Ep. 1 - No Planet For Old Bots - Closed

[Deleted]

Deuce was higher than a kite.

And not on low grade methyl tert-butyl ether cut with turpentine this time either. No sir, thanks to Cleaver and Layby the only thing that flowed through his electronic veins was good fuel and healthy line cleaners. The junk that had got him to Africa had been flushed from his system, which was now filled to bursting with a renewed lust for life.

He skidded around a corner, his metal feet kicking up sparks. Here comes Johnny Yen again.

The rocky passage stretched out ahead of him, lit here and there by glowing lanterns jury-rigged together by lines of power cables. Deuce ran down it full tilt and kicked into the air, coming down on one foot before pivoting smartly to moonwalk backwards a few strides, arms swinging in time to the music that sang through his head courtesy of his internal comm. No more beating his brains with liquor and drugs.

Deuce laughed. This giddy compulsion to dance out his relief at being alive was proving a good way to burn a little of the manic energy that had built up inside him over the past week or so. For the last two days he had done little more than mope in the medical bay or zone out in the small quarters that the Neutrals had lent to him. He had needed the rest, but now the urge to fly prickled at the edge of his neural net. It was good to move again, to feel air rushing over his limbs. It also helped ward off the screaming night terrors the dark mine and its warren of claustrophobic tunnels were giving him. So that was good too.

The grey jetbot snaked down the hall, his feet carrying him through a slinky mambo. Soon it would be time to take to the skies and continue his mad flight to America. He could feel the desire to leave creeping over him, that instinct to ramble on. He had people to meet, places to see. Information to chase down. Murder to commit. He was a busy mech. He was gonna do another - strip tease. Damn. He'd forgotten how catchy this song was.

Ahead of him the passage widened into a broad cavern. Deuce sensed the fresh air eddying through it even before he wheeled around and saw the cavern with his own two optics. Wide open space! He rushed for it at a sprint.

"Well, I'm just a modern guy," he sang as he skidded into the Atrium. He clapped his hands together and realised that he was not alone. "Whup! Sorry, mate. Didn't see you there. You out for a walk too, huh?"

[Deleted]

Deuce stared.

The stranger was tall and lean, his archaic frame straight from an older and more noble age - but that wasn't what made him gawk. It wasn't the question, nor the implications they raised. Nor was it the fearsome scowl, which seemed to fit naturally upon the stranger's grim, hawkish face, or the stern air that wrapped about him like a cloak.

It was his words. The language. The ancient vernacular. Deuce had not heard it spoken since he was a far younger soul than he was now.

Hell, he didn't think Cybertron itself had heard that language even so much as whispered across its invisible airways in at least four million years. It was a dead language, long since faded into the deepest, most forgotten crypts where the rust of a thousand dead mechs lay thick. It flowed from this stranger like a breath of stale air from an opened tomb.

Who was this guy?

He was giving Deuce quite the evil eye. Deuce blinked.

"Wow," he said. He whistled and straightened, one hand on his hip while he ran the other over the top of his head. "Wow. Just... wow, man. Where the hell did you come from? Uh, hang on a sec here..."

Deuce held up one finger and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Testing, testing - hello?" he said. The dead language came harshly to him, and he grimaced. "Is that my voice? Is that MY voice? Amazing. Ah. Forgive me. I have not spoken this language in... vorn, uh, four million? A moment, let me adjust. Voice modulator not accustomed to this. Testing, testing. Hello. Ah. That's better."

Satisfied, Deuce poked his finger in the old mech's direction. "Forgive my bluntness, but... who are you?"

[Deleted]

"Did you just call me a Quint?" said Deuce in amusement.

Then his optics popped. He hastily stuck his hands into the air when the strange mech reached for his sword. "Whoa! Whoa, man! Chill out, brother. Let's be cool. I'm not a Quintesson, or a slaver, or anything like that. Fuck those guys, seriously."

That last bit was said in English, mostly for the emotional satisfaction to be gained in cursing out a Quint.

Truthfully, he was a bit shocked. That was an exaggeration. Deuce was stunned. He had not expect this gloomy looking old mech to explode in wrath like he had at the mention of the time that had passed since the Great War. Hell, even he was a bit shaky on the dates involved, if he wanted to be totally honest with himself. He spent a lot of those millions of years blitzed out of his gourd, or adrift in space, or miserably trapped on assignment in muddy hellholes, or stuck in a ship with the big red turd. It could have been three or five or eight million years for all he knew. Not that he was going to mention that now.

In the old language, Deuce warily said, "Look, uh... what exactly do you last recall before you found yourself on this planet? Because I think you've sort of missed out on a lot of history, brother. A lot of time has passed since the Ark launched from Hydrax with old man Nova on board. Holy shit. I think that was actually closer to six million years ago, now that I think about it. Please don't freak out and stick me with your devil weapon. Actually, uh..."

With his hands still raised like a hostage, he looked around himself. "Look, you want to sit down or something? There's a bar near here. Maybe you should sit down. Have a drink or ten. I think I've got a lot to explain to you."

[Deleted]

"Dang," said Deuce.

He rubbed his head and whistled again, sobering. The old warrior's story was an unbelievable one, like an ancient fable come to life. These days Nova Prime stood upon the cusp of legend himself, a mere step away from walking into the blinding light of myth. It was a little awe-inspiring, to think that this Cyclonus had once stood loyally at his side.

Unless he was a kook.

But Deuce had met a lot of nuts before, who had claimed upon their honour that they were figures of legend. That they were forged in the Core's light, that they were a Knight of Cybertron - that they were Optimus Prime. So many Optimus Primes. One memorable fellow had sworn up and down that he was Unicron the Devourer himself. His hat had been very nice. What with the horns.

But this warrior didn't seem crazy. Now that he had composed himself his words were clear and calm, his unhappy tale spoken with a deep voice and a dark, steady eye. His description of the distorted space bridge was particularly illuminating. A veteran traveller of space, Deuce had witnessed such anomalies himself in the past. He saw one every time he fired up the drive in his chest, quantum-bright. The raw physics of it intrigued and terrified him.

Deuce scratched his chin. He narrowed one optic.

"Man, uh - I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I don't know what else to say. It sounds like you guys - and the Ark - cruised into some kind of wormhole. It might have displaced you across a whole lot of time and space. And you flew here to Earth, after waking up?"

[Deleted]

"Um, well..." said Deuce.

He gnawed his lip. It took effort to fight back his first response, which was to gleefully shout out 'it burned!' and then do the Mexican Hat Dance right there on the spot. Not an appropriate thing to say to an old warrior who looked shell-shocked by the horrors he had already witnessed upon his home world.

Deuce set his teeth and hissed softly instead. Looking uncomfortable, he pointed over his shoulder to another lantern-lit tunnel leading away from the atrium.

"Look - can we walk and talk?" he said. "Let's go to the bar. I think you're gonna need to sit down to hear this one."

Gesturing for Cyclonus to follow him, Deuce turned and set off down the tunnel.

"I'm Deuce, by the way," he said as he walked. "Intrepid reporter for the Light Fantastic, now quantum-broadcast and downloadable in two billion galaxies and four dimensions. Thank you. You ran into the right mech, brother. I kept a close eye on Cybertron as the war played out. I should be able to fill you in on most of the details. Or give you a pretty good summary anyway. I gotta say, it's pretty amazing to find a guy like you here on Earth. What are you gonna do with yourself here? "

[Deleted]

Deuce grimaced.

"Well, no pressure," he said wryly. He gave Cyclonus a side-long glance. "Seriously though, that's not a decision I would hurry into anyway, not if I were in your position. Get a feel for the big picture first. Things here on Earth, they're, uh. They're kind of complicated."

He said no more upon the subject as they walked, not until the passage opened up into Layby's pleasant and earthworn tavern. Lanterns glowed, lending the hewn rock walls a cozy air. Once inside Deuce showed his abiding respect for the property of others by walking straight up to the bar and vaulting over it. Without pause he rooted through the various taps and glasses on the other side.

"Let's see, there's gotta be something good back here," he said. "Something you'd ordinarily use to de-grease an engine, or polish chrome. Ah!"

He set two glasses onto the bar and motioned to a stool. "Take a seat, brother. I'll get you a drink. In the meantime, what do you want to know about first? Gimme specifics about what history you'd like to hear, and I'll do my best to fill you in."

[Deleted]

Deuce laughed.

"Brother, that is the energon," he said.

He eyed the taps and finally selected the distilled liquid that looked the least venomous. He poured it into a glass that was little more than an industrial sized oil drum and slid the whole thing down the bar to Cyclonus.

"Well," he said. "Those symbols represent the two different factions in the Great War. The little red face means Autobot, from 'autonomous robot'. You've got Orion Pax to thank for that one. Purple face means Decepticon, a faction that rose up from the ranks of the lower castes after deciding the best way to abolish the oppressive caste system was to bomb the shit out of the entire planet. On top of that their leader, a former gladiator named Megatron, threw a jealous snit fit when his buddy Pax was appointed Prime by the High Council over him - which only delineated an even stronger and more personal line between the two factions and their leaders. Eesh."

He helped himself to a glass of violent green energon and lifted it. "Cheers, mate."

[Deleted]

Deuce choked on his drink.

"What, whoa - seriously?" he said, after wiping his mouth. He set down his rusting glass and regarded the old warrior with astonishment. "The caste system, it doesn't - you haven't heard about - you were sent flying through space and time before - damn!"

He whistled. "You really are an old model, brother. No offence intended. Hoo boy. How do I explain this..."

The last part was spoken in English. Deuce trailed off for a moment, his optics gazing distantly into space.

Eventually he snapped his fingers.

"Well, okay," he said. "Let me give you the broad summary. This is millions of years of oppression I'm trying to tackle here, so you'll have to forgive a bit of brevity. The caste system was implemented some time after the space bridges began to fail. As the isolation the loss of the bridges brought about wasn't bad enough, the civilian guilds - with Sentinel's approval - hit upon the idea to bring about social order by assigning all Cybertronian citizens roles in society based upon rather arbitrary deciding factors, like what alternate form you were constructed into. They even forged new Cybertronians into specific jobs right from the ground up. This obviously was not met with much happiness from those poor slobs unlucky enough to find themselves cast into lower-caste positions, like miners and sanitation workers."

Looking rather sour, he spread his hands. "But the High Council militias enforced the whole thing, so this rigid hierarchy became a formalized law. To call it repressive would be putting it mildly, to say the least."

[Deleted]

"Yeah," said Deuce. "That didn't pan out."

Unruffled, he shrugged before frowning down at his drink, which had also jumped on the bar the moment Cyclonus' fist had struck it. He picked up the glass and discreetly brushed the spilt energon off the bar. "To be honest with you, I'm not entirely fussed about how the whole thing turned out myself. Those were pretty dark times. Civilian oppression disguised as heightened security measures, sky spies, curfews, spark suppression, terrorist attacks, clamp downs - it was pretty bad. Frankly, brother, you didn't miss a hell of a lot when you sailed into that vortex."

He took a long drink, then smacked his lips. He lifted one finger into the air.

"And then! And then it got better. Dissent with the caste system pretty much led directly into the Great War, which consumed Cybertron for millions of years. Now we're little more than the dregs of an empire built upon thinly veiled ambitions of expansion and conquest, laughably bolstered by the illusion of racial superiority presently supported mostly by the Decepticons. Cybertron is cold and dead, the Galactic Council thinks we're a dangerous nuisance at best, our economy is non-existent, and the rest of the galaxy could care less if we live or murder ourselves to extinction. But we still turn into rad jets and concept Lamborghinis, so there's that."

Deuce snorted.

[Deleted]

Without a word, Deuce tilted his head to get a better look at the old warrior folded over the bar. Then he leaned back, smugly licked his finger and chalked up an invisible tally.

He drank in companionable silence for a little while. The lanterns guttered on the walls, their jury-rigged electrical wiring patchy with current.

Eventually, Deuce drained his glass and set it back down on the bar.

"Hey, brother," he said. He patted Cyclonus on the shoulder, not without some sympathy. "You all right there? Sorry to give you such a rude shock. But it is what it is, yo."

[Deleted]

Deuce leaned back and regarded him appraisingly.

"Well, ordinarily I'd say something like it's up to you to find something to live for right here on this planet, but judging by the glint in your eye you've already come to that conclusion for yourself," he said. "So, I'm just going to help myself to another drink instead."

He did.

"Just to be clear, you're not going to go on a nihilistic crusade of revenge based on anything I might have said, are you?" he said. He leaned his hip against the bar and sipped his drink warily. "Not that I have a personal objection to that sort of thing, but it might put a bit of my dent in my conscience to know that I contributed to such a mindset. For like, two minutes."

[Deleted]

"Good plan," said Deuce in approval. He hunted around behind the bar. "You should be able to find yourself a set of spare quarters in this place. And by quarters I mean an empty cavern with a berth in it. Pretty simple lodgings here, but you'll get that peace and quiet you're looking for."

He dug out a stained length of cloth, studied it critically, and dropped it on the bar. "Voila. Sorry, that was French. Also, here, I'll give you one more tip, if you're interested."

The grey jetbot pointed vaguely at a wall.

"If you want to find more Cybertronians and get involved in the war here on this planet, I'd head due west," he said. "Or, well... due east. You'll hit a continent the natives of this planet call North America. Most of the Cybertronians on Earth tend to congregate there, probably for the movies and wifi. Seriously though, that's where you want to go if you want to find Autobots. Or Decepticons. Take your pick."

He shrugged. "On the other hand, if you want a quiet life out of the war, stay here. That's my advice."

[Deleted]

Deuce grinned.

"That's Cleaver you're thinking of, and she pretty much is in charge around here, at least as I understand it," he said. "She'd be the local commander you want to speak to. I'm sure she'd be happy to give you clearance to remain here for a while. This seems to be a sort of haven for unaligned mechs on this planet, or for those who simply wish to step out of the war for a duration. This place actually is considered a demilitarized zone, if you can believe it."

He gave the bar an appraising glance, his wings flicking. "I never thought you'd get the Autobots and the Decepticons to agree on anything, but... well, here it is. Anyway, I bet she'd be grateful if you offered to pay for your room and board here, so to speak. I'm guessing she's pretty understaffed and could use someone capable of guarding the place against harm. It'd be a decent job for a decent person like you, brother."

He sipped his drink.

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(OOC: 'Tis perfect! Deuce shall keep the drinks flowing, until poor Cleaver and Layby regret ever letting him in XD. Thank you for playing! <3)