Resurrection
By:
Sinead
Author’s
Note: Out of
boredom, comes inspiration . . . I think. I started writing this a long time ago
. . . and I haven’t been able to finish it. I hope you enjoy what there is of
it!
Part
One
The
darkness enveloped the young warrior who was trying to read an envelope of
parchment, which seemed to be in some type of Earth writing. It had arrived from
Earth itself and was addressed to Optimus Primal, from what he could decipher.
Unfortunately,
Primal wasn’t alive as he had sacrificed himself, in order for Cybertron to
exist as a techno-organic planet.
Cheetor
sighed and angled his nail under the flap, opening and breaking the seal. He saw
the words that ran across the page, then blinked and tucked it back into the
envelope for someone else to decipher; someone who knew history and human
writing.
He
dropped the envelope on the ground, reverted to his beast mode to pick it up
gently in his teeth, then ran off to the west, towards the setting sun . . . and
two of his friends.
Blackarachnia
flipped the letter over. “I thought that you were educated, Cheets.”
“Why
the past tense?” Cheetor asked, while he and Silverbolt looked up from their
chess game.
“This
is simple to translate.”
The
younger bot sighed. “Legs, it’s almost pitch-black outside. That and I’m
not fluent in any earth languages other than spoken English.”
“Well,
obviously.”
Silverbolt
noticed a tone in his mate’s voice that made him stand. “Is something
wrong?”
She
pointed to the first lines. “This . . . this says that . . . that . . .”
She
held the parchment out to Cheetor, who held it up to the light, seeing a scrawl
that he, himself, after three years of working with his twin swords, knew
belonged to a sword’s-master. It was in an almost rushed manner, yet with
something of a deliberateness that defied the rush.
Blackarachnia
took the sheet back, and started reading it aloud.
__Optimus
Primal, I am sorry that I had not been repaired enough to accommodate you upon
your struggle with Megatron on Cybertron.__
Cheetor
looked up. “Old friend, perhaps?”
“Just
shut up and listen,” Blackarachnia said in a trembling voice as Silverbolt put
his hand on her shoulder.
Cheetor
returned his look to the floor while Blackarachnia read: __Forgive my actions
during the end of the Beast Wars. I knew no better as I was a mere puppet of
Megatron’s.__ Cheetor’s hand started to tremble. __Please apologize to our
comrades as well. Exile for my cowardice for not returning is what I would
sentence myself under. Even if you ordered me to return for you to punish me
personally, I could not comply, for I cannot. I have no transportation. I will
await your judgement with patience.__
Blackarachnia
handed Cheetor the paper again, pointing to the signature. He dropped the paper
as if it were a hissing poisonous snake as he read the sender’s name signed in
Predaconian under being signed in English. He looked up at Blackarachnia, who
nodded. She would know. She’s infiltrated enough computers to know the actual
look of each hand-signed signature. He took a deep, shaky breath, and shuddered,
starting to tremble again. He kept it in control and walked to a window to look
out, pressing his hands to the windowsill. Silverbolt saw his hands shaking, and
looked to Blackarachnia, who shook her head. She knew that he had to figure this
out on his own. At that moment, though, Rattrap knocked, came in, and saw the
paper.
He
looked up at Botanica, who had come with him to visit. Dawn was beginning to
break over the horizon. Rattrap walked over to the paper and picked it up. He
read the simple note, and looked up at Botanica, his features grave. “How much
would I have ta beg ’ya ta go ta Earth?”
She
blinked, her features just as grave. “Long enough. Why do you . . .” He
waved the paper slightly, his face sad. She sighed. “I’m going with you.”
Cheetor
didn’t even turn around. “What about Nightscream. Blackarachnia, Silverbolt,
I know that you two want to go, and I’m not staying while you guys are going
back to the place where we originally got our beast modes.”
The
she-spider sighed. “Botanica’s going, and she wasn’t originally part of
our group.”
Silverbolt
nodded. “Once he’s awake, I’ll ask him.”
“Ask
me what?” A groggy voice asked. Nightscream yawned, and rubbed at one eye with
the equivalent of a wrist at the joint of his wing. He shook his head slightly,
letting his ears flap a little, and yawned. “Sorry I wasn’t up when Cheetor
came.”
The
older bot smiled. “I didn’t expect you to. I used to sleep as deep as you do
now.”
Rattrap
didn’t even make a wisecrack about that. Cheetor turned to look at him, and
the rat looked back up at him mournfully. Silverbolt sighed, shaking his head.
“Nightscream, we’re going to Earth soon. It is your choice wether or not you
come.”
The
bat frowned. “What about school? You’re letting that slide? When I skipped
once, you pretty much pulled my wings right off!”
“School
isn’t as important as other issues right now,” Blackarachnia said, walking
over to him and rubbing at his ears. She and Silverbolt had welcomed him into
their home after everything was said and done. He looked up to them like an aunt
and uncle. He couldn’t find his family after Cybertron was restored. Either
that, or they didn’t want him back in their circle for some odd reason.
He
nodded, and grinned. “I’m coming, then. Anything to get out of school!”
Cheetor
sighed. “Leaving school isn’t the greatest thing, Nightscream. I did that to
go onto the exploration trip that I did, which led into the Beast Wars. Thank
Primus that I made up for those years.”
Nightscream
saw the regret on his friend’s face, and nodded. With a sigh, Rattrap said,
“Kiddo, we’re goin’ on a search mission.”
“For
what?”
Rattrap
looked up at the young Maximal, a friend and comrade for three years, now. He
sighed, and looked out at the rising sun.
“For who, Nightscream. Not what. Who.”