Practice makes perfect.
"Stop," Greyspring called, correcting the red mech's stance. "Alright, try again."
The red mech winced slightly as the motion pulled at fresh welds, but he moved into position without complaint.
"I'm back!" The green medic stepped into the training room, moving over to a small workbench. It was supposedly for repairing fighters injured in training, but the normal repair room was in shambles, and the medic needed somewhere to work.
"No, no. You move your arm here," Greyspring continued, ignoring the medic.
"Take it easy." The medic frowned at the red mech and his grey mentor. "You shouldn't even be moving around this much."
"I need to train," the red mech replied. "On the streets, I only learned what I needed to survive." Without losing an instant, the red mech ducked under Greyspring's punch and aligned his laser with the old fighter's helm.
"Better. That move only works on slower mechs though, and they don't fight in the arenas unless they have another trick to staying online."
The green medic shook his helm, turning back to his work. Apparently Shinyshell liked the crossbow enough that he had requested super-heated projectiles and a smaller launcher. The medic didn't like seeing weapons used—especially not when he was the one who would have to patch the victims back together—but at least his creations were protecting the spiky gladiator.
"Some mechs just have lots of plating," Greyspring explained. "Some have a weapon on their back, like a pulse gun. I saw a fighter who let mechs sneak up behind him on purpose. Then: boom! Surprise shot to the helm."
The red mech's optics gleamed with interest.
"Generally speaking, if mechs have more armor, they use more fuel or go slower," the old fighter continued. "Be careful though; some warbuilds have speed upgrades."
Greyspring paused slightly, giving the red mech a chance to process the information.
"Now, what would you do if a mech is charging at you and you're in a corner?"
"Duck." The mech hesitated slightly, considering his high energon levels. He could afford to use his flight systems now. "Jump upward?"
"You can't, the roof is too low."
"Shoot the mech and put my pede up to stop the frame from hitting me."
Greyspring raised an optic ridge at the red mech's response. "How well can you shoot a moving target?"
"With the speed of most tank-builds…" The mech silently performed the calculations, grimacing at the results his processor returned. "Five times out of seven."
Greyspring frowned. "Not good odds. The other two times you would be taken offline."
"The shooting range isn't affordable." The red mech turned to look at Greyspring. "Last time—"
"Sharpspike gave you five free breems for the fifty energon cubes you earned him, remember?"
"Five free breems? What could I do with that?"
"You could practice your shooting for five breems, of course! What else would you do with it?" Greyspring headed out the door, limping slightly. "Are you coming or not?"
The red mech stepped down from the elevated training area, following the old fighter.
"Ey medic, didya get me the Spike Launcher Beta?" Shinyshell stood in the small training ring, staring at the finished projectiles and shiny new crossbow.
"Here it is!" The green medic lifted the completed weapon from the workbench. "Put a bit of energon into the crossbow and a projectile, then it heats the projectile up and launches it! Uhh… and that'll be a cube of energon."
Shinyshell frowned.
"To pay for scrap metal, of course," the medic hastily amended. "Metal isn't free, you know."
"Right, makes sense… thanks! Here ya go."
Shinyshell exchanged a small cube for the crossbow and projectiles.
"Where do you get your energon? I haven't seen this type of cube before." The green medic inspected the oddly dim energon cube Shinyshell gave him.
"Uh… there's this mech that sells me energon. He's from the surface… it works better on the machines... uh… thanks again! I gotta go test this!" Shinyshell almost ran out the door. At the last moment, he dashed back and put another half cube on the green medic's workbench.
"Don't tell anyone about the energon!" He bolted out the door, headed for the shooting range.
"No worries," the medic said to the empty room as he gathered his tools and the bribe.
Greyspring pointed to a display at the far right of the target practice room.
"Try that one. I'll activate the five free breems."
The red mech moved over to the display, selecting a still target.
The display's primitive AI asked, "begin 5 free breems now?"
The red mech powered up his laser pulse rifle and nodded. "Begin."
"Five breems starting."
The doors at the other side of the shooting range opened, allowing a small target to pop out. After a few shots, it became obvious that the red mech knew how to hit the stationary target.
"Try a moving target."
The red mech selected a moving target from the menu, frowning at the three breems left.
"Hey! Blueservo! Fancy seeing ya here again!"
"Busy."
"Oh, wow, you have the five breem bonus? Ya know, if ya put in a cube ya'll get five free breems on that too!"
"I'm busy." Even though the red mech was interested in the extra time, he needed to practice and he didn't have many cubes left.
"Eh, alright. Ey, when ya finish, can I use that station?"
"When I finish. Not before."
The red mech shot multiple times at the target, most missing behind or in front of it.
"He's training. Now go shoot targets or leave."
"Yaah! Greyspring! Er, hello..." Shinyshell quickly moved to a display at the other side of the range and poured in a quarter of a cube.
"Two breems," the computer chirped extremely slowly.
"Put in another cube, ya shiny excuse for a mech. Here," Greyspring shouted, holding out a partly full cube. "That's barely enough to shoot a couple of targets."
"It's spiny," Shinyshell angrily replied, turning to aim his new crossbow at the gray veteran before wisely thinking better of it. "I don't need your charity!"
"Hmph. Idiot." Greyspring turned back to the red mech, tossing the quarter-full cube over. "You should probably put this in. Five breems won't get any mech anywhere except offline."
"I can use this?" The red mech was cautious. No rational mech gave precious energon away without wanting something in return. "What would I owe you?"
"Eh, win your fights. Sharpspike'll probably pay me a lot more if I get you in fighting shape by next decaorn."
The red mech noticed that Greyspring was the only one who regularly used Sharpspike's designation. Filing this information away, he turned back to the target and shot a few more times.
There was a faint scraping sound as the door slid open.
"I am the mightiest mech in the seven galaxies, come to defeat you heathen scum! Behold me, TERRORSTRIKE!"
"Well spoken, for a mech who's never been off Cybertron," the red mech muttered. "I can tell by your frametype that you were created after the spaceports closed."
Greyspring turned to look at the brown gladiator. "If you aren't going to use the range, leave. We have better things to do than listen to you."
"Oh hey there, did you strike terror into the ground when you fell?" Shinyshell casually aimed his new crossbow, but it was clear to everyone that he had spoken.
"Indeed I did, Shinyshell!" Terrorstrike appeared completely unfazed by the insult. "Want some polish? AHAHAHAAA!"
"Hmph." Shinyshell's servos clenched around the crossbow as he fired another projectile at the target. "See that target melting? Next one is you!"
"Use the range or go." Greyspring lifted a clenched servo and stepped towards Terrorstrike menacingly.
"Fine." Anger crossed the brown mech's faceplates. He pulled a servoful of energon knives from subspace and stomped to an unoccupied booth.
The red mech poured a cube into his own station, causing the display to announce another thirty breems.
"Alright, back to work." Greyspring glanced at the drone currently wandering around the red mech's lane. "Hit the green dot on the drone."
The red mech lifted his rifle again, carefully aiming ahead of the drone's course. Linear prediction algorithms locked on, and he sent the signal to fire.
The drone changed direction at the last moment. The mech's laser pulse flew straight ahead... and missed the dot.
"You're still going to be offlined," Greyspring rumbled, shaking his helm. "Shooting in a line? Even a newsparked warbuild could hit the target better than that."
"I don't have weapon targeting protocols."
"Yeah? Neither does Shiny over there. Do you see any of his shots missing? No."
"Hey!" Shinyshell indignantly shouted. "It's SPINY!"
His protest was resolutely ignored by every mech in the range.
"Watch." To prove his point, Greyspring pulled a small blaster from subspace and offlined his optics. Three perfect shots impacted the drone's target, burning a dark spot in the green paint. "There, you see? Again."
The mech aimed for the green dot, waiting for just the right moment.
"No, no, no. You're taking too long. Any mech could predict where you're aiming. You have to visualize the shot in your processor first, then move your arm and fire." Greyspring pushed the mech's rifle arm down. "Now, do you see what you're aiming for?"
The mech nodded.
"Imagine where your arm needs to go."
There was a short pause before the mech nodded again.
"Now… shoot!"
The mech whipped his arm upward and fired the instant the rifle achieved the right angle. A low-power laser pulse shot across the range, creating a dark smudge on the side of the drone's target.
"Better," Greyspring acknowledged. "Work on your speed. The faster you aim, the less the target moves from its original position."
The new orn continued much as the previous two had—in training. Greyspring's teaching style was relentless, but the mech took it in stride. Every orn spent learning combat skills improved his chances of survival in upcoming matches.
The mech dove out of the way as a tank barreled through the spot he had just occupied. He activated external scanners, but Greyspring attacked again before the red mech could get his complete frame schematics.
"Stop dodging and attack," Greyspring advised. "You're relying too much on those scanners. Use your optics instead."
The red mech settled into a comfortable fighting stance as the old gladiator charged again.
"Keep your servos up," Greyspring shouted.
The red mech lifted his servos, only for Greyspring's fist to impact his midsection. He tucked his limbs in as he crashed backwards, turning the fall into a more controlled roll. Even so, his wings still twinged painfully when their sensor-rich edges hit the ground.
The instructor shook his helm. "You're looking for an obvious attack. That might work with amateurs, but it'll get you offlined when you start fighting the real gladiators."
The mech leapt back to his pedes, feinting at the tank with one servo while the other shot towards Greyspring's helm. Both attacks were easily countered, but the instructor gave a faint nod of approval.
The mech leapt backwards just in time to avoid a grey fist to the helm. At the very least, he was getting better at avoiding Greyspring's attacks.
Crouched under a makeshift shelter of two metal planks, four mechs discussed their terrible plight.
"Hey, blue mech… are ya sure about this? I mean, ya know that we was supposed ta offline Sharpspike, right? I mean, yeah, he owns a gladiator pit and all..."
The blue former guard looked at the rusty mech.
"He still doesn't know that we were supposed ta kill him, ya know."
The grey mech inspected a nearly empty energon cube.
"We still have a bunch of this energon, right?"
"It won't last us long. Fighting for Sharpspike is our best chance… we have skill with fighting, right?" The blue mech tossed an empty cube into the air.
"I have some experience from the war." The rusty mech said, attempting a grin.
"You? You fought in the wars?" The fourth mech asked, scratching his mottled brown and black paint.
"Sure did! Been working for Chopper ever since!"
"So we're going to fight in Sharpspike's arenas?" The blue mech opened his servo, revealing the empty energon cube. Several cracks ran along the transparent side.
"Wait wha—when did we agree?" Everyone turned to the grey mech. "I say we vote!"
"I'm with him, let's go!" The rusty mech stood, followed by the others.
"Hello!" The rusty mech shouted rather cheerfully, considering that he and his companions were surrounded by mechs with dangerously humming blasters.
"Whaddya want, rusty?"
"We wanna fight in them arenas!"
"What he means is that we want to get a job here." The blue mech stepped in front of the rusty mech, blocking him from view.
"Heh, the boss is always happy to get new cannon fodder. I bet you won't last two matches." The guard pulled out a device and pressed the button.
"Yeah?" A staticky voice rasped over the intercom. "What?"
"Four new recruits."
The mech on the other side of the intercom laughed and hung up.
"What now?" The blue mech looked uncertain.
"Just wait here. The trainer likes to see new recruits before they offline," another guard laughed. "Waste of time, if you ask me."
"Hmm... four tank frames, not offline from energon deprivation," Sharpspike's voice boomed. "Who were you working for?"
"Well, we was working for Chopper," the rusty mech explained, "but now we've been fired—"
"So we figured here's as good a place as any to start over," the blue mech hastily finished, stepping forwards before the rusty mech could say something that would get them all offlined.
"Excellent. I suppose you already have some skill then?"
"Yeah! When do we start?"
"Right now. Fight each other and I'll see which matches you can join."
The blue mech and the brown mech transformed their servos into weapons, but the rusty mech and the grey mech just lifted their clenched fists.
The blue mech swung his mace, attempting to make it seem like he was trying to offline the other. The brown mech sprang back, narrowly missing the mace.
"I suppose you'll do," the arenamaster muttered. "At least you'll keep the audience entertained... for a few breems."
Sharpspike raised one hand to his helm, calling the announcer over the comms. "Add the newest recruits to next decaorn's free-for-all."
"What are they called?"
"Your designations," Sharpspike asked the blue mech. "What are they?"
The blue mech looked at his companions.
"I am... Ultramarine." The blue mech silently complimented himself on his choice. He was blue and smarter than the others, making ultramarine the most suitable option.
"I'm Scythe," the grey one grinned.
"I'm rusty."
Sharpspike lifted an optic ridge. "I can see that, but do you really want to be called Rusty?"
"Nah, wait… I'll be Terrorstrike!"
"One nanoklik." Sharpspike checked the rosters on his internal data-link. "We already have one. Choose another."
"Uh… Firecracker?"
"That one's taken too."
"E-1337? E-leet?"
"I believe the last bearer of that designation offlined recently."
"Eh… beats me! Let someone else decide..."
Sharpspike sent the announcer an audio clip of the exchange.
"Got it, Boss," the announcer cheerily replied over the comms. "How does Cosmically Rusting sound?"
"Hmph." Sharpspike deactivated his comms. "And you?"
The brown mottled mech stepped forward. "Tell 'em to call me Shadow."
Some Cybertronian units:
nanoklik - second
breem - minute
joor - hour
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years
Thanks for reading!
~The Voids