Some things, once set in motion,
Can never again be stopped.
"Introducing… the one, the only… ORANGEHELM!"
The crowd's screaming kicked up to audial-splitting decibels. The dark red mech seriously contemplated offlining his audio receptors, though such an action would likely give him a disadvantage in the coming match.
"And now the competitor..."
Dull grey doors slid open with a barely audible screech. The red mech stepped out into the harshly-lit stadium, freshly-oiled black visor snapping into place. His searching gaze landed upon his competitor, the offensively orange mech whom Sharpspike had been fighting last orn. Orangehelm was clutching a short energon sword as though his spark depended upon it.
"Introducing… BLUESERVO!"
Blueservo?! The mech very nearly shot the announcer with his new pulse rifle. He had certainly known that they were going to make up an easy-to-remember designation because he only had a serial number, but… Blueservo? Surely they could have come up with a more creative designation?
"The rules are simple! First mech to damage the other wins! Don't forget to place your bets right this way!"
The announcer stood, lifting a servo. After a nanoklik, he brought the servo down to hit a buzzer.
"Aaaaaand… BEGIN!"
The two mechs crouched down, each assessing the other's motions. The red mech scanned his opponent's frame for exposed wires or thin plates that would cave in easily. After a few nanokliks of scanning, he started to hear some discontented muttering in the crowd.
"Fight already," one mech shouted from the stands.
"Fight, fight, fight!" The crowd picked up the chant. "FIGHT!"
Orangehelm looked terrified, but he took a step forward. The chanting became even louder, and the red mech knew he had to act before he became hated by the crowd. He lined up the pulse rifle, powered it up to maximum, and shot.
"AAAaand they're fighting!" The announcer turned his speaker up to maximum volume. It was deafening, but the mech ignored the pain stabbing through his audio receptors. He would have to get them fixed after the match anyway.
Whether through extraordinary skill or plain luck, a surprised-looking Orangehelm managed to deflect the red mech's laser pulse with his energon sword.
"An incredible block by Orangehelm," the announcer overenthusiastically commented. "It would have been a pity to see the match end so quickly, anyway!"
The red mech charged while his opponent was still distracted, transforming his servo into a sonic blade. Orangehelm swung the sword again, but this time its arc was slightly more predictable. The mech managed to step aside just in time.
"OOH! A close dodge by Blueservo! Let's hear some noise!" The announcer's audio receptors were clearly offline, or he would have noticed the crowd's already deafening screams. "Throw those energon cubes, if you please!"
Small flashes of light lit up the arena as wealthy audience members cheered and tossed volatile mini-cubes at the floor. The red flier experienced a brief moment of horror and disgust at the way noble mechs were so blatantly wasting precious energon, but a glowing streak in the corner of his vision drew his attention back to the match.
The red mech easily dove under the sword again and shoved Orangehelm back with a well-placed kick to the torso. He knew such a move was dangerous because, in addition to putting his pede within range of the other's energon blade, it could not damage the other mech very much. However, the crowd roared with glee as the close-range combat began.
Knowing that the energon sword was still a threat, the red mech twisted under Orangehelm's guard and severed the sword's power lines with his sonic knife. A sharp jolt of electricity went through his servo as the blade closed a circuit between two wires, but the pain was well worth it. Orangehelm's sword shorted out with a flash of sparks and a puff of smoke.
With the energon sword's 'energon' function disabled, the orange mech was left waving a rather useless piece of rusty grey metal.
"Check it out! Orangehelm hasn't got a weapon anymore. But it looks like Blueservo wants to take the fight to him instead of using his ancient rifle! If you want assured protection, never bring outdated tech with you. SyberNied Weapons is proud to sell the latest and greatest weaponry to mechs like you!" The announcer reasoned that he might as well get a bonus for promoting the boss's favorite weapons smuggling corporation.
The red mech swung a pede at Orangehelm's legs, then quickly smashed down on his helm with a clenched servo. Orangehelm looked dazed for a second, but he kicked a pede upwards, shoving the flier backwards.
The red mech retreated and jumped to the other side of the ring.
"Another great hit by Blueservo! It looks like we might have a victor! Sorry, but bets are closed! And in case any of you fine mechs want to learn how to defend yourselves against dangerous opponents, Gyron Training Facility will always be glad to accept new customers!" The announcer was now envisioning a huge bonus on his normal pay.
"Blueservo! Blueservo! Blueservo!"
The red mech could vaguely hear the crowd chanting in the background, but their shouts seemed strangely quiet. He attributed their odd silence to audio receptor damage and continued searching his opponent's guard for weaknesses.
Orangehelm transformed into a large four-wheeled vehicle and accelerated, clearly intending to run the red mech over. However, the flier jumped upwards, assisted slightly by his thrusters, and quickly charged the laser pulse rifle. Several shots flew towards the speeding grounder before the red mech landed.
The laser pulses blinded Orangehelm for half a nanoklik, knocking out his optical feeds and sensor arrays. He was unable to turn quickly enough to avoid crashing. The front of his vehicle mode crumpled as he slammed into the sturdy wall of the arena.
The red mech approached warily, cautious of a trap.
"Wow! A spectacular fight! Orangehelm is down, but is he out? Find out in ten, nine, eight—"
Orangehelm remained motionless even after the red mech not-so-gently prodded his alt-mode with one pede.
"Two, one, and… we have a winner! Let's hear it for Blueservo!"
The crowd burst into applause, leaving the red mech slightly confused. After all, Orangehelm had technically defeated himself by driving into the wall… but the audience seemed to accept it, so the red mech congratulated himself on surviving his first match. Now, he would—hopefully—have Sharpspike's protection from Chopper.
"And if you liked that," the announcer exuberantly continued, "you could always pay more to watch the even gorier deathmatches!"
The crowd burst into cheering.
"Uh, can someone grab Orangehelm?" The red mech looked around, unsure about what he was supposed to do now that he had won. The doors surrounding the arena were still shut, and the announcer seemed to have forgotten about him.
No one heard his question. The audience was far too busy cheering or handing energon cubes to the announcer.
"Er, anyone going to do something about this mech?" The red mech raised one servo, trying to get the announcer's attention.
The crowd screamed even more loudly, misinterpreting his gesture as a triumphant wave.
A grim smile spread across the red mech's hidden features, mirroring the sense of elation quickly overcoming his confusion.
Yes, he thought, watching the crowds cheering for him. I could do this all vorn.
Opportunistic Empties, perhaps thinking that the rotary mech with shining silver finish was weak, recoiled the moment they sensed his murderous aura. Perhaps it was the rotary's eerie calmness as he walked through one of the most dangerous areas in Iacon, or perhaps it was the small, jerky twitching of razor-sharp claws, but some small detail gave him a slightly off-key appearance that caused even Empties who did not recognize him to back off warily.
Chopper stalked through the shadows of ground-level Cybertron, fury etched into every feature and motion. His polished plating gleamed despite the low ambient light, but his sharp, fluid movements and uncannily piercing gaze spoke of skill deeper than any training or experience. Like the others of his since-discontinued model, his most basic coding focused upon a single imperative: to terminate the target at all costs.
Unfortunately for the dark red mech, he happened to be Chopper's target.
A small group of Empties scattered in all directions as Chopper approached. One, a small two-wheeler, was unfortunate enough to run towards the furious helicopter. Silver claws instantly flashed out, sending her to the ground in a frightened heap.
"P-please don't hurt me," the two-wheeler begged, servos desperately trying to stem the flow of precious energon from her injured shoulder.
"Tell me," Chopper sneered disdainfully at the crouching Empty, "everything you know about two Seekers."
Greyspring tapped a datapad. "Nice job out there. You didn't even get your new paint scratched! Next match is going up. It's a two-on-three now, but they might need someone to make it even."
"What happens when the mechs go down?" The red mech almost guiltily remembered the crumpled form of Orangehelm that two aides had dragged out of the arena long after the match ended.
"Eh, they gotta get out of the ring themselves or they might get hurt really bad. Not really my problem though. I've never been on the losing side."
The red mech looked around. On the streets under Iacon, he rarely spent any time idle, and that time was quickly occupied with searching for new parts or energon. His current situation allowed for some idle time.
"Oh yeah, and yer medic friend wanted to see you. He was saying something about how dangerous and terribly immoral fighting for sport was, and how… well, you get the point."
"That does sound like him." The red mech nodded. "I'll see what he wants."
As he was walking through one of the corridors, he noticed a few mechs clustered around a large screen in the hall. The red mech could catch a few snippets of conversation, and decided to look closer.
"Just gotta win one more match… get to the good weapon crate..."
"Hey look, that guy with the blue servo, what's his name? It says he gets access to the medium quality weapons! Has to be a mistake… only won one match..."
"Sharpspike doesn't make mistakes, though..."
"Probably 'cause of his frametype… blasted fliers, always more popular than us normal mechs..."
The dark red mech walked up to them, scanning their frames for weaknesses even as he pasted a friendly expression on his faceplates. "Hello."
"Hey, uh… Blueservo? I can see why they call you Blueservo, anyhow," one fighter replied, meaningfully glancing at the red mech's servo.
"Wouldn't have been my first choice," the red mech grumbled, "but the crowd's heard it, so I can't change it now."
"Tough luck," the fighter chuckled. "At least you didn't get a designation like ol' Shinyshell here."
One of the other fighters, an incredibly spiky mech who also happened to be fairly well-polished, turned around. "Hey! I'm not Shinyshell, I'm Spinyshell!"
He flicked some of the spines on his shoulder pads to demonstrate.
"I… see," the red mech muttered hesitantly.
"Wait, you're Blueservo?" Shinyshell's gaze was drawn to the mech's servo, and sudden realization dawned across his spiky faceplates. "Oh, makes sense I guess… anyway, what's in the medium weapons crate? I haven't got access to it yet. Just another match, really…"
"I haven't checked yet. What is it? I only arrived here last orn."
"Er… the boss lets us have better tech when we win more matches. Somethin' about gettin' good mechs good weapons, or something. I hear that once you're a professional… he lets you get a custom order weapon!" Muttering under his breath, Spinyshell said something about a 'mistake' and 'Sharpspike'.
"What's on the board?" Moving closer to the screen, the red mech could see statistics for each mech. Surprisingly, his popularity score was quite high already.
"Just about everythin' that makes a mech important down here, minus the frame. Sharpspike had these panels installed a few vorns ago, so they're kinda new."
"Hmm. I'd better take a look at those weapon crates, even though this laser pulse rifle isn't as outdated as most mechs think it is," the red mech mused. "Been nice knowing you."
"Yeah yeah yeah. See ya around." The fighters turned back to the panel and resumed muttering amongst themselves.
Some units:
nanoklik - second
breem - minute
joor - hour
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years
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~The Voids