Torn From Memory

Summary: In 2027, Decepticon Seeker Fleet, while on a scouting mission, crashed onto the planet Alkor Zephyr and was not heard from again for two years. This is the story of what happened in between.

Dead Universe

''Everywhere is dead. Red rocky outcrops spread as far as the eye can see, and above, there is no sky, no space, only a bloody red expanse. Flames flicker on random ridges with nothing obvious burning. And yet there are signs of life. Huge, Transformer-sized footprints litter the dusty windless plains, and the still atmosphere is tense with... something.''

Where is this? When is this? The landscape seems to stretch on forever, red and barren and full of fire and brimstone and ash, almost like the Pit itself. This is certainly not the planet Zephyr, nor a planet anywhere recognisable in the system. But what will Fleet recognise as he awakens? He will find himself chained to a large metal cross that has been erected in the centre of one of the plains, and there is the clanking sound of metal and flames, just out of sight.

And Fleet awakens. Red optics flare show fragile-dim light, then flare brighter as he jolts more fully online. Those optics widen as his mouth opens in shock and confusion that quickly turns to fear... but not panic. Panic is not conducive to survival. The Seeker examines the landscape, the red repainting his pale yellow a sickly orange. He starts to pull himself upward, then finds he's been chained to a... is that a cross? Fleet frowns, and there's a slight tremble to his movements, but he keeps his head. One thing at a time... the Seeker begins testing the chains, the action more methodical than the trembling should allow for as he searches for weakness. First the bonds. No worries beyond that.

The bonds are strong, but not invincible. They seem to be designed more to keep an unconscious being upright than imprison them forever. As the chains clank in the empty atmosphere, a voice directly behind Fleet booms into life, rich and deep and powerful. "So, you awaken, child of Sigma" it echoes loudly around the landscape. Then it falls silent again, and the windless plain becomes devoid of noise.

As the voice speaks, Fleet freezes, optics once more locked wide in fear. Then he starts moving again, considering his options. Whatever it is, it's watching him. It doesn't seem to have objected to his examinations of the chains, however. He continues to look for weaknesses in his bonds. He attempts to withdraw his hand into his arm, a move necessary to transformation, to try to just shake the bond off - we'll see if his transformation systems are still functional. Still, not to be rude, he answers the voice, his own voice calmer than it should be, given the trembling in his wings. "I do."

Fleet will find his transformation systems still functional, but obviously still damaged from the rather nasty crash. Behind the seeker, from the back of the cross, the voice booms again, and there are heavy footsteps, as if a figure is walking. The sound crunches loudly as small rocks are broken into dust underfoot. The voice, when it comes is loud, sharp and to the point. "Your name!" it questions. "Your designation. And tell me, tell me of /Cybertron/"

The Seeker winces and emits a small, involuntary cry in pain as his hand is retracted, but it gets him one step closer to shaking off these bonds. He stops to search, looking for the figure. The situation is frightening, but for now, he's more frightened of the consequences of telling the wrong person the wrong thing. Still, the first two questions are fairly harmless.

"I am Fleet, Seeker and Scout. As for the last..." Right shoulder and wing shrug in just the right way to wriggle the chains a bit closer to off. "Not much to tell. We've blasted the world to blazes in the war, and now we fight over the scraps." This much, at least, is common outsider opinion. Fleet's own opinions, he keeps to himself.

The figure stays out of sight for the moment, still standing behind Fleet, so close now that a roar of internal engines, low but powerful can be heard. "Tell me Fleet, Seeker and Scout" the voice booms again. "Tell me of the war and its course. Tell me of the battle between Autobot and Decepticon. Tell me about Straxus." Silence dawns again, with only the soft clanking of chains and crackling of nearby flames.

"It's course? Circular. Or maybe like a sine. Back and forth and forth and back and no end in sight." But they've come so close... SO CLOSE... so many times in these last few decades. Perhaps the war itself is in its last century. "Straxus? If I hear his name, it's as an oath. All that's left of him is legends."

And it is now that the Seeker works his right arm free of the bonds. He freezes, not even returning his hand to its proper position, to see what reaction this move gets from the other. The voice behind Fleet gives a low growl of satisfaction as Fleet talks. The crunching on the ground increases as the figure moves, starting to circle Fleet. Still behind him, from the very edge of vision there is the flash of a black arm, and then it pulls back from view again. "You are dying Fleet, do you realise this? You are dead, and you have come here to this place to be reborn. Reborn to END the war that has raged for so long. Does that idea PLEASE you?"

Okay. So the strange voice on the dead world is a crazy mechanoid. That's... not good. He returns his hand to position, moaning softly as he does. So much pain - something so simple shouldn't hurt so much. Just how extensive are his injuries?

Something to worry when not chained up by the crazy person.

Fleet's motions become a little more frantic as he tries to pull the chains off of his other arm. "I can't say that I much believe it." More likely, whatever this other has planned will end with Fleet being simply *dead*, none of this 'reborn' stuff. "But dying and dead are not the same thing - there's a very long distance between them. My name was a prediction of lifespan." He looks down at his right leg. Badly twisted. How will he get away with that? Then plucks a shard of metal off one of the more splintered sections, murmuring, "Vastly inaccurate."

In the distance, far, far in the horizon, a figure appears, black against the bloody sky, body and robotic. And then another. And another. Until as far as the eye can see are figures, all distance, all standing still as if watching Fleet.

"Indeed Fleet" the voice echoes as the figure strides slowly around the side of the cross and finally comes into Fleet's field of vision. It is a nightmare of metal, black and ancient, flames flickering over its mighty frame. But the optics are the worst thing. They literally burn, inset into the emotionless, grated face.

Slowly, it raises a gauntleted hand towards Fleet. "But I will MAKE you believe."

The Fallen has HIDDEN-connected.

The Fallen

''The Fallen is a Cybertronian of bulk. Every facet of his form is made from a wrought metal, black and dusky. Perhaps it could be said that his body is built from out-moded technology. Certainly it looks like it, with a functional elegance to his design. However within him lies a raw power, a body built for absolute war. He is covered in small slots, which almost like a furnace have a glowing orange light radiating from within. His head itself is covered in an imposing helmet, with a grate-like faceplate over most of it, with just baleful yellow optics peering out. But the most unusual thing about this mech is that bright orange flames flicker over his body at all times, as if something from the Pit itself.''

Sometimes, people might describe a Decepticon's gaze as burning. But that is merely a fanciful representation of the red light. The terrified red lights in Fleet's face look upon the literal burn in the other face, and the Seeker gives a frightened cry as he pushes himself against the cross - and then he cries again as the action moves his damaged leg in a manner it was not meant to be moved. For a moment, the sensible coward gives way to just the coward, and Fleet shivers against the cross that is once more the only thing keeping him upright.

Fleet once imagined he would never betray his Decepticon leaders, because he could never imagine anything that frightened him more than the idea of angering them overmuch.

Fleet may now have to revise that sentiment.

The Fallen moves a huge hand towards Fleet's chin, and his touch, if Fleet stays still enough, burns. "We have been in this place for ten million years Fleet, ever since the end of the war. Ever since Straxus. We waited in the darkness, growing in power until the time was right." His burning optics grow even brighter. "Forget your 'Autobots'. Forget your 'Decepticons'. There is only us Fleet, and WE can end it all. Together." His voice trails off, it is not phrased as an invitation.

At first, Fleet is frozen with fear, but the burning from the Fallen's touch melts through that, and he jerks his head back a little - but there he doesn't have very far he can flee to at all. "I... I..." He tilts his head up, once more forcing his horrified gaze on the flame-licked black creature before him. "What are you?!" he cries in terror. Not who. This thing in front of him seems more force than person. What.

The reply, as it comes, is simple. "I AM FALLEN" the being proclaims, as if a mantra, his grip tightening on Fleet somewhat. With a clanking, more robots of a similar design slowly move towards the two, but The Fallen is by far the largest, most powerful. The others keep a respectful distance, burning in silence.

"I am fallen, and so are you" he intones. "Look into my optics Fleet. Look into the future." Two robots move forwards, both carrying some very painful looking cutting devices.

"The master has granted you mercy in his divine wisdom" The Fallen booms. "You will return to the overworld, you will wait, and you will forget. And then when the time is right, you will do HIS bidding."

Fleet tries to resist. He does! But though the Seeker is clever, and though he's become expert at using his own fear as a weapon, his most powerful instinct is his survival instinct, and it demands that this voice, those eyes, must be obeyed. Trembling, Fleet looks up into the Fallen's sockets, his face a close-mouth mask of terror. Out of the corner of his visual field he can spy the two others moving forward, but there is little he can do in response beyond shiver once more.

The Fallen continues to hold Fleet's face as he raises his other hand. At this gesture, two of the mechanoids moves up silently to Fleet, tools at the ready, and without application of anaesthetic or preparation, begin to disassemble Fleet's chest. There is no respite, no care, just sheer functionality as weapons systems are stripped, units installed. And throughout this, The Fallen continues to bore his gaze into Fleet.

"Tell me" he speaks. "Tell me of the Matrix Bearer. Tell me who leads. Tell me all"

There is no doubt now that this creature terrifies Fleet far more than Galvatron ever could, and so, in his terror, the Seeker works to obey, even as his body is being torn apart and changed around him.

"Ro-ro-ro-rodimus Prime," he gasps out around his pain. "The first battle of Unicron... I don't have the details, I was busy with the fight on planet, but he used the Matrix to destroy Unicron. Destroy his body. Worse than Optimus - many don't think so, but against Optimus, we *had* Cybertron! We *had* it! But we've not managed to hold it since Rodimus. Crawled back from exile, retook parts of Cybertron and Earth, but we rarely manage as close to victory now as we were then, before Unicron and Rodimus, and we can't hold it."

"Do you think I CARE about your petty power struggles?" The Fallen echos. Around him, the two technicians bustle with Fleet. Though they may look archaic, their technology is advanced. Very advanced. "The Autobots are weak, they will fall. Tell me of Straxus' heir." His free fist clenches somewhat as he mentions the name. "Tell me, and soon you will fight for a purer goal. And Cybertron will be ours, or it will /burn/"

But he asked about the Matrix bearer! And "all" is a pretty vague request! But Fleet does not protest this. That much uncommon sense remains to him.

"Galvatron?" Fleet gasps. "Megatron remade by Unicron. Goes through... phases of stability." He shudders. "Not much to tell," at least not much that doesn't involve delving into 'petty power struggles.' "I try to avoid his attention."

"Galvatron" The Fallen speaks the name slowly, rolling it about as his men work on Fleet. Then he speaks again. "Your body has been repaired Fleet. You will rest on the planet Zephyr in the oververse until such time as you are needed. Then you will act for us, you will watch, you will sabotage, you will betray your friends and your superiors and /weaken/ them for HIS coming." All the robots surrounding the figures suddenly fall to their knees. Only The Fallen remains standing, his hand gripping Fleet's face more strongly than before.

"He is HERE" he says simply, powerfully. "Do not turn around. Look at him and you will DIE"

Fleet's face is being gripped! It would be difficult for him to turn around even if he wanted to... and he does not want to. Things that cause Fleet to die when the Seeker sees them are high on his list of what to avoid. So instead, he continues to look up at the Fallen, to watch for any sign, any explanation in that masked face and those burning eyes, his body still trembling just slightly in spite of its repairs.

There is no explanation forthcoming. But the humming behind Fleet grows louder, and wisps of a yellowish, sparkling light curl around the Seeker, pushing into Fleet's chest, towards his lasercore. The Fallen watches this reverantly. "You Fleet, will be the first of many. When it is time, you will bring us more, and soon our position will be unassailable. A legion of Reavers to pave the way for HIS return."

And then, perhaps, Fleet will remember no more...

The Seeker tenses upright, frozen in place as this outside force enters... changes... and then, like a puppet whose strings has been cut, he droops, held up only by the hand on his chin and the iron cross to his back. He says nothing. There is nothing to say. There is only obedience and, for now, forgetfulness.