robothell | [ INTRO LOG ]

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[ INTRO LOG ]

You don't know how you got here. One minute you were walking, sleeping, maybe dead -- then you're here, your feet suddenly carrying you down an empty street. Where's here?

Any Cybertronian would recognize this as their home planet, Cybertron, but it's not a Cybertron they've ever known. It has all the familiar hallmarks, but none of the specifics -- the city isn't one anyone here could identify, and even at a glance it's obvious that no one's set foot on the planet's surface in hundreds of years. The city and its surrounding areas all bear the marks of devastating war, of dust and rust collected over centuries. With no one in sight -- right at first, anyway -- there's plenty to explore. In fact, if you start walking, you'll find that your feet may just carry you in one particular direction.

A) The crater.
On one edge of the city is a massive crater left by some wartime weapon that seems to have taken out a large chunk of the surrounding metropolitan area. At the center of the crater it's broken through the surface of the terrain to reveal what looks like it might be a promising energon deposit. There is some strange but native vegetation growing around the edges, too, that no Cybertronian would be able to identify -- small, metallic, brittle-looking sprouts that bear a curiously organic-looking fruit of some kind that doesn't look like it's intended for consumption by any natives of the planet. In one rocky nook of the crater, light catches on the surface of a pool of water, which seems strangely out of place on Cybertron. On closer inspection, it seems that somehow an underground water source has formed a spring in the crater.

B) The center of the city.
If you follow where your feet seem to want to carry you, you'll find yourself in the middle of the ruined city. It seems that the center of the city was once home to a massive forum, and some of the pillars and structures still stand. At the very center of the forum is a massive, elaborately constructed fountain, although it has now long since run dry of whatever used to fill it. One of the low, inner walls of the forum has a terminal embedded in its surface, although it looks curiously ancient, out of place with the rest of the city, and unlike the rest of the technology still left around, there doesn't seem to be any way to power it on or operate it. There are a few scattered pools of water and a few of the strange metallic plants in the city, too, but they're not quite as plentiful as in the crater.

The planet was obviously once home to a massive network of communication relays, but those have all been long since destroyed. However, with the bits and pieces left behind and a few determined minds, it wouldn't be too hard to build a working, if rudimentary, one...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Isn't there?" For an injured mech, Aftermath could sure hobble pretty quietly. It wasn't really his intention to sneak up on the Autobot, though. Moving quietly just tended to be a force of habit for a mech who regularly eavesdropped on people.

Now that he's made his presence known though, the broad gray and red mech continues, "I'm afraid I don't know a lot of these landmarks, however. The architecture is a bit different from what I remember. Anything you recognize?"

"I'm Aftermath," he adds, almost as an afterthought, offering a hand to Trailcutter. "Just woke up in here about ten minutes ago."

The moment Aftermath speaks up, Trailcutter turns around, probably the most alert he's ever been (the lack of alcohol in his systems helps with that, really). His hands raise up, the hum of his forcefields softly sounding as they power up, although not quite activating yet.

A subtle warning.

But the other bot wasn't out to attack, it seemed, and that was enough for Trailcutter to straighten up.

"Not really. I mean...maybe I might've...if it was less broken."

A hand reaches out, taking the other's and giving a nice firm shake. "The name's Trailcutter. And same."

The war was over, right? What did he have to fear?

Oh, the war being over was the best time to start learning to fear. Now the war hounds don't have much else to keep themselves occupied with. Aftermath can't read the mech's mind to answer that question unfortunately.

"Fortunate that we met," the heavily armored mech retracts his hand.

"Think we should go have a look around and see what we can find? At the very least, I need to get something to fix myself up." And honestly, the truck looked like he rather needed it. One knee had a hole blown clean through it and he was missing bits of his armor plating here and there from a pretty rough fight.

He didn't have his faction symbol visible, although his build was clearly Decepticon.

Fortunate would be stretching it a bit. He can see the Decepticon framework--you don't really miss that after four million years. But...Trailbreaker wasn't one to really judge anymore. The war was over, and that was that.

The only way things would heal would be to let go of old grudges.

"Sounds a lot more like a plan than I had. Why not?"

There's a simple shrug as he tucks Towards Peace under his arm some more, looking around at what the landscape had to offer. "You want to lead the way or should I?"

"Well, if you fancy getting stuck behind my limping." Of course, if Trailbreaker lead the way, that sure did put him in the sights of any weaponry Aftermath might have had. Aftermath doesn't particularly blame the mech for bringing it up though. War's end or not, the truce was still not official and any cross faction interactions were uneasy at best.

The glimpse of the title on the datapad that Trailcutter was carrying does stall the old truck for a bit though. Huh. Never thought he'd see that type of material in the hands of an Autobot.

"Let's...keep pace together."

Yeah, that was a nice, safe, lets-not-shoot-him plan. If worse comes to worse, he still had his panic bubble. Best not to use that unless he had to. His brow furrows as he takes a step, scanning the landscape for any signs of...well, anything.

...

But he sees Aftermath looking, flashing the datapad and a smile.

"You read it?"

"A very long time ago." Sorry Trailcutter, but you're not getting a very enthusiastic response out of this fellow. Aftermath puts on his most neutral tone, but there's still just a bare tinge of exhausted sadness to it.

"I thought Megatron's writings were banned in Autobot ranks?" he asks as he starts limping towards one of the buildings near the edge of the crater. Quietly, the gray mech finds himself hoping he doesn't get roped into actually discussing that particular piece of writing.

It's okay, he's dealt with worse. He's shared drinking company with Whirl, and while he's slightly more lively, there's a greater chance of Whirl shooting him.

"Not since the war ended."

He hadn't really picked up much reading during it, but when it ended, he did notice that some of the writings were available. Maybe they always were and he was too drunk to notice.

"Some powerful stuff, to be honest."

"I... suppose." That was a relatively neutral and inoffensive response, right? Was that a good and gentle sign of disinterest? Because Aftermath kind of really, REALLY didn't want to talk about this. It wasn't so much the body of writing that he had a problem with, it was more the mech who wrote it.

He doubts Megatron's new fan will take particularly kindly to him ranting about that mech however, so shutting his vocalizer on the subject was the best he could do. As soon as they found something to fix up his knee, they could just part ways. Until then, it would be nice to have someone to help keep a lookout on this strange Cybertron.

Trailbreaker's a master at seeing when a conversation was going downhill, his frown becoming slightly more apparent as he tries to nix the conversation right there.

"So...you were grabbed and pulled here just like me, huh? Or is this your...actual home?" It certainly wasn't his Cybertron.

There, that was a much better topic.

There's almost a visible decrease in tension, which is possibly a bit strange since Aftermath wasn't really built to be expressive.

"I just woke up here," he answers, gratitude coloring his tone. "If this were my home, you'd think I'd at least know where to get any medical supplies."

"I was on my ship just a few moments ago. How about you?"

There's a lot of ways you can tell a bot's mood, thankfully, and the eased plating eases Trailcutter as well.

"Well, in my defense, hard to find medical supplies in rubble, homeworld or not."

...

"But yeah, same story, different version for me."

"You'd be surprised at what you can find in rubble," Aftermath says with a slight shrug. "Depends on how much digging you can handle and what you're willing to do with what you discover."

"That said, an entire city is a lot of digging, even for me. I'll need to find a map first. Well." Aftermath comes to a stop, eyeing the steep wall. "I need to climb this crater wall first. And then a map if all goes well. Hopefully they didn't digitize everything like Praxus had. The moment the power outages hit that city, it became a bit of a nightmare until everyone managed to get a copy of the maps from someone else."

Admittedly, most things became a lot more difficult the moment the power outages began to eat through the cities.

"Well, I guess you're right on that one. Dedication has it's bonuses...although if you find a bomb I can't say that'll do too much for you medically."

He looks at the wall, sizing it up a little before turning to him.

"I could hoist you. Or...you could try and stand on a forcefield."

"I think bombs would be best left to ordinance disposal," he agrees very, very gently.

Trailcutter's list of options earns a slightly cautious look from Aftermath. "Would standing on a forcefield be more or less stressful on my knee?"

"Well...you wouldn't have to do any work, if that helps."

He's...almost confident he can lift you up. Almost.

"Got any better ideas?"

"Well, I can always climb up myself and suffer an ungodly amount of pain in typical stoic silence," Aftermath points out. "It's slightly more dignified than getting potentially dropped off of a force field."

After a moment, however, he gingerly concedes, "... We can try the force field though."

"Sounds a lot like life, to me."

Trailcutter, did you just Debbie Downer the depressive Decepticon.

But his hands warm up, stepping back a little bit to give them both some room. "I'll try and place it under you, so you don't have to jump or anything."

You've got this, Trailcutter, you've got this.

"Doesn't sound like you've had a particularly kindly life."

There's a gentleness in Aftermath's voice that hadn't been there before.

At Trailcutter's words, the old truck shifts the rest of his weight onto his good leg, bracing himself slightly. He doesn't really doubt Trailerbreaker's ability to pull it off, but it paid to be prepared.

"Gently, if you'd be so kind."

"You can say that again..."

There's a soft sigh, as if briefly thinking it over as he casts the forcefield just under Aftermath's feet. Lifting him slowly on what can only be an invisible elevator.

"If you wanna go faster or slower, just give the word."

This was easy, so far.

"This is good, thank you."

Yeah, so, there are certain things big trucks aren't supposed to do and float is one of them. This would be less of a concern if it weren't for his bad knee, but all Aftermath can think about is how much it'd suck if he was dropped right about now.

The fact that he can see the growing distance between his feet and the ground doesn't really help.

"Relax, I've got you."

It's the one thing he's confident about, for the most part. A lot of people say he can't hold his forcefield, but truth be told he could do a lot of things if he had the right focus.

Sobriety helped.

"So...you're uh...pretty friendly for a Con."

"Technically, I'm a deserter and most Decepticons would disagree on the matter of me still being Decepticon." He's answered the question enough times that it just comes out as-a-matter-of-factly. "And I've been a deserter for a long while now. Found out that being nice to people got me a bit further than being a xenophobic afthead. Made some friends. Got a career as a journalist. Progressed with life."

"Now that you've had your extremely tactful question," he tilts his helm in what was possibly a smile. "How's post-war life going for you?"

...

Well, that's one way to answer the question. Not that Trailcutter's going to judge. After all, the war was over for him. As long as this guy isn't trying to tear out his voicebox, no problem for him.

"Well, the unaligned came back and hate us and the Decepticons hate us and Megatron's the captain--CO-captain of our ship..."

...

'Things could be worse."

"Hmmm, well, the neutrals have a lot of reasons to hate us and plenty of them are justified," Aftermath murmurs. "Are there any particular grievances they've aired that you remember from your encounters with them?"

And, well, Decepticons have a very long history of not being on good terms with Autobots to begin with, what with the founding security forces upholding the Functionist regime. Aftermath leaves that out of the discussion for the time being though.

"Megatron? CO-Captain? With whom?"

Time to be very, very nosy indeed.

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