Chapter 2 – The Scapegoats
The first thing she remembered was a flash of light. The force from the blast that accompanied it was enough to knock her down, the light blinding, and the sound it made deafening, pounding against her skull in a way she had never experienced before. Then it repeated itself, over and over and over.
"Stop," she wanted to say, but her mouth was unable to utter the thought. Her body was plastered to the blood-soaked earth.
"Please … don't do this," she tried to say a little louder, but still the words failed to make it past her lips.
What started as a sequence of thoughts that probably should have been kept to themselves but were instead spoken aloud ended with words that refused to come out no matter how hard she tried to force them.
The next thing she remembered was being pulled away. She fought desperately against forces she could not see, refusing to take her eyes off the blinding flashes. Tears rolled down her cheeks, though she was not sure if they were from her shock or the pain the light brought to her sensitive eyes. She clawed at the muddy, uneven ground, gnashed her teeth, and beat her wings in hopes of removing whoever was holding her, but they remained firm.
"We need to go," she heard one of them say, tone desperate.
She knew the tone all too well. It was the kind of tone one would use when implying that she would be next to fall victim to those flashes if she did not move.
Finally, her voice found its bearings, emitting a piercing scream that penetrated the heavy air, slowing the pace of the flashes momentarily before being picked up again.
They were supposed to be our protectors, she thought, eyes darting frantically to find someone she knew would agree with her. But in every eye that looked back she only saw coldness and hatred.
It was not until a blue form stepped between her and the bursts of light did the calamity finally cease. But it was already too late. The damage had been done, and now bodies, mangled and distorted beyond recognition in the carnage, sat lifelessly in a smoldering heap of flesh and bone.
Earlier.
Another day yielded another round of painful repairs. Cylinder gripped the medical table tightly, body tensing from the electric jolts in her back. The sting of the welding torch, coupled with the erratic movement of electricity into new circuits forced her to dig her fingers into the already dented metal slab beneath her.
Silver watched the scene quietly, face twisted in concern for the Aerialbot. She cringed and looked away every time Perceptor stuck a metal tool into the vast array of wires and metal parts. Though the dragoness understood the necessity of these repairs, the sight of the scientist's careful yet deliberate movements made her sick.
Cylinder felt the same, though her focus was grabbed more by the feeling in her back rather than what it looked like to the dragoness. For any Aerialbot, the most sensitive part of the body had to be the back, the place where the most important part of the frame typically resided in robot form. Wings, the equipment that made flyers, flyers, naturally had the vital sensors needed to give their wearer the necessary functions of a flyer. The downside of that was the pain and sensitivity that came with it whenever they were damaged or needed repairs.
Outside the rain pounded against the stone buildings. Though the sound was soothing to the otherwise agitated femme, the sheer amount of rainfall made everyone else uneasy. Since the fire that burned nearly half the city down only a few weeks ago, large portions of Syandemel were left empty and susceptible to flooding, halting most of the rebuilding projects altogether. The Autobots and water dragons did the best they could to redirect the currents, but as the storms passed through, for the sake of everyone's safety, the guardians ordered a halt on any further projects.
A loud snap regained Cylinder's attention. The pain in her back instantly ceased and was replaced by a large amount of weight. As her body registered the latest equipment addition, the Aerialbot relaxed, releasing the table from her grip.
For the first time in weeks, Cylinder gently flexed her wings, allowing her body to adjust to the familiar feeling of the once absent appendages. Behind them were the rest of the parts that composed her cockpit and the majority of her airframe. Though the pressure caused by the newly introduced weight made it difficult to stretch, Cylinder welcomed it. Finally she felt whole again.
"Well that should do it," Perceptor mused, placing his tools to the side. As Cylinder stood up, he moved to the corner of the room, producing two long, thin blades. Without a word, he handed the swords to the femme. At the touch of her hands, a jolt of electricity shot through them, producing a bright blue color, before they were sheathed in place behind her back.
"Now don't go running into trees any time soon, alright?" Perceptor chuckled, patting the femme's newly repaired shoulder. There was a serious undertone to his command, considering the extent of the damage her wings had received when she crashed.
"No promises," she retorted flatly.
Perceptor ignored Cylinder's unenthusiastic response and shifted his attention to the other bot in the room. The unusually silent form leaned against the wall, arms folded with a bright blue crystal in his large hands.
Rodimus' injuries from the battle had been fully repaired weeks ago, but that did not stop him from lingering about the makeshift medical facility. His hovering over Perceptor's every action had begun to wear on the scientist, though he understood full well his leader's anxiety.
The appearance of the blue crystal in Rodimus' hand, something Perceptor had gotten used to handling during its time on Cybertron, was new. Rodimus gingerly handed it to the scientist.
"Now that you're done with that," he muttered, gesturing to Cylinder, who had taken a seat by Silver to stretch, "I'd like you to take a deeper look into this."
Perceptor sighed inwardly, turning the crystal around in his hands, "As you can see," he spoke to Silver, "My work never ends."
"Sounds like you enjoy it, though," the dragoness replied, tail flicking curiously as she eyed the glowing object. Perceptor nodded in agreement.
"There are still a lot of questions we have," Rodimus continued, the optimism in his voice strangely lacking. Though he had also suffered from severe energon loss like Cylinder, his strength and alertness did not make an immediate rebound like hers did once fresh energon was re-introduced into his system. His apprehension since the battle and the femme's revelation about her role in freeing Marchosias had worn him out, resulting in many days without rest.
Perceptor placed the gem on the medical table, shifting into his alt-mode to get a closer look. Nearby sat a stack data pads the scientist had been using. On them Cylinder's cybernetic code still covered the screens. Without touching them, the codes on display shifted to something different. Random lines and dots that Silver could not understand began to appear.
The dragoness titled her head, absentmindedly chewing her tail as she moved closer to Cylinder. The femme sat motionless, too concerned with what Silver was doing to pay much attention to Perceptor's work and Rodimus' curiosity. Though the dragoness could not have possibly known, in Cylinder's mind, this was the worst place she could be sitting.
The guilt the femme felt towards freeing Marchosias surrounded her every action short of actually admitting it to anyone but Rodimus. The closer Silver got to Cylinder, the more worried the femme became about her finding out the truth. And the dragoness was coming to trust her at an alarming rate. What would she think if she knew the femme was the one responsible for freeing the monster that held her captive for years, tormented her even long after she escaped?
Cylinder tried not to think about it as she looked back towards Perceptor. The scientist had since shifted back into his normal form, turning the crystal around a few more times.
"You said in your notes that the crystal contains radio waves, Cylinder?" he asked.
"That's what it looked like," she replied.
Perceptor made a noise of understanding. He held the energon up towards the light from the window, optics scrutinizing each scratch on the glassy surface. The scientist furrowed his brown, glancing between Cylinder's notes and the crystal as if expecting answers to flood his processor.
"Radio waves," he muttered absentmindedly before placing the crystal on the floor. "Rodimus," he motioned to the Autobot leader, whose arms were still folded in contemplation as he stood silently in the corner. "Would you do me a favor?"
Without asking for the scientist to clarify, Rodimus stepped forward. The Autobot leader was not quite sure what Perceptor had planned, but decided to trust his experimentation. His agitation over just what the energon was had worn on him long enough.
In one swift motion, Perceptor broke the energon in half. He set one piece to the side and raised his foot over the other, crushing it with little effort, allowing the mist to rise from its shattered remains. He briskly stepped backwards to avoid the smoke that attracted itself to his leader's metal form like a magnet, watching in awe as his very physical being changed before his optics.
Rodimus had to admit that he had missed his dragon form. Though he felt safer as a Cybertronian, his organic form flooded his sensors with a variety of different feelings that his metal shell could not quite pick up nor cared to detect. He titled his head towards the dome of the building, taking in the smell of the rainy air outside. The cold breeze that had blown in made him shiver in place as he pressed his short wings against his back and wrapped his tail around the base of his legs for comfort.
There was something so fascinating about these organic bodies. While they had their obvious weaknesses, they made up for it with their wide range of sensitivity to the environment they lived in. Rodimus had actually come to envy the organic life forms he knew – their ability to experience so much more than the average transformer made him long for the same feeling. What came as natural to them made him more and more curious the more he learned about what his own organic form had come to offer.
Despite enjoying returning to dragon form, Rodimus' serious expression never left his face (though he was sure Cylinder was the only one to notice the difference). "What're you looking for, Perceptor?"
The scientist hesitated for a moment. He took a seat against the wall, placing his chin on his hand as he thought.
"Nothing in particular," he finally said, "I just want to get an idea of what I'm dealing with here. You look nothing like yourself at all. If I didn't know any better, I would have passed you off as just another native."
Perceptor's statement received a snort from Silver, who was standing on her toes to watch the scientist work. When he broke his concentration to look at her, she shrunk back in embarrassment, grabbing hold of her tail once more.
"He's not mad," Cylinder assured her quietly.
"Not at all," Perceptor continued, "Did you have something you wanted to add?"
Silver looked to Cylinder, waiting for her to nod. "I was just thinking," she spoke carefully so as not to offend the scientist, "From an actual native's perspective, Rodimus and Cylinder always looked a little weird as dragons … Like they didn't quite fit, I guess."
"Because of their mannerisms and lack of exposure to your culture?" Perceptor suggested, but the dragoness shook her head.
"No, they just looked … different. Like not what normal dragons look like." She lowered her head and twisted her mouth into a frown, tail flicking anxiously. "They sort of … looked like they came straight out of an old mural."
"What does that mean?" Rodimus tilted his head. The taller dragoness shuffled in place, trying to find the right words to explain her thoughts.
"You both looked very … ancient, or primitive. Like," she looked around, "Dragons that lived a long time ago when there were few mixed breeds and nothing too complex in appearance like me. When I first met you guys, I sort of waived it off because I thought you were from an isolated tribe, so your genetic variation probably wasn't as diverse as it would be in Syandemel. But knowing what you are now," she instinctively grabbed her tail again, muffling her words, "I'm just as confused as before."
"So basically," Perceptor stood up and grabbed the closest data pad, "What you're saying is that they don't look like normal dragons by today's standards, but more or less like your ancestors?"
"Yeah, I guess so," Silver nodded. She turned to Cylinder, noticing the femme's narrowed optics. They did not seem to be that way out of anger, but more confusion, as if the femme had once again lost herself in a mixture of the dragoness' words and her own thoughts.
The room felt silent again as Perceptor shut off his optics. Silver grimaced at the sight. Though Cylinder had done it many times in her presence, the dragoness still had trouble grasping how anyone could leave their eyes open but shut them at the same time. She resumed biting her tail, electing to look elsewhere.
Without looking back up, Perceptor spoke, "You said that the shrine you were taken to had ancient Cybertronian written on the walls?"
"We think so," Cylinder replied, picturing the lines of primitive script that completely covered the stone surfaces inside.
The shrine room was located deep inside one of Syandemel's many mountainous caverns, locked away from the public and cared for by the guardians. Only Aesir, the Fire Guardian, could use it the way it was meant to by utilizing his element to illuminate the ancient artifacts inside. Though the room itself was beautiful and alluring in its own right, it was the objects inside that the Autobots were most concerned with.
In addition to the writing on the walls that glowed an electric blue when fire came into contact with its sole torch, the ceiling also boasted an abundance of colorful lights. But instead of writing, tiny dots peppered its surface, resembling stars. What continued to baffle the Autobots was that these stars seemed to take the form of a pattern, but not one that could be seen here in the Dragon Realms. Instead, it was the view one would see from Iacon, the Autobot headquarters on Cybertron.
To add to the list of confusing things, the statues inside that the guardians found themselves praying to more and more lately depicted five dragons – the original guardians – and five mechanical beings behind them. Not even the scholars that had arrived from Cybertron could understand the point of these statues, concluding only that Cybertronians had clearly visited this planet once before and that they had apparently made a large enough impact for their memory to be immortalized in stone beneath Syandemel, though it was definitely a long time ago. The presence of energon deposits beneath the city further strengthened the theory, though it did nothing to explain why it existed in the first place.
Perceptor had not been fortunate enough to see the room yet. His work on Cylinder and Rodimus' injuries occupied most of his time, and his fascination with the organic matter throughout the city kept him plenty distracted. Even for a bot that had once spent many cycles on Earth, organic planets continued to captivate him. The fact that there were creatures that could control the very compounds of this planet made him even more excited to learn as much as he could before he was sent back to Iacon, however long that may take.
The silence abruptly ended when Perceptor began to laugh, optics flickering back on. "I get it now," he mused, grabbing the remaining piece of energon and tossing it to Rodimus.
The other two Autobots in the room sat quietly, unable to comprehend the scientist's thought process.
"It's holomatter," he explained, "Or at least, an early attempt at holomatter. But instead of projection like what we have now, the energon changes your very cybernetic makeup to help you stay disguised on this planet."
"Holo– what now?" Silver interjected.
"Holomatter," Rodimus replied calmly, a spark of energy brightening his expression, "It's a camouflage tactic Cybertronians developed to stay disguised on organic planets."
Silver hesitated, head reeling from the new information, "But … isn't that what your 'vehicle'–things are for?"
"Yes," Cylinder answered for her leader, also sitting up straighter with the revelation, "But what do we do on planets where nothing mechanical exists?" When Silver could not produce an answer, the femme continued, "It works like this."
Without moving, a figure suddenly materialized in the room next to Rodimus, reaching just below his jaw. The figure wore a blue uniform and had short brown hair with dark gray eyes. It did not move but stared blankly ahead at the wall.
Silver's mouth hung open, though it was more out of disgust than intrigue.
"This is what the life forms on that planet we've been telling you about look like," Rodimus spoke up, admiring the realistic nature of Cylinder's projection. He had to admit to himself his surprise that the femme had chosen this human as her avatar – a slightly aged-up version of a girl the Autobots had known during their time on Earth.
"Though we hardly used them," Cylinder continued, "That planet had plenty of technology for us to disguise ourselves with."
There was another pause before Silver finally spoke, "That's creepy."
"It was weird for us too," Perceptor chuckled, "But essentially what ancient Cybertronian scientists seemed to be doing here was create a substance that could not only act as a portable spacebridge, but could also use those same properties to alter the physical makeup of its user so that they could blend in here. Projection of our organic disguises obviously developed much later. But with this energon, it seems that it's unstable – the greater the amount, the greater the reaction, which is why a portal sometimes forms and other times won't."
Cylinder carefully followed the scientist's rant, nodding as her own thoughts about the energon began to make sense. "Starscream did say the energon was meant to send its user to a neutral planet for refuge. Makes sense that it would help them hide in plain sight, especially if Cybertronians were the ones using it," Cylinder muttered, recalling the interrogation in Syandemel's prison.
"He did?" Perceptor asked dubiously, optic ridge arched. The Decepticon Seeker's name had not come up once since repairing Cylinder's pierced wing. After that, the femme refused to speak of the Decepticons.
"Yeah," Rodimus replied, "The energon was a product of the War of the Thirteen according to him." He could feel his chest vibrate uncomfortably at the mention of the war. Was that the Matrix? Or some organic equivalent?
Discomfort growing, the Autobot leader smashed the other half of the crystal in his paw, allowing the mist to engulf his body. He stood in awe as the red, scaly skin melded back into painted metal parts. The wings and tail disappeared, replaced by machinery. For one moment, Rodimus was content to return to his metal shell until a sharp pain shot through his processor and he stumbled to the floor.
Had Cylinder not been paying attention, the taller femme would have never caught him before he hit the ground. Her body and processor, meticulously designed and linked together by Ratchet, gave her unbelievably fast reflexes that made Silver jump when she realized the Aerialbot was suddenly no longer sitting next to her.
"What was that about?" Cylinder gasped, body struggling to support Rodimus' dead weight as he lay limp in her arms, unable to move.
"I … I don't know," he managed to mumble, grasping his helm.
Perceptor assisted in guiding the dazed mech over to the medical table while simultaneously flipping open a circuit panel to connect his data pad. In an instant the Autobot leader's code appeared on the screen.
The familiar instinct of a medic got the better of Cylinder, reminding her too much of her job as Ratchet's assistant on Earth. Part of her wanted to believe the Voice had to do with it, but her sentiment seemed too natural to be forced by something else.
"Are you alright?" she asked as tenderly as she could, optics already scanning his processor.
"What?" Rodimus perked up, dazed expression suddenly gone, "Yeah, why?"
Cylinder stepped back, wings lowering slightly, "I've just never seen you do that after changing back before."
The Autobot leader fumbled for the right words to say, grumbling at Perceptor's sudden interference in his personal space. "Yeah, Cyl, I'm fine. Really," he added.
The femme was not convinced, folding her arms. Perceptor mused to himself how much she looked like Ratchet – a medic that never took the typical "I'm fine" seriously – before returning to his data pad.
"No, you're not fine," she replied bluntly, optics glowing brighter than normal. Your processor is moving way too fast, even for you."
The sound of a large crack filled the room. Perceptor was staring straight at Cylinder, optics wide, and fingers tightly gripping the now broken screen of his data pad. The red scientist's horrified expression left him unable to produce words.
"It's fine," she answered his silent question calmly, "He knows." Perceptor did not immediately reply, optics still widened in a state of shocked silence.
"Knows what?" Silver asked from behind the three Autobots. The dragoness had since regained her breath from the shock of how quickly the incident had played out, and now stood with her head titled to one side between them.
"Whether he knows or not is none of my concern," Perceptor replied sternly, ignoring Silver's question. His normally gentle tone was completely gone, and the sudden shift made Silver shrink against the wall. There was another pause before he continued, this time slower and more deliberate, "You didn't even touch him."
Silver tried to grab someone's attention, but the three Autobots' sharp focus on each other left the dragoness completely unnoticed.
Rodimus raised his hand to interject, "Hold on, you're telling me that at one point, she had to?"
"The ability just developed over time, Perceptor," Cylinder waved both mechs out of her face, "Don't worry about it."
"Worry about what?!" Silver shouted. The temperature in the room dropped enough to register on the Autobots' internal sensors, forcing them to turn their attention towards her. Bursts of icy air emanated from her breath as she panted in exasperation
"Cylinder's large optics I was telling you about," Perceptor replied flatly, gaze still fixed on the femme, "Are designed that way to support the technology in her helm that allows her to read and interface with other technological equipment, Cybertronians included … telepathically, apparently." The last part was uttered dryly as the scientist narrowed his own optics in disgust.
"Perceptor," Cylinder sighed, "You have nothing to worry about, I promise–"
"You read minds?" Silver interrupted, tail flicking in excitement, "Can you read me?"
"Not a good time," Rodimus whispered to the gray dragoness, inching himself away from being in between the heated glares his subordinates were giving each other.
Without turning her head, Cylinder answered, "No, I can't. It only works on machinery. And it's fine, Perceptor."
"Fine," Perceptor mimicked her tone condescendingly, pacing around the room. His conflicted expressions struggled to suppress his disbelief and rage. He knew the femme was always a free spirit and that much of his teachings would be lost on her, but for so long he believed that she had actually listened to him for once, only to find that not even that was a promise kept.
"Yes, fine," he continued. "And Ratchet said it was fine when we first found out about this and rather than suppressing the urge to use it like we all told you, you've been using it anyway. You've used it so much that now you have the ability to tamper with something with a single glance."
"Hey," Cylinder's voice rose defensively, "It's not like I'm using it to hurt anyone."
"You could."
"Excuse me?"
Seeing the situation start to spiral out of control, Rodimus stood, but was cut off by Perceptor's sharp tone, "Does anyone beside these two know?"
"No," Cylinder stated firmly, optics directed at Silver to make sure she understood. The dragoness, tail blade in mouth, nodded her head furiously.
Perceptor made a noise of approval before turning around, flexing his fingers to release his tension.
"Perceptor," Cylinder continued, voice softer this time, "I'm not reckless. I don't use it all the time. It's mostly for communication. Rarely even defense."
The scientist turned once more, arms folded, mouth pressed into a firm line. His optics told a different story – one of sadness and fear. Though he always had a weird way to showing it, Perceptor truly cared for the femme the same way the other Autobots did. To see a being he helped create behave this way troubled him greatly, though he hated to admit that part of his concern was rooted in things he knew about her from the day she was sparked – things no one else ever needed to know.
"Rodimus," he spoke without breaking his gaze, "Don't use the energon anymore. It's tampering with your circuitry and affecting your code. Changing your physical form is taking a toll on you faster than it should. We should conserve what we have anyway."
Rodimus nodded, praying to nothing in particular that the tense feeling in the room would cease. Silver had taken to biting her wings nervously, tail curled tightly against her body.
Though the rain continued to pound against the building, drowning out much of the noise outside and alleviating the silence that permeated the air, a few shouts managed to reach Cylinder's audios. Silver jumped when the femme turned suddenly and moved to the nearest window.
"What now?" Rodimus asked.
Silver could also hear the shouts over the rain, though she had no idea where they were coming from. Cautiously, she sniffed the air, frowning when no unordinary scent crossed her path.
Cylinder peered out the window and activated her long-distance vision, but nothing strange crossed her line of sight. She scanned the valley that overlooked the entrance to the city, still devastated by the battle between her, Rodimus, and Starscream, though at the very least standing once more. The only thing she could see through the fog were a group of dragons and some Autobots. It took another glance to notice that the Autobots were standing amongst the dragons, pushing some of them away.
That was when a loud ping echoed in Rodimus' personal radio.
The Autobot leader jumped off the table, scrambling to answer the call. On the other end, Ultra Magnus barked furiously.
"Easy, Magnus, what's wrong?" Rodimus held his helm as the background noise interfered with most of what his second-in-command was shouting, producing a strange ringing sound.
"What is it?" Silver asked nervously, fearing the answer. Dark Forces? Decepticons?
Rodimus could barely make out the second-in-command's words, but they were enough to convince him that something needed to be done. "I'll be there in a few," he replied firmly to Ultra Magnus before turning to Silver.
"A fight broke out in the marketplace," he answered. The Autobot leader produced his blaster from his subspace and cocked it. He turned to leave when Silver placed her body in front of his.
"What does that mean?" she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice. Rodimus was too dense to see Silver's anxiety. He was not there when she told Cylinder about her past, how she was a prisoner of the Dark Forces, so there was no way he could understand the panic in her voice like the Aerialbot behind him could.
"Not sure," he answered as carefully as he could, "Magnus said there were basilisks involved."
Both Silver and Cylinder stared in disbelief. Tensions had been high between the dragons and the basilisks, the shape shifting creatures that shared their genealogy with Marchosias, since the guardians had allowed them to stay within the city's walls. Before, their relationship to the Commander of Darkness, though long severed, had branded them as evil and undesirable, and they were forbidden from living amongst Syandemel's dragon inhabitants who wanted nothing to do with any reminders of their kin. Their assistance in saving inhabitants when the Decepticons engulfed the city in flames changed the guardians' minds, but the stigmas amongst the public remained.
Until this point, nothing of significance had come of the tension, which explained the dragoness' confusion when Rodimus spoke. The basilisks had been so kind, though. Why now?
"Fine," Cylinder muttered, stepping forward, "Let's stop it before anyone gets hurt."
"Hang on, Cyl," Rodimus put his hand up to prevent the femme from continuing, "Let the others take care of it. You're still recovering."
"I just got fixed," she scoffed, "I'm ready to go."
"Actually, Cylinder," Perceptor spoke up, "I agree with Rodimus. You should sit this one out."
Cylinder wheeled around, face conveying her feeling of betrayal.
"There may be wounded Autobots," the scientist continued in hopes of lifting her spirits, "They need a medic's hands for the job."
"Then maybe you should have brought another medic with you," she snapped. Seeing both Perceptor and Rodimus' firm expressions made it clear that they would not budge. She grumbled something in Cybertronian – they had been speaking in the Dragon Realms' native language so Silver could follow along – before retreating to the unoccupied medical table, flexing her fingers to prepare for any repair work that may need to be done.
With nothing else to say, Rodimus and Silver quickly left the room to asses what was going on. Cylinder watched as the dragoness tripped over her own tail before breaking into a sprint for the center of the commotion. Perceptor put his tools together, preparing for the worst, like normal.
Sadly, this was not the first time Cylinder was forced to stay behind and care for the wounded. Though she had clearly proven herself as being more than capable of handling hand-to-hand combat, her medical training often made her much more valuable as someone who could help Ratchet. For many years on Earth, though Wheeljack and Perceptor knew how to repair bots, their scientific backgrounds gave them skills nowhere near those of medics, which was why Ratchet, and frankly, the rest of the Ark's crew, were grateful when Cylinder was trained to assist him whenever the wounded were brought to the medical bay.
The femme sat down on the table, allowing her optics to shut off while she awaited the call for help.
Earth, 1987
The sudden noise of the alarm startled Ratchet out of his recharge. Once again, he had drifted into unconsciousness at his desk, lulled to sleep by the boring paperwork Prowl had been expecting.
"Damn," the medic grumbled as he held his helm, lowering the sensitivity in his audios to drown out the noise. That alarm only meant one thing: Decepticons were active. And whatever it was they were doing, someone was going to get hurt. Everyone knew that. Well, everyone except the Ark's newest member did.
The muffled sound of "Ratchet" managed to leak through the noise, prompting the disgruntled medic to turn around in his seat. Before him, a blue femme stood nervously, optics indicating her distress at the noise. Cylinder's vocal processor had finally been installed, and the discovery of her ability to speak left Ratchet both proud and somewhat annoyed. She liked to talk. A lot. Most of the time, she just had questions, which the medic was more than happy to answer, but sometimes she would just babble on about something completely random she learned about that day, prompting him to either drown her out through work or leave the room entirely to maintain his patience with the young bot.
"Don't worry," he said calmly, "There's been an attack by the Decepticons. We're going to go protect the humans they may be harming. It's very routine here … you'll get used to it, kid, I promise."
"You're going to stop the bad guys?" she asked timidly, optics shifting.
"Yep," he replied, rising to his feet to fetch his tools and prepare the medical bay for when the casualties returned. He nearly dropped them when he noticed the blue figure move for the door.
"And where do you think you're going?" he asked sternly, hands on his hips, blocking her path. Behind him, Autobots rushed by the open doors to prepare for mobilization.
Cylinder, though built taller than Ratchet, stood on her toes to peer over his shoulder, "To help?"
Ratchet laughed dryly, turning the femme around and walking her back towards the center of the room, "Not in that condition you're not. You haven't even begun training with a weapon, let alone the fact that you don't have your alt-mode yet."
"What does that mean?" There she went again with the questions. Sometimes it seemed like she never stopped.
"You're not ready yet, Cylinder," Ratchet said as kindly as he could, "But you will be someday. Now's just not the time."
"But Wheeljack said I'd be a good fighter," she reasoned.
"Well I'm not Wheeljack," the medic replied, patting her head in his way of showing affection.
Cylinder seemed to accept the words obediently, but made no effort to conceal her irritation. "What can I do, then?"
That question did not seem to bother Ratchet as much as the others. He thought about it, and then an idea came into his processor. Why make her sit patiently and take up space in a medical ward that would soon be packed with visitors? He quickly checked the roster of who was being assigned to this alert. Both Wheeljack and Perceptor were going, meaning that if both of them were hurt, Ratchet would be on his own to make repairs. Perfect.
"You can help me take care of the injured bots," he replied.
"Really?" Cylinder seemed to bounce at the words, body shaking in excitement. Finally she could feel important to the other Autobots. Though by now she had already met the entirety of the crew, since being sparked she always felt like she did not belong. Sometimes she would catch the others casting strange looks at her. It did not take a genius to see that her presence made them weary, though the reason for it she found difficult for her to understand.
Whatever the case, the opportunity to help Ratchet made her smile brightly. She gingerly handled every tool he gave to her as he ran her through the basics before the wounded started to pour in.
At first, Cylinder struggled to keep up with the medic's brisk pace and the calamity of several voices all shouting at once. But Ratchet's seasoned experience and calm demeanor allowed him to prioritize who needed to be taken care of first and how to execute each repair without any other distractions. All she had to do was follow along, producing whatever tool he asked for as she had already committed their names to memory.
As Ratchet made his rounds, he sighed in annoyance at the sight of Sideswipe, who sat on a table, body shaking from what he assumed was an electrical short.
"This right here is a good example of why you need training before you go fight," he turned to Cylinder, gesturing to the red mech behind him.
"I heard that," Sideswipe gritted his teeth, attempting to force his body to stop its spasms.
"What hit you?" Ratchet countered Sideswipe's sour tone with his own irritated response, forcing the much younger Autobot to look away in defeat.
"Null ray … Starscream," he replied between the electrical seizures.
Cylinder wanted to ask what a null ray was, though judging by how Sideswipe was behaving, she guessed it had something to do with his electrical systems.
"Do I even want to ask how you got that close to him?" Ratchet sighed at the mention of the Decepticon second-in-command, voice muffled by the palm on his face.
"Heh," Sideswipe replied proudly, "You should have seen me. He certainly didn't – not until I was on top of him anyways. He just got lucky." He winked at Cylinder, prompting the medic to give him a firm smack on the forehead.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" he growled, "Starscream doesn't miss. Ever. It was not lucky."
"Whatever," the younger mech replied, "Can you just figure out where the short is so I don't have to take up any more of your precious time?" He smiled innocently, but the condescension in his tone told another story.
Ratchet shook his head in annoyance before opening several panels, carefully moving from circuit board to circuit board to find where Sideswipe's electrical impulses were being blocked. Normally, a null ray would just shut off a bot's systems temporarily, but this time when the younger Autobot's systems rebooted themselves, one short-circuited, a clear indicator of a faulty board in need of repair.
Cylinder watched silently from a distance. She knew what a short was because Wheeljack had once told her how an electrical short in one of his inventions caused it to explode in his face. But as her optics roamed, she noticed something out of the ordinary. Though the panel had not yet been opened, it was obvious that the short was emanating from the left side Sideswipe's head. It sparked and jumped each time his body convulsed. So why was Ratchet not looking at it when it was so obvious where the problem was?
"But," she started, breaking her obedient silence, "The short is in his head. Do you have to check every panel before that one?"
Ratchet paused his movements to process her words. He slowly turned his head, optic ridge raised, "I'm checking every panel because I don't know where the short is. Why would you think it's in his head?"
It was Cylinder's turn to be confused. What was he talking about? The problem was so clearly there. She could see it as plain as day. How was Ratchet, an experienced doctor, missing it?
"I saw it in his head," she replied carefully, fearing she had angered her creator.
Ratchet briefly looked at Sideswipe, who, through his spasms, shrugged. The medic reached for the younger mech's head and opened the main access panel, making a strange noise once he looked inside.
Sure enough, a circuit board emitting sparks came into view. With a few careful movements, Ratchet soldered the frayed connections back together, and the spasms ceased.
"Did you design her with x-ray vision or something, Ratch?" Sideswipe asked self-consciously as the medic closed the panel.
"No," he replied slowly, turning his attention to the confused femme. He knew that something was off, and yet, he could not bring himself to figure out how else to respond to it.
By the time the medical bay had emptied, Ratchet was already slumped in his chair, helm leaning on his energon-coated hands. He could have cared less about how dirty they were, exhaustion overcoming his will to do anything else. Behind him Cylinder worked diligently with some solvent to get the same residue out of her joints. Thankfully, no one had been seriously injured today. For a small unit with no reinforcements on their way, the medic would be damned if her let something happen to the crew on his watch. The assistance, he had to admit, lifted his own morale a bit, and kept his confidence from wavering as the injured file din and out of the bay.
Without turning around, Ratchet muttered to the femme, "You did well, kid."
Bright blue optics looked up briefly before returning their focus to the task at hand. "Thank you," she replied quietly.
Ratchet did not hear another word from Cylinder for the rest of the night. Later that evening, he sent her away to recharge so he could finish the paperwork he had been doing before the attack. As he scanned mindlessly over each file, another thought kept poking through in the back of his mind. It had been there all day, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it kept returning, stronger than the impulse before it. Finally the nagging had worn out his patience, and Ratchet was forced to comply with the thought.
Producing a data pad from a locked drawer, the medic set it on his desk and flipped it on. Numerous files appeared on the screen, but the one he was interested in displayed numerous lines of code. As he carefully moved through it, reading line by line, he finally found what he was looking for: the processor.
Cylinder's strange behavior today did more than worry Ratchet. He wanted to believe that whatever it was she did was just a result of dumb luck, an early indicator of a gifted medic, but his thoughts took him elsewhere into territory much, much darker. He had been there when Perceptor had revealed his findings about Cylinder; he was also the first one to pass the theory off as the ludicrous rant of a scientist who had become too invested in his projects. But now, his faith in the falsehood of those claims was beginning to fade. Day by day, something the femme did, no matter how miniscule, made him think twice about her nature.
Maybe she was developing beyond his or any other Autobot's control. Maybe it was time to do a full diagnostic scan on her.
Or maybe he was panicking over nothing. For a mech that was usually an expert at staying calm when things started to get overwhelming in the medical bay, Ratchet sure had a knack for perseverating on the most random issues and losing his temper on most other occasions.
He was pulled from his thoughts when a certain line of code crossed his optics. This particular one had been highlighted by Perceptor and then circled later on by Wheeljack. Though Ratchet was no code expert, even he knew that the order in which the cybernetic material had arranged itself was unlike anything he had ever seen, and apparently, that had been the case for the two scientists. There was a sinking feeling in his spark as he delved further into it, but despite his attempt to piece together his jumbled thoughts and the letters that made no sense in their arrangement, he could not draw any conclusions to quell the unsettling feeling.
Frowning, he switched the data pad off and threw it back in the drawer. There was nothing to be worried about, he reminded himself. Everything will be fine.
Though Cylinder had grown used to watching others do the fighting for her, her drive to fight never faded. It was a primal desire that burned deep within her spark for as long as she could remember, begging to be released. Many times this instinct saved the femme from harm, but it was also her worst enemy, throwing her into situations that were sometimes too great for her to handle.
Perceptor had confirmed that at the moment, there were no serious injuries to any of the Autobots in this scuffle, so he permitted Cylinder to walk outside but forbade her from fighting. Not that it mattered. She had watched plenty of fights between organic species on the sidelines before. What was one more?
Rounding the corner of the marketplace made her regret the thought. Shouts of anger and cries of pain filled the air. Though Cylinder had seen the fight from the makeshift medical building, the sight of it up close made her realize just how deadly it was.
Random elements were flung about without any target in mind, forcing Cylinder to duck behind a building as flying rocks hurdled towards her. Amongst the scuffle stood several Autobots doing what they could to keep the much smaller dragons and basilisks separated from each other, though their immense size in comparison made it difficult to maneuver out of fear of crushing one of them. Rodimus and Silver were nowhere to be found. The guardians stood to the side, barking at both dragons and basilisks alike to stop fighting though doing nothing to put their own bodies between them.
One guardian did manage to force his way into the skirmish, only to be knocked back by a blast from one of his own. The orange-scaled fire dragon was shaking the settling dust off his body when he noticed the blue femme nearby.
"It's been awhile," Aesir coughed, referring to Cylinder's absence from Syandemel's rebuilding thanks to her injuries. The Fire Guardian's voice was raspy from the dust and smoke, horns and claws darkened by the dirt that had been kicked up in the plaza. His cloak, the symbol of his power, was once again missing, though knowing Aesir, it was probably not too far away. His blue markings seemed abnormally dull, and his large body shook in exhaustion.
"What happened?" Cylinder asked, instinctively reaching for her swords. She felt as though she could hear Perceptor's disapproving voice from here, though she began to realize it was only the Voice repeating his stern commands.
Aesir growled in frustration, "I don't know, someone made a snide comment and it just blew up from there … Literally – one of those bastards ignited the air and caused an explosion."
"A basilisk did?" Cylinder asked reluctantly, crouching down to hear the Fire Guardian better.
"That's what I've been told."
"Who told you?"
"Does it matter?"
Cylinder sighed. Unfortunately, it very much did. She had lived through enough of the war to know that nothing was as black and white as it seemed. It did not matter the side one was on – there were always those who would intentionally mislead others into drawing conclusions before the whole truth came to light.
Without answering, the femme rose and walked into the chaos, leaving Aesir to sit and stare at her. A dragon fell at her feet, furiously batting his wing from a burn he had received. Before he could return to the fight, a large hand fell on his shoulder. When he turned around, he shuddered at the sight of the taller femme, body stiffening as her optics roamed over him.
"What is this accomplishing?" she asked slowly to ensure the dragon heard her. He replied by staring at her confusedly.
"Like you're the one to talk," he growled, shaking the femme's hand away, "You're one of the ones that brought them here in the first place."
It was Cylinder's turn to be confused, "Why is that a problem?" she asked incredulously.
"If I were you I'd stay out of it," he replied, avoiding the question, "You Autobots have already done enough." The dragon turned and ran back towards the fight, but not before adding a final word, "You're not wanted here anymore anyway."
Cylinder stared blankly at the empty spot where the dragon had been standing. What did he mean by that? The Autobots had been helping the dragons. It was not their fault the Decepticons were here. Sure, it was her fault Marchosias was free, but how could a random dragon know that she had been responsible?
The firing of two warning shots pulled her from her thoughts. A burst of light accompanied the blaster fire, halting the fight immediately. Cylinder looked in the direction of the shots. Standing there were Ultra Magnus and Springer with Rodimus in front. Behind them trailed Silver and Roenel, the basilisk elder. For an organic that was thousands of years old, it was surprising to see him keep up with the smaller dragoness so effortlessly.
"Alright, that's enough," Ultra Magnus barked. The Autobot second-in-command pointed his rifle to the ground, though at his stature, it could have easily been facing the crowd before him. "If anyone so much as moves before we're done assessing damages, Springer and I will personally turn you to ash." Springer made a similar gesture with his own rifle to drive home the point.
Cylinder stared in disbelief at the blue and red Autobot, stunned into silence like the rest of the crowd that now trembled at the sight of the large guns. "Magnus," she started to say, tone hinting at her shock.
Ultra Magnus shot the femme a very displeased glare in response, optics narrow, "You are in no position to argue here. I suggest you stay quiet."
Cylinder narrowed her own optics in disgust. Did he really just speak to her that way? Sure, she was his subordinate and his anger was justified, but he had never spoken to her like that before. She looked to Rodimus, but the Autobot leader did not acknowledge her.
As the Autobots who were caught in the fray began to move from body to body to inspect injuries for godly dragons to heal, Cylinder noticed that Silver had begun to cry. The dragoness could certainly express a wide range of emotions, but it was rare for her to cry like this, especially since the femme had assumed she had been through much worse.
Cylinder turned to Aesir, who was busy fumbling with his spotless guardian's cloak he no doubt left the fight to retrieve. "What's her deal?" she asked, pointing to Silver.
Aesir looked around the femme at the dragoness, who was now being consoled by Roe and his daughter Jëra, another basilisk who had been involved in the fight but managed to avoid any serious harm.
"Isn't it obvious?" the guardian asked. "She's convinced that all of this is her fault."
"How?"
"She believes that by bringing the basilisks here, it's caused all this tension," Aesir continued.
"I'm not sure I buy that," Cylinder muttered.
Aesir paused, watching as Rodimus joined in on comforting the gray dragoness. The guardian realized now might have been a good time to step in as well, as he was Silver's primary caretaker so long as she was within the city's walls.
"Look, I can tell she trusts you," he sighed, returning his gaze to Cylinder, "She thinks it's her fault Marchosias has returned, and his presence has led to the tension."
Cylinder's spark stirred. The Voice's laugh made her spinal strut seize and her teeth clench.
Without responding, she walked slowly over to the dragoness. "It's not your fault, okay?" she struggled to push the words through, fists clenched against her side.
"What?" Silver whispered hastily, wiping her face with the back of her paw.
"Whoever's fault it is," Roe spoke before Cylinder could continue, "That should have no impact on how my people are treated."
Cylinder wanted to keep talking, but settled to nod in agreement towards the basilisk. Though she had not known them for long, the femme had been able to see the differences between them and Marchosias. They were nothing like him, and yet, they were being treated as if their very presence invited him to Syandemel's borders.
Rodimus disagreed. "Your people could have started this fight for all we know. The dragons could have been acting in self-defense."
Cylinder tried to speak up but was halted by a wave of her leader's hand.
A guardian, red in color and stalky in build, took her place, "Well when you're related to Marchosias, it's understandable for our citizens to feel like their lives are constantly in jeopardy with you living amongst us. I'd be anxious too."
"What did you just say?" Jëra snapped angrily. The basilisk, who had been in the shape of a bird, her primary form, changed shape into a dark green dragon, wings pointed at the guardian and lips curled up in disgust.
More voices began to chime in as the shouting once more picked up. Dragons and basilisks who had not initially been part of the conversation now began to chirp back and forth at each other. Instinctively, Cylinder pulled Silver behind her, but the curious gray dragoness managed to worm her way out of the femme's movements.
Another warning shot ripped through the air, this time from Rodimus' rifle. "I don't care who started the fight," he shouted, "There needs to be a discussion. Now."
No one was about to argue with the Cybertronian brandishing his gun. Slowly, Autobots began to separate dragons and basilisks, each group being escorted to a different sector of the city. For now, the basilisks would remain in quarantine, the same cold, dark place Cylinder had been taken to after her attack on Barricade in his dragon form. The guardians claimed it was for the dragons' protection, though it would have been better to say it was for the basilisks' safety, as many of the dragons continued to hiss and snarl at them on the way there.
The discussions between the guardians and the basilisk elders with Rodimus and Ultra Magnus as mediators lasted long into the evening.
Being not much of a diplomatic expert, Cylinder elected to stay outside the Grand Temple where the talks were being held so that someone could keep an eye, or optic, on Silver. The dragoness had been pacing nervously across the plaza outside for the last half hour, jaw clenched tightly and tail waving in agitation.
Cylinder had to imagine that Silver's father not being here had something to do with her nervousness. Coldfang, the Galactic Guardian and ruler of the Dragon Realms had been missing for a while, the communication between him and his daughter or any of the other guardians for that matter minimal. His inclination to support the basilisks more than likely could counter the most fervent hatred against them by some of the guardians, but with him absent Cylinder could only imagine how the talks inside were going. Probably not well, she mused.
"Why are you so quiet?" Silver suddenly blurted when she noticed the femme staring blankly towards the sky. "I mean, I know you don't talk that much, but geez."
Her comment earned a slight chuckle from the femme. "I'm just tired," she muttered, "Even metal bodies undergo stress."
Silver folded her wings against her body and sat down to face the femme, head tilted slightly, "You've been stressed since before your injuries, though. Heck, you've been stressed since we met, and frankly before that."
Cylinder averted her gaze, remembering that the dragoness had been following them from a distance the first time they appeared in the Dragon Realms. Just how much she saw and knew though was still a mystery to the femme. Without responding, she shook her head, refocusing her attention on the sky. The rainclouds had dispersed enough to allow a window to the stars above, giving Cylinder the distraction she needed without having to justify her blank stares.
Silver refused to take the silence as an answer. "What's on your mind?" she pressed, moving closer to the femme.
Cylinder's optics remained stationary, taking in the nighttime display. It was a full moon tonight, meaning that it would be visible indefinitely for some time, its immense size reflecting enough light that night vision was unnecessary. A thought crossed her mind, and before she could force herself to stop it, the words flowed without restraint.
"It's not what, but–"
"But who?"
Cylinder immediately looked away from the sky. Why on Cybertron did she just say that? What possessed her to so much as mention the Voice? She learned early on that no one would believe her if she told them that something spoke to her from within her head. And for that matter, how did Silver come to that conclusion? There was no way the dragoness would believe her. And yet, as her optics fell on the gray form that glistened in the moonlight, tail swaying back in forth and body relaxed, she suddenly felt as though her words, no matter how outrageous, were safe with Silver.
Nonetheless, the femme tried to deflect the question. "No. Don't worry about it."
Silver arched her brow and huffed a breath of ice. To be fair, she had opened up to Cylinder about her imprisonment under Marchosias, her strained relationship with her father, and her dead mother. There was nothing wrong with sharing a secret or two on the Aerialbot's end. The Voice purred in the back of her processor.
Quid pro quo, it whispered the Earth phrase so beautifully for such a venomous sounding noise, leaving Cylinder no choice but to comply as it egged her on.
Reluctantly, she caved, "I wouldn't even know where to begin with that one."
Silver rewarded the femme with an eager smile, "Try me."
Cylinder paused, filing through her processor to piece her broken memories together. "It's like one day, everything is normal, and the next, you come online and realize you're no longer alone."
"Like there's someone else there?"
"Sort of. I started calling it the Voice."
"What does the Voice do?" Silver was now sitting next to Cylinder, doing her best to stretch her wing around the much larger Cybertronian. For some reason, she did not seem to be bothered by the femme's words, much to Cylinder's relief.
"It talks to me," she replied, words reduced to a whisper, "It makes me remember things. It warns me. I don't know why."
Silver thought for a moment, "Do you live alone?"
Cylinder nodded.
"You told me you live in an older part of Cybertron, right?" she paused to wait for the femme's affirmation, "Well, what if it's a ghost? You said Starscream was at one point and the energon brought him back to life, so maybe it's trying to get you to do the same."
Cylinder considered the words. That did not seem impossible, yet also unlikely. "If that's the case then using it would have restored its life force by now," she refuted, "And even then, why would it choose to bother me now?"
"Well," Silver spoke slowly as she dug her claws into the soft dirt beneath her, "Sometimes spirits that die suddenly and violently can be triggered by other violent events. What happened before the Voice started talking to you?"
Cylinder hesitated. The Voice rumbled in excitement at the question, digging deep into her processor to resurface images she had often tried to forget. The screaming, the hails of gunfire, watching helplessly as bots died in front of her, discovering her loved ones that had been left for scrap, and of course, an assault on her home – all of these triggering her mental breakdown and leaving her a sad, pathetic shell of the femme she once was.
"A lot," was all she could manage to say as the Voice quietly continued its assault on her mind.
"Maybe it's a manifestation of your trauma," Silver suggested, knowing all to well what that felt like. "Sometimes I hear things too – random memories and whatnot. You could just be getting echoes of your memories."
Cylinder immediately shook her head. While that may have been true, the memories would never have resurfaced if it were not for the Voice. "There's something else to it. Something more sentient."
Silver frowned, "Well who do you think it could be?"
The only response was a shrug.
"Oh come on," the dragoness pressed in subdued frustration, determined to find an answer, "Think about it. What do you see?"
Cylinder switched her optics off to avoid any distractions from the dragoness flopping about at her feet. Her mind settled itself as best as it could, thoughts roaming about deliberately in the massive processor. Just like the time she tried to picture the face that belonged to the Voice, a blurry image appeared before her in the darkness of her mind. It was formless, hazy, but one feature stood out clearly.
"I see purple optics," Cylinder muttered, her own blue optics flickering back on.
"Have you seen them before?" Silver asked curiously.
"Not these ones beyond my own thoughts." For some reason, it felt good to talk about the Voice. Knowing that Silver was willing to listen and willing to help kept the femme confident that there was no danger here. At the very least, she had an image of the Voice, however small of a detail it was. She also had someone she could confide in, something she wished she had after all these years of being alone on Cybertron.
Both Cylinder and Silver abruptly sprang to their feet when the doors to the temple swung open. The basilisks exited first, followed by the guardians and then the Autobots. The somber expressions on the basilisks faces gave the femme all the answers she needed about how well the meeting went.
Roe immediately made eye contact with Silver and walked towards her, head lowered and posture relaxed to keep the guardians from being suspicious. They kept their guard up anyway, intent on protecting the heir to the Galactic Guardianship at any costs.
"Thank you for everything you and your father have done for us," he spoke softly, looking away when Silver's wings and tail dropped to the ground in defeat. "We have come to the conclusion that co-existing at this point in time is not possible."
"There's no reason though," Silver blurted, raising her voice so the other guardians could hear.
Jëra huffed in agreement, "Yes, but with Marchosias being free the dragons need someone to blame."
Cylinder remained silent, mouth pressed into a firm line, brow furrowed. So that was the reason they were being forced out. The dragons needed a scapegoat, so the most logical answer was to blame his next of kin.
"They can't seriously believe you did it though," she spoke softly, voice hoarse. She tried to look at Rodimus for help, but the Autobot leader paid her no mind. Of course he could not believe that – she told him it was her fault. So why was he standing there in silence?
I'm surprised you haven't taken the fall, the Voice rumbled. Cylinder mentally told it to shut up in response. It was right, though. She should have spoken up. But there was no reason until this point to think the dragons would attack the basilisks this way, whether they started that stupid fight or not. She began to regret not sitting in on the discussions. Though she had hidden the Dragon Stone, the only object capable of cutting Marchosias free of his prison, she was more than willing to dig it up to prove their innocence. And yet, she could not bring herself to move. For once, the Voice was not stopping her. It was the Aerialbot herself who refused to move.
The basilisks brought the news to their people, and Cylinder stood alone on a plateau, watching from afar as they began to file out of the city's newly reconstructed walls, the walls they helped rebuild. How ironic. After awhile the femme noticed that Silver was no longer standing next to her, and she mentally kicked herself for not paying more attention to the distressed dragoness. The mental struggle and regret she had been dealing with were more than enough to keep her distracted, but that did not change the fact that Silver was in a similar state. Perhaps they should have been keeping an eye on each other from the start.
As she stood in silence, she began to feel as though she was not alone. Turning on her heel, she came face-to-face with a tall, green dragon. The material in his guardian's cloak shone brightly in the night sky, and his pupil-less eyes reflected the moon perfectly. Acid's normally bright expression had been replaced with one of neutrality, and maybe a hint of sadness.
"Where's Serina?" Cylinder asked softly to break the ice, referring to the Sludge Guardian that often accompanied Acid within the city. As the two remaining Guardians or the Trine Guard, the dragons sworn to guard Marchosias' prison, there was not much they could do now that he had been released except make preparations for a new one should he be caught again.
"Probably somewhere in the valley saying her goodbyes," Acid replied nonchalantly, a bit uncharacteristic of the normally heartwarming tone Cylinder was used to, "She likes those basilisks."
Cylinder nodded, albeit suspiciously, and returned her attention to the mass exodus, but another thought weighed on her mind. "Acid, I have a question for you."
"Go ahead," he replied calmly.
Cylinder hesitated for a moment. She knew she could not pick her words carefully enough to obscure her guilt. Acid was too smart for that.
"You were there at the talks. You don't seriously think the basilisks are responsible for Marchosias walking free, do you?"
There was another pause, and Cylinder stiffened in the tension before Acid replied.
"I think we both know the answer to that."
The femme's spark sunk. She did not dare look back. The venom in his voice, the coldness in his movements – Acid knew. The femme had just confessed to her crime, and a dragon in one of the highest positions of power had proven her guilty.
"Then why are you allowing this?" she turned, hoping to change the subject or at least shift the blame so the basilisks did not have to suffer, but Acid was gone. Cylinder activated her night vision and scanned the hillside, but the guardian was nowhere to be found.
Damn, she thought to herself, though the Voice heard.
Don't act like it's not funny, it chirped.
"It isn't," Cylinder said aloud, "They're demonizing a whole species because of my actions.
It was bound to happen whether you acted or not. Do you see that? Cylinder turned to look back into the valley. This is what division purely out of hatred does to them. It existed long before you got here and it will stay long after your spark has burned out. Let's face it, the social fabric that once ruled here is slowly coming undone. You just happened to help speed up the process.
"It's my fault," she muttered emphatically, acknowledging her guilt once more.
This was bound to happen anyway, the Voice pressed.
Cylinder tried to walk away, to saunter back to the medical lab so that she did not have to watch the depressing scene unfold, but an unseen force stopped her in her tracks.
Oh don't leave now, the Voice spoke, this time darker and more foreboding.
Reluctantly, the femme turned around. That was when the flashes began.
The sound of blaster fire had not bothered Cylinder in many years. A side effect of being born into a war was being all too familiar with the chaos that surrounded you to the point where it was strange not to be around it, where silence was more crushing than carnage and death itself. As a medic, the femme had to endure the shrill sound of it out in the field, to suppress the noise and filter it out of her audios so that she would not get distracted when someone needed help. Years of dealing with this allowed her to ignore the calamity.
The screams of the innocent made it come rushing back to her. The flashes of light did not bother Cylinder, but the screams made her body surge forward with rage, audios ringing violently.
On the other side of the city, the side where the basilisks had been quarantined, several still remained. Jëra had been sent by her father to retrieve them, but when she reached the entrance to the stone buildings, the carnage began. It was her bird form's scream, the same that greeted her, Rodimus, and Silver in the forest that penetrated the air, rivaling that of the blaster fire. At the center of it, rifles ablaze, were several Autobots led by Ultra Magnus.
The stoic second-in-command stood motionless, optics trained on the panicked group of basilisks. His concentration was halted when a thin, blue blade cleanly sliced off the barrel of the head executioner's gun. All Autobots froze in place when one of their own stood between them and the pile of ash that was once the terrified group of basilisks. Her optics glowed dangerously bright, swords poised to lash out again.
"Cylinder," Ultra Magnus' voice boomed, "Stand down, or we will force you–"
"What are you doing to them?!" she shouted without letting the second-in-command finish. Behind her Jëra continued to scream in horror.
"These basilisks started the fight in the plaza – it is fitting that they die by execution," he replied coldly.
"A firing squad?" Cylinder barked louder, "Based on what evidence?"
"Plenty," he replied coolly, "Even so, it doesn't detract from their guilt in other areas."
By now Rodimus had arrived with some of the guardians in tow. Cylinder, knowing full well how bad she looked to the rest of her comrades, sheathed her swords, but continued to stare down her superior with the same coldness he was giving her.
"They're not guilty of anything but their relationship to Marchosias. That's not worth killing them over." When Ultra Magnus did not reply, she continued, "What happened to the rule of law? You, Magnus, of all bots, should know that execution without giving them a chance to make their case violates every law in the universe. If we do this, we're no better than the Decepticons! They could have been proven innocent for all we know!"
Ultra Magnus huffed, "I know you're young, Cylinder, but in case you didn't know, when there's a threat to someone else's life, war will always operate under a moral gray area. Ideas of right and wrong can be very subjective when you're trying to defend an alien race."
"That doesn't take away from the fact–" she was stopped when Rodimus stepped between them. Maybe he could ease the situation.
"Alright," he spoke firmly, "There's no need for anymore fighting. Cyl, you're escalating things beyond where they need to be."
Cylinder scoffed, "I'm escalating things? Autobots just murdered basilisks without a valid reason. These people rely on us to end what we started, not kill those we think are dangerous."
"What we started?" he retorted bluntly.
Cylinder stared blankly in disgust. As the smoke rose from the charred bodies of basilisks she would never know and Jëra screamed for an explanation, the femme lowered her head and turned around. She transformed, jet engines propelling her into the night sky.
"Should we do something about her?" Ultra Magnus asked, voice still monotonous and cold. He kicked a piece of charred bone out of his path.
Rodimus shook his head, "She's not our priority. Whatever happened here is going to have a lot of repercussions." His tone was biting, forcing the much larger second-in-command to lower his head in apology.
"Perhaps I behaved too rashly."
Rodimus ignored the comment, eyeing the smoking heap of dead basilisks, "Let's find Silver and see what we can do – Cyl will calm down eventually."
As Syandemel faded into the distance, Cylinder leveled out and slowed down, going nowhere in particular but away from the carnage. The open air gave her some time to think. With no one to stop her, she activated her personal radio and made a call.