The Diego Diaries: Convocation (dd8 529)
=0=Everywhere
They sat in the control rooms of the MCA in New York City and London working on the evening programming from Cybertron and Mars. Both feeds originated from IntraCom in Autobot City and were devised there for broadcast. The variety of programming was amazing and the night crews worked to send it out in the timeline order devised by IntraCom and its consortium affiliates both there and on Earth.
No one knew what was happening in the world of the Cybertronian People and the ability of the humans on world to tell them was curtailed until further notice. However, the humans on Earth wouldn't know that. The usual lineup was ongoing without a break, managed through the Will of Primus.
The night feed would continue onward without a hitch.
=0=Unidad
The kids watched the show outside as another view of the past filled the screens. They had tried to contact friends from class, some of them Cybertronian but the communications between them was severed. No one would have any other event diverting their attention but this one.
"They're so big," a boy said, one who was part of the Habitat International School of Mars, the human school each habitat offered.
"That's because they're the Pantheon," a girl replied, one who went to Youngling Day #1 at Centurion. "They're the creator gods of The People. They're divine." She had lessons about the history of The People and knew a lot, perhaps more than the rest of them short of those who were learning the Circle philosophy and the relationship of the People with their warrior gods. The others who went to school with her nodded. "They're here to settle something. Maybe they can settle The System."
"They will," another said. All of them had lessons about the history of Cybertron and most of them knew about the wars over the class system that had destroyed their world. "I hope they make it this time."
Then another scene from their history filled the screens.
=0=On screen everywhere
A mech was strapped to a table and doctors were removing parts of him, his servos and his face. He was unable to scream but he was moving though very little while this was happening. The doctors faces were hard to see in the carefully shrouded lighting but what was happening to the mech wasn't.
When they were finished they removed him, put him into a runabout, then flew away into the nighttime of Cybertron. When they arrived at some unknown place, they threw him out and flew away. He was left to fend for himself.
It was astonishingly evil, physically nauseating and frightening to see him crawl along the ground groping with arms that held no servos and glancing around with a helm that held no face. What would have happened to him would never be known by those watching.
The scene cut back to another who was in a darkened room going through a torment of his mind. There were no obvious sights to see but the mech was screaming, clawing at his arms and struggling to get away from some unseen thing. It went on for a while, then a door opened and he was dragged out. Back to a cell he went to continue his nightmare alone.
It echoed, then faded.
=0=Ops Center, The Fortress
"I know what that is. That was empurata, the first one and the other is shadow play," a mech said, one old with age and experience. He looked grim as frag.
"What's that, Abba?" a youngling mech, a Home Guardian asked with some fear in his voice.
The others in the room turned in their chairs to look at him.
He glanced at them. "Shadow play identifies your greatest fears, then bombards them at you until you crack. Impurata is the abuse of your body, the removal of parts of it and the bombardment of your mind. It strips you of your spark. Jhiaxus created them, the Decepticons used it and Shockwave was destroyed by both.
"Once upon a time he was a great Senator and brave. He hid dissident scientists from the government. Then he got caught. That's why he looks like he does, like the Functionalists. They were the inspiration for Jhiaxus of what the end game for impurata should look like."
It would be silent in Ops Center as the night shift watched the show outside and the images sent by the Pantheon on the massive screens and small all around them.
=0=Tower
"What the fuck," Morshower mused. "So that's shadow play and impurata. I thought we were savages but there's things in this universe that can be worse than us."
"Its good to know," Ron Witwicky said. "Maybe. It wearies me beyond words, all of it."
Judy Witwicky nodded. "All of us feel the same way. Imagine living with this for millions of years and seeing it come back no matter how much you try to kill it over and over again."
"I can't imagine," Linda Graham whispered.
=0=On the screen
It changed again to a conference room where the oddities that were the Functionalist Council sat. They were consulting The Book and making a decision that would be the last one they made while in control of Cybertron and the Empire. It would be the decision that would spark the War Against Functionalist Tyranny.
"Then we are in agreement," One of Twelve asked his colleagues.
They nodded, their one-opticed faces reflecting this time the negativity that they personified to the greatest degree most would ever see among The People.
"Then we will make it so," One said, then stood.
All of them did, then bowed their helms to make their decision happen. After a moment they looked up at each other again. "It is done."
The scene dissolved as Primus's face returned. He stared at those watching, seemingly into their very souls and sparks. "The decision that they made was to kill 56,000 mechs … adults, children and elders that they felt had no value further. They were 'information models', the 'data sticks' that had outlived their function and usefulness. It didn't matter that they were unique and beloved by Me and those who loved them. They were 'disposed of'. 56,000 lives destroyed with the flicker of a thought. But they were not the only ones."
The scene changed.
A klaxon sounded as the mechs and a femme working in a data center paused their work to listen. On a desk nearby image cubes showing their family and friends sat, the ones Optimus Prime would later take with him to save. All over two planets the sound of the klaxon calling for their attention drew it. Tens of thousands of worker bees turned toward them to listen for instructions.
Meanwhile at the airport, mechs and a femme with highly unusual formats and a number of what appeared to be servant class and family gathered to go away on ships. As they climbed aboard the rest were heading back to their homes where they were told to go and wait further instructions.
Genitors gathered their children from the day cares where they were kept while they worked and the rudimentary schools where the older ones went to learn the least possible information about how to function in this system and the ideals and restrictions of what it meant to be a fundamental Functionalist.
It was eerie as hell.
=0=Among those who knew
:Frag: Magnus said as he watched grimly. :Those are the slaves for the Functionalist Council. They're heading for home to die:
Prime glanced at him, then nodded grimly. The darkest emotions filled him for a moment then soothing energy drove them back. He felt it, the soft loving energy of Solus Prime Herself from where she was watching things around District 13 where the greatest number of recalcitrant former high castes were congregated, those from the last migration. He acknowledged it with his own loving energy then concentrated on the visions.
=0=26 and company
"I think you should close your optics, children," Avor said as he glanced at 26 with alarm.
26 pulled his son into his arms and turned his helm away. Avor did the same with Lil as the story continued on screen.
=0=There
They gathered in their homes, families and elders, children, babies, all manner of type and kind of bot. The ships at the airport were filled and lifting off when all of a sudden everyone of them fell to the floor. Children fell from the arms of their genitors and grandparents. Elders dropped where they stood. Adults of all manner fell to never get up again.
All over the vast space where they lived in shabby housing the last victims of the Functionalist Council and fundamental Functionalism died together.
=0=Here and there
Children stared at their parents alarmed expressions. One of them, Sil leaned into her grandfather. "What's happening, Appa? Why are you looking so upset?"
The adults in the room turned to her.
"Sil, what did you just see?" her appa asked.
"Ships lifting off for space," she answered.
"You didn't see families in their houses?" her appa asked.
"No. Just ships lifting off," Sil replied.
Her appa glanced at his bond. :Primus didn't allow her to see that. He's spared the infants:
His bond nodded. :Merciful Primus. Thank you: he said.
His bond nodded, then on the screen Primus appeared.
=0=There at the prison
Primus appeared again, his face solemn. "I am the Gateway to The One. When a spark leaves the world they come to the Matrix, that part of Me that is the beginning of their journey ahead. The Matrix that Optimus Prime bears has a piece of My spark. The Matrix is where you come to Me. I am the Gateway to The One.
"You do not go to The One until you are healed and ready. It is there that the hurts you bear are healed and your spark returned to you as the pure light and love it is. Only then do you journey forward to the reward that is yours, too. It is My purpose to be that conduit from where you are sent to a life and where you come when it ends. I am the Giver and the Receiver.
"Over and over the dead come to me, too many at a time, too many who didn't have the life they deserved or wanted. Too many children and babies came to me bewildered in their purity and innocence over what had happened to them. I RECEIVE DEAD CHILDREN! BABIES AND CHILDREN COME TO ME BEFORE THEY HAVE THEIR CHANCE! THEY COME TO ME FOR COMFORT!
"Why do they come? Because a few believe they have the power of life and death, of choice, opportunity and control reserved for them alone. I receive every orn the result of that kind of thinking by those who believe that in some undefinable manner they matter more than the dead."
The scene changed again.
A room with mechs straight out of the history books appeared before them. Scenes of the earliest Primes passed before them, some exalting over the murder of Guardian Prime, 'that impediment to our plans' and others who discussed how much they required to 'assist' someone's 'venture' and what they would do about opposition. Then the scene that no one knew but many speculated appeared before them.
Sentinel Prime stood in the doorway of the hospital room where Nominus Prime lay. He was mortally wounded by an unknown assailant and lingering in his death throes. It irritated Sentinel how long it was taking, it was easy to see as he stared at Nominus like a wolf stares at a wounded deer.
Others with him watched both, none of them willing to be too present. It was obvious that Sentinel was working out the math to ultimate power and no one wanted to be witness to the assassination of a head of state no matter how mortal he might be at that moment. They watched as Sentinel made up his mind then walked into the room closing the door behind him.
Glancing at each other with intense unease, they waited. Shortly the door opened.
Sentinel walked out holding the Matrix but one that was oddly not Itself. He held it up, the darkened device looking bleak and dead in his servo. "Its not real."
"What do you MEAN its not real?" Decimus sputtered.
"I SAID ITS NOT REAL! THE MATRIX HE HAD IS A FAKE!" Sentinel raged. He threw the one in his servo against the wall where it shattered. "Where the frag is the real one. I want it. NOW!"
It was a hushed audience who sat and stood everywhere around the colony and Cybertron witnessing history together.
=0=TBC 9-23-2022 September 24, 2022Rat
recalcitrant: (ree-cal-sih-trant) unbending and unrepentant
Jackalkat: Thank you. :D:D:D:D
consortium: (cun-sor-she-um) a group of different individuals/things/organizations that collaborate or join together to produce something together.
