On Top Of Spaghetti (closed)

[Deleted]

Week 3 Day 2
Dawn

A billion miles to the east, a small and otherwise average star continued to radiate its relentless output of photons. An utterly mundane event except for the interaction of the photons on dihydrogenmonoxide particles in the atmosphere of one particularly remarkable planet. The skies were pink and orange and yellow and red, and yet still mostly blue. It was assuredly the greatest sight of many a sentient native, and now too one more alien mechanical lifeform.

Rail comfortably sat alone atop the stone mesa that hid the Autobot’s Omega outpost. He was closer to the edge than the centre, but not so close to pose a falling risk. His aft was perched on a small outcrop allowing his legs to stretch out in front and tail kibble to relax behind him. The sun to the east was half the breadth of an outstretched finger above the horizon transitioning from dawn to morn. Beside Rail was a borrowed tool box with WD40, a can of compressed air and a few tools Rail was using to dig tiny particles of sand from his joints and the crevices of his armor.

The latest addition to the Autobot ranks on Earth had simply come out here to relax, watch his first Earth dawn unfurl, perform some minor self-maintenance, and mostly try to absorb all the data he’d accumulated in the previous hours. After the ordeal on landing on the planet he now sat upon, he’d been unable to properly recharge and had spent the last few hours filling the holes in his knowledge. He’d gone through everything from geology and plate tectonics to human physiology and how as a species they accomplished so much with such short life spans. So much was just so alien. Rail had also updated his language neural architecture with English and Spanish. He had elected to forgo Earth's other languages for now simply because he just couldn't handle any more input.

Satisfied that the dawn was just as glorious as promised, Rail got back to work. A small panel on his left forearm popped open and he began the search for that one grain of sand that was just ever so rubbing on a wrist servo

[Deleted]

Above Rail was the unmistakable sound of rotors beating.

*whump whump whump*

Whirl was out for a morning flight. Technically you weren't supposed to go out on your own, but Whirl had long ago discovered that if you were consistently unreliable, nine times out of ten people would let you get away with anything, as long as you did it with the best intentions. His life was one long series of disasters that boiled down to 'It seemed like a good idea at the time', and the philosophy hadn't killed him yet.

In any case, if Whirl didn't keep his gears and rotors stretched on a regular basis, they started to seize up at a disturbingly rapid speed thanks to the bad wiring caused by the Empurata.

He transformed mid-air and landed behind the Ground Pounder, making no attempt to be silent as he performed the necessary morning contortions.

If Rail looked, he would see a rotary - an obvious Empurata victim. Everybody knew of Empurata as one of the more unpleasant punishments used back from the days of the Functionists - used to mark dangerous criminals. And the more you knew about Whirl, the more dangerous he seemed, since he certainly fitted into the 'criminal' bracket nicely. He was eerily skinny, and easily as tall as Optimus Prime, but he had heavy weaponry hard-wired directly into his body since he'd been built for the Arial Corps.

Whirl would have appeared intimidating even without the Empurata leaving him with a single staring yellow optic and the massive claws.

"Yo," he told Rail, currently with one knee behind his head in a way that would make a Triple Changer's eyes water, "Name's Whirl. But my friends call me Whirl. Heh heh..." he switched positions and into flat-splits, tilting his head in a bird-like manner, "Who're you?"

You barely needed a thirty-second look at Whirl to know he was insane; the only particulars were 'when's he gonna snap next?' and 'how much?'

[Skirmisher]

He'd been able to see himself through a full recharge cycle, and as his internal chronometer programmed to the local Earth time had roused him. Given that Optimus had promised a debrief which had most likely been more along the lines of a lecture hadn't happened yet, and to which the Enforcer hadn't entirely looked forward to.

He'd decided to have witnessed the dawn, the rising of the sun or at least in this century. There hadn't been that many opportunities for him to have overseen that, intentional or not. While a millennia ago he'd witnessed the dawn on many mornings on that particular planet with the sun's rays sweeping across features of rocky outcroppings to vast plains of grass and even primordial forests, the Earth had undergone vast changes in both tectonic movements to glacial ages and even the constellations had changed. The stars that had burned following his arrival on that oddly shaped orb had burned out turning into either brown dwarves, white dwarves or even super novas. Cosmic bodies including the planet's moon or as he'd read had been designated Luna that had a millennia ago orbited the planet closely had become more distant from it, and he'd recalled cycles where he'd been able to look out of an observation port or looked up from the ground within the Garrison's compound to find the stars “winking” in the distance. While he'd never been a religious or even a superstitious sort, the act of observing the sunrise had somewhere along the line become more of a ritual -- or at least something when he hadn't had anything more pressing to do which hadn't been that often.

The Enforcer had managed to make his way to the top of the Mesa which featured an old helipad or at least a helipad that had serviced the old Silo prior to its deactivation. The top of the Mesa had featured the dorsal hatches of the silo's main elevator which had been designed originally to lift an old intercontinental ballistics missile belonging to this country's military during their Cold War decades ago, but to which the elevator had been re-purposed for use by the Garrison. Having made his way to the top of the Mesa following a rather lengthy elevator ride, Skirmisher had scanned the vicinity with his visor before having stepped off of the elevator and set his pedes on the naturally formed rock.

“Out for a morning flight again, Whirl?” Skirmisher asked, over his com-channel to his partner rather than having blurted it out. He had to admit even having scanned a flight capable altmode, there had still been little eccentricities he'd observed in Whirl -- although that could have been the base standard for all rotary fliers. Though, as far as he'd known his only eccentricity had been to still cling to his old base coding from his Enforcer cycles. He'd known that both of them, if not the entire Garrison had acknowledged the necessity of having a wing-man or a partner when having overseen a beat tour or patrol.

“My apologies. I didn't realize someone had already claimed this spot,” he'd said quietly, having turned down his com-line to his partner Whirl. He'd noticed the most recent addition to the Garrison's ranks had claimed a spot on the Mesa to either observe a few nano-kliks of silence or to observe the sunrise. He'd felt foolish, even embarrassed that he hadn't detected the presence of Rail in the first place.

Turning his attention back towards the sunrise, the golden rays of the morning sun reflected across the blue tint of his visor and had at the same time drawn on memories archived of when he used to observe the same with his old Garrison.

[Deleted]

After Whirl, the second aerial touchdown occurred with a comparative lack of noise or fanfare.

A whirl of transformation, a thud of metal feet. Dust briefly stirred and then settled as the downforce abruptly cut out. In the light of rising sun the shadow of the robot that had just landed was long and thin.

The black robot folded his arms behind his back. He didn’t approach the others but instead deliberately cast his red-eyed gaze at the open sky, broad and bare of all but the earliest hints of cumulus cloud, at the exposed mesa plateau, rosy with dawn. He raised one brow.

Nero studied each of the three Autobots gathered on the top of the mesa. A look of comradely appreciation and respect neglected to come over his face.

“Gentlemen,” he drawled. His tone was amused as he settled in to watch and wait.

[Deleted]

Rail planted one hand on the ground and turned to watch the source of the sound. Earth mode or not, the distinctive sound of a helicopters rotors as the tips clawed at mach one was universal. He tried not to stare too much but his curiosity got the better of him once more. As whirl transformed Rail finally saw the singular optic that was the entirety of Whirl’s face and claws for hands. That was when the judgement started filing in and promptly was left filing back out again. Rail had always been quick to judge but he knew he was a poor judge at that. He would never openly vocalize a poor judgment and his better nature gave everyone the benefit of the doubt anyway.

But Whirl’s single optic and claws for hands left Rail feeling unsettled, perhaps more so than unusual. It wasn’t just that Whirls visage made him seem somehow less, like an accident victim, but the stigma carried by Empurata Victims. The oil on the carborundum was the simple fact that it was almost definite that the old Functionalist council were the ones who inflicted their machinations on Whirl, and Rail happened to identify as a functionalist, loosely.

Rail felt self-conscious, very out of depth. He hoped he didn’t show it as she tried to put on a brave show. He was just about to introduce himself as another figure made themselves known. Rail tried to make a quick calculation as to whether another mech distracted enough from his unease or if there simply being more to the group added to it. Results were ambiguous.

Rail tried again. “G’morning. Name’s Rail. But my friends just don’t call…” Rail’s still raspy voice trailed off, feeling extra awkward at his poor attempt of humour.

And now one more mech, another flier. They were just swarming around this morning. While Rail tried to hide the notion he was judging, he felt that this one, looking so cool and detached, was judging everyone from their rivets to that one comment someone made five millennia ago. Rail didn’t want to think brightplate, but he was definitely thinking brightplate. So far, only Skirmisher – though Rail hadn’t learnt his name yet – seemed normal. How do you define normal when it’s possessed by the minority?

[Deleted]

Whirl was very used to the look he got from the ground-pounder. He was far too familiar with that instant, nervous judgement to miss it no matter how hasty the mech was to wipe it away. People liked to pretend they didn't see what had happened to him. Empurata and the criminal association with its use as a punishment went together very snugly even billions of years since the fall of hard-core Functionism.

"Rail, huh?" Whirl looked at him with his head tilted in a bird-like manner. He looked at the stealth jet, and his optic narrowed. Over millions of years it had not gone unobserved that Rotaries and Jets seemed to have a kind of instinctive kind of rivalry. Not all of them, of course. But significantly the ones that did, didn't even seem aware of it, "Let's shake, Ground-Pounder!" he proffered a claw, "Ha-ha, just kiddin'. I don't have those no more." He dropped his claw again, but as a joke. Hopefully.

"Well you ain't got no problem with me stretchin' my rotors solo I know, Mitch," he told the other rotary cheerfully, "Seein as you're doin' a little of it yourself."

The spindly mech stood up again and looked over Nero. He was significantly taller, but that was nothing new. Light build. Stealth jet. Still, if there was one thing Whirl never did, it was judge somebody by their appearance. Oh, sure, he felt like fliers were better than aerials, and rotaries were better than jets, but having an obviously superior alt-mode didn't leave him thinking he was superior.

He drew himself up to his full height and loomed. He took one of his rotors - or swords - off his back, and started using it casually in its tertiary capacity as a back-scratcher.

"It's not 'Gentlemen'. It's 'Whirl of Polyhex'," he told Nero, his optic cycling and his stance becoming maybe a little more aggressive, "Who're you, 'Buddy'?"

An agent like Nero would surely know all about Whirl's complicated, messy, and highly criminal history, especially considering how it was wrapped in exactly the kind of politics an agency like Nero's existed to investigate. After all, the ex-cop was now fresh off a Prison Ship and on parole.

[Skirmisher]

“A pleasure, Rail,” Skirmisher said, with a smile sensing the other mech's attempt at humor.

“I see I'm not the only one that enjoys a good sunrise,” he'd say. “I'm Skirmisher, but to a few I'm known as Mitch. You've already met Whirl,”

“I don't mind if you're out for a morning flight,” he'd say to Whirl, having shifted his weight a little on his pedes to view the spindly mech. “Even our kind is prone to experiencing -- what is it the humans call it? Cabin fever?”

With Rail already atop the Mesa followed by the arrival of both his partner Whirl, of the other as of yet determined black framed mech that had through his entrance been a flier, it had appeared the Enforcer's original plan of having witnessed the sunrise had been altered. He had to admit, it had been a pleasant change at least.

“A pleasure,” he'd say, in response to the black framed mech. He had to admit, the only other jet-flier he'd encountered had been Starscream and the Drone-flier Soundwave.

At first, he'd almost assumed it had been Starscream and while he'd wanted to have evened the odds with the second in command of the Decepticon Camp for both his home city and for what had transpired at the wreckage of the Ark. The difference in the Cybertronian's alt-form had been cause for him to have laid that suspicion to rest, and that as far as he'd known Starscream or the rest of the Decepticons hadn't attacked the Outpost yet. It meant the location of the Outpost hadn't been leaked or even ascertained by those that served Megatron. His visor provided a continual scan of the newcomer from the helm to the pedes.

[Deleted]

Nero stood back and watched the introductions. He studied Rail in silence, with an amiable nod to Skirmisher in acknowledgement of the enforcer’s polite greeting.

At Whirl’s question, he paused.

“My name is - Nero,” he said.

His voice rang with amusement. No trace of intimidation showed in his manner as he baldly gave the big helobot an up and down look with half-lidded optics before turning his attention back to Rail and the collection of tools. He raised his left hand and absently touched a panel at his wrist.

“So, gentlemen,” he said. “And Whirl - why are we gathered on top of the base this morning? I’m afraid I don’t quite grasp the - appeal. Of this particular viewpoint.”

[Deleted]

Rail noticed Nero's comment of gentlemen and Whirl. He wondered if the two had history, or if someone the Jet knew the Chopper. It didn't really matter though, not at the moment anyway. It did seem rude though since Rail could detect no humor despite the hint of amusement in Nero's voice. Rail forced himself to calm down and relax. Such social encounters, even among the intimidating fliers were good for him. Still he fidgeted, habitually spinning one of his tools on a finger tip and around the knuckle joint with the ease and dexterity of eons of practice.

He looked back to sun just above the distant horizon. He didn't fret one iota that Nero did not seem to appreciate the view. They were all different in their outlook, and how they portrayed themselves.

"Just up here to take a break from duties" He shrugged as he continued "need a fresh perspective or angle of attack."

He turned back to look at the other. "Cant speak for the squad though."

[Deleted]

"I like it up here," Whirl put his sword back in its place as a rotor, "It's blue." He gestured with a claw to the sky. Cybertron didn't have a standard atmosphere - and it didn't need one when its population was entirely robotic, "Also, dis is da best landin' spot around."

He fidgeted slightly, looking between the two new mechs. Neither was giving him a lot to think about.

"Nothin's attackin' nobody right now, so I ain't required," he told Rail, "Ya know, if ya want a break from responsibilities," he slouched a little, "What ya gotta do is make sure that you're so incredibly unreliable dat nobody ever is dumb enough ta give you a job. Den you can do whatever you like all day."

Like practice makin' clocks.

Whirl nodded sagely at his own thought.

"Nobody ever relies on me to do nothin', cuz dey know I'll probably get everybody killed or somethin'," he added, his voice cheerful.

[Skirmisher]

“I thought I'd come up here to observe a millennia old ritual. I'm not a religious sort, but during my assignment with the previous Garrison it became something to do. I never neglected my duties though, either with that Garrison or with this one before observing it,” Skirmisher explained.

Where do I know that name? he'd asked himself. Nero. The other mech had introduced himself by that designation, but either Skirmisher's own memory had been deficient in some areas or his time spent on the planet had left him out of the loop of what had transpired on Cybertron and who had remained or so the humans had it.

“The sunrise on this planet is unique. It constantly changes,” the Enforcer explained.

[Deleted]

Nero tilted his head.

"Do you know what else is unique and constantly changing on this alleged planet?" he said drily. "Weather newscasts, crop rotations, internet slang, fashion trends, and microbial cultures. I've rarely felt the desire to stand in plain sight of a passing aircraft - or, god forbid, NASA and the U.S. Geological Survey - and observe any of them all that closely."

He folded his arms behind his back again and gave the sunrise a distasteful look. "Still, I suppose there's a certain – aesthetic attraction to the sight of a sun coming up. It's very - pink. Maybe a bit orange. A little pretty, I'll admit. And I do understand taking a break from one's duties. If I'm correct, those duties would be-"

He nodded to Rail, Skirmisher, and Whirl in turn. "- Scouting, field surgery, and being the resident nut. How close am I?"

[Deleted]

Rail looked at Whirl aghast, his finials raised and alert, the fingers of his plated right hand almost digging into the rock.

“You…How…?” Rail stammered. “Please say you’re joking.”

Whirl’s words were tantamount to heresy in Rail’s outlook. Rail the borderline workaholic for whom duty and responsibility were paramount. Skirmisher on the other hand he was warming up to, shared ideologies perhaps.

To Nero he replied “Scouting, yes. Have to find energon for thirsty fliers.” Rail looked back to Whirl and once more to Nero. Rail understood everyone had their own coping mechanisms for a lifetime of war, and you couldn’t blame someone if they went a little crazy. “You should be nice, we’re a cohort, so few of us remain from our failed civilisation.”

Twenty or so 'Bots, maybe the same for the 'Cons, uncounted neutrals of unknown whereabouts, and one dead home planet. One failed civilisation due to one mech not liking his duty. 

[Deleted]

"I can never tell," was Whirl's cheerful, slightly mad answer to Rail.

"Duties, Ay?" he nodded slowly at Rail, his optic cycling, "Yeah, I heard people talkin' 'bout duties before," he put on a voice, "No, just cuz our job description sez we gotta saw off somebody's face, it don't say nothin' about sedatives; dey is completely optional."

He looked at Nero again, already feeling a slow distaste bubbling up, "Also, I don't tink ya should be callin' Mitch a nut. It ain't like you even knows him proper." He started straightening up again, showing that he was significantly taller than any of the other mechs here.

"Gotta get ta know people before ya judge 'em, Ay?" he asked them all in general, his claws snipping as he looked in that highly effective way he had, "Den again, ya get too friendly with people, don't it cloud your judgement? Pick one. It makes people uncomfortable when I philosophise. Makes me sound like I might be more'n a killin' machine, and dat scares 'em. Hard ta make friends when ya scare people, ain't it Mitch?" he asked his more rational flight partner.

[Skirmisher]

“Being cordial, and respectable are ways to establish friendships and in gaining allies,” Skirmisher said, in response to Whirl's question.

"We're of the same cohort?" the Enforcer asked. "I suppose we are, which isn't a bad thing given our situation," 

The other mech, Rail, had described the Garrison with their finite ranks as being in the same cohort and it had caused a path or two in his processor to have focused on it. On their home world, each of them had either belonged to a cohort or a unit -- which while not as closely related as a cohort served its purpose. On this planet though, the few survivors that had found these shores had to band together even in the manner Rail had described.

His processor ran through a multitude of possibilities, since he'd known their service dockets hadn't been classified unless necessitated by the mission. While their current mission on Earth had necessitated remaining covert, blending in and assuming native alt-modes to avoid unwanted attention especially among the native humans and even more so against the agency of M.E.C.H., but as far as he'd known especially with his training their service dockets hadn't been classified from those of their own Camp. He'd known any Cybertronian that had sworn their allegiance to the Autobot cause had been able to have at least gained access to the surface information within those service dockets, but if Skirmisher had to guess and from the clues gathered from Nero's arrival that the other mech hadn't been planet-bound for long although well-informed by the sounds of it.

It left one conclusion, that remained after other potential ones had been eliminated given the clues from the other mech's arrival and his having known their own unique trades even before having encountered them. He'd known he'd heard Nero's designation before, and while earlier it had only been a possibility -- an inquiry he'd left unspoken he'd known exactly where and even why he'd heard of Nero.

“You're IID -- Internal Affairs,” the Enforcer finally said. “The last time I had to cooperate with IID had been for a few Orns at the Praxus Precinct,”

He'd known through experience that if an Internal Affairs agent had been assigned, at least in the past that it meant that someone in a Precinct or the Militia had been under investigation or had been part of a larger sting to root out the conspirators. If an Internal Affairs Agent had been dispatched to the Earth Garrison, Skirmisher for one knew that things would definitely be more strict -- that the Garrison members would be on their best behavior and their actions scrutinized. At least, that had been the more formal explanation if someone had dispatched Nero to this planet on the grounds that those of the Internal Investigations Department had been found to have more valuable skills than most, or at least that had been the old thoughts stemming from when the Caste System had existed. The other alternative had meant that Nero had arrived on the planet after honing in on the rally beacon Optimus had transmitted.

“Should I inquire as to how your trip went?” he'd asked.