Summary- Fate seems quite interested in sending Cyclonus to a world he had not considered crossing paths with in this universe.


"We're gettin' offtime soon."

What fun.

Cyclonus did not have 'fun'. This offtime would be like any other recreational vacation he spent among this team. Like nothing.

Despite his own thoughts, the rest of the meeting center gave various roars of approval to Blot's statement. Oil Slick started off talking about finding new resources (test subjects) from wherever they went. Scalpel, perched in all his tiny menace on the chemist's shoulder, seemed eager to follow down that track of conversation. Spittor was saying something of his own, but Cyclonus didn't bother trying to translate the wet noises his speech consisted of.

Their absences of the stellar cycle were Mindwipe, who was working what he called his 'side job' holding psychic sessions for any tourists interested on the decepticon colony of Iioti (tourists were, for good reason, not exactly allowed to even approach Chaar; this was the decepticon homeworld and a war center that had to remain on guard against the possibility of autobot infiltration and attack. The colony outposts were a different question altogether and a very active ploy for gaining revenue for the cause and drawing in galactic allies to their plight), and Blackout, who was doing...whatever he did during his time off from active duty. Strika also was not at present among the group at the moment, but that was instead due to the fact that she was talking (quite loudly) to her consort over the long-distance comms in her office. The wild search for the allspark hadn't reaped any results yet (though it would, he knew), but Lugnut never seemed to consider the very possibility that it may end up being a failure. It had been ordered by Megatron and led by the warlord, after all, so surely 'glorious victory' would occur. That it would, eventually, stumble across their goal still did not make Cyclonus feel that it had been a very well equipped mission. Still, travelling semi peacefully (any ship with Starscream, let alone Blackarachnia, Blitzwing, or Strika's consort, could never be all that peaceful) on a quest, however unlikely, was an oddly appealing idea. Perhaps he had missed a chance, not volunteering to join the thing; but knowledge of all that would crash down on Earth had kept him from considering it at the time.

All that this meant was that the upcoming 'offtime' of which Blot spoke would consist of the currently active Team Chaar members and would likely be a short, there-and-back run on some world or other. Quite unlike the peace and adventure of floating through space in search of something so unlikely to be found. Most offtimes he'd engaged in since the slow decision to engage in anything at all had been dry. Full of loud fights on the flight over. Then full of loud fights at whatever mansion or camp they hijacked. And then, unsurprisingly, loud fights on the return trip to New Kaon. If he were to even try to have fun on one such trip, it would be inherently impossible. Quietly reading, slow katas, or meditation all would be completely impossible to enjoy when the sounds of decepticon brutes were yelling at each other and throwing their teammates into walls.

"So soon?" Scalpel said from where his tiny claws were latched into Oil Slick's shoulder. It let him stay there even if his partner moved. Like a avain cassette from the romanticized pirate plays of ancient cybertronian culture. The latter thought took all menace away from the otherwise unnerving scientist. "Ve just got a trip to Camia four orns ago."

"Maybe we're returning there," Spittor- rather characteristically- spat.

Scalpel's optics all narrowed into familiar slits.

"Ve made enemies zhere? I look forward to our 'vacation' zhen. Camia vas far too comfortable wizh us before."

If it was truly a battle, there was no need to have called it otherwise by stating they were getting offtime. But that wasn't really worth stating a complaint over. Nothing ever was for him.

Blot shook his head.

"Nah. We got a guy out on some far-off neutral world that really really wants to meet us. Strika's gonna make us go and try'an' get some of the arms he's dealin'. The rest of the time we're there is all free."

Even when he smiled, Blot was disgusting. He took great pride in that fact. Cyclonus did not approve, but he approved of very little. More than once, he'd been told to 'lighten up'.

He had not.

And had no plans to do so.

Currently on the rotating roster of Team Chaar, Sky-Byte leaned his mass forward towards Blot.

"Where will this rendezvous world be?"

Perhaps he'd lied earlier. Cyclonus was capable of experiencing the dim emotions required for 'fun'. Currently, he was amused. It was rather amusing, after all, to watch the ever-prideful-on-the-surface Blot lean back away from the rather intimidating visage of his curious teammate. Many had the same reaction to Sky-Byte. Skywarp certainly would have screamed and run from a smile containing all those dentae.

"Eh," Blot shifted uneasily. "Think it was called Viianta or somethin'?"

Any other thought was washed out in static. Cyclonus sat still on his seat and heard the name repeat in the static fog, over, over, over again.


There had been a point, in this universe, where Cyclonus had seen every familiarity as a familiarity.

That point had passed.

He would meet any new challenge, event, person, as just that: new. No matter how recognizable they seemed on the surface, he had accepted that he did not, truly, recognize them.

Viianta would be no different.

Yes, he had been there before. Long ago. As a different individual. As a Skywarp still drowned in fear whilst also learning the delights of attachment. The planet he would soon be landing on would look the same as that one had, undoubtedly. It was not the same, though. There would be no hotel with Team Athenia, no getting dragged to bars by a young autobot soldier or sulking nervously down colorful streets in their midst.

This was just a new planet to visit. A new set of opportunities. One he would miss by remembering the past, but...

But opportunities alone belied that new experiences could be earned.

A mix of nervousness and a bit of excitement lay beneath the usual apathy.

There was no choice on his part to go or not. It was where his current unit was going. But he expected that he would be doing more exploration of those areas outside his planetside's room than he typically would during outings like this.


This thought rose again when he was on the planet itself. Viianta was a strange place. It took longer to reach than almost any other flight he'd been stuck on with Team Chaar thus far. Its outer rim status, along with being a neutral world, made it a truly disconnected place compared to many worlds. Scuffles between the decepticon faction vying for recognized galactic sovereignty and deadly small rebellions against autobot civilians were simply unregistered here. They knew, of course, that wars continued on between many different planets of the galaxy at large, but Viianta itself seemed to understand its limited communication with the galactic center and thus its own registration of the events far from it was muted.

There was a decently large cybertronian presence here, mingling in with dozens of techno-organics, organics, and other cna based species. It was too loud. Too colorful. Cyclonus felt the helmache inevitably approach from this fact, but he would not return to the apartment their contact had rented out for them. Instead, he walked down crowded streets and through colorful vendors and ignored how he stuck out amongst the others. There were taller, larger, beings passing by, but he was aware that his demeanor could very well be responsible for the wider berth he seemed to have unconsciously gained.

Still, he found himself approaching the city sector he'd known from another world. The Viianta here wasn't the planet he'd been on before. No more than Megatron here would ever be Galvatron from there. It was a part of his acceptance. Still, the layout was the same in some places (different in others, but that spoke to the century left of change) and this sector was one of those areas.

Absent travel led him to a backwards street that had a view of a shop across a crossing backstreet ahead.

Cyclonus stopped walking there.

This wasn't his former universe. These weren't his memories reborn. The shop ahead of him was not one he'd ever stepped inside before. This was not a chance to protect what he had failed to before, because this was not the same shop as that one was. It was separate. Not endangered by the looming presence of the lumen purgatio and the stupidity of a cowardly clone. Then this was the beginnings of a unique train of events, was it not? One unmarred by former memories no matter if more than a few pangs of failure and shame arose in regards to the Skywarp of old.

Those determinations left this a new ground, unwalked ground.

He did not approach the shop. He did wait there for some time considering it. Watching. There were quite a few customers bustling in and out for a jour before visits to the shop seemed to die down. Its owner would come outside sometimes to wave one off- perhaps a regular? Cyclonus did not really know what it was like to live on this planet or run a business in general. There weren't many guesses he could give.

When that first jour was up, business slowed to a near stop. The large transparent doorways in the front of the shop showed its interior partially. It was shaded, but still discernible. The autobot would sit at his desk, sit on his desk, lay upside down off his desk with his head facing the door that no new customers had entered in some time...

At one point, he'd slid off the desk and left the building, disappearing behind it before returning with three crates- each his size- stacked in his arms awkwardly. He ought to have gotten help with that. Someone ought to have noticed and offered help.

There was a ping for him later in the cycle. Likely a comm telling him to regroup. Playtime's Over, or the like. Cyclonus ignored it for now.

This was not his world, he thought. This was not his world.

This was a new world. And it had brought him to this planet to see a ghost who was not a ghost, who was a different individual, a total stranger, someone he had not met-

but someone he could meet.

This was a new world.

He had reached that point and begun to move on.

And, after the motion of moving forward had already been occurring for stellar cycles, he could start to treat this as such. There should be no past grief to hold him back; only caution, residual apathy, and the question over how he could break free from the dull repetition of living with Team Chaar year after year.

Cyclonus did not walk all the way to the front of that shop that cycle. He did not on any day of their stay there for business, even if he made it to the observation spot each cycle. The crates and supplies went painfully carried by a tiny mech while he watched and wondered why he could not seem to go out there and help. The dangerous looking customers that entered made his own battle systems hum, but he did not storm forward to check their behavior.

He knew even after they had left that Viianta was not a chance event, however. He would return to it. Sooner than later, he would.

In a moment of clarity, he was rather surprised he had not already before this point. His first great failure revolved around a separate version of the mech he'd seen here. If fate was to cross their paths here, he would not allow such a deadly failure to occur again.


AN- Cyclonus, like Skywarp, still doesn't understand certain social graces. Like maybe it's not good to be standing in an alley watching someone from the shadows because he doesn't know how to let them know he's there. This is a trait inspired by early mtmte Cyclonus, who's got quite a problem in that regard honestly.