Chapter 2: Origin Stories
Note: This is really dialogue-heavy. Sorry about that.
Swerve's bar was teeming with mechs and femmes that evening. Everyone seemed eager to discuss the new arrivals over cubes of high grade.
"I can understand that the other three, but MISFIRE?" Swerve was quick to state, wiping down the bar-top in front of him.
"Speaking of Misfire," Fulcrum sighed, even as their magenta-armored teammate stepped through the door. Raising a servo, he waved him over to the bar, where the Scavengers, and Swerve, were waiting.
"Sorry, I know I'm late. Unicron wanted to talk to us. He's a very demanding mech to follow," Misfire sighed, plopping down on a barstool next to them.
"Why do you follow him then?" asked Krok. "And why didn't you ever mention your connection with any of them?"
"Seems rather suspicious," Crankcase grumbled, as moody as ever.
"Should I shoot him?" asked Spinster, reaching for his gun.
"Don't shoot him," Grimlock insisted, unexpectedly patting Misfire on the shoulder. "He's clearly on our side."
"Of course, I'm on your side," said the jet, rather hurt by the idea that they presumed he had been lying to them the entire time.
"Then who are you, really? Are you a god, like the skinny orange guy?" Krok demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Sort of. Primus and Unicron are the most god-like of us all, I suppose. Oooh, I should tell you our origin story!" Misfire declared cheerfully. "A long, long, looooooong time ago, when the universe was new, there was only one being. Young and lonely, it began talking to itself, and developed 2 separate voices. One called itself Primus, and the other was Unicron. This eventually caused the being to separate into two mechs that were always quarreling with each other — seriously, they had their issues. The one known as Primus was enamored with life…"
"That's a rather big word for you," Crankcase interrupted.
"Shush! I'm telling a story. And yes, I know some big words," Misfire exclaimed. "Where was I? Oh, yes. So Primus and Unicron eventually went their separate ways, but Primus found a planet, and poured his essence into it to create life. In doing so, he became 5 separate mechs — who were known as the Guiding Hand. Many, many, MANY vorns later, Unicron found out. And, not to be outdone, he proceeded to do the same thing. And thus, we were born. And Unicron… the mini Unicron, named us the Destructive Fist. We were to be the scourge of the Guiding Hand."
"So… you're a god," Grimlock decided, nodding his head.
"Yes… no… I'm not really sure. Maybe. I'm pretty sure we CAN die. I'm just not sure if we'd stay dead forever," said Misfire, shrugging his shoulders.
"Should I shoot him to find out if he can die, Krok?" asked Spinister, holding his gun at the ready.
"No, Spinister. He's still our crew-mate… even if he is the spawn of Unicron," grumbled their leader.
"So, you guys are like opposites of the Guiding Hand?" Swerve suddenly chimed in, eyeing Misfire curiously.
"Yep," agreed magenta-armored mech. "If we were gods, then Lockdown would be the god of modifications, and the opposite of Adaptus. Swindle used to drive Solomus crazy with how many rules he broke, and how many mechs and femmes he twisted to the dark side of the law, so he'd be the god of liars and cheats." As an afterthought, Misfire added, "Maybe gambling and shady deals, too."
"And you're the opposite of Mortilus, aren't you?" Fulcrum guessed.
Misfire let out an amused laugh, before bopping him on the nose. "No, sweet chin, you're thinking of Defunctron. He was the leader of the DJD, after all."
"Defunctron is TARN!" numerous voices yelled. Glancing around, it was clear that every mech and femme in the bar had been listening intently to Misfire's story.
"Um, yeah. I thought it was obvious," said the flier. "His voice can literally snuff out a person's spark. It wouldn't work on me, obviously. And he couldn't do it to any of the Destructive Fist or the Guiding Hand, but to normal people… yeah, he's pretty dangerous," said Misfire, rubbing his neck-plates sheepishly. "But don't worry; Primus asked Unicron to be on his BEST behavior, so he likely won't order my brothers to kill anyone on this ship!"
"We're all doomed," Fulcrum groaned, burying his face in his hands.
"So, to sum it up, that makes you the opposite of Epistemus, the god of knowledge?" Swerve broke in, eager to hear the rest of the story.
"Yeah, I guess. I don't mind Epi, but he used to get soooo mad when I used my chaos blast against people," said Misfire, rolling his optics.
"You can't hit the broadside of a dinobot, but you have a chaos blast?" commented Krok, raising a brow in disbelief.
"It's not a gun," Misfire argued. "It's just… energy. I gather my unicronian energy into a ball, and aim it at things — mostly people. The effects are, well, chaotic. It drives some mechs into hysterics, and others into fits of rage. I've seen people try to claw out their own optics as cosmic rust starts to eat them from the inside. And, at least one guy shattered into a pile of scraplets, devouring everyone in his path…"
"What the pit, Misfire!" Fulcrum's mouth gaped open, and the others were staring at their jet in the same shocked silence.
Misfire, at least, had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Aw, come on, guys. It was a really long time ago. I was a totally different person then.
"Can't you make it work less… psychotically?" Swerve asked, hunching down a bit behind the bigger Scavengers.
"I can't control how it affects people," Misfire huffed, clearly offended. "At least, I don't think I can."
"If you have a chaos blast, why didn't you use it against the DJD?" Fulcrum demanded, frowning at his friend.
"We were ordered not to reveal ourselves to regular Cybertronians. And it wouldn't have worked on Defunctron/Tarn anyway… and he threatened to tell Unicron on me if I did," the jet grumbled, puffing out his cheek-plates in annoyance. "Unicron is scary when he's mad."
"Rodimus was telling us about how Adaptus betrayed the rest of the Guiding Hand, and fled to a hidden base on Cybertron's moon. Then he shot the planet with an electromagnetic pulse that wiped everyone's memories. Why didn't you guys get caught in the blast, too?" Swerve suddenly asked, recalling the co-captain's story several nights before, after he'd had a few drinks.
"We were resting on Unicropia at the time," explained the jet. "I told you, in my epic story of Unicron and Primus, that they found different planets to rest within. Primus claimed Cybertron, which was lifeless before that, and Unicron claimed a planet much farther away. The humans now call it 'Earth,' but Unicron hates that name. Anyway, we didn't find out about any of that stuff until we returned to Cybertron to fight the Guiding Hand. And they were nothing more than a legend, by that time," insisted Misfire, his wings drooping slightly.
"We did eventually hunt them down, but talking to any one of them was like trying to talk to a brick wall. Just blank stares of confusion whenever we tried to remind them of who they were. It wasn't much fun trying to fight mechs that didn't even remember their real names anymore, so Unicron ordered us to stay on Cybertron to keep an eye on things, and went back to Unicropia to sleep until Primus finally remembered him again," concluded the jet.
"That's an interesting story, Misfire, but what happens now?" Fulcrum asked, taking a sip of his drink.
"I dunno. I guess we're just waiting for the rest of the Guiding Hand to meet us here. After that, who knows. Unicron might want us to start fighting them again, and that would be messy. We should visit Earth again soon, though," Misfire added, clapping his hands in delight at the thought. "The last time we went, we didn't stay long enough for me to really show you a good time."
Tarn: Defunctron (from latin: Defunctio)
I love Tarn's name, as it means both death, execution, and performance. There were a lot of choices, but this was the one that spoke to me most.
Yes, Unicron is very vain, so he named the planet after himself.