When survival in an uncaring world is all that matters,
What price is too great to pay?
The red mech rounded the corner to see the green medic repairing a heavily wounded gladiator. The medic seemed to detect the other flier's presence without pausing in his repairs to the injured fighter's fuel pump.
"Sharpspike sent over a couple of cubes for you," the green flier began before the red mech could speak. "I thought you might have gone offline out there, or lost your servo again, or—or something. And having mechs fight for sport! It's just… wrong."
"We're safe from Chopper, and we have energon," the red mech replied, taken aback by the medic's sudden outburst. He inspected the two small cubes he had earned. "It's a decent quality, too. I don't see the problem."
"What good is energon if there's no mech to use it?"
"Of course there'll be a mech," he said, draining one cube and subspacing the other. His fuel levels rose back to a luxurious sixty-two percent. "Me… and maybe you, too, if there's enough fuel."
"Maybe!? I earn my own fuel, you know."
"Definitely, then," the red mech amended. He picked up a laser scalpel from a nearby tray, flipping it through the air as he spoke. "I survived for megavorns. This can't be much harder."
"If you say so—Ah!" The medic's servo slipped, causing bright blue fuel to spurt across the table.
"That looks bad."
"Not now!" The medic frantically set to work clamping the ruptured energon lines. "I need to concentrate."
Silence encompassed the room as the laser scalpel spun up and down, creating a twirling blue light show in front of the red mech. The medic's wings twitched in silent irritation.
"If you're not going to help, go away," the medic finally snapped, elbow-deep in his patient's torso. Glowing blue droplets splattered over his normally dark green armor. "You're distracting me, and my patient is getting worse by the breem."
The red mech placed the laser scalpel back on its tray and turned to leave. He still needed to find out which weapons would be available to him in the next match.
First, however, some recharge was in order… if only he could find a dark, hidden corner that was fairly defensible. It would be… unfortunate… to get scrapped so soon after finding a relatively stable new occupation.
"Whaddya know! The weapons here are half good!" A brown mech stood near a long display wall holding weapons of all shapes and sizes, staring at the energon knife in his servo with an awestruck expression. Some energon from his thumb glittered upon the floor, evidently fallen from the digit when he tried to test the blade, but the gladiator seemed not to notice.
"Hmm," the red mech replied distractedly. He scanned the wall, noting several styles of weapons he had never seen before. There were hundreds of energon blades arrayed in neat rows by curvature and from shortest to longest. Blasters of varying power and accuracy hung from hooks along the wall, ranging from simple servo-held weapons to massive cannons and… was that a railgun!?
"Boss says you got an optional match coming up," a deep voice rumbled. "Free for all, another first to injure fight. Of course, there's no saving ya if you do go offline."
The red mech nearly jumped, but he managed to compose himself in time. Though Greyspring had approached with stealth not matching his frame size, it would not do to show weakness to a fellow fighter.
"Big energon reward," Greyspring continued. "The winner gets a cube for each mech he defeated."
"Alright, alright," the red mech replied, perking wings betraying his interest. "Just let me find another good weapon."
"Aha!" The brown fighter held up a servoful of energon knives, a triumphant expression on his scarred faceplates.
"That means both of you, and any other mechs you run into along the way," Greyspring said, turning to leave. "Spread the word. Last mech standing gets the energon."
"Isn't that how matches normally work?" The red mech glanced around in confusion as he stored a few small blades in an arm compartment.
"Heh, you wish. In these, anyone who wants a go at the energon can fight. Even random Empties," the brown mech explained, moving on to the blasters. "The more who join, the more energon the winner gets. Meaning me."
"Not if I win first," the red mech pointed out.
The brown fighter froze in place, seemingly torn between shock and rage.
The red mech, detecting the fighter's offense, calmly picked up a promising-looking blaster and headed towards the shooting range.
"You'll see," the fighter growled just before the red mech could leave. "They all do, in the end."
The red mech found Shinyshell in the shooting range, launching thin metal sticks at the only visible target. All of the other lanes were unoccupied, but the targets were out of sight. A small, blinking console stood near the entrance to each lane.
The mech approached the nearest console, squinting at the tiny glyphs flashing on the screen. After a time, he finally decoded the message:
'0.5 energon cubes for 30 breems.'
"Robbery," he grumbled, hesitantly pouring the precious energon into the spout. A small light turned green, and a target descended from a slot in the ceiling.
"Blueservo! Fancy seeing ya here," the incredibly spiky fighter on the other side of the range called out, waving at the red mech with a shoddy-looking projectile weapon. A large crate of pointed sticks was on the floor next to him. "Look what your medic friend made me!"
"Uh… very nice," the red mech shouted back, digging his memory banks for any information on the weapon. According to his files on ancient Cybertronian armaments, projectile weapons of the 'crossbow' style had become outdated long before the Age of Wrath.
Aiming carefully at his own target, he raised a heavy blaster, charged it up to maximum, and fired—
—and the blaster promptly tore itself from his grasp, flying backwards into a wall.
"Hey, is that a concussion rifle?" Shinyshell approached, optics wide.
"Seems like it," the mech grumbled, unsuccessfully trying to tug the weapon out of the back wall.
"Those aren't made for fliers, you know?" Shinyshell helped the red mech pull his concussion rifle out of the wall.
"I see."
"Anyway, what happened?" Shinyshell looked at the place where the target had been. There was no sign that the heavy block of metal had ever existed. "Don't tell me ya broke the target… that's a fine twenty-nine breems worth of shooting wasted! Plus you'd have to pay for a new target."
As if on cue, the target swung back into place, a huge dent adorning the upper right corner.
"At least I hit it," the red mech commented optimistically, glancing at the screen. "Twenty-eight breems left."
"Oh yeah, did ya know you can select what kind of target you want? These other ones don't go down so quick when ya shoot 'em with the heavy artillery." Shinyshell poked the screen, selecting a sturdier target. "Also, if ya pay two cubes—big cubes, the ones professionals get—ya can shoot the moving targets."
"Sounds like a waste of energon," the red mech grumbled. His time was decreasing with each passing nanoklik he wasted talking to Shinyshell.
"Yeah well, Sharpspike doesn't run a charity. You only have twenty seven and a half breems left, by the way. Hey, can I shoot a few?"
"No. I'd better get some practice with my outdated tech," the red mech snapped, pointedly glaring at Shinyshell's crossbow as he unsubspaced the trusted laser pulse rifle. "My time's running out."
"Good luck with that, anyway," Shinyshell said, detecting the mech's annoyance. "I figure I've got enough energon to skip this free-for-all everymech is so excited about. Even if you do win, you gotta defeat a bunch to make decent energon. Terrorstrike won't let ya do that."
The mech made no audible reply, but the cant of his wings as he aimed the rifle very clearly expressed his opinion on having enough energon to willfully skip a match. Any Empty with even the faintest shred of common sense shared a single universal truth: one simply did not pass over an opportunity to get precious fuel. Ever.
The red mech looked at a large display screen near the door.
49 breems until match start.
"HAHAA! I'm so winning this! The world shall remember the name Terrorstrike!" The brown mech constantly shouted about his superiority while laughing the whole time.
"Oh yeah? You ain't winnin' while I'm in the game, and you know that!" Firecracker spun an energon sword around one servo and tossed a blaster in the air with the other.
The red mech carefully scanned each mech's frame for exploitable weaknesses. Terrorstrike had a critical flaw in his knee joint, but it was covered by a thick armor plate. Firecracker was in relatively good condition, but his blaster looked like it could only shoot low power bursts.
"Energon…?" The Empty called 'E-1337' looked toward the entrance. Drones brought mini-cubes of energon for the mechs on pre-fight. Firecracker immediately subspaced his, grinning. The others all drank their cubes, but the red mech hesitated. A brief scan of the cube showed it was far more volatile than other energon types. His energon levels were still relatively high, so he subspaced the cube.
"So many eager fighters! Looks like we might have a few promising new champions," the announcer enthusiastically shouted as the fighters stepped into the arena. "Introducing Terrorstrike, Firecracker, Offliner of Mechs, E-1337, Pleezgimmefuel, Igettonamemyself, those three Empties, and Blueservo!"
As usual, the audience's gleeful screaming gave the red mech a large processor-ache. He dialed his audio receptors down to their lowest sensitivity, but the audience's cheers were still painfully loud.
"Uh, Sharpspike," the announcer continued in a slightly quieter voice that the red mech still heard quite clearly. "Sir? We really should stop letting these Empties name themselves."
A rumble of laughter shook the audience.
"Ehm. Anyway." The announcer stood up and lifted his servo. "We are starting in five… four… three… two… one…" He brought his servo down on a buzzer. "Begin!"
The heavy doors around the arena closed with an ominous clang.
Terrorstrike immediately charged at Firecracker, pulling energon knives out of his arm compartment. Firecracker ducked under a swing, unsubspaced his mini-cube, and threw it. The cube exploded directly over Terrorstrike's knife compartment, effectively disabling the weapons and half of the surrounding plating.
"Would you look at that! He has splendid aim! If you want to throw projectiles like that, Techamorph Targeting is happy to help!" The announcer knew that with so many high class mechs in the audience, it would be a shame to let an advertisement opportunity pass unfilled.
The red mech powered up his laser pulse rifle and aimed at the spark chamber of one of the Empties. The Empty tried to dodge the shot, but he wasn't fast enough; the blast hit one shoulder, burning a hole in his armor while the red mech pulled out an energon knife.
"Protect yourself from dangerous adversaries! Gyron Training Facility will train any mech that wishes to learn!"
An energon knife unexpectedly sliced through the Empty's spark chamber from behind. The sparkless frame dropped to the ground before the startled mech.
Terrorstrike retrieved the knife from his latest victim and charged. Stepping aside nimbly, the red mech stabbed his energon blade into Terrorstrike's knee joint. While it didn't do any real damage, it made the brown mech angry.
The red mech fired up his thrusters for a quick getaway, leaving Terrorstrike to take out his anger on the remaining four fighters. The brown mech set to work gleefully ripping the Empties into shreds.
"Ooh, looks like Terrorstrike isn't playing by the rules! But that's alright, we all love a good deathmatch! Come on and place your bets!"
Offliner Of Mechs blocked a cut by Terrorstrike. Firecracker's blaster knocked his helm to the side, and he fell down, energon trickling from one shattered optic.
The red mech transformed his servo into its sonic blade configuration and launched himself towards Firecracker. The two-wheeler instantly swung a pede at the sonic blade, but he failed to notice the energon knife hidden in the red mech's other servo.
"Ooh! We're down to three mechs! Last call for bets!"
Firecracker desperately leapt to his pedes and ran for the edge of the arena, raising his servos in surrender.
"I can't believe it… I'm out… I'm out…!" Firecracker slumped against the wall, optics fixed on the still-bright energon knife lodged in his elbow joint.
The red mech's optics narrowed, concentrating as he risked activating his ancient battle computer. Time seemed to slow down as his optics received and processed more frames per second.
A glittering shard of blue light—another of Terrorstrike's energon knives—arced down towards him. He watched his own servo transforming back to its standard configuration as if in slow motion.
Predicted action/reaction array: Damage will occur to the right arm joint.
A sharp biting pain in his right arm brought back equally ancient combat medic protocols. The small blade was lodged in a noncritical section of armor.
Protect the patient until predefined limits.
He reached up with his blue servo, now fully transformed, and gripped Terrorstrike's forearm.
Error: Defect in limits to patient protection. File 'limits' not found. Find a root code engineer immediately.
He dismissed the warning.
With all the power in his frame, the red mech crushed inward with the servo. The forearm plating crumpled between his claws. Terrorstrike's faceplates had pain written on them, but the red mech did not stop.
He activated the thruster on his right leg, smashing his knee into Terrorstrike's damaged knee. The joint snapped backwards, and the lower leg fell to the ground. Wires frayed and sparked as Terrorstrike screamed.
Threat not neutralized. Error: Defect in limits to patient protection. File 'limits' not found. Find a root code engineer immediately.
With the other servo, the red mech pulled out a fan of energon knives, all of them activating. He slashed at Terrorstrike, creating deep gouges in the armor, but the brown mech's plating was too thick to do serious damage.
Threat not neutralized. Proceed.
Terrorstrike raised his free servo, but the red mech activated both thrusters and pulled the brown mech into the air. The red mech disdainfully glanced at the suddenly frightened fighter, released him, and watched with cool optics as he dropped painfully to the ground.
The red mech touched down on the ground next to the fallen Terrorstrike. He pulled the energon knife out of his own arm and let it drop to the energon-stained floor.
Threat neutralized. Error: File 'remorse' not found. Combat medic field protocols de-activating.
"Threat neutralized," the red mech spoke in an eerie monotone. The words were not quite his own, but they were still picked up and amplified by the arena's systems.
The crowds cheered, chanting "Blueservo!" the whole time.
They did not care that their previous champions were badly wounded. They had a new favorite.
.
Some Cybertronian units:
nanoklik - second
breem - minute
joor - hour
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years
More coming soon. Stay tuned.
~The Voids