Chapter Text
“Bullshit,” the gruff robotic voice echoed across the uneven rubble of the desolate cybertronian planet, as if responding to a bitter argument. “They ain’t doing anything different than what was going on before the war.” Large, oil-stained mechanical hands grasped a rusted metal plate, snapping it with brute strength. The piece tumbled down the hill that led out of the small artificial grotto, colliding with other piles of scrap outside, kicking up dust that settled onto the crimson frame of the first bot as he shifted debris aside.
Knucklebrass had been scavenging for metal scraps for some time now. Since the end of the war, the Decepticons had scattered, and survival was all he had left. As a low-ranking tech and occasional field medic, he wasn’t important enough to be hunted—by Autobots or by the broken remnants of the Decepticons.
His days were simple: find just enough energon to make it through, gather the scraps needed to repair his weapons or cobble together new ones. Longfuse, a hulking frontline bot, insisted on tagging along on these scavenging runs. He could have stayed behind, snoring in some half-broken shelter as usual, but instead he followed Knucklebrass everywhere.
And so the two of them wandered among the wreckage of war, looking for scraps—fitting, perhaps, since scraps were all they had become themselves.
”They act like they are on this… moral highground.”
“Well, that’s none of our business—for now,” the taller bot said. His lilac optics lingered on the remains of a damaged building, inspecting fractured steel and broken concrete for anything useful. “For now,” he repeated ominously, as if warning of a storm approaching.
“Bullshit—that, too,” the first bot shot back, splitting a small scrap in two with surprising force. Despite his bulk, he moved with a flicker of agility, every motion driven by raw strength. “Even though I don’t want to get involved... we’re already in it, we always were” he muttered as he placed the scrap aside, narrowing his eyes as if reminiscing something unpleasant. The scars of conflict weren’t just on the planet—they ran deep in their circuits, a reminder that neutrality was a dangerous illusion in a world still trembling from war’s fallout.
“You’re always so dramatic, KB,” Longfuse said with a relaxed exhale, settling onto a broken piece of metal. He stretched and smirked. “Maybe you should audition for the Cybertronian Theatre. You’d be a star, no doubt.” He chuckled at the unfunny joke, the sound faintly bounced around the scrapyard. Knucklebrass shot him an annoyed glare. “Shut the fuck up, Longfuse,” he aggressively snapped, though familiarity tinged his words.
Longfuse on the other hand seemed unbothered by the tone directed at him as if that was a common occurence.
Despite his irritation, he continued scavenging, the metallic scrape filling the tense silence. Then, suddenly, he froze, pistons tightening as his gaze fixed on something beneath the debris.
Longfuse took that moment to speak again, not really paying attention to his partner’s actions. “I mean… not that we’re in that much trouble. We were lower-ranking in the Decepticons… we still kinda are… so, why should anyone come after us?” His words drifted into the air, nonchalantly.
Knucklebrass didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted a large, heavy piece of metal aside. The scrape echoed loudly as it was moved, revealing something buried beneath—pulsing faintly with an ominous glow.
Longfuse glanced and raised a brow, Knucklebrass flicked a hand to signal him to come closer. Slowly he got up and approached the other and leaned in, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is that?” he asked softly, his voice shifting from curiosity to caution. As they looked closer, the contours of the rectangular object became clearer—something akin to a massive spark chamber, almost destroyed but undeniably alive with a faint, residual glow coming from the cracks. The air grew heavier with the weight of what they might have uncovered.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They both knew this wasn’t just scrap—it was something ancient, something potentially catastrophic, buried deep beneath the ruins of Cybertron.
“Leave it-“ Longfuse words cut through the air as he stood beside the other but they were not heard by the other.
Knucklebrass hesitated, but his curiosity pushed him forward. Driven by reckless instinct, he reached out and fiddled with the mechanism on the chamber. Longfuse started to reach for the other’s servo but before he could stop him, the panel clicked open, exposing the hollow interior—seemingly empty,except for a small glowing spot.
A second went by as if time had stopped for both of them.
Then, in a flash, a surge of electricity shot through Knucklebrass—violent, raw, shaking him uncontrollably and making him open his optics wide. The chamber pulsed again, releasing an uncontrollable wave of energy, a shock that crackled through the air and exploded outward, illuminating the debris with frantic flashes of light. Electricity arced across the wreckage, crackling and jagged, threatening to knock the two bots off their feet.
Longfuse made two steps backwards with his eyes locked on the now empty chamber, his optics then darted sideways to his friend.
A quick gasp escaped his vents.