Ep 2: Long Black Road (Closed)

[Pyrotech]

(Set Episode 2 - day two!)

On Earth, the portal of a bridge gleamed open.

Whirling glowing green was met by misty, cold dark. It was night down here in Oregon. Far in the distance, lights struggled against the fog. Portland huddled underneath the threat of rain, spreading a glow out to either side of the city center, as if it was a wet bird protecting the residential areas from the incoming storm.

Overhead, the clouds were piling up oppressively low. They hid the stars and the moon. A soft roar of a commercial jet rumbled; however the only thing that could be seen was a fuzzy blink of red on the left and green on the right, followed by a haloed white shimmer where the tail was. A flicker of strobe flashed against the sky as the aircraft trundled patiently on towards Portland International Airport far off in the distance.

Tall pines clumped in the area, and they creaked softly in the lifting wind. Between them stretched a long black curve of mountain road. Up here in the Dalles it was quiet; residences were few and far between. Most of the traffic through this stretch of area was commercial; logging trucks and long distance haulers bringing in the commerce that kept the city thriving.

Pyrotech waited patiently.

The red mech stood in the middle of the road, flanked on either side by the sleek dark gloss of two Vehicons holding their rifles over their shoulders. Both of the mechs were silent, but their red optics flicked across the landscape as did their sensors. On guard, and they took the orders seriously.

As the green light slicked across the wet roadway, Pyrotech frowned. At least he didn't have to wait out here in the blasted damp for very long. They were promptly on time at least. Normally he would have sent someone else to pick up this mech but- no, he wanted to see for himself what Starscream had so kindly deposited onto his doorstep this time. The Air Commander had a knack for timing, that was for sure. He always did.

He'd been briefed on the situation and on the mech himself. He was a bit curious why Starscream hadn't mentioned the mech's name but that had happened a few times before. No matter. Not like he had to hand-etch an invitation to a formal party under these circumstances.

Amusing as that might be...

Starscream would have laughed, no doubt. Hmm, perhaps he would do so next time.

Well, at least this mech seemed to have a function he could use. He'd needed someone to do heavy lifting for a while; ever since the loss of Siphon there'd been no one in that role. Not that he missed Siphon much - the addled idiot had been more trouble than he was worth at times. He'd been rather surprised that the hole in his head had killed him... there hadn't been much of a processor in there. Thermal too. Useless little beasts they'd been.

Ah well. At least you didn't need a bright sort to lift a rock or dig a hole...

[Deleted]

Out from the gaping hole in spacetime came the lights of a North American dump truck. The portal hissed and slammed shut, leaving only the glow of the oncoming grounder's biolights. With a honk of greeting, the massive vehicle pulled up to Pyrotech, transforming in a whirl of parts and a distinctive cha-cha-chk-chk!

"Waste Unit B-D21M-Pol reporting in, sir," came the mech's rumbling, baritone voice. He was the tallest Decepticon on board the Nemesis, standing at a height where Megatron's helm came to just below his face. He looked down at Pyrotech with optics in the colours of fire, his field subdued and submissive in the presence of a higher-ranking officer. Fealty-acknowledgement-respect flickered as glyphs through his field and across his HUD. "But, um...most folk just call me 'Buffalo Dump'."

He stood at attention, rain running down him in sheets. There was a slight twinge from the angry, still-healing weldmarks that criss-crossed parts of his frame, but he didn't show or express such. His hooks were deployed and rose from his back with a hiss, rearing up over the upwards-pointing horns of his helms. His field took on an air of ready-to-move, the garbage mech flexing his digits as he looked left and right. The two Vehicons were vaguely recognized from the ship, and he nodded in greeting at them.

"Are you Pyrotech, sir?"

[Pyrotech]

Crimson optics narrowed slightly at the blast of that horn, but Pyrotech did not move. He simply stood and watched the big vehicle move in to the space where there had been nothing a few moments before. Tires crunched over the wet pavement as the dump truck lurched forward. For a long moment the vehicle was framed in that sickly green luminosity - and then the mech's large form rumbled on that dark stretch of road. Pine needles ground under the wide tires and spattered up in the huge wheelwells.

The two Vehicons sent a glance at each other. The beep of the horn bounced off the silent trees. Slowly, they shifted their guns against their shoulders. He may have recognized them from the ship but they didn't return his greeting at all; there was a distance to them, as if they were putting that aside; not this time and not this place, they were on guard and not about to be distracted. Not in front of this mech who stood looking up at the big grounder without a single touch of awe or amazement.

No. Pyrotech was simply sizing him up. Looking at him. Eyeing the weldmarks and the beating on the big frame. Accepting that submission as his due and that surge. Already noting that beep of the horn; a gesture not well thought about out here about what it might draw on top of them.

At that soft flicker of the mech's field, Pyrotech merely nodded. His own was distant, flat and calm, not even a ripple.

"Yes, I am," he replied.

"Ah, your name is..." he echoed. His doors slipped back slightly as Pyrotech digested this information. His lips flattened. At first he thought the mech might be attempting to have a sense of humor. That did not amuse Pyrotech in the slightest. When he realized this giant idiot was honest about his name, it amused him even less.

"You are serious," he said flatly.

He crossed his arms and looked up at the huge grounder towering over him. The fact that he was going to have to live with a mech and constantly say the words Buffalo... oh absolutely not. That was simply not going to happen.

Somewhere, Pyrotech was sure Starscream was laughing. Understandably, even.

[Deleted]

Buffalo Dump's head fell slightly, his gaze lowering as his field flickered with embarrassment. So...Pyrotech was the uppity type. His commander's field might have been composed, but B-Dump had seen that look before — the purse of the lips, the sharp look in the optics, that formal and stiff stance that screamed "proper-like". He wouldn't have been surprised if Pyrotech was a Brightplate, but it wasn't like B-Dump was going to say that to his face.

"...Um...yessir," said the waste-worker. "My cohort...called me that. Gave me a new name for a new Cybertron. Decepticon morals an' all that."

He shuffled slightly in his stance. The Vehicons had not responded to him; he had to remind himself to be less informal. From an existence wandering the stars to real, actual work he'd been thrown, and once again there was a chain of command to answer to. When everything was done and over with, he'd introduce himself more, and maybe buy the Vehicons a drink at Haven.

"But, uh...if you don't like it," Buffalo Dump continued, "ya can call me other things." (He made a mental note to watch the slurring of his words.) "Like B-Dump. Or Dumpy, even. Or, um...Buffy."

He held up one arm, pointing at the badly-weathered callsign that had been assigned to him by the Polyhexian Waste Authority.

"Or this. My old code."

[Pyrotech]

"Decepticon morals gave you that name? For a new Cybertron?" Pyrotech echoed. A murmur of distaste seeped into his words, and then smoothed down once again. His field was so flat it could have been a still lake. "Really. Hmm, I do not think that to be the case, but ah... anyway."

On either side of Pyrotech, the two Vehicons shot a glance at each other.

::Whoo boy,:: Bill murmured privately over their comm-link.

::Uh huh, not good.:: Ted agreed to him with a low whistle. That was all the mechs allowed themselves to even say before they immediately returned to watching the forest around them.

Pyrotech didn't move at all. He merely watched the mech shuffle over his huge feet on the cold wet road. A handful of sopping leaves blew off the side of the road and slapped against the big mech's toes, smelling of rot and dirt.

"As for your name- Buffalo will do," Pyrotech decided. That he could deal with shouting across a battlefield if need be. He might have thrown a glance to the big mech's arm, or perhaps he did not. The gleaming ladder on his shoulder tipped slightly downwards and then lifted away.

"Or your function. Formality is expected here. We are not a cohort. We are an outpost, and I command. We'll start with that."

The red mech turned. "Transform and follow," he said. "You may ask your questions if you have any along the way. It is a bit a drive."

[Deleted]

The big mech nodded. "Yes sir, Commander Pyrotech sir." There was a sobering element to his expression and field, one that flickered with shame at how he was acting. He was...frag, was he really that rusty? Had he been away from the forces so long that he seemed more like a loose cannon than a loyal follower? He couldn't help but wonder if being ordered around by a Brightplate was a factor.

As ordered, B-Dump lumbered after Pyrotech, swiftly transforming into slow, massive alt. Engine rumbling like thunder amongst the falling rain, he switched to his comms and pinged, ::Permission to speak to you over the standard frequency, sir? Or are we usin' a different one?:: He hoped he was still following protocol by using his link — Pyrotech didn't strike him as someone to drive up beside and chat with. B-Dump's commander had asked for the bigger mech to follow.

While he waited for an answer, he flicked his mirrors back to get a look at the Vehicons. They were silent and obedient, not saying a word. They looked to be miner builds, and B-Dump would've frowned if he were still in root mode. Wheeljack and Fortress Maximus were on his mind again, though Starscream had said that the latter was no longer something to worry about.

Like Buffalo Dump was about to trust that slag-sucking son of a glitch any time soon. What he was going to do was start following after Commander Pyrotech, and follow every order to the letter with as little resistance as possible. It was time to go back to work.

[Pyrotech]

In front of the big mech, Pyrotech transformed and settled into the right hand lane. His systems were near silent as he came to rest on the roadway; the rounded, sleek curves and gleaming chrome of the emergency vehicle were apparent even in the dark. Moisture beaded on his finish and rolled off his hood, the droplets scattering off in random patterns. He had no bio-lights in this form; if anything he obviously took pains to appear nothing but an ordinary (if slightly odd) car.

The Vehicons waited for him and Buffalo to head forward before they transformed and took up a guarding position in the rear. They too were sleek, low cars, dark black and violet. They'd turned their bio-lights off and only left their running lights on. Again, they didn't even quirk a friendly hood or seem interested in him at all, except to make sure he was right where he was supposed to be.

Pyrotech turned. His tires crunched on a bit of loose gravel. Where the garbage mech's engine roared and grumbled, the red mech's was a silent purr, combined with that low hum of an electric vehicle.

::Permission granted,:: the mech agreed after they'd assembled and were headed down the road. Overhead the pine branches shivered and rustled in the dark. Their procession passed an old yellowed warning sign that relayed that this was an area populated by a lot of deer. It reflected back at them, the surface marred by several bullet holes. Some human had obviously had been using it for target practice.

::Standard is fine for now. You will be given a direct channel to me alone later,:: he added.

[Deleted]

::Understood, sir,:: Buffalo Dump pinged back, puddles of water sloshing under his wheels. Cold, wet soreness was seeping into the weld lines across him — rain was an acidic torrent on Cybertron, and constantly avoided during the heavier parts of the rainy season. The Sea of Rust was a steaming pool of corrosive chemicals, and the few that dared live by and trek across it were often seen as nuts. The rainstorm was the heaviest that Buffalo Dump had been in on Earth, and he wouldn't lie if asked if the downpour was getting to him.

After an hour of solid driving across the winding, black road, B-Dump pinged his commander again. ::Sir,:: began the mech, ::is there anything I should know about where we're headed before we get there? Just so that I can get to what I'm supposed to be doin' right-quick, sir. Don't want to dally and tarry and waste your time, sir.::

Something dead squished underneath B-Dump's tires. He hadn't noticed what it was, as he had followed the Vehicons' example and turned everything except his front and back lights off. Their pace was slow and steady so far, the waste-worker only able to hit 70 MPH before being unable to go any faster. Garbage trucks were built for sturdiness, not speed, and B-Dump was wishing he could move faster as to get out of the storm.

::I understand if we can't discuss such things on the road, sir. I've been told this job's all fairly hush-hush, sir.::

[Pyrotech]

When Buffalo didn't ask a question immediately, Pyrotech's plating gave a small, dismissive shrug. He was not the sort to fill a space between him and an underling with idle chatter and was content to be left alone with his thoughts. The big mech was going to cause a bit of an issue; unlike himself and the others, this one would have a difficult time disappearing into the low washes and gullies of their location within the Steens Mountain Wilderness.

Also, to be quite honest, there was no way the mech would be able to stand fully upright within the base. They would have to work on that little issue. That was fine, he needed to enlarge some of the back quarters anyway. In fact, that would be a task suited to this mech; if he could dig, so much the better.

Half an hour on the road led them out of the valley and into the mountains. The rain slipped away from them and the air grew colder and still. It was still cloudy but not that low-clinging sort; this was high and thin. The big pines standing vigil next to the road had bowed away, slowly replaced by scrubby alders and Scotch Broom. In the distance, the high ridges of the hills flattened along the horizon.

::We're heading into a remote wilderness area known as Steens Mountain:: Pyrotech informed him. ::There is limited access from the main roads, mostly hardpacked ranger trails. Human activity is minimal. I am building an outpost there and slowly gathering up the items needed for a project that may take some time to complete.::

Pyrotech's mirrors tilted as if he had glanced over his shoulder at the big truck.

::The base still needs work. I assure you, there will be digging and hauling involved. Some supply gathering, most within driving distance from our location. I am loathe to use bridges unless we must- too much attention. The whole point of this base is that we are as low profile as possible. Understood?::

[Deleted]

::Understood, sir,:: replied Buffalo Dump. ::I can do low profile. My alt's similar to the trucks used in the nearby cities, and I picked it for that reason when I scanned it.::

B-Dump watched his slick wheels as they climbed the mountain roads. He was happy to get out of the rain, but the chill was still there; his hydraulics creaked a little in protest. He ignored it, putting up a firewall or two for good measure against his glitchier pain receptors. The mech's mirrors flicked up and down, B-Dump taking a moment to admire the mountain scenery — he liked long, hilly vistas. When the weather cleared and the sun came up, it was going to be a beautiful place to enjoy with a ration of Energon.

::Digging and fixin' things is fine, too,:: added Buffalo Dump. ::Got loads of experience doin' that. Back on Cybertron, I was responsible for haulin' a lotta rations, and the medics asked me once or twice to put passengers in my hopper. I, uh, used to do that sort of thing a lot, Commander sir, and I'd be happy to do it again.::

He flicked his mirrors back again to check on the Vehicon escort, then focused them on the sky. If the weather was going to worsen again, he wanted to mentally prepare himself. It wouldn't look good if the fragging rain startled him in front of his new boss.

::I also got some experience with heavy equipment. No miner, sir, but I know how to use a drill and clearin' explosives. I can lift 50,000 pounds up over my head, around 66,000 if I use my back forks. I, uh, also ain't really squeamish, sir, if that counts, so I can deal with certain things if the others are sensitive 'bout it.

The fact he'd brought a load of human plastics into the Nemesis in his chest space, hid them in a closed-off room, and hadn't blinked an eye while Lord Megatron had reeled from the smell was a testament to that. Strong flavours, odours and tank-wrenching sights didn't bother Buffalo Dump as nearly as it bothered others. In the Dead End and the Great War, he'd pretty much seen it all.

[Pyrotech]

Overhead the sky was cloudy but there was no longer the threat of rain. At least there was that little blessing for the big mech. They'd driven out of the low valley where the worst of the weather seemed to be gathering. It was dry enough up here that the leaves drifting here and there across the road were dry and crisp, their deteriorating edges turned to lace.

Pyrotech's headlights dimmed and brightened slightly. The brush lining the sides of the road silvered with the high intensity beams of his foglamps. Road reflectors winked as if they were prying eyes, blinking at the passing of the cars but keeping their thoughts and realizations to themselves.

Experience with heavy equipment was at least one of the more useful things Pyrotech had had dropped at his feet lately. Hauling was as well. Obviously, Buffalo was not fast or agile. His alt mode was as slow and ponderous as his words. No matter. Directing stupid was easy enough; he'd had plenty of experience with it over the last few years.

This one is a bit dense, yes. In mind as well as plating. Thermal and Siphon barely had had a diode between them and you somehow managed that.

Wait, did he just say he wasn't squeamish?

Oh he had. Lovely. If Starscream had sent him another mech that plucked carrion off the sides of the roads and turned it into some twisted definition of art... ugh. Art belonged on a wall or on a pedestal. It was not two stuffed dead squirrels bearing tiny battle axes in a carved rock diorama of a Cybertronian street. He didn't know what that was.

Disgusting. That was a start.

Pyrotech turned back to his previous thoughts in an effort to leave those ones behind. Truly, a brick wall didn't have to be bright to stop a missile. Nor did it have to think to hold up the ceiling.

::You hauled back on Cybertron, then. Interesting. What all have you done since you have been stationed here?:: he asked instead.

[Deleted]

A resu...resumack...resumich...a list of jobs he'd done! B-Dump could work with that. His field lifted a little at the question, and he commed back, ::Well sir, I have experience handling toxic and foreign waste from humans, so I can take care of any such stuff if you need me to. I also have been watching humans, so I know a bit about how they act and behave and the like. I've lifted heavy things o' Energon and I...guarded mines for a bit.::

He paused, field wavering as if in thought. What he really was trying to do was to avoid squirming with his EMF — the mining gigs had been a disaster. First Wheeljack's appearance at the island mine (that ended up having leftover Energon ignite, of all things), and then the two Autobranders at the one in the canyons.

B-Dump chuckled a little at that last thought.

::There were also these two Primefrag — er, Autobots, sir, that went after an op I was at. I fought them off, and though we lost some parts of the mine, I got a good hit on the helibot of the two. Dropped him on a grenade and nearly blew 'im open; dunno how he survived, sir. Dumb luck, I guess.::

The big mech paused, letting his words sink into his new Commander's processor. B-Dump sucked into two ventfuls of fresh, mountain air, enjoying the crispness of it. The thin atmosphere reminded him of parts of Cybertron, which had towers and dwellings as high as some of Earth's mountains. He wondered what some of the fliers he'd know would think of the planet's landscapes.

::Also got a good rapport goin' with Layby. He's, uh, the Commander of the DMZ, Commander sir, and I can ping him for supplies in a pinch. Just need to find things to trade, but the DMZ likes Earth junk a lot. That works.::

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech listened. The soft whir of his engine rose and fell. He kept himself equal distance from the yellow stripes and the white line. He didn't seem to be focusing on Buffalo's field as much as his words; if he noticed the squirm, he didn't bring attention to it. The Vehicons stayed some distance off of his bumper, the two dark cars not having said a word aloud this whole time.

::I assume your scrap with the Autobots was recent, by the looks of things,:: the architect remarked after a moment. ::It seems they got the best of you and your mission, perhaps. You're sure he survived though? A pity. The universe is a better place with less Autobots in it. Ah well, their archaic way of seeing the world will be the end of them someday, and we will go back to Cybertron and set it back in order.::

There was a long pause. Pyrotech let those words settle between himself and the big mech behind him.

::Humans are worth nothing,:: the red mech replied, and his tone was matter of fact. ::Nor is most of their refuse. Metal scrap is always useful, and yes, they build crude mechanics that often serve a purpose in a pinch, but no. Absolutely no use for that skill here. I don't deal with those sorts of leavings from them. Nothing enters this base without clearance from me. That rule I never expect you to break.::

::Commander of the DMZ?:: he said, one windshield wiper absentmindedly brushing a dead leaf from his window. Pyrotech's headlamps dimmed again and brightened once more. For the first time there was a stirring in his field, a low, questioning flicker as if it were the tongue of a snake at the mouth of a rat hole.

::You say there is a DMZ here? I had no idea that sort of thing even existed outside of Cybertron. Fascinating. Have the Autobots set such a place up, since there is a Commander there? Where would that be at here in the States?::

[Deleted]

::It seems they got the best of you and your mission, perhaps. You're sure he survived though?::

::Yessir,:: said Buffalo Dump. He wanted to add "as far as I can remember", but interactions between him and Pyrotech had already started out poorly. He didn't want them to dip down any further.

::A pity. The universe is a better place with less Autobots in it. Ah well, their archaic way of seeing the world will be the end of them someday, and we will go back to Cybertron and set it back in order.::

::Autobranders are nothin' but everyone who used to step on everyone else,:: said Buffalo Dump, sounding very sure of himself as his field gave a small, dark crackle. ::Buncha idiots, they are.::

Buffalo Dump went quiet as Pyrotech explained the "no garbage rule". Right, so he couldn't hide things on base like he could on the ship; he'd have to stash it elsewhere. Buffalo Dump was no stranger to maintaining caches of things, and with all the hills and valleys around, he'd find the right place to put stuff. It would be a good distance from the outpost, too, so Pyrotech would never smell or find it if he decided to expand.

Now B-Dump just had to figure out a backup plan if Pyrotech picked a random spot to put things, and the garbage mech's collection happened to be there. Such thoughts were interrupted before they began by Pyrotech's next line of questions.

::You say there is a DMZ here? I had no idea that sort of thing even existed outside of Cybertron. Fascinating. Have the Autobots set such a place up, since there is a Commander there? Where would that be at here in the States?::

B-Dump unconsciously nodded, his cabin tilting forward slightly. ::Yessir, there's a DMZ. It's not thanks to the Autobots — from what I know, sir, Lord Megatron let it be set up, and the Autobra — Autobots (for once) respect that. It's not on this part of the planet either, sir; it's in a place called 'North Africa'. Real remote place, very hard for humans to find by accident. I think it's just Layby that runs the place, and then he has a medic there, Cleaver. She and R&D Head Shockwave do a lot of tradin', from what I've been told.::

[Pyrotech]

Pyrotech didn't laugh at that comment. The surge in the other mech's field was noted once more and filed away. Obviously this one didn't have the best of lives before he'd joined the Decepticons. He'd found many of them didn't know what they'd been fighting for or against though and that bothered him. They just wanted change, not the sort of point that changed the whole, but the point that changed the world for them. They wanted out of whatever pitiful existance they'd scraped for themselves...

He himself could only curl his lip slightly at that. He understood it, yes. On some levels. On others, he simply found himself knowing where most of the bodies in the war had come from.

Fifteen minutes of driving passed before Pyrotech finally answered the big garbage mech. He sounded a bit distracted when he spoke, perhaps he was discussing something on another comm line.

::So, if I understand you correctly you're saying that there is a neutral presence there?:: he asked him. Pyrotech's accent thickened on the word 'neutral' but that might have been just the way he pronounced it, as if he didn't want to linger too long on it.

::In North Africa. Well I can say that is the last thing I honestly expected to hear. So you've had dealings with this place? Do tell, are there many of them there besides this Cleaver medic and this Layby? I'm always interested when I hear that term, they're so few and far between, now with the war.::

::Also, I'm afraid I've been a little out of the loop lately. My work keeps me occupied.::