Rain is not as rare as one might think. In fact, the fifth planet of the Adamson system was a very, very wet planet, rain beating down from the skies practically around the clock. It was only fitting that this was a human settlement, Rumble grumbled to himself. They seemed so fond of the shockin' water after all. It was late night, and, aside from the occasional straggler, Rumble was alone on the neon bathed street. His vacuu-broom humming slightly, he moved slowly and routinely over the pavement, removing the filth left by a day of humans. Gross little squishies, the tape thought tiredly. Not that he could become a tape anymore; his transformation servos had rusted in place vorns ago.
He gratefully moved in under a protruding roof, shading the window of a media store where a screen was blabbering on, with some late night TV. One of the news channels. Why they were showing that in this kind of neighbourhood was beyond Rumble. He looked over the garbage spread here. There was always more under the overhangs - not that Rumble was complaining, oh no; more work here, more time out of the rain. He started cleaning.
The steady staccato of footsteps reached him, and he looked up, half curious, half indifferent. Something, whether the battle mask, the dark blue colouring or the steady gait, caused him to suddenly cry, "Stop! Hey, wait!"
The mech complied, turning clearly visible green optics towards him. "Yes?" he asked. His voice was anything but a monotone.
Rumble immediately realised how stupid it was mistaking this robot - Maximal no less, as he saw on the shoulders - for Soundwave. "I'm sorry. I was just bein' silly," Rumble apologised, shrugging. "You remind me of someone I knew once; although he was, ya know, three times taller or sumthin'. It was stupid. Never mind."
The mech smiled behind the mask. "It's okay." His optics glided down to Rumble's chest, where a purple sigil was still vaguely visible. "Decepticon?"
The tape threw a quick glance at it himself. "Yeah," he chuckled. "That's why I'm stuck on this zarkin' planet with this zarkin' job." Nostalgia overcoming him, Rumble straightened up a little, sighing. "Ya know, there was a time where a 'Con could, at least, get a job as a mercenary; not a shockin' street sweeper!"
"The universe is a strange place," the Maximal concurred. He had a pleasant voice; a little raspy, maybe, but so did everyone else on this forsaken globe.
"Yeah," Rumble chuckled. "Tell me about it. So what's a Maxxy like yerself doin' in this place? This is just for the scum of the universe." He sadly ran a hand over his sigil. "And the outcasts."
A bitter chuckle. "I think you hit home with that last one. Yes, misery seeks misery, like those shunned seek others the same."
"Tha's very poetic," Rumble informed him dryly. He glanced at the screen in the window as one of those hourly reports began.
"And in the news today, Nebulos ambassadors have arrived on Earth to..."
Rumble sighed. "There was a time where you could count on at least some of those squishies to take yer side, 'Con or not, not gang up on ya." He turned his attention back to the street and the Maximal. Said Maximal was leaning against the wall, staring blandly out into the rain. "So," the Decepticon asked, "whatcha 'shunned' for?"
The robot blinked. A strange habit, Rumble thought. Why they'd given the new breed opticlids was a mystery. "Things," the green-eyed mech said. He then lowered his head with another bitter chuckle. "My spark."
"Oh."
"And the latest news on the Omicron case," the reporter continued on the screen.
Rumble looked up at the same pictures they'd shown the last couple of stellar cycles; desolate and destroyed buildings from Colony Omicron and Starbase Rugby. "Primus, would ya look at that. All this by one mech?"
The Maximal pushed away from the wall, looking at the screen. "It would seem so."
"What was it they said he was? Some experiment? Perfect warrior?" Without waiting for an answer, Rumble looked at the screen again.
"The Predacon emissary has been sitting in negotiations with the High Council for the last five Cybetronian day cycles, to make sure that the peace treaty is not broken."
Rumble snorted. "Some peace treaty."
An image of a wily, green Predacon appeared. "We have found this to be a major violation of the treaty," he said, "and it is indeed sufficient cause to demand explanation and apology from the Maximal Elders."
"Do the Predacons view this as a viable reason for hostile actions?" a reporter asked immediately.
"I am not authorised to comment on that subject," the emissary snapped, elbowing his way out of the crowd.
The reporter returned to screen, looking earnestly at the camera. "Protoform X's last trail was found in the Adamson system, and it is advised..."
Rumble looked around surreptitiously. His companion folded his arms tightly over his chest, as if cold.
"These images depict X as he was last seen," the reporter told the viewers, as two mugshots appeared. They depicted a large mech, green-eyed like most other Maximals, with a silvery grey finish, highlighted by red and white. A common colouring for a protoform shell, before it got its individual touches. "It is, however, suspected that he is in disguise. If you have reason to believe that you have spotted Protoform X, exude extreme caution and, as quickly as possible, get hold of your local authorities. I repeat, extreme caution. Professor Stormwing is here to tell us why."
The camera turned to a dark grey and black Cybetronian. He looked off camera, to the reporter. "Thank you." Then, looking to the camera, he began, "Protoform X suffers from serious delusions. One of the witnesses from Rugby quotes him as saying, 'Pain is beauty; let me show you,' to one of his victims. The creature perhaps suffers the illusion that pain is a way to interact, or even show affection, and he..."
Rumble shook his head. "Ya know, there was a time where you could count on us 'Cons to do the experiments, not them! And look where it got 'em; makin' a monster."
"Monster," the Maximal repeated softly. "Yes; but does that really make him evil?"
Rumble looked up at him. "What d'ya mean?"
"Perhaps," the mech mused, "somewhere inside the monster, he's forever screaming and crying, wanting to break out and away from this... monstrous shell. Perhaps he doesn't want to be the bogeyman, if you will, and the thing that goes bump in the night. Perhaps he just want to have the life - and death - that any other creature takes for granted."
Rumble looked at the robot, and a frightening premonition took shape in his mind. But before he could do anything more than stare dumbly, the Maximal had placed a hand on his shoulder. Rumble dazedly noticed the tips of extendable claws on the fingers.
"I like you, old timer," the robot said, almost jovially. "Get out of town, noon tomorrow at the latest. Get a decent job, and try to carry that mark of yours with a little dignity. No matter the allegiance, all those shunned deserves a second chance. That's my belief; and maybe, one day, I'll get one, too." He let go of the shocked Decepticon's shoulder and walked out in the rain.
Rumble watched as he disappeared through the sheets of falling water. A piece of a song, insanely popular at the moment, popped to the forefront of his mind.
"Oh, yeah, mm-hmm, yeah,
There was a time, baby
When monsters were monsters
And not fallen angels..."
Okay, first: I try, I really try to avoid using Rampy, but... *Shrug* Yes, he seems a little strange and brooding here, but there are reasons for that. Those reasons you should think up yourself; this story's designed to make you think, after all.
Second: Old Rumble! *Snicker* Cute! :)
Third: No, those lyrics are not real! I made them up to fit the story!
Lastly: Comments? Please? :)