubt it. You might scare people if ya get too close."
His words did not sooth the jet's concerns probably, but the ex-Con did stop short of the tree line, watching the scene unfold carefully. He was probably seeing the strange mech and child now.
Jazz carefully set Rachel down onto the field. She looked up at him and then the field. She froze, eyes wide. She could see the two figures far ahead of them, it seemed.
"This place seems like a great place t' have some fun," Jazz said, catching her wide-eyed attention. "So, let's have some fun. It might convince our mech and little girl over there that we're not th' bad guys."
"You want to make sure they won't attack us, you mean," Rachel said, her eyes narrowing. "Smart."
Jazz withheld a chuckle; he had forgotten Rachel was rather quick. He gently pushed Rachel forward. "Let's play nice, hmm? What's a good human game—?"
It took all his willpower not to whip his hand out and grab Rachel away when the rubber ball went flying toward them. The mech had tossed the toy he and his human friend were playing with a bit too hard—it went flying past the strange little girl, who laughed loudly, turning on her heels to retrieve it.
The child stopped abruptly when the ball smack straight into Jazz's leg, making a startling loud sound and then roll back toward her and the other mech. Freezing, the girl stared at Jazz and Rachel with unshielded surprise.
Behind her, the mech finally noticed and Jazz flinched instinctually when the mech activated his weapons—nothing much to speak of, he noticed in hindsight—and stood, swiftly. The mech's optics paled immediately, his gaze completely pinned to Jazz. He ignored the humans, obviously recognizing the strange Autobot as the threat.
Jazz, of course, was unaffected by the cold welcome. Beaming, Jazz waved cheerfully at the mech and the human, who seemed frozen in shock and nervous anxiety. He pointed less-than-subtly at his chest, at his Autobot sigil.
"Hey, there! Name's Autobot Jazz and this here is Rachel," he said, grinning pleasantly. "Who're y'all?"
The girl stared, her eyes huge, and the mech looked like he was debating fighting or fleeing. Neither spoke.
"Maybe they don't speak English," Rachel suggested, looking up at Jazz, frowning.
That was a possibility for the human, but the mech would have known Cybertronian. That would have limited the conversation to just himself and the mech, however, and Jazz wanted the other human involved as well. Tricky.
"Hmm. You're right." Jazz grinned down at his friend, teasing. "What country are we in?"
Rachel rolled her eyes, something Jazz was always jealous that humans could do. They had the best facial expressions. "You're supposed to be keeping track," she complained. "I think we're in Germany."
"Right. Allo! Ich heisse Jazz. Wer sind Sie?" he asked, turning to the strangers.
The mech tilted his head. "We do speak English," he said. His voice was oddly…flat. American-ized English.
"Good," Rachel said, smiling hesitantly. "'Cause I don't speak German."
The strange girl was staring at Rachel with open shock and interest. "You're a human?" she asked.
Jazz glanced down at Rachel, who looked back up at him with a similar uncertain look.
"Um. Yes? What are you?" Rachel replied, arching an eyebrow of disbelief. Her snark was her best weapon, Jazz mused.
"I'm human," the other human replied, not insulted, but still surprised. "But I hardly see any others. It's just been me and Wheeljack."
"Wheeljack and I," the strange mech corrected her, his earfins flashing suddenly. If it weren't for the blast mask covering the lower part of his faceplates, Jazz would have bet the mech was smiling.
The girl hesitated. "Yeah, Wheeljack and I."
"Nice t'a meet ya, Wheeljack. I see you're a 'Bot, too," Jazz said, tapping his own sigil on his chest again. "Not that that means much lately, I s'ppose, but a friendly face is a friendly face."
"I never thought I'd live to see another Autobot," Wheeljack replied. He hesitated, but the mask remained in place. He was either paranoid, or liked the mask up.
But man, could he relate to that sentiment. "An' who're you, lil' lady?" Jazz asked, bending down slightly to look at the unknown girl.
Flinching away slightly, the girl moved closer to Wheeljack's leg. "I'm…Danny."
"Danielle," corrected Wheeljack.
"Yeah, but 'Jack calls me Danny, too."
Rachel pouted. "I don't have a nickname, 'cause my name is already really short."
"TC calls you 'human' sometimes," Jazz offered, grinning.
"That's not a nickname, that's just him being a jerk." From somewhere in the trees, they heard a low grumble, making Jazz laugh.
Wheeljack shifted, uneasy. "You have a companion?" he asked, his optics now focused on the tree line. The fog had dissipated enough to reveal parts of Thundercracker's massive body.
"Yeah, but yer probably not gonna like him off th' bat," Jazz said, bracing himself for the following explanation. He never thought he'd have to be telling a fellow Autobot not to shoot a 'Con on sight. Earth was Backwards Land, to be sure. "Y'see, Thundercracker ain't an Autobot, but he quit bein' a Decepticon."
"Quit?" Wheeljack repeated, optics whirled over to Jazz now. He was very tense now and Danny was picking up his stress, ducking further behind his leg.
"Yeahhh. It's a complicated mess, lemme tell ya. Apparently, Galvatron started to kill off his own men. TC lost his teammates and basically escaped with his own life. We met up about seven years ago." Jazz smirked down at Rachel. "Met this twerp three years ago, so it's just been th' three of us since. Haven't met another mech since then, actually."
Wheeljack tilted his head, intrigued. "How long have you been here? On earth?"
Jazz hesitated, tripping up only because of lingering feelings. "…Since th' beginnin'. I was with Optimus Prime's unit." He tried not to think about those mechs.
"You were the first group here," Wheeljack replied, surprise coloring his voice yet again. It was difficult to tell the mech's emotions with the blast mask up, but the earfins and his voice made him easy to read.
"Yeah," Jazz replied, grinning, pushing for happy and friendly with some difficulty.
Wheeljack stopped, staring at Jazz with mild hesitation again. "…So it's true then?" he asked, his voice quieter. "Prime is dead?" The earfins glowed lowly.
Cold gripped at Jazz's spark. "Yeah. Everyone I was workin' with is. I was th' only survivor."
"…I'm sorry," Wheeljack said at length, optics, voice, and earfins promoting a sense of pity Jazz really didn't want at the moment.
"Hah, s'not your problem, my man, so no worries," the Autobot lieutenant said, waving his hand casually. He grinned. "We were just passin' through to the river when we saw you two over here and I just had to stop by. It is a pleasant sight indeed to see another mech out here."
Wheeljack's optics smiled. "Indeed." Nostalgia and longing rang in his voice.
Feeling like it was apparently necessary, Rachel turned around and shouted to the trees, "TC! YOU CAN COME OUT NOW!"
The trees shook for a moment before the massive blue Decepticon jet emerged, glaring at the impish human. "You are obnoxious," he snarled, walking over slowly toward the group. He moved carefully, obviously mindful of the now-very-tense Wheeljack.
Danny looked utterly amazed, however. "You're bigger than 'Jack is!" she exclaimed, stunned.
Wheeljack stared at her, surprised, and Jazz laughed, mostly at Thundercracker's own surprise. The jet still had problems knowing how to interact with humans properly and didn't know what to say in response to the child's comment.
"Thundercracker here is a big guy, fer sure," Jazz said helpfully. "But we come in larger sizes, believe me."
Danny gaped at him, amazed. Rachel sighed. "They're not that cool," the blond said, feigning disinterest. Jazz had to thank her later for diffusing the intensity of the moment.
"I think they're amazing. Humans are so tiny," Danny replied, eyes huge.
Rachel frowned. "So? They're just as scattered as we are. And they can be just as stupid as people can." She motioned at Thundercracker. "He's a social nightmare."
Thundercracker sent the child a venomous glare, but did nothing. The two humans cracked up, giggling like little girls should have. Jazz grinned at them. Rachel rarely reacted that positively when around other humans. This Danny girl, despite her apparently lack of communication with her own kind, was warming up quickly to the other femme. It was good to see them both acting their proper ages.
Wheeljack was watching the scene play out as well, his earfins pulsing with unshielded delight. Jazz took the moment to get the 'bot's attention.
"So…what are yer plans?" Jazz asked, glancing over at the taller mech. He cocked his head to side, grinning.
The Autobot seemed startled. "Plans?"
"We're aiming to get to th' Chiemgau Alps b'fore winter," Jazz explained, motioning vaguely to the East. He hated hiding in mountains and it was never easy with Thundercracker being as big as he was, but it was safer and warmer than sitting out in the open. "Th' caves'll be nice cover from th' drones, plus it'll get us outta th' snow."
"That sounds like a logical endeavor," Wheeljack replied after a moment, nodding slightly. "Danny and I tend to retreat to the abandoned cities for the cooler months. It is not always the safest choice, but the subways function well enough."
Jazz crossed his arms against his chestplates, interested. "How long have you been traveling together?"
Danny brightened. "He found me when I was a baby," she said. "We've been together ever since."
"How old are you?" Rachel asked, interested. She suddenly looked competitive, adding confidently, "I'm thirteen."
"Danny is fourteen," Wheeljack supplied helpfully, his earfins flashing in a decidedly cheerful manner. "I found her when she was approximately seventeen months old."
Rachel looked impressed. "Woww, how'd you know that?"
"'Jack's a scientist, so its like a doctor," Danny replied, smiling with pride.
Interest perked, Jazz looked over at Wheeljack, who laughed and seemed somewhat modest under the praise. "I was a scientist once, on Cybertron, but my talents have been focused more on the medical end of things," Wheeljack explained. "It was more productive in a war zone."
Images of his own fallen medic made Jazz's spark clench, but he forced his smile to hold. "I hear ya. It probably helped ya a lot raising a human, huh?" He didn't dare imagine how hard it could have been to have found Rachel as an infant. The little brat was tough enough as a pre-teen.
"My only regret is that I could only provide her rudimentary human knowledge I managed to download from the Internet, while it was still available," Wheeljack replied, earfins flashing just slightly slower. "She has lost much of her culture."
"What culture?" Thundercracker suddenly broke into the conversation. He scowled. "There aren't communities anymore that could constitute as a cultural center."
Wheeljack faltered. "There are some things a species can only learn through imprinting," he replied, somewhat tense again while under the ex-Decepticon's optics. "You can't teach a mech how to be a Transformer and I doubt I could teach a human how to be fully human."
"She looks human," Rachel supplied helpfully.
"I'm pretty sure I'm human," Danny added dryly, giving her caretaker a strained look and smile. "Relax, 'Jack, you're a great teacher."
Wheeljack tilted his head, optics smiling. "I can only hope so."
Conversation easily popped up after that. Jazz found himself sharing a mature conversation with Wheeljack and Thundercracker, keeping only a loose optic on Rachel and Danny, who were now sitting further away, chatting up a storm. All five of them seemed to be making up for lost time. As much as Thundercracker wasn't a terrible conversation partner (he just liked listening more), Jazz felt like a stereotyped human femme, talking so much and feeling so giddy about doing so, but he didn't care. He had no idea how much he missed a conversation until now.
"What are you using as energy, I must ask?" Wheeljack asked, intrigued. They had been comparing survival notes. Jazz had to wonder how lucky Wheeljack had to have been, to avoid trouble for so long. The mech seemed to be onto something, avoiding those cities.
"Gasoline. Sometimes electricity." Jazz grinned. "Nothin' really takes th' place of a good ol' cube of high grade, huh?"
Earfins glowing with amusement, Wheeljack replied, "I don't have high grade, but surely you've been surviving on more than just that!" He sounded incredulous.
Thundercracker growled lowly, grim. "There's nothing else to use. Not anything that won't attract a lot of attention." He was right. Taking the time to try to convert it on their own was almost impossible and would take way too long. They'd be instant targets, making all that noise.
Something in Wheeljack's exclamation made Jazz curious, however. "Why? What have you been usin'?" he asked.
Wheeljack tilted his head again. "I created an energon converter when my unit first landed here," he began. "It uses organic material as fuel and can create a substance comparable to low-grade energon. Not truly filling, but far more beneficial than human-made energy."
For a moment, Jazz could only stared blankly at the Autobot scientist. In the back of his processors, he knew he should have been saying something or commenting on this revelation, but he was a little too shellshocked to come up with anything really intelligent. Beside him, Thundercracker froze and gave the Autobot scientist a stunned look.
"…Wheeljack, you're a fraggin' genius," Jazz finally sputtered, optics glowing brighter than they had before. Primus above, was that an understatement! He had no idea how the mech would have had the spare-fragging-time to build such a thing, but he had—and that was amazing.
"I've been told this," Wheeljack laughed, amused by the two mechs' reactions.
Jazz gripped his helm. "Primus…I don't suppose y'got any t' spare now, huh?" he asked, grinning sheepishly. "I dunno 'bout you, TC, but I'm runnin' on fumes."
That earned him a quick glare from the tall Decepticon jet next to him. "Idiot," Thundercracker growled. "You didn't say anything before."
He understood his friend's anger; they were never supposed to run that low on fuel so far between towns, and if they were, they had to keep each other updated. It had just slipped his mind that day.
Shrugging, Jazz tried to play it off as nothing. "I coulda made it to another town." He knew well enough that his dismissal would be met with a negative reaction. He was not disappointed.
"You are an imbecile!" the ex-Con snapped, irritated to the point where he had to move away from the smaller 'bot, probably for Jazz's safety. Jazz could only laugh at his friend's restraint.
Wheeljack, thankfully, was also amused by the scene before him. "Ha…hold on a moment, friends. I have rations." He reached into his arm's subspace, retrieving two glowing cubes, before holding them out again. "See what you think."
Jazz's intakes squirmed awkwardly as he accepted a cube. Real energon. Huh. If he hadn't already known mechs couldn't dream, he'd have thought this whole afternoon—new mech, new human, a clean energy source—had been a delusion.
He lifted the cube almost hesitantly to his lips. It was lukewarm and had none of the luster he recalled the typical ration had, even while on a ship or at a base—but it was energon. He drank the whole thing in one gulp, the energon tingling and buzzing in the most pleasant of ways. He had been forcing gasoline into his systems for decades and barely noticed the unpleasant side effects. But this? This was heaven.
"Daaaamn, mech," he breathed, staring at the cube and then its inventor with awe-filled and appreciative optics, "you are a lifesaver. Really. That's the best thing I've had in my tanks in almost forty decades, yo."
Thundercracker finished the cube at a slower pace, but looked directly at Wheeljack. The two were almost equal height, with Thundercracker towering only a foot or two taller. "Thank you, Autobot," he said. Directly. To the point. Meaning it.
Jazz grinned.
"Don't mention it," Wheeljack said, equally polite. He was losing the edge he had earlier when speaking directly with the ex-Decepticon.
Jazz's grin expanded.
He had gotten an idea the moment he learned Wheeljack's name. It was probably a dangerous idea, but the benefits were almost balanced with the potential consequences. He just didn't know how to approach the strange mech.
"So. I don't wanna be too forward with this…" Jazz said, trailing off. He decided to bite the bullet and grinned up, unashamed, at the taller 'bot. "But have you ever thought about travelin' with another group?"
While Thundercracker flinched visibly, Wheeljack only paused for a moment, his earfins glowing lowly. "…You mean your group?" he asked, amused and curious.
Jazz grinned, nodding. "Yeah. Rachel'll be thrilled t' have another human to talk to, and damned if th' two of us couldn't use that converter o' yours." He shrugged. "B'sides…safety in numbers, right?"
"…A logical assumption," Wheeljack eventually said, nodding slowly. "I…never thought I'd meet another Autobot. Or a friendly Decepticon." Wheeljack's tone suddenly became teasing, making Jazz chuckle and Thundercracker growl lowly. Apparently, the scientist wasn't afraid to play around; Jazz could respect that.
The question hung between them like a heavy curtain. Jazz tried to imagine what it'd be like to have two more members of their group tagging along. At least it was another Autobot, he rationalized. Thundercracker would be a little awkward, but larger numbers were a good thing, right?
"Larger parties attract the drones quicker," Thundercracker's deep voice broke into the contemplative silence.
Jazz glanced at his friend, considering. "True." He looked back at Rachel and Danny, who were now playing with the ball Danny and Wheeljack had just been playing with. The sound of their laughter sang like music in his audio receptors.
"The children need their own kind," Wheeljack said. He was also looking at the girls.
"There are always camps," the ex-Decepticon jet said, his voice flat.
Now it was Jazz's turn to glare at his long-time companion. "You would abandon them there? 'Cause you know they won't go willingly." They had discovered that with Rachel.
Thundercracker hesitated. Wheeljack stared at the ex-Con and then at Jazz. He sighed; a remarkably human gesture.
"I would not be opposed to traveling with your group," he said at length. "Danny needs another human presence. If anything, we as Transformers need to remain connected. We are just as likely prey as the humans are."
Wheeljack was right about that. Jazz glanced back at the humans, reveling with each laugh and musical bit of chatter they shared. He knew it was dangerous to make a larger group. It was dangerous enough to have traveled with the other two for so long.
But in the face of their current situation and likely future, Jazz thought he could handle the chances. He wasn't alone in that thought either.
"…We are in need of your energon converter," Thundercracker finally said, reluctant. He did not look happy, but when did he ever, Jazz mused.
"And I could always use some more positive company," Jazz joked, grinning unashamed. "Travelin' with these two pessimists can really drag a mech down, y'know?"
The resounding clang of Thundercracker's fist meeting his helm echoed nicely with Wheeljack's deep laughter.
From there, the party of five headed East, not noticing an unknown mech following them from quite a distance away.
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Introductions: Part Three end.
Part Four to follow.
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