Forget Me Not: Part 1: Wrecks (Side 1)
Forget Me Not: A Three-part saga from the planet Cybertron
Part 1: Wrecks

We fall. They’ve just pushed us out of the transport, not caring where we land. The jagged piles of metal race upward, reaching out to impale us. We wonder if we should let them. We’ve been cast aside, left as junk. We are a failure that our creator would rather forget. We are worthless.

Defiance surges through us. Failure? Says who? Our power levels are very low – they haven’t fuelled us for days – but we have enough. Thrusters in our oversized feet ignite, deflecting us away from the towering wrecks. Unfortunately, with four boosters firing in different directions, we can’t exactly control our flight.

A wayward jumble of arms and legs, we rocket into an old fuelling rig, bounce away, rebound off a shattered freighter and plunge full tilt into a heap of old piping. Darkness engulfs us. We remember.

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“Energy levels constant. Structural integrity holding steady.”
The voice filtered into the cryo-unit, disturbing my slumber.
“Begin the procedure.”
A second voice, flat, emotionless, chilling.

The fluids drained away and I could see properly. The chamber was about five paces square, the walls coated in banks of equipment. I was standing in an alcove formed by the machinery, metal bands holding me in place. Opposite was what I at first thought was a mirror. But when my reflection moved when I didn’t, I realised that I was looking at another mech exactly like me held in an identical cell.

We were separated by a thin plate of glass. There seemed to be no entrance to the room and apart from my twin, I was alone. Something was pressed against the back of my head, some kind of interface. It suddenly came to life, flooding my processor with information.



“Computer uplink enabled.”
The voices drifted down through the haze of facts and figures.
“Upload completed.” A pause. “Preparing to energise hyperchargers.”
FAZZAM!
I screamed as energon flooded into my systems.
“Release the test units.”
In response to the cold command, the restraints retracted, leaving me to sprawl on the floor. Fresh agony blossomed into my skull as the data-feed was torn off.
“TEST UNITS WILL STAND.”
This time the voice was amplified, filling the chamber with noise.

I struggled upright. I’m not sure how I found the strength to get up but I managed it.
“FACE THE PARTITION.”
We both obeyed. The voice allowed no argument, mostly by being so loud.
“Remove partition.”
The glass slid down till it was flush with the deck. The two of us stared at each other, uncomprehending.
“TEST TRANSFORMATION UNITS.”
We did, turning into identical construction vehicles, then transforming back when ordered.
“BEGIN POWERLINX.”
Something changed inside us. A relay snapped shut. Parts of us began to reconfigure. Suddenly we were leaping at one another, not understanding what was happening.

We collided. Pain coursed through my body. Then doubled as another consciousness, another mind was linked with mine. Our bodies glowed brilliant green. There was a sickening sensation, followed by more suffering.

Then there was blackness.

Then there was blackness.

I was joined.

I was joined.

We were one.

We were one.

“Systems have fused, Shockwave sir. We’ll have to abort. Again.”
“Do so. Have that…failure sent to my laboratory. I will examine it. We may be able to do something with it.”
“Err…what if we can’t?”
“Then it will be disposed of.”

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We wake up.

It’s night. We’re lying on our backs, staring up at the distant flashes of aerial combat. Every part of us hurts. Getting up takes ages. Coordinating four legs and one and a half arms isn’t easy, even with two brains. Finally upright, we stumble across the desolation, no idea of what to do. At last we slump against a pile of refuse and try to think.

“What should we do now?” I ask.
“How should I know?” I retort, “We’re as good as dead so does it matter?”
“What’s that mean?”
“We’re stuck in the middle of a giant scrapheap, megaklicks from civilisation, with hardly any fuel left.”
“On the plus side, we’re alive and out of the Lab.”
“Yeah, great,” I snarl back, “We die free.”

“Look.” I point to the south. “If we carry on that way, we’ll reach…Protihex, I think.”
“So?”
“So, we should be able to find fuel there.”
“It’s ten megaklicks away! We’ll never make it!”
We sit in silence for a bit, looking forlornly at the shattered machinery.

I tap my foot thoughtfully.
“We could always head to the Autobot lines.”
“What!” I yell, “Are you insane? They’ll frag us!”
“Maybe not…” I scratch my chin. “What do you really want to do? Most in the world? Right now?”
“Right now?” I bare my dental strips. “Tear Shockwave into tiny bits, stamp on them then throw what’s left in the nearest black hole.” I waggle my useless left arm. “No chance of that though.”
“Well…there might be. We want Shockwave’s head…but right now we don’t even have a gun. The only way we can get one – the only way we can get anything – is to either scavenge, find our way back to Darkmount and steal…or get the Autobots to take us in, fix us up, give us weapons and let us blast as many ‘cons as we want.”
“They’d do that?”
“I think they might. If we convince them we’re worth it. We have info…they might want it. They might even be able to split us up again.”
“And they’d let us fight for ‘em?” I’m beginning to like the sound of this.
“Maybe. Let’s face it, they need all the mechs they can get.”

We mull the idea over.
“It’s better than sitting here an’ rusting,” I say.
“Right,” I nod.
We stand.
“Let’s do it.”

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The Autobot lines aren’t much to look at. The bit we’re approaching looks like a wall on a hill fronted with stacks of razor wire and the odd gun nest. So many holes have been smashed in the defences that it’s relatively easy for us to weave our way through them. Frankly, compared with our stumbling trek over klicks and klicks of shifting scrap, it’s a stroll.

We get to the troop-trench before anyone notices us. We guess that no one really bothers guarding a garbage tip. There’s one soldier, a stubby blue and grey mech with a bucket shaped head. He’s so gormless that we consider tapping him on the shoulder but decide it’ll be safer to call out a greeting.

“Hey! You!”
He jerks in surprise, nearly saluting as if he’s afraid we’re an officer or something.
“Wha…? Who the slag are you?” He lifts his long-barrelled rifle. “I mean, halt! Identify yourself! Err…yourselves!”

We must look like something out of a nightmare: two small mechs joined at the shoulder, one good right arm and one stub of a left arm between us, advancing into the light as if we own the place.

“We’re…Decepticon defectors. Where do we sign up?”
There’s another few ‘seconds of wordless mouth movement then he reaches for his communicator.
“This is Rumbler. I –” He stops as a stream of angry squawking assails our collective audios. “Um…s-sorry commander. Infantrymech Rumbler reporting from Trench Sector Seven Alpha. I have…captured a…two…Decep…some…that is, I have two…some mechanoids here who…well, sir, they want to…enlist. Sir.”

We wait impatiently, identical disarming grins plastered across our faces.

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They’ve locked us in a sterile room. It’s cold and bare, save for a bench and a desk, and brings back unpleasant memories of Darkmount. We huddle together on the bench, more than a little nervous. Autobots they may be but the ones we passed when they brought us in had damn big guns.

We can hear voices coming from somewhere nearby. It sounds like some kind of ceremony.
“Primus be praised… We call on you to lend your strength to our cause. We beseech you to grant us your wisdom in these troubled times. We implore you to intervene to halt our slide into wrack and ruin. As your humble children, this we beg of you.”
There’s the sound of many chairs shifting.
“Let Primus be our world. Let the Prime be our guide. Let the Matrix be our beacon. Primus be praised.”

I scowl.
“What the slag’s all that about?”
I shrug.
“Religion.”
“Pah! Load of scrapin’ mumbo-jumbo.”

“That, gentlemechs, is a matter of opinion.”
The door’s opened, admitting a white and blue mech not much taller than us. His tone is stern but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. Despite this, we shrink back. His left arm ends in a short gun-like nozzle and the image of Shockwave springs into our heads. If he’s bothered by our reaction, he doesn’t show it.

“I’m Tourniquet, Chief Field Medic for this sector. I’ve been sent to…well, to find out what you are.”
“Freaks,” I mutter.
“You or us?” he shoots back genially.
Taking out an ancient looking scanner, Tourniquet advances on us.
“First things first: are you two mechs joined together or one mech in two bodies?”
“Um…we’re two mechs…kind of.”

“That’ll do.”
He switches on his scanner, frowns, taps the readout and shakes it a few times. Then he slams it against the wall. Lights flicker across its battered screen.
“Now, I’ve got to run a few tests and it’d help if you were standing up. They gave you some energon didn’t they?”
We nod. It had been grimy and weak, real bottom of the barrel stuff. We’d devoured it ravenously.

Once we’re on our feet, the medic walks round us, gizmo beeping.
“So tell me, how’d this happen?”
“We…Shockwave did something…he melted us together.”

“It was an experiment.” I pause, trying to think what to say. “Shockwave wanted us to combine. To powerlinx – that’s what he called it. It went wrong. We got stuck.”

“Yeah,” I spit, “then he dragged us to his lab, cut us up, put us back together, locked us in the dark and then threw us out with the garbage.”
“Hmm…” Tourniquet’s peering at our fused shoulders. “He definitely said ‘powerlinx’?”
“Oh, yeah. Those fragging mechanics yammered on like we weren’t there.”

“It was a big science team?”
“Not really. Four or five. We didn’t see much of them. Just heard their voices.”
The Autobot backs off a bit and points his scanner at my face.
“Now that’s interesting. It sounds like old one-eye is trying to swipe our tactical advantage.”

He shifts his scanner to me.
“What’d you mean? What is this ‘powerlinx’ thing supposed to be?”
He’s surprised by the question.
“You seriously don’t know? Hmmm…before Shockwave’s experiment…do you have any memories of separate lives?”

It takes us a while to answer. We don’t like thinking about it.
“Sort of. But it’s all blurred and fractured. They crammed loads of data into us before they mashed us up but it’s too jumbled to understand. All we really remember is half a vorn of pain.”
Tourniquet lowers his scanner and looks at us with genuine sadness on his face.
“I’m sorry I have to pry like this. I haven’t even bothered to ask your names.”
We look at each other. We hadn’t even bothered trying to remember them. They’re in the huge void that is Before. We grab at the first thing that comes to minds.
“Urm…I’m…Rack.”

“I’m Ruin.”
He smiles.
“Rack and Ruin, eh? Snappy. You can sit down again, by the way.”

We do. He leans against the desk.
“The Powerlinx Process is what has stopped the Decepticons from winning the war. We Autobots are a bit squeamish about total physical reformatting so we’re always looking for other ways to boost our power, like battle armour and Minicons. Powerlinking involves two mechs with compatible sparks combing their bodies into one being. It’s complicated and needs quite a bit of energy but the resultant gestalt had access to vast reserves of power. One powerlinx can hold back an entire battalion of Deceps. It’s teams like Checkpoint and Stakeout, Roadbuster and Overcast and Siren and Hosehead who’ve held the lines when Megatron’s forces have been overwhelming our normal mechs.”

Tourniquet stops to glance at his scanner readout.
“Shockwave must be trying to duplicate the process and no doubt, if he succeeds, we’ll be in big trouble.”

“We see.”
His words have unlocked some of the data in our heads. Incomprehensible equations and lists of schematics reel themselves off. Complex theories hurtle past like out of control juggernauts. It still makes no sense, but at least we know what it doesn’t make sense about.

“What went wrong? Why did we end up like this?”
“I’m not sure. Somewhere along the line, I think the process destabilised. Rather than linking interface to interface, your bodies were welded together. At a guess, I’d say Shockwave was trying to initiate spark-merger with a surge of pure energon. It was too much and…”
He trails off, shrugging.

“Could you split us up again?”
“Unlikely, I’m afraid. The bond’s too deep. Somehow, perhaps because you were designed to link in the first place, your systems have meshed completely. Physically, you are one mech with two sets of internals – two sets of everything in fact. What’s more, it looks like one component could take its twin’s load as well as its own. You can have a complete set of redundant parts if you chose to use only one ‘half’. Or double your efficiency and output if you use both together.”

“So why can’t you make us two ‘bots again?”
Tourniquet sighs. He reaches out and taps the link between us.
“This…umbilical. Everything – every circuit, every wire, every tube – is routed through it. If we try to disconnect it, if we cut so much as one wire the shock could kill you both. And that’s without going into the spark-to-spark link.”

“Spark to spark?”
“Yep.” He holds up his scanner, letting us see the screen. There are two balls of light on either side of the image connected by a thin line. The picture changes, superimposing itself over a wire frame of the two of us. “It runs straight through the centre of your link. A pure strand of spark energy. That’s what really combines you. I doubt your sparks could exist more than a klick apart. And it’s far beyond the influence of modern technology.”

“So there’s no way you can fix us?”
We feel our combined sparks sink. We’ll be freaks forever, a failed, twisted mess of a mech.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Really?” Hope blooms.
“That’s the bad news. The good news is three fold. Firstly, you’re stable. You’re physical condition isn’t going to degrade. You can ingest energon, expel waste and be repaired just like any other mech. Secondly, I can fix that left arm up. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a normal elbow-hand block but a universal mounting unit shouldn’t be too hard to come by. Thirdly – and this is the bit you’re really going to like – there’s been a secondary reaction in the structure of your armour. It’s become incredibly dense. You could run straight at a patrol of Deceps and their blasts would just glance off. You could be in the middle of them before –”

He pulls up short, grimacing.
“Except…well…you’re…well…”
“Decepticons, Chief Field Medic? The Decepticons couldn’t care less about us. They threw us out – and I do mean threw. I can honestly say there’s only one thing we hate more than that load of slagging butchers and that’s Shockwave. You say there’s a plus side to what they did to us. I think we believe you. And the first chance we get, we’ll use everything we’ve got to smash as many of those fraggers as we can.”

“So, Doc, show us to the nearest officer and get ‘im to sign us on!”

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It’s not that easy, of course. The sector commander’s a nasty piece of work call Offshoot. He’s convinced we’re double agents or spies or a secret weapon or a walking bomb. He has Tourniquet strip us down to the endo-frame and check for hidden equipment. We’re put in quarantine, in a cell and eventually in the utility closet. The only good thing is that Ruin’s new forearm means we’re a little more balanced than before.

It doesn’t really improve my mood through. I’ve got nothing to put in it and being cooped up in a cupboard is beginning to tax my sanity. If they don’t do something with us soon, I’m going to start smashing things.

Thankfully, especially given that I’m the only object in reach, the Autobots finally act. Some topbot from Iacon turns up and drags us off the HQ. They enlist us at last and put us to work in –

In the slagging battlefield engineering squads! Which means building roadblocks, digging trenches and reinforcing expressways! Slagging fragging, smelting –

And it doesn’t help that the other members of our work party treat us like some kind of labour drone. They send us scurrying to fetch tools, set us to perform menial tasks and use us as a running joke.

Then comes the Scorpio Offensive…

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“The Decepticons have broken through the Tagen lines!”
The frantic voice of our foremech, Treadbolt, crackles across the construction site.
“Down tools and get to your weapons!”
We grab at our lasers as a massive explosion on the horizon turns night into day. The rest of the work-party are panicking, diving for cover and scrabbling for weapons with the competence of startled turbo-rats.

Having grabbed a handy laser torch in my gripper, I lead Rack to a good vantage point. We’ve found that it’s easier to get about if one of us decides the direction and the other works on coordinating our legs. Crouching behind a stack of girders, we can see hundreds of shapes silhouetted against the light. Seekers mostly, grouped around…around something big.
“What the slag’s that?”

“A spaceship. A very large spaceship.”
It’s roughly the same pyramidal shape as a Hunter-Seeker alt-mode but thousands of times bigger. There are spines and fins sticking out in all directions, some glowing bright enough to be clear against the raging flames of their first strike. It sweeps towards us, passing over the AA guns that litter the intervening space. They open up but their fire doesn’t reach the Decepticons.
“Forceshields!” we hear someone cry as ripples of distortion spread out from the shattering missiles.

“Duh.”
The jets and the huge whateveritis roar overhead, barely sparing us grounders a shot.
“Huh. Looks like they’re aiming for Steelmount.”
If the ‘cons are heading off to blitz the biggest Autobot fortress in the eastern theatre then they’ll not be bothering with a half built barracks. Shame. If we don’t see some real action soon, I might just start riveting Autobots to the walls.

Ruin’s a little too pessimistic. The sound of overcharged engines reaches our audios just as a plasma flare blows the nearest gun-nest to dust. Around fifty land-mode Decepticons pour up the slopes from Tagen. They’re coming at us so fast that they overrun the defences in ‘seconds.

Watching the Autobots return fire, it’s painfully clear that they’ve only survived so far on luck and their Powerlinx titans. Only about one in twenty shots gets anywhere near a Decep and even then they have little effect. At least there are a few mechs who know one end of a gun from the other – us included – and we’re able to even the odds a bit.

Ruin gives a yell as his shots destroy two tank-bots. I’m too busy trying to pick off some of the low-level flyers who’ve joined the fray to bother with victory shouts. Their air-support pinning us down, the Decepticons crest the rise and come rocketing into the building site. Somewhere to our right, Treadbolt howls. We see him stagger out into the line of fire. He’s ripped apart by energy bolts, screaming like a mewling protoform. Workers’ death cries fill the air. They haven’t a chance. The nearest Decepticon transforms, hefting a three-barrelled blaster. We take careful aim. We’ll have to let him get a bit closer or –

Or…

We see him.

It’s not Shockwave. We know it isn’t. He’s the wrong colours, red and tan instead of grey and purple. His head’s shaped slightly differently. His optic’s crimson not neon green. But he’s got a big gun for a left arm and only one optic and a wedge shaped chest plate and treads on his legs and…and…he looks like Shockwave.

Something…snaps…

We can practically feel our optics going red.

We charge.

I don’t know where I picked the hammer up but suddenly I’m holding it in my uni-mount and swinging it like a scythe.

Decepticons fall left and right, smashed, crushed and lasered. Even before my gun’s out of power I’m using it as a club.

The Shockwave wannabe sees us coming and takes aim. His cannon hums into life.

We dive forward and transform. We haven’t done it since we were joined but somehow we do it now.

Two vehicles joined at the trailer hit the ground. We careen under the cannon-blast.

We fold together so that we form an L-shape, two out of four sets of wheels on the surface. Accelerating, we hurtle at the Decepticon.

We hit him in the abdomen. He goes down, bending in half.

We transform and start pounding away.

Nothing can stop us. Not the laser bolts that glance off our backs. Not the Decepticons who try to pull us away. Nothing.

We hit everything we can reach.

We rip.

We crush.

We wreck.






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