[ INTRO LOG ]

[robotsatan]

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...

Comments

[warcorrespondent]

"Heh, I'm in no real position to object, regardless." His tone loses its edge somewhat however, more plain exhaustion than bitter resignation. Watching Drift as the pale mech gently touched the plating around the injury, Aftermath lets himself relax, just marginally.

"The last few stories I'd heard of you mostly involved a lot of diced mechs." Of course, most of these stories had come from Decepticon soldiers, so perhaps he'd been given somewhat biased accounts. It's... hard not to be wary around a well known killer like Drift though.

[auramatic]

"Stories can be exaggerated, depending on the source." Drift can sense the tension, the latent fear in Aftermath's posture. No question that he had an intimate knowledge of Deadlock, of what he was capable of. Just about every Decepticon did, at one point or another. Drift's tense, too, his spark heavy. Once, mechs had reacted to his presence with fear and he'd reveled in it. Now, it just puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

"I'm still a warrior, Aftermath. And until recently, we were still in a war. But I'm not a killer." Drift's optics dim, his mouth a thin line. "Not anymore."

[warcorrespondent]

"One of the Decepticon soldiers who'd been on Temptoria had been the source for the most recent recounting. Very biased, but possibly not quite so exaggerated." He remembers Drift specifically being attributed with, and quote, 'the ones with the swords are mine!' Not that a lot of the mechs there hadn't deserved it, but Aftermath was still Decepticon enough to worry the mentality might extend to him. A lot Autobots didn't particularly care if he didn't wear a badge.

Primus, but Temptoria had been a mess and a half and a horror to boot. The more information he'd heard about that place, the uglier the picture got. It hadn't been a fun article to do fact-finding for and he'd needed one of his contacts to stand in a lot because the natives didn't particularly trust Cybertronians after that.

"I heard Shockwave had found a way to seed energon but for some reason they were stuck trying to squeeze it out of other races." At least the more Aftermath rants, the more he forgets he's talking to Drift. He's a bit too exhausted, a bit easily distracted. "Decepticon imperialism is such a miserable and useless thing. Why even go through the trouble of conquering anything when we just destroy it in the end and any chance of obtaining wealth along with it?"

"Useless! How useless! And now the empire is in shambles and our tyrant has flown the coop leaving his loyal sadists still in power! Any possible chances at reparations with the rest of the galaxy is in the grave and the soldiers are starving and searching through scrap trying to survive."

Yeah, sorry Drift, but the old mech is in full ranting mode. Hope you don't mind being assaulted by a whole wall of words.

[auramatic]

Oh, uh...that sure is a rant right there. Drift gets the sense that Aftermath isn't really talking to him so much as at him -- but he gives the old mech a chance to finish before he speaks, drawing back and getting back to his feet.

"I've never even been to Temptoria," he says, frowning, and glances down at Aftermath's knee. "And I'm sorry -- I don't think there's anything I can do for you, but if I see a medic around here I'll let you know. You should get that looked at if you can help it."

[warcorrespondent]

"I'm... sorry. That was..." A rant long the making, but he's ranting at the wrong person regardless. Aftermath takes a moment to rub his face, dragging his tattered composure back together before peering down at Drift once more.

"Never? Ah, well, Megatron was from his revolutionary days. Perhaps you've come from somewhere before that. That or my informant was lying." Unlikely. Drift wasn't quite the most popular character Decepticon soldiers would use to, uh, 'embellish' some of their battle stories. Sorry, Drift.

"I won't have wandered too far if you should find a medic," he remarks somewhat bemusedly. "My personal comm. is [insert comm. freq here]. I'll keep looking around in the meantime."

He should probably be resting, but Decepticon pride demanded he make himself useful. It was just a knee wound after all.

[auramatic]

Drift waves off the apology, shaking his head, but he's looking at Aftermath with intent curiosity, still frowning slightly. If this is something that happens in his future -- he hopes the reports were embellished, or else skewed. He hopes no one has any reason to call him cruel or merciless in his future.

"I'll let you know if I do," Drift promises, and his face lightens slightly, the frown evaporating. "And take it easy, friend. Rest is good for the soul as well as the body -- and I can tell you carry a weight on your shoulders."

God, Drift, shut up before you wedge your own foot firmly down your throat.

[warcorrespondent]

"My soul can deal with it." There's some wry amusement in his tone. "I've rested already anyways and anymore isn't going to help me get my knee in order."

Honestly, Aftermath had weirder friends than Drift. He was fairly forgiving with any foot-in-mouth action. It was the, sometimes unfortunate, side-effect of being a people person; you learn to deal with all kinds of weirdness.

It'd been a learned sort of patience for an initially xenophobic war machine, but once he'd pulled his head out of his aft, well. It'd been quite worth it.