“I am the Alpha and the Omega. I am the Beginning and the End. I am that which is, which was, and is yet to come… and you will know my name in terror when I lay my wrathful vengeance upon you!”
~Prophecies of the Primes, Covenant of Primus
Mining Outpost C-12 was one of many mining operations situated throughout Cybertronian space. It was a small facility constructed on a large asteroid located in the depths of Cybertron’s Trypticon Belt. Thought much of its technologies had fallen into various states of disuse and disrepair, it was here that the raw materials mined from the asteroid were melted, refined, and shipped to the planet’s surface. Life on the Outpost was fraught with danger. Accidents were commonplace. It was easy to lose a limb in the tunnels, or to lose one’s life in the smelters.
On this particular orbital cycle the normal routine of mining, refining, and shipping was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a senatorial shuttle. It had touched down on the just at the changing of the third-shift, and general assembly had been called for all workers. No one knew exactly why, but rumors had been circulating that outposts were being shut down all throughout Cybertronian space. This did not settle well amongst the workers at the facility. Mining the rich veins of the asteroid was the only life they had ever known. The shutting down of the facility would mean repurposing those that worked there, and many were not suited for any other type of work. The idea of working any place else simply did not enter into their minds.
They had gathered in a seldom used part of the mining complex. It had once served as the main storage area for outgoing cargo. Now it had been retrofitted into a makeshift auditorium. The seated tiers were filled to capacity with curious and apprehensive miners of every shape and size. Some joked amongst themselves as if they had not a care. Some sat back enjoying a can of oil. Others had arms crossed against their chest plates, and glared disapprovingly at those on the speaker’s dais. On the dais stood Senator Decimus, a sleek blue and red Cybertronian, surrounded by at least two sections of armed and armored Cybertronian Elite Guards. His sleek polished form was in stark contrast with his rough and worn surroundings.
“Fellow Cybertronians, as you know, we have been facing challenging times. Recent events have left the Cybertronian economy weak and unstable. The shanix has lost most, if not all of its value, as you yourselves have felt” Senator Decimus began with arms spread outwards. His voice boomed throughout the room, gathering the attention of those gathered. “To rectify this problem we are currently seeking to streamline the production and transportation of goods.”
This drew interest from the crowd. Many leaned forwards in their seats to listen more intently. At this the senator continued. “With that said, I am here to inform you that you can lay your worries aside. You have been an integral part in this economic reconstruction effort, and the Senate thanks each and every one of you. From this day forward the Senate will take care of all your needs. This will be your last orbital cycle working on Orbital Mine C-12. You no longer need to worry; the Senate takes care of its people.”
There was total outrage at this. Curses and insults were thrown in zealousness. Anger stormed across the crowd’s faces, and rage flared in their optics. How could the Senate do this to us, they cried. Where else can we go, they yelled. What about our families, they roared.
Through the erupting chaos one voice dominated over all others. It came from the shadows of main entrance, belonging to an imposing mechanism of grey and black. Like his fellow miners he had no name. His designation was D-16-999, named after the section of the mine he worked. His friends simply called him D-16.
“This is a load of slag!” He snarled as he slowly approached the dais, his rasping voice demanding to be heard. “There are still raw materials in this mine! The cybertronium veins still run deep in the asteroid!”
Senator Decimus turned to lock optics with this D-16.“Of course there are still raw materials in the mine. We have been tracking this facility for quite some time…”
“Then it’s automation!” D-16 interjected with the fears of the crowd. “You figured it would be cheaper installing your damn drones and sentinels, and repurposing us! We know how this works! You greedy parasites are automating mine after mine! Now you want to kick us out, and shake our pads with just a thank you?! The Senate will take and taking until there is nothing left for the Lower-Caste!”
“Now, now, I assure you such hearsay is unfounded.” Decimus addressed the assembly while sending a silent burst transmission to the Guard nearest the approaching mech. The Guard did not give a reply. Instead he put a hand to the back of his shield, took hold of a handle, and pulled, unsheathing a wickedly curved scimitar. In the same stroke he launched the blade’s cutting edge towards D-16’s head, expecting to cleave it from its shoulders. Instead of taking the miner offline as intended, the blade bit deep into the thick armor plating of the mech’s helmet. The sword shattered from the force of the blow.
There was a nanoclick of silence between the attack and total anarchy. The simmering anger of that had been festering in D-16 had now become a blinding rage. With strength built up from a life of hard labor, and with a speed he never knew he possessed, lunged at the Guard. His optic blazed from red to hot white as he tore off an arm of his attacker. Tossing the sparking limb he took advantage of his target’s shock and dismay. Pulling back his right arm and rammed it forwards, discharging the jackhammer attached to it opposing mech’s chest. Once. Twice. Three times it rammed into the guard, slicing away at the armor plating until the hammer’s head drove deep into the lasercore. The guard was dead before he understood what had happened.
Senator Decimus watched in horror as the captain of his guard fell. Never had he thought that any Cybertronian was capable of extinguishing the spark of another. Yet here it was. His friend, a dedicated and loyal member of Cybertron’s military elite, had been taken offline by a member of the Lower-Castes. How was this possible? How could such a thing be allowed to happen?
He did not have long to think on these things. From somewhere in the crowd an energo-pick had been thrown. It somersaulted end over end to embed itself into the forehead of Decimus. The senator staggered a few steps backwards from the force of the blow before falling of the dais and onto the floor. There he lingered for a brief moment, his vision filled with the ceilings light. Slowly the world about him dimmed, and he knew no more…