A diminutive mech, his chassis colored blue and grey, yanked at the harness chains tethering the haul to the platform, trying in vain to loosen the bolts. The cargo was relatively simplistic in design, being a rectangular structure of silver metal. Intricate geometrical designs adorned the top and sides of the structure, and a blue orb glowed within an alcove in the middle, pulsating with a rhythm not unlike a sparkbeat. Inscriptions in another language were carved around the edge of the structure, and images of godlike beings adorned the metal areas around the glowing orb. There were twelve of these figures, each one clad in golden armor and carrying a sword and shield, and all of them engaged in battle, stepping over wrecked bodies and broken spears to reach a being that was obsidian-black and wreathed in fire.
Breakdown didn't know the history, however, and wasn't interested in dusty artifacts.
For a Cybertronian, he was small in stature, his height barely reaching the shoulders of the other crewmembers. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but everyone else knew the fact grated on him daily. Sometimes he would chatter on for days without end to cover up the inglorious fact. Other times he would say nothing, keeping to himself and descending into the darkest of moods. He didn't get along well with others, who labeled him with various and sundry tabs and went along with their business. Some were relatively domestic, such as shadow and midget. Others were worse, such as Motor Mouth and Piece of Scrap.
The name's Breakdown, thought the mech as he finally succeeded in prying one tethering strap loose. Snap! The dark, thick pylon whipped through the air with the sudden expenditure of pressure, and then collapsed onto the chrome deck. Ignoring the sudden occurrence, the mech moved on to the next series of knots, his servos blurring in a nimble dance of dexterity.
"…. And the captain wants this brought up to the bridge? We don't have the space to accommodate it!" complained a nearby mercenary, leaning against one of the many gunmetal grey, cone-shaped boarding ships owned by Lockdown, its metal drill shining with recent sanding. His circle of friends, likewise slacking, had gathered around him in a tight cluster, chuckling at his ill-humored jokes.
One of them looked over towards Breakdown, and smirked. "Say, what's that runt doing here?"
The leader, a hulking, brutish thug, stared over at the smaller Cybertronian as well. "I heard he was placed on sanitation duty again. Apparently he's full of scrap." The smirk could be heard in his voice, despite his faceguard.
His cronies seemed to think this hilarious, and laughed hard, bending over at the hilarity of his words. The ruckus echoed around the loading bay, grating on their target's nerves.
Ignoring their words, Breakdown continued to attend to the cargo, determined not to let them under his chrome finish. And would have, anyways, if the next words had never been uttered.
"Does his alt mode get any shorter?"
Breakdown stiffened, his servos in the midst of reaching for the next tether rope on the cargo containers. The motion, or lack thereof, did not go unnoticed amongst the spectators, who chuckled amongst themselves.
Enough was enough.
The Cybertronian slid down from his perch, grunting slightly as his shock absorbers made contact with the unforgiving metal. He straightened, and then stared pointedly at the group's leader, who crossed his arms across his chest. Even standing up, Breakdown was shorter by a whole torso, and had to literally look upwards to make optic contact.
Suddenly, he was rethinking his decision.
Scrap, why does this always happen to me?
"Lockdown wants this haul" – he jabbed a thumb behind him – "brought up to the bridge. How'd you feel about lending a servo, Dragwing?"
Dragwing clenched one of his servos into a fist.
"I would be more than delighted."
Lockdown strode towards the cockpit of the Temenos, his emerald optics focused upon the burning wreck that had once been the Junkions' ship. As he watched, the vessel shuddered in a violent spasm, and then drifted apart, small slivers of detritus peeling apart to join the stars.
The metal glinted with the golden reflection of the nearby sun, as if a part of the star had shattered like a mirror. The wreckage was perversely beautiful to behold.
The armored mech stood at Lockdown's side, holding a green datapad in his servos. The glow reflected off of his sharp armor, giving the outline of a multitude of thorns arranged around a blackened shell.
"Captain, if you can spare a few minutes?"
The mercenary looked back over his shoulder, his optics glowing in his sockets.
"We have plenty of time. What is it?"
"I had Breakdown assigned to transport the sarcophagus. However…"
A holographic projection lit up in the space between the mech and Lockdown, showcasing a live video feed. Despite the intermittent static, a large, hulking brute could be seen standing over a smaller, kneeling mech.
"Dragwing decided to start a fight again. He was supposed to leave after we split the bounty, but evidence points to the contrary."
Lockdown turned towards his advisor, an expression of contempt on his faceplate.
"Then I'll have to make him listen."
Breakdown scrambled away just in time to avoid Dragwing's fist, which slammed into the ground mere inches from his helm. The scout attempted to get back on his feet, but another fist whipped around and made contact with his side. Instantly, he flew backwards, colliding with the netted cargo behind him.
Pain lanced through his back, forcing him to his knees. Breakdown gritted his teeth and got back up. Once he opened his optics, he instantly regretted his decision as his processor began to ache with a vengeance. Then his vision cleared, and Dragwing stepped into view.
"That was pitiful," the brute snorted. "Whatever happened to lending a servo?"
Silence.
"Oh, well…" Dragwing shrugged. "One can't have everything…" – his servos clenched into tightly balled fists – "… so I'll just remember this moment. Over and over again." He raised one arm, prepared to cave in the impudent scout's helm.
The fist shot past Dragwing's smirking faceplate, its trajectory a seeming no-miss. The arm swung wide before closing in on its target, the pressurized atmosphere in the ship swirling past the servo as it would before a speeding bullet. Suddenly, the punch collided with –
Nothing. Breakdown leaned away from the impending strike, rolling away from the impact. Instead, the fist struck the rectangular metallic structure in the middle, where the blue orb resided.
The effect was instantaneous.
Blue streaks of lightning arced up and through Dragwing's chassis. The mercenary had only a few seconds to utter an exclamation of surprise before he was thrown across the cargo bay and into the opposite wall. When his chassis finally came to rest, smoke arose from the wreckage.
Breakdown just stared at the body of his former foe with thinly veiled horror. Primus, if he had touched that blue orb while he was detaching the tow cables… He shuddered with the thought, and then a new thought arose: How was he going to transport cargo like that?
His question was answered when Lockdown stormed into the room. A dark scowl had formed on his faceplate, and his cold, green optics seemed to dissect every mech in the room. It was as if Lockdown had come to hunt them.
Every crewmember snapped to attention, raising their servos in an enclosed fist over their spark in salute. Lockdown scanned all of them, his gaze lingering over each and every faceplate. Then he turned his helm to Dragwing's remains, and his expression of fury suddenly faded, replaced with one of apathy. When he turned once more to address Breakdown, the entire room was silent with bated breath.
"What happened here?" he asked quietly, his foreboding tone chilling the sparks of each and every mech in the room. No one dared look at his optics. Then one mech pointed a single, shaking digit. It was aimed at Breakdown.
Lockdown's scowl was one of thunderous disapproval as he strode slowly towards the scout. As he came closer and closer, his faceguard swung downwards, masking whatever expression Lockdown may have betrayed. His servos opened and closed, their digits dancing in the air.
Breakdown stepped away from the silver structure, uncertainty evident on his face. "Captain, I didn't mean to deactivate Dragwing. I had no idea that would happen. Please, if you would hear me out…"
"You have said enough," interrupted Lockdown. He raised a digit, pointing it at the body of Dragwing. "Your opponent has provided all the statements I will ever need." A hook shot out from his forearm, its metallic sheen glinting like moonlight. It curved like a wicked sneer, almost as if it wanted to tear something apart.
Breakdown inched backwards until he was side-by-side with his cargo. Lockdown came closer and closer, his hook glinting like silver…
Suddenly, a blue flash rent the air as thunder boomed throughout the cargo hold. The crewmembers observing the event were momentarily blinded, and every mech felt their plating tingle with electricity. For a moment, all anyone could see was blank whiteness…
Then the glow faded. Breakdown lowered his servos from his optics, his surroundings coming into focus. At first, all he saw was a blur of grey metal and the multi-colored blobs of his crewmembers. Then the image sharpened, and he saw them all struggling to rise from the cold floor. Intermittent arcs of blue lightning crackled and arced through the floor, but did not harm any inhabitants in the room. He recognized the aftermath as symptomatic of an EMP attack.
The scout stared upwards, searching for Lockdown. After squinting for a few seconds, he was able to discern his form. Strangely enough, the hook was lowered, hanging limply at his side as Lockdown stared ahead past his target. The faceguard was still lowered, making his expression unreadable, but through the reflection, Breakdown saw steam rising from where the cargo would have been.
He turned around, and his jaw promptly dropped. What he had assumed to merely be a structure of solid metal was instead hollow. The top of the frame had split open like the doors of a sarcophagus, and the blue orb was floating above them, having separated from its alcove. As Breakdown watched, the orb slowly descended into the dark interior, dimly lighting the inside. Ancient languages long since lost to Cybertron lined the inside walls, reciting foreign prayers of fire and stone. At the head of the sarcophagus was one inscription, larger than the others. The scout couldn't read it, but he intuited that it was perhaps the name of the occupant.
With a loud hiss, steam poured out of the container, rushing over the edge and flowing onto the floor. A gust of wind blew from the sarcophagus, warming any nearby observers. Curious about the sudden temperature change, Breakdown dipped his servo into the fog.
He yelped, suddenly yanking his arm away. Even for a Cybertronian, it was unbelievably hot.
He backed away, but noticed that the fog had no effect on Lockdown. He did note, however, that the arm holding the hook had tensed. In fact, his entire body had gone tight, as if it was prepared to spring upon whatever came out of the sarcophagus. Speaking of tombs…
Breakdown looked back. And did a double take.
A figure had arisen out of the fog, standing in the middle of the sarcophagus. As the surrounding mist obscured it, Breakdown could make out little details. He could see, however, a set of wings on the back of the being, as well as a blocky chassis that was a far cry from the complicated, almost organic smoothness of the other Cybertronians in the room. Whoever it was, was a Seeker once, possibly from an older period of time.
The being collapsed and slumped over the side of the structure, unconscious. That motion alone jolted Lockdown into action as he raced towards the figure, and pulled it from the sarcophagus, further obscuring the being from any further scrutiny.
Breakdown stepped closer, uncertain about what would happen next. Deciding to venture a risk, he raised a servo meekly and spoke out.
"Lockdown?" he asked. "What's going-"
The mercenary's helm whipped around, the faceguard retracted into his cranium. His faceplate bore a calm and collected expression, though his optics were wild and desperate. Breakdown was reminded of a cornered animal, crouching before the fight. Lockdown spoke in an even tone, though his pitch trembled slightly with the immense effort of restraint.
"Call the medics, and help me get him to the medical bay. Then escort the other crews to their ships after the bounty is split."
Breakdown turned towards the nearest monitor when he felt several cold digits creep over his shoulder.
"And," Lockdown hissed, "When we're done, you'll stay with me. We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes, sir," gulped Breakdown.