Skylar and the Scrap-Rats

’Before time began, there was the war - a war that ravaged our planet until it was all but consumed by death, and peace was a pipedream, lost to the far reaches of space. We scattered across the galaxy, and prayed to our God, Primus, for some divine intervention to rebuild our home, searching every star, every world, for some glimmer of hope. And just when all hope seemed lost, it took the deaths of our most valiant warriors to finally realise that dream of peace.

But we were already too late.

War seems to be the only real connection between us - destroying things we don’t understand, or those who do not conform to our ideal. The bold move made by Soundwave and Prowl in tearing their badges in half and exchanging them, symbolising a united cause and the need to be united in order to rebuild our world was possibly the single most important act that we could have ever hoped would happen. The notion that we were both fighting for the same outcome was utterly mind-blowing. The only difference between us was the method the two factions employed to achieve the peace we all so desperately wanted.

With this new-found peace, others still opposed it. Whether it was the change of leadership they objected to, or the ideals of these two logical beings, who’s to say. All we know is that a faction of rogue Cybertronians, both Autobot and Decepticon, rose from the ideals of peace and declared war once more.

It seemed like a never-ending cycle.

With the rise of the Autocons, came new threats to “New Cybertron”. We’ve yet to identify an actual leader, but we have managed to identify some of the higher-ranking commanders; namely Dropkick, Scorpionok and Overlord.

We fear there are many, many others.

But whether they are all former Decepticons or not, it seems clear to us, due to their nature, that they carry the ideals of Megatron and Galvatron to unite the universe through violence and brutality, forcing every other race to submit to their rule or be destroyed.

Even the emotionally deficient Soundwave has expressed concern at their behaviour and employed some decidedly Decepticon tactics when it comes to dealing with this new threat. Our own logical leader, Prowl, has even approved of these tactics on more than one occasion - giving rise to the numerous teams of scavengers, thieves and mercenaries such as the Junkers or the Hunters, who venture out on various, and often dangerous, missions to retrieve artefacts, protect planets or even assassinate prominent figures in the new rebellion.

There was a time when the Humans from the planet Earth feared us, set out to destroy us and rejected us because they did not understand what we were trying to achieve, or the fact that we’re simply different to them. Now that the majority of our universe have set aside their differences and embraced the notion of universal peace, there are still many more races out there, whether they are Autocon, Quintesson or their ilk, who would rather see all Cybertronians and their allies wiped off the face of the universe because of those same differences that had us at war with each other for all those untold millenia...’

Fascinating, yawned the young red, orange and white robot. He bore no insignia but had the parts of a red sports car haphazardly bolted to his back. The left side of his head looked different to the right, with a grey plate surrounding his blue optics and a small horn sweeping backwards from his ear. Upon his chest was a gold and silver engine block. He was seated in an auditorium with several other assorted robots, both male and female. Some looked as if they had various vehicle parts bolted to them, while others had animal parts or even metallic animal parts.

‘...not keeping you awake, am I, Speedbreaker...?’ asked a huge robot who looked like he was made from several different robots, hastily bolted together. His legs were two halves of a cylindrical yellow rocket, but the upper half of his torso resembled some sort of green camouflage truck with a huge split-screen window as his chest. The left window had a strange two-faced badge upon it; the left side being red, and the right side being purple and more angular. Neither of his arms matched, and his green head was almost square which framed bands of bronze that served as his face. A pair of glowing yellow optics peered out from between the third and fifth bands of his “face”, and the second band flashed between bronze and black when he spoke.

‘No, no, of course not, Outrigger...’ gushed Speedbreaker, ‘...but I’ve heard all of this before’.

This earned a snigger from a few of the robots.

Outrigger sighed a deep rumbling sigh. These youngsters were a pain in his chassis, but this one in particular was more of a pain than the rest.

’I know you have...’ growled Outrigger, ’...but I asked for you to come and see me in the briefing room; this is the Lecture Hall...’.

With clear embarrassment, Speedbreaker stood and walked towards the small room set aside to the left of the main stage, followed by the ancient Outrigger, much to the amusement of the other patrons in attendance.

’What’s he doing here...?’ cried Speedbreaker with exasperation, as he walked into the room and spied a large red and white robot who resembled a malformed jet ginning at him, ’...I hope I’m not teaming up with those guys...’.

’I have other matters to discuss with the Hunters...’ commented Outrigger, closing the door behind him, ‘...Prowl needs to retrieve something from Heltose Minor. Do you think your team can handle it?’.

It was less of a question, more of a statement.

‘My team can handle anything...’ replied Speedbreaker, ‘...they’re professional salvage experts’.

’More like “scrap-rats” ...’ chipped in the red jet with biting sarcasm.

‘Cool it, Strafe...’ warned Outrigger, ‘...that tone is not welcome here’.

’At least my “Scrap-Rats” always make it back...’ taunted Speedbreaker.

Strafe scowled at the hot-rod and started to jump up, but one look from Outrigger made him stay where he was.

‘Now, boys...’ the huge veteran growled, ’...that’s enough! Speedbreaker, report to Brawn in hangar five for details of your assignment. Strafe, Ironhide wants to see you, to discuss what happened to your team this time...’.

Speedbreaker couldn’t help shooting a manic grin at Strafe.

‘Good luck with that one, buddy...’ he mocked.

Ironhide was the meanest, grumpiest, and oldest robot still active.

And he was the scariest.

Tales of him and his fight with the awesome Galvatron were legendary; especially when Ironhide tore the Decepticon Warlord’s head off with his bare hands. There were rumours that this act instigated the talks that eventually led to the truce.

But they were mostly just rumours.

With a laugh that he could barely contain, Speedbreaker left the briefing room to go and find Brawn.

*

Brawn was in the hangar attending to an aged console. He was a short, heavy-set green robot, with a yellow torso and the various remnants of a jeep bolted to his body; indeed, his upper arms and lower legs were just wheel arches with thick, black wheels set into them. His massive silver forearms ended with equally intimidating silver hands, fingers dancing across the keyboard with surprising grace for a robot of his size and strength. Green optics within his grey, domed head scanned the various images that flashed up on the console with unnerving speed.

He did not look happy.

He never looked happy.

‘Still need a name for the roster...’ he growled, '... “Team Speed” sounds... well... stupid’.

'How about, “Team; Who Cares” ...?’ mocked a slim female robot. She was around eighteen feet tall and mostly purple with hints of black. A dark grey helmet with a pair of red-lensed goggles sat upon them, framed her soft, silver face and a pair of sparking green optics shone out from under the helmet brim. The wheel and fairings bolted to her back, as well as the two halves of another wheel upon either side of her breasts suggested she transformed into a motorcycle of some sort, and her lower legs resembled black high-heeled knee-high boots.

Brawn simply scowled at her.

‘Why...?’ piped up a small gold and black robot. He seemed to have an engine block bolted to his back and two long gun barrels running down the entirety of his back.

‘Why, what...?’ growled Brawn.

‘Team name...’ came the reply, ‘...why bother...?’.

‘So, they know what to write on our graves, Stalker...’ came the reply from a black and white robot almost as tall as the female... almost. His olive-green forearms resembled engine pods and he had a malformed cockpit serving as his chest. The folded rotor blades of a helicopter were fixed upon his left arm and there seemed to be the remnants of the tail rotor blades and fairings as a gun strapped to his right leg.

'That’s how I like my explanations; hard, fast... and morbid...’ quipped the female.

‘Well, I used to be in the recap business, and that précis did not take any prisoners. It was like being beaten to death with a “Story So Far” ...’.

'You mean like a “summary” execution...?’ the female grinned.

The other robot stared at her, unamused.

‘Why are we friends, Skylar?’.

‘Because the universe hates winners, Reaper...’ chimed in Speedbreaker, strolling into the hangar, ’...well hello there...’ he said, spying the slim form of Skylar, ’...you must be my parking ticket! ’Cuz you’ve got “fine” written all over you!’.

Skylar stared at him, unamused. He was at least a foot taller than her.

‘Speedbreaker...’ started Brawn, without looking up from what he was doing, ‘...meet your new medic, Skylar. Skylar, that shiny piece of nonsense is Speedbreaker, your new CO...’.

‘Are you programmed to be a moron, or did you have to practice...?’ she scowled at Speedbreaker.

‘Anyway... speaking of which...’ Speedbreaker paused to look at a giant blue robot seated by himself. He seemed to have the bonnet of a sports car as his chest, the rear halves of the car seemed to make up the lower half of his legs with the rear windscreen as his shins and the doors were visible as “wings” upon his back. He had smaller gold wings forming a crest upon his head, and he seemed to be preoccupied with a colouring book, ‘...how’s Wheelspin holding up...?’.

At the mention of his name, the giant looked up and grinned a child-like grin, before resuming his task.

‘I’d say pretty well...’ answered Stalker, ‘...considering...’.

‘Considering what...?’ asked Speedbreaker, with an impatient tone.

‘Considering, we have no idea why we have been assembled here...’ retorted Reaper.

‘Well...’ started Speedbreaker, gesturing to Brawn, ‘...that’s where my old friend Brawn comes into it...’.

‘One; I’m not your friend...’ growled Brawn, ‘...and two; less of the “old”. It’s something you can only pray to Primus to be...’.

‘Why are we here, again...?’ asked Speedbreaker.

'Prowl is in need of your... unique talents...’ Brawn replied.

‘Now look here...’ started Skylar with indignation, ‘...I cannot be summoned like some mindless drone whenever Prowl snaps his fingers...!’.

‘Evidently, you can...’ replied Brawn with a smirk.

‘So, what does our illustrious leader want with us this time...?’ mocked Reaper, ‘...has he dropped a bolt somewhere and he can’t be bothered to find it himself...?’.

‘Something like that...’ scowled Brawn, ignoring the obvious sarcasm, ‘...ever heard of Heltose Minor...?’.

‘Dead space...’ a deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind Wheelspin. The assembled robots turned to the owner of the voice.

'Care to elaborate...?’ asked Skylar. The owner of the voice slowly stood up. He was a large, stocky robot, about the same height as Reaper. Much of his dark-red parts suggested some form of vehicle, a jeep possibly? He had thick powerful-looking forearms ending in large silver fists and he had silver horns protruding from his red helm. A large skull was emblazoned upon his chest and the tired look in the yellow optics embedded in his silver face hinted that he’d “been there - done that”.

‘During the early stages of the war...’ started the diminutive Stalker. Speedbreaker sighed and rolled his optics, '...the DjD were on a “search and destroy” mission when we arrived at the Heltose system. We were hunting for a rogue Decepticon on Heltose Major when we stumbled into a junkyard. We’d woken something up and lost most of the DjD. Only Tarn, “Double-D” and I survived to see the planet destroyed by Vector Prime’s orbital bombardment. Now, there’s only us left’.

‘Wow...!’ breathed Reaper, ‘...so what was it you woke up...?’.

‘Never did see what it was...’ replied Dirt-Devil, ‘...only heard the screams’

'And you want us to go there...?’ cried Speedbreaker, turning back to Brawn with alarm, ‘...have you got a couple of screws loose?’.

'That was Heltose Major...’ started Brawn, '...you’re being sent to Heltose Minor. Totally different. I’m sure of it’.

‘But what if it’s another junkyard...?’ panicked Reaper, ‘...are there not warning signs? I vote to avoid this one!’.

‘Why don’t we check it out anyway...?’ said Skylar with enthusiasm, '...every culture has some spooky taboo about junkyards, the warning signs aren’t going to be about anything serious, right...?’.

She looked around with a silly grin on her face at the others for support.

They all looked at her with dour expressions.

‘That’s the spirit...!’ exclaimed Speedbreaker, '...you see, Brawn; the “Scrap-Rats” never back down from a challenge...’.

'Scrap-Rats...?’ echoed Brawn with approval, ‘...I like it...’ his fingers danced across the keys as he changed “Team Speed” to “Scrap-Rats” on the roster, '...big improvement on “Team Speed” ...’ he mocked, almost to himself, then, looking up, '...the Fallen Star is prepped for your departure. You’ll be there in approximately seventeen to eighteen cycles...’

‘So, what are we risking our sparks for this time...?’ asked Stalker, ‘...a missing Autobot? Decepticon? Black box recorder...?’.

‘Oooh, so close...’ mocked Brawn, ‘...Matrix Cube...’.

‘A Matrix Cube...?’ echoed Skylar, with excitement.

‘What in the name of Prim-’ started Stalker. But Skylar cut him off.

‘A Matrix Cube is an extremely rare piece of tech...’ she started, ‘...it’s said to be able to store a spark just before a robot has been deactivated and can be used to transfer that spark to another protoform and bring it back to life!’.

‘Great! So why don’t we just teleport there...?’ asked Speedbreaker, ‘...wouldn’t it be quicker...?’.

‘Bear in mind that Heltose Minor is over forty-thousand light years away...’ replied Reaper, ‘...projecting over that sort of distance is likely to result in a rather disagreeable sensory experience...’.

'Might this type of sensory experience be better described as “pain”...?’ asked Skylar.

'Pain, agony, torment, take your pick. Plus, there’s a slight risk of (cough, cough)’.

'A slight risk of what...?’.

‘Excuse me...?’.

‘Just then, you said there was a slight risk of...?’.

‘...of feedback-induced spark-burnout’.

‘Death, in other words...’ spat Skylar with disgust, '...a slight risk of death’.