AU: Her Name is Tomorrow

Log Title: Her Name Is Tomorrow Characters: Elita One Megatron Stormfront Skyfire Dreadwind Tomorrow Location:The New Rust Desert Date:The End of the War TP:Apocalpyse Universe Summary: In order to cross the great Rust Desert, Energon is the first requirement, and the blind prophet Elita One knows where to find some... As logged by  Elita One

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRININJJodM

The world is quiet.

Occasionally, scavengers move in the carrion of the world, but even they stick to the shadows. The world here is but rust and dunes, underneath a like colored sky. A mountainous ruin lays against the New Rust Desert, a large tapering triangle that slowly reveals itself to be the remains of the dread Trypticon itself, a massive broken blade impaled upon the cityformer's torso.

In the shade of Trypticon and another's form, a small crew trek across the lifeless planet.

It would be quiet...if the blind seer would stop talking.

Elita One had been greviously injured some time ago, half of her body shorn completely off. Unable to receive proper parts, she has the most bare and rudimentary arm and leg to support her. A large rod extends from her framework shin and lower leg, upward towards her arm...her walking stick.

Currently, she's still rambling, going on about the endless war, eons ago

"...are attacking. We must scuttle Moon Base 23...There is no other way. Withdraw all troops, and hurry." For missing half of her body, Elita One is the least hampered by this desert exodus. She continues speaking as the crew passes by an enormous Cityformer sized hand.

The blind seer looks back towards Tomorrow and Dreadwind. "We will have to burn brighter. Burn Bright, Metroplex. And then...in the shadows of home, there lies the enemy. The Enemy. Confront him on the path to Optimus."

Her eye flickers for just a moment, as generally happens before she snaps back to the present. "Optimus. When we get to him, only then will she be safe."

Again the heroes tread further, another quarter mile, as features of the other figure emerge, a Seeker's body, complete with a rusting Decepticon brand. Impassively, the face of Starscream looks down on the group, no doubt judging them from his quiet tomb, still locked in battle with Trypticon at the end.

Elita One stops before a rise in the dunes, "And ahead...I see it ahead. Energon. Held within the ranks of the Junk, still. They repair it, the converter, they know how. So precious to them, a last pure source of fuel...Delicately, they tend to it. Which is why we must go to them." Her left eye flickers again as she turns around, speaking possibly to Starscream's corpse. "The protoform cannot live without fresh Energon, not like we can. If we are ever to have any hope, we must reclaim it from them."

The silence is also interrupted occasionally as the beacon transmitters of a few fallen Autobots and Decepticons chirp. Distress signals. But signals of those who tried to escape the brutal rust deserts, but failed. One of the fallen is partially covered by the rusty sand. Jetfire, once a model of sophistication and technical marvel - now has the majority of his armored paneling eaten away by the sometimes violent, freak storms.

The hood folds forward forming the chestplate with arms expanding out, tailend folds back with legs expanding downward. Junkion Horde> The hood folds forward forming the chestplate with arms expanding out, tailend folds back with legs expanding downward.

The low growl can barely be perceived over the harsh landscape. But the soft footfalls are excentuated with clicks of long fierce claws. Wind vibrates the spiked mane of the beast following the straggling transformers. A howl is suddenly heard riding the winds the wind around the fallen bodies of foes frozen in death's unending grip. It echos, making the exact direction uncertain. Then another howl can be heard this time closer undoubtedly. Another growl, rising, vibrating the metal of the fallen. Then silence.

Dreadwind is limping along several steps behind Elita One. He moves with a surprisingly normal - albeit trudging - gait, but the grinding of servos betray his true state. In truth, he doesn't feel the pain that his aged and degraded systems are in. His diagnostics gave up warning him centuries ago. "I'm loathe to say it, but it's a shame Darkwing isn't here. He'd love how bleak it's all become... and hate it, of course. But who wouldn't?" He glances over at the protoform, Tomorrow. There's a shift in the rats' nest of exposed framework and wiring where his faceplate used to be as the howling echoes around them. "I suppose the Junks will want to eat us or something?" "Scavengers....yes." Elita One remarks as she continues her trudge, "And yet we are not alone. We are strong." A smile that can only be described as mischevious flashes across her half-face. "You burn bright, Dreadwind. Because you made a choice. THE choice worth doing." Her skeletal hand firmly gripped against her walking stick/ lower leg, she continues upward, until the crest of the dune. "We are not alone."

Tomorrow has yet to speak, but her motor skills are working well enough. Her bright blue eyes keep looking about at everything, not understanding fear, nor apprehension. Everything is new, and a wonder to her.

The blind one raises her staff, which...raises her leg too, as she points forwards, "Behold, Dreadwind. Our quarry approaches." She points towards endless dunes. That said if she were pointing 45 degrees to the right, she'd be pointing at the Junk sand crawler that rests atop a further hill. "The solar collector is there. We must claim it, Dreadwind." She turns around, her skeletal foot sinking into the rust, "Do you have the courage to confront your foes? They will not barter, they will not speak, they will simply assualt." Her tone finally drops from that annoying cheer to something more somber, "We must fight, and there are those that must die today. And fight, I cannot. I burn too brightly." Standing with one shoulder forward, she manages something of a regal pose as she was known for back then, "You will not be alone, Dreadwind. You have allies yet. I see them, among the waste, within the light."

Jetfire 's body has been in this region for about 38 years. His energy demands remain high, his internal systems remain as sophisticated as they ever were - and as prone to breakdown as they were thousands of years ago. However, his overall systems remain surprisingly intact, thankfully he was not the victim of scavengers.

A hideous shriek rips through the sand as a many legged thing with a large mouth and spikes bursts forth. It's intended prey being the two travelers. But a black and silver blur slams into the beast, knocking it away. Energon blossoms from the monster's head as a spear almost seems to magically appear in the creature's head. It's hind end dances in its final death throws. A large black and silver canine holds its prey down and the bearer of the spear seems to just appear. The mech has his joints and head wrapped in some sort of woven fabric that is a shade darker than the rust filled sand. A cloak, also sand colored also helps to cover its bearer. The mech however rushes directly to the monster, knee pressing down on the monster's head before wipping out a canteen and begin gathering the precious energon spilling into the sand. Odd Glyphs decorate his form. But most obvious is a small tornado with a evil grin that decorates his limbs. He speaks, using an older dialect of Cybertron. "<>" He stares at Dreadwind a moment before looking at the canine, "Tracker, hold."

Elita One had her back turned, when the Datalion moved to strike. There's a shriek of noise, and she lowers her head in bemusement, both hands cluching her stick. <> She turns after a moment to regard Stormfront with her nulled optics, still trying to maintain that queenly posture. "We seek absolution." Her good arm extends out towards Dreadwind, "And Dreadwind has proclaimed himself the defender of this 'Tomorrow'." She tilts her head a little, and says with more than a bit of pride, "He is a most expectional mech...and speaking of such people. We have more to see, there are others to burn brightly this day..."

Elita One descends down the dune, out of view, carelessly perhaps, but she knows of exactly where to go. She's seen this day before, after all. Sixty yalms from the dune's crest, Elita stops before a rust-covered form. "Some thrive in these wastes. Others die." She taps at the form of Jetfire, as if to rouse him, "Come, Jetfire, shake the rust from your joints. We must burn bright this day."

Elita One calls back behind her, "He does not respond so easily...We waste away in this life."

Tomorrow regards the canine and the hunter for several moments, then warily moves a bit behind Dreadwind.

Dreadwind joins Elita atop the dune and surveys the scene with unmistakable dismay. As she continues talking, his gaze shifts slowly toward her, bathing her in skepticism and despair. "So, in summary, we're doomed." He sighs and pulls the right wing from his back, threading his arm through a gaping hole and gripping a piece of the airframe, and lifting it like a makeshift shield. "I don't suppose asking nicely will-" He's cut off by the shriek of the datalion, and the impressive slaying thereof. His optics flicker at the brief exchange between Stormfront and Elita and when she moves, he goes with. He looks over the robed mech's form, optics flicking between his shield and Stormfront's spear. "I don't imagine you have a spare one of those?"

Stormfront bears his face and shakes his head. Dark nearly violet optics flash and the mech grins. "Perhaps if you learned to ask nicely and bring gifts, more would be willing to rise to the occasion." He looks at the container he just collected and sighs, adding in older dialect, "<>" He hops up to where he can add the fuel and pours what he collected in. He slaps the jet before jumping off, "RISE AND SHINE!" Tracker in the meantime has wandered over to Dreadwind and is sniffing the mech's feet and trying to sniff Tomorrow.

Jetfire 's optics faintly glow back to their fire-engine red color. Jetfire gasps, and nearly 40 years of inactivity squeaks to live as a few of his corroded joints finally move. "Ohhh.....Wha..>What?"

Dreadwind peers down at the dog as it sniffs at him, waiting to see if it will try to rip his leg off. He debates letting it. However, it doesn't seem to be interested and he watches it a bit more closely as it moves over to Tomorrow. His optics scan the area for a makeshift weapon, and they settle on the datalion. "When in Polyhex, do as the Polyhedrons do..." While the Autobots have their reunion, he starts pulling off the beast's claws and wedging then into the metal of his right hand, augmenting his knuckles.

Tracker rises his head and wuffs. His metallic hackles vibrate as the canine turns around in a circle. Stormfront himself places his spear on the ground and raises his hands up in the air despite there being nothing around. He looks at Dreadwind. "Keep your ward close and stand guard." He sighs and waits for the show. AU-Benjer has reconnected.

Jetfire steadies himself, still trying to get his bearings. He looks around, trying to get his bearings.

Benin-Jeri touches the side of his helmet, and mutters, "Showtime, Synergy!" With that, he transforms into an ugly chrome chopper. Junkion Horde> Benin-Jeri touches the side of his helmet, and mutters, "Showtime, Synergy!" With that, he transforms into an ugly chrome chopper.

Elita One had let everyone meet up properly, things were as they needed to be. Of course, she had let it be known that she was no fighter anymore. "Very well then." She replies to Stormfront, and pivots towards where Dreadwind and Tomorrow stand, out in open space. She scans the horizon, looking for the same signs that Tracker had noted. "This is not where we must be, the prize is within the home." Her words are a soft mutter, a counsel to the group. "We cannot achieve victory like so, and time is burning out. Strands of fate disappear before my gaze..."

Tomorrow looks up to her as she stands near Dreadwind, covering his back, for what good it is. Sensing the hostility in the air, Tomorrow silently follows the others gaze to the far dune rises...

Dreadwind sighs heavily as the tension mounts and a confrontation grows ever more imminent. "Not that the location of my demise is of particular importance, but I think Tomorrow might stand a better chance somewhere other than in the middle of a literal killing field." He sticks close by the protoform, urging her to move closer to the rest of the group as his optics scan the area. He mutters as an aside to himself, "Probably the first time I actually wish Darkwing were here... We could knock out his leg and run for it while the Junkions ripped him apart...."

As is probably obvious by now, the Junkions are not unaware of the guests to their environs. Some are called in from outer regions; others detach from the Crawler and make their way gradually towards the small group of intruders. The Junkions spread out, slowly encircling their visitors. One, however, heads directly for the core group. The massive dirtbike climbs the sandy hill, its spiked wheels spinning in the debris. Once close enough to engage with Elita's little band, it transforms, drawing a massive armour axe from across its shoulders.

Stormfront hands out and fingers spread, he calls out, "Nanu Nanu, I come in peace.....Rai and Jiri at Lungha. Rai of Lowani. Lowani under two moons. Jiri of Ubaya. Ubaya of crossroads, at Lungha. Lungha, her sky gray" He gestures to those around him, especially to Darkwind and Elita and the new kid. He sweeps his from them and then includes himself in the gesture. "Darmok and Jalad on the ocean." A grin appears and as he looks at the large junkion. He then gestures to the dead critter, "From our house to yours."

Elita One manages a sly look towards Dreadwind. Fate, she mused, had proven to be very interesting of late. Still, she had her staff raised defensively before her, even as the Junk Reavers readied for the attack. "I do not think that you would." Her words still hinting at something she refuses to reveal, "And this entire journey will be exceedingly dangerous for all types of Tomorrow...so who better to have by her side than her own Guardian...Your choices now kindle the fabric of reality, light trickles beneath your feet and then, you will pull the switch, and force the great one to his feet, in service to your cause. For you, it is far too early to burn bright, not just yet."

Dreadwind shifts his weight to bring his shield up a little higher, optics focused on the approaching armor axe. "We could do with a little more burning at the moment, if you ask me... not that you did. No one ever does." This is the Guardian of Tomorrow? The future is a bleak place, indeed.

The desert Junk leader, Benjer, gives Stormfront a dark look. "Who have you brought us, Stormfront, and risked our affront? Are these people to eat?" he asks, raising his axe and holding it aggressively close to Stormfront's face, "Or are you trying to cheat?" At Stormfront's offer of the Old Language of Earth, Benjer turns and spits. The critter, however, gets his interest. He gets close enough to Stormfront that the Autobot can smell the oil in his breath. "What do you want that you would bring people here, knowing you may lose all you hold dear?" While Benjer engages the Autobots, his tribe of reavers slowly move in, displaying a disturbing level of curiosity towards Tomorrow.

Stormfront bows before Benjer, still not displaying any weapons. "A promise of a new day. The sun will come out tomorrow. A new hope. Return of the jedi." He then stands a little taller and frowns. "I did not plan to come this way, but saw them traveling toward your realm. I followed and recognized them. I ask for their safe passage. Other than that, I do not know what their plans are as your arrival came first." His optics turn to Elita.

The smirk fades from Elita One's face. "Stormfront..." She says softly, as if he had said the most perfect wrong thing. Elita One takes an awkward step back putting her right up against Tomorrow and Dreadwind. So be it. Perhaps she would have to burn bright. Elita intakes a deep breath, and her first word comes out in a clarion tone, as she may've done an age ago. "Benjer!" And that presence fades as she staggers, the weight of a long, long age finally starting to take its toll on her. "You know what we have. Therefore you know what we need. Do not mince words, and do not make me burn." She raises her head wearily, an iron rod to her tone, "That...is not meant for /you/." She turns slowly, a miserable wretch of a Best First, towards where she hears Benjer, her feet shuffling as she moves, "But so help me. I will do it, and the repercussion will be terrible."

Dreadwind references his internal diagnostics for the first time in days (in face, this first time since Tomorrow arrived.) His wrist-shooters aren't going to be much good, but they might put on a good spectacle if push comes to shove. He lifts a hand to help steady Elita without even thinking about it... and when he does, he's not certain why he did it. Hope is definitely not in his programming, and yet... "I've been saying for ages that we're all doomed, but... we don't all have to be." He angles his body and at a glance it looks like he's keeping his shield between himself and the Junkions, but in fact he's putting himself between them and the protoform as best he can.

Benjer's mismatched optics flick over Elita and Dreadwind. Traces of recognition flash behind the madness, but there are accompanied by neither malice nor warmth. He steps away from Stormwind, assessing first Elita, and then Dreadwind. "You sorry lot," he growls, unimpressed. Peering behind Dreadwind, however, something finally catches his optics. "Whatchu got?" he asks, raising his axe and attempting to push his way past Dreadwind. His tribe gathers closer.

When Elita calls Benjer out, however, he backs off, giving her crooked grin. "Your fire may burn," he says darkly, "But soon you'll learn your powers are weak and your future yet bleak. Challenge me in my domain, and you'll feel the pain where fury doth reign," he threatens. As his attention shifts, Dreadwind is able to successfully maneuver between Ben and Tomorrow, although the circle of Junkions continues to slowly encroach.

<> Elita One says, "this isn't the time. this isn't right."

A whistling sound crosses the air on the silent planet. Sparks fly from the top of the Junkion Sand Crawler, armor plates are thrown up into the sky as a ballistic shell explodes against it. Several more whistling shells echo in the sky, as the Sand Crawler shudders under an assault. Stormfront frowns at the whistling noise. Tracker growls softly but the canine doesn't leave Dreadwind and Tomorrow's side. He looks at Benjer and Elita. "Threatening isn't the best way ta make friends." The attacks start and he's taken by surprise. "Great...just great. Tracker, protect them!"

<> Elita One says, "Ah....there it is."

Elita One just stands there. She almost looks relieved by the interruption of ballistic shells raining down on the Sand Crawler. As the Junks and the Factionless all turn to investigate, she does not. "And so...he enters." And there at the Sand Crawer, upon the ridge were a series of tanks and technicals. A twelve-count of them, battering the Crawler with heavy shell fire at a slow load speed. He stood with them, his form partially covered by a tattered and ragged cape that covered one shoulder.

AU-Megatron has arrived.

AU-Megatron stares out over the rise at the billowing smoke and debris caused, and watches wordlessly. After several moments, he speaks finally, his words as coarse and rough as always. "Again."

Tank fire roars, buckling in the armor plating on the Crawler, several large sheets fall off in the resulting explosions. "Again!" He croaks hoarsely. "Bring it down....it offends me."

Without speaking to anyone directly, Elita One speaks up again, "We must save the generator. There is no victory here, not from him. Too many strands still connect him to victory. He /cannot/ have her."

Dreadwind is torn between the two objectives - protect Tomorrow, or get the generator. He sighs, shoulders sagging, "This is going to be a disaster..." Keeping his shield between them, he muscles past Benjer, "We only need one part of that Crawler. It was probably destroyed in the first volley. But I see only two options - hasten the inevitable, or wait to be next. And frankly, I've grownt tired of waiting." He starts moving with trudging determination toward the embattled Sand Crawler.

Almost as one, Benjer and his Junk Pack tense and look up, many raising their weapons and shields instinctively. As the attack commences, Ben gives Stormfront a quick questioning, accusatory look, before shaking his head. No. Threats aside, he still trusts his former mentee too much to blame him for this unprovoked attack. This is something else. As Tracker moves to protect the group, so does Benjer extend his amour axe, stepping between the others and the explosions. For now, his home is under attack, and his concerns with these others can wait.

"Wa-n'Da!" Ben calls out. "Longsight! Sever this blight!" Benjer gestures with his axe, and his tribe transform and tear down the hill, back towards the crawler. Ben looks surprised as Dreadwind joins the fray, and scans the horizon, looking for the source of the attack. But when he spots the villain behind the assault, even the insane Benjer gives pause. "I thought that they had lost their khan," Ben says quietly. "And yet, before me - Megatron."

Stormfront shakes his head, "Benjer get your people out of here...." He doesn't know what to do other than that. He was worried that Benjer would blame him. But he's got bigger fish to fry. He bows slightly to Benjer before running toward Dreadwind. "Elita, you might want ta start runnin too." Megatron. How many times must that mech pop up.