Last
Hope
Chapter 2 – Ratted Out
By Nurannoniel The Insane Mutant Elf
Disclaimer: You know; the usual. I messed up; I have another Beast Wars character coming in, so I don’t own him either. And Megatron fans, I apologize for killing him. I also apologize for the delay – took a friend sending me inspiration music to kick my skidplate into writing gear.
Drow (Dark Elf) words to know:
Plynn = take
Nindel = that
Resource: http://drow.virtualave.net/
“Uncle!”
Duel awoke from her nightmare; the femme’s scream was still echoing through the glowing cavern as she stood up and reached for her bow. Her nightmare about the attacks and her uncle’s death rekindled her desire to know the truth about why the Maximals would have committed genocide. She’d leave for the capital, hopping that somewhere out there she’d locate the information she needed.
Stopping in front of the ladder, she looked down at the Predacon sticker on her abdomen. She peeled it off, realizing that it would be a bad idea to parade around with the obvious declaration of her race. ‘I’ll put it back on later,’ she thought as she finally left the safety of the glowing cave.
Two megacycles in
the sewer to reach the capital of Cybertron was almost enough to drive Duel
insane. She breathed in the “fresh” air as she pulled herself out of the
manhole. Several ‘bots stared as the dark young femme with the long audio
receptors replaced the cover.
”Huh? Oh, I’m a sewer inspector, just making sure that, uh.... the sewers
were clean. Yeah, um, that’s
all. Nothing to see here, move along!” Duel smiled, waving her hands to
clear to spectators. ‘Maximals, they
believe anything you-‘ Duel was cut off from her thought as a bullet
whizzed past her head. Not stopping to look at who had shot it, Duel scrambled
to reach the nearby shelter of an alley.
Heavy footsteps clanked on the pavement behind Duel as she charged for the fence in the middle of the alley. Thankful for the rule “Your enemy has about a 1 in 1 Million chance of hitting you if your still, 1 in 1 billion of your moving” taught to her by the ever lovable anime from Earth, Duel had time to jump at the fence and claw over the top. She hit the ground on the other side and immediately started running again.
“Plynn nindel!!” was the last thing the guards heard as they all plowed into the fence.
Deep in the archives of Cybertron, valuable information was kept secret from the public. None but the council was ever meant to see this information. That’s why the flickering red sign above the wide open door read “Top Secret Information – Do Not Enter”. Duel looked at the sign for a moment before walking in. She found what she was looking for easily enough. (Then again, the bright neon signs declaring the different sections were distracting her, making things much harder to locate. [A/N: Riiiiiiight.]) She picked out the folder labeled “Predacon Termination Project” and stowed it away in sub-space. She left the archives as quickly as she had entered them.
Off in a dark corner, a sleepy old mech with a security badge snorted, and then returned to his deep slumber.
***
Rattrap was happily humming to himself as he poked around the strange glowing cave, not realizing he was no longer by himself until a voice from behind told him to “Freeze.” With nothing better to do, he froze.
“Why are you in
my cave?”
“Your cave? This was my hidin’ spot long before you got here--” He whipped around to see a dark blue femme pointing a loaded, compound bow at him. The bow bore a small, red Predacon insignia. “--ya stinkin’ Pred!”
“Well, I moved in while you were out. And who’s ‘stinkin’ around here? A) You’re a rat and B) it was your race that committed genocide against mine!” The femme pulled the arrow back further.
“Eh, I thought they got rid of all the Preds... Why ain’t ya in da Pit yet?”
She snarled. “Religiously discriminated against too... It’s none of your concern, maximal.”
Her mention of religious discrimination caught Rattrap off guard. “Discrimination?”
“Yeah, discrimination!” She shouted and threw down her bow, ripping her sticker off the wall and waving it at the rat-bot. “Since I was created I’ve been treated like the scum of the universe, for no other reason than I was created a Predacon. I was always told I was going to the Pit when I died, just because I was a Predacon. I could never get as good an education, I was always starving because the Maximals took all our energon, and now my entire race is dead for no other reason than we were Predacons!” She stopped to catch her breath. Sadness and anger filled her optics at the same time. Even though Rattrap noticed this, it didn’t stop him from arguing the point he’d been raised to believe in.
“Preds descended from Decepticons, makin’ em’ evil by nature. They – YOU deserved ta die!”
The femme shook her head; she’d heard that argument before. “Like Maximals, we’re not always what we’re supposed to be.” She paused, as if waiting for Rattrap to try and counter her. When he didn’t, she continued. “You Maximals go on and on about peace, equality in the universe, etcetera. Do you really believe in it?”
Rattrap tried to speak, but her words were starting to get through to him.
“Kinda like those religious wars on Earth happening at the same time as the Great War. Everyone hated everyone else just because they were different. My uncle told me when he got home after the Beast Wars on prehistoric Earth, that he thought the humans’ wars over religion and race were foolish because they all had the same beginning. They had all come from the same place at first, but like all beings they left their home to explore and find new places to live. Their different environments changed their skin colors. We’re just like them. We’re all Transformers, but unlike colored flesh, we have insignia’s as our visible difference. Some Maximals are everything they claim to be, a lot aren’t. Some Predacons are... were overly aggressive, but when they had nothing because of who they were created as could you really blame them? Wouldn’t the Maximals be the same way if our situations were reversed?”
Rattrap’s head
snapped up as a thought struck him. “Who was your uncle?”
She grinned, hiding the anger that burned inside of her. “His name was Megatron. He gave his life to protect me. He was a hero to a lot of Predacons, because he dared to dream of a better future.”
Rattrap started to argue again, or at least he tried to. He’d never thought of his enemy as someone who would give his life to help another, but he couldn’t think of any other way this femme would be here if she hadn’t been helped. Besides, the resemblance was uncanny: they could both give one heck of a good speech under pressure. Realizing he’d been defeated, he declared his surrender. The femme laughed, puzzling Rattrap further.
“What, you thought I was really going to shoot you?”
He stared blankly. “But... but... Weren’t ya??”
She laughed even harder. “I wouldn’t hurt an Insecticon!” Rattrap sighed in relief, but once again caught his breath when she spoke. “As long as you don’t tell anyone I’m here.”
He was caught between what he’d always thought of as right, and what he realized was right. He knew he should report her, but at the same time he knew she was only trying to survive. A lot like he was during the Beast Wars. It dawned on him that if this femme were killed, the genocide would be complete and the last of the Predacon “blood” would be on his hands. She wasn’t like he thought she would be. She didn’t kill him on first sight, and she, a ‘stinkin Pred’, actually had a point about the two races.
“Okay,” he finally agreed. “on one condition.”
She crossed her arms, attitude ready for anything. “And that would be?”
“Tell me your name.”
Surprised, she uncrossed her arms and scratched her head. “Uh, Duel.”
“K, see ya around, Duel.” He walked around the slightly stunned female and climbed up the ladder. When she thought he was gone, she heard him call back, “By the way, da name’s Rattrap.” With that, he really was gone.
***
Duel munched on an energon goodie as she flipped through the stolen folder. What she saw actually didn’t surprise her. It was all stereotypes; prejudice; scapegoat excuses... the usual reasons for discrimination in the universe. Only one section beckoned her attention:
“The Maximal rebel group has struck several times within the last deca-cycle. Funding for police raids to capture the rouge Maximals is too expensive – as a result, it has been decided that blaming the attack on a group of Predacons calling themselves “Starlight” would be less costly. Starlight’s true function is unknown.”
Duel choked... then laughed uncontrollably. Starlight wasn’t a terrorist organization; they were a Predacon charity/pressure group! Gaining control over her amusement, she continued reading through the folder.
“With the terrorist actions now being blamed on the Predacons group Starlight, Maximal tolerance towards the Predacon race has decreased. As expected, this has caused a large population of Predacons to protest. It is infinitely fortunate that the lost Axalon crew has returned with the Predacon Megatron. Further blame for terrorist actions will be placed on him.”
The date on the pages changed to the next day.
“It has been suggested before that all Predacons on Cybertron, as well as on the colonies, be terminated. This would eliminate the growing unrest in Maximal society. Until now the idea has not been appropriately speculated on, but the need for action has grown tremendously. Today, however, it has been decided that in one week’s time all Predacons on Cybertron will be taken to a small southern town and terminated. Despite the cost, the lack of “care packages” for the Predacons shall more than make up for their demise. A message is currently being relayed to the colonies to do the same.”
Money? Hate was one thing, but the destruction of the Predacon race was about money? Duel could read no more. At least if the genocide had been about hate Duel could have forgiven the council. But no, it was about money. Quietly she began to sob. As she was about to drift into sleep, she heard a banging sound from the tunnel above her cave. Drawing her bow and taking aim at the ladder, she waited.
“Hey Duel!” It was Rattrap. Duel placed the bow back into sub-space as he dropped down from the hole. He looked at her nervously for a moment.
“Yes?”
He shook his head, then pulled out what appeared to be a radio. He handed it to her. “Eh, I thought you should have some way of knowin’ what’s goin’ on above ground.” He kicked at the ground as Duel looked over the device.
“Thanks. Um, is something wrong?”
Rattrap sighed.
“Ever hear of a terrorist group named Starlight?”
Duel burst out laughing again. This ‘bot had a lot to learn. “What?
What’s so funny?”
“Starlight is a pressure group trying to convince the government to give more money to Predacons. They also do charity work.”
“Eh, well, you better turn on that radio then.” Confused, Duel flipped the power switch.
“In news today, Starlight was not destroyed by the Predacon Termination earlier this week. In fact, today several members of this terrorist organization broke into the Cybertron Archives and stole top-secret files. Aries Nightsky on scene, interviewing the security guard on-duty at the time of the robbery.” The voice changed to one of an old wheezing mech.
“I saw ‘em with my own two optics!” He paused to cough. “They were seven feet tall, all six of ‘em! With menacing red optics an’ dents all over ‘em from escapin’ the Termination. They stole some pretty important files all right.”
The radio switched back to the reporter. “How did you survive?”
“I shot at ‘em ‘till they disappeared, that’s how!”
“That’s all the time we have for today. Now for the traffic report.”
Duel switched off the radio. She looked at the folder in her hands, then to Rattrap, then back to the folder again. “Do I look seven feet tall?”
Rattrap face-vaulted. Duel was just barely taller than him. “No, but the optic part as right... You’re giving me the creeps!” By this point Duel had pulled out a full length mirror out of sub-space and was eyeing her reflection.
“Oh, yeah, I guess your right.” She shrugged. “Oh well.”
Five cycles passed in silence with Duel looking in the mirror to figure out how she could possible be “seven feet tall.” Finally Rattrap coughed.
“I have ta’ get goin’.... See ya later?”
“Sure. Thanks for the radio.”
With one last grin, he climbed back up the ladder into darkness. Once again alone, Duel began stretching. If she was going to be a one-femme underground, she might as well get in shape.
***
To be continued...
***
Corny ending, but that took long enough to write so just be happy it’s done. It has also been a long time since I wrote any comedy, so I felt like adding a little bit in for the heck of it. If anyone thinks I should stop putting comedy in a supposed “serious” fic, raise your hand now please. *several hands can be seen coming up from the audience* Ha ha, thank you very much. Critics...