Chapter Text
“You can’t be serious, Mirage. There’s nothing out there.” The protest came from an older voice box, its accent and distance muddling its meaning.
A young mech frowned, shimmying his back deeper into the sand. Quiet, quiet… he wished he could say. I’m trying to sleep… Still, whatever argument was happening over there, it persisted, and his audials couldn’t help but tune into the noise.
“Hey,” another voice spoke, younger but stern. “We both saw it!”
“You didn’t see anything while you were in alt mode.”
“Guys. You don’t have to believe me, but we have to check it out, just to be sure. If I’m wrong, you can tell me tonight when we’re alive with our cattle.” That seemed to quiet the voices, and the dozing mech smiled, relaxing his frame against the soft ground. Quiet…
“Hot Rod.”
Damn. He was hoping they’d leave him out of it.
“Yeah?” He called, keeping his optics shuttered and his servos pinned beneath his head.
“You young’uns…” Growled one of the voices. “You never want to work.”
“Yeah?” Hot Rod said again, ignoring the slight. He heard the sound of approaching pedesteps, and onlined a single optic to stare up at Mirage. Their leader’s white plating was blinding in this sunlight. He averted his gaze, but insistently nodded his head to urge the mech to speak.
“We’ll be heading back on the trail,” Mirage said.
“Want me to saddle up?” The sleepy rookie replied. Mirage shook his head.
“No. But don’t sleep for so long. I need you alert in case something happens,” then, he turned to the side. Hot Rod couldn’t see what he was looking at, but he could guess by the next couple of words. “You and Ultra Magnus will stay behind to watch the cattle. Light a smoke signal if you’re attacked. Do you remember where they are?”
“Of course,” Hot Rod mumbled. “And if you guys get attacked?”
“We’ll light one as well.”
“Okay…” The young mech yawned, stretching his arms out before pulling them back in. “I’ll get up. You guys have fun.”
Mirage nodded before returning to the rest of the group. Some minutes later, he heard the sound of retreating horses bounding off into the distance. What had they said they’d left to do…? Hot Rod couldn’t recall, but he supposed it didn’t matter. He wanted to soak up as much of the sun as he could before they returned. Not many Cybertronians were lucky enough to have felt its heat before.
The surface of their planet, despite its inhabitants being its namesake, was not fit for their survival. The metal body of Primus was shrouded in swathes of sand and dunes of sediment that rose out of the surface in great big mountains, and sank into the seams of deep and foreboding canyons. Earthquakes rippled from below, and electromagnetic storms ravaged from above. What little organic life had managed to thrive here did so under the harshest of circumstances– circumstances that the intelligent Cybertronians had escaped by erecting their cities underground. Only the bravest dared venture above. Hot Rod liked to consider himself as much.
Warmth was an odd sensation. He’d felt it beneath the surface, sure, in pockets of thermal vents and artificially constructed heaters, but never like this. Even his back, pressed against the desert and out of the view of the sun, was warmed by the sand, and he smiled to himself as he shifted deeper into its grasp. It was freeing.
Well, not too freeing. He’d been sent up here on a job. He wasn’t too privy to handing over the details, however. When mechs asked, he kept it short: he was a cowboy. The explanation was usually accompanied by a grin and a shrug as he soaked in their adoration.
He’d been assigned to a team, and their task was simple– to deliver cattle to Iacon. Easy enough. He peered up and over his chassis, optics grazing the shape of the herd. Hundreds of animals pushing aside wads of sand in search of whatever organic materials they could find and eat. Hot Rod couldn’t help but smile at them, too, before leaning back down and closing his optics. Everything here felt different, and new. Exciting. And now, he’d finally been allowed a break from it all.
…That was, until the warmth suddenly stopped. He frowned and peered through an optic.
“Hot Rod.”
Just as he’d gotten comfortable.
“Ultra Magnus,” he replied, rolling away from the huge mech’s shadow. He smiled again, this time letting his spoiler soak up the light of the sun. Ultra Magnus didn’t follow him, but he could feel his disapproval without needing to see it.
“We were told to stay alert. Now’s no time to… dawdle.” Of course, he’d say that. Hot Rod wasn’t the best of friends with his other teammates, but they at least mostly let him be. Something in their kind, old eyes, like they understood the rush of being young and free. He was pretty sure Ultra Magnus had never been young before.
A groan threatened to rupture through his voice box as that droning tone continued. “This positioning isn’t optimal either. We shouldn’t be pushed up against a cliff like this; it leaves us vulnerable to an ambush. And the cattle need to be moved, soon, so that they aren’t grazing for so long that they become overfed. These are important things to consider, Hot Rod.”
“Aw, move over, Magnus,” he replied, looking up. “If you want to tramp around doing chores, then be my guest– but I’m taking advantage of the break. You know that word? Break?”
“Break…?”
Hot Rod huffed, sitting up. It was always work, work, work, with this guy. He didn’t even seem to like it up here. What could have pushed someone like him into something like this? He nearly chuckled when he imagined how dreadful the interview must’ve been. The facet of comradery didn't come easy to the older bot.
“We can’t allow a single thing to go wrong with this herd, Hot Rod. The cattle are essential for the upcoming Iaconian religious rites, not to mention their role in providing energon for the capital and its neighboring cities. If they’re overfed, they won’t want to graze when they get to Iacon. Some will fall ill, and others will refuse. It can impact the fuel supply for the city and impede its ceremonies. You see, Hot Rod, how small decisions we make can have big impacts?” He didn’t want to look up to meet Ultra Magnus’ optics, but he knew how he looked. Big eyes, frowning, mouth opening and closing and opening as he prattled on and on about things Hot Rod already knew. And his servos would wave and punctuate each point he made as if he were impossible to understand otherwise. It was demeaning, and Hot Rod wondered to himself, why did they leave me alone with him? Ultra Magnus had never seemed particularly fond of him.
“If you’re unsure, I can help show you how to move them.”
The younger mech sprang upwards, a growl following his movement. With a whistle from his voice box, he reached out for his cyberhorse’s reins and hopped onto her back, leading her over to where the cattle were situated with heavy hoofsteps to match his disdain.
At first, he was patient, swimming through the herd and encouraging them to move. But when he glanced towards Ultra Magnus who observed from afar– still frowning, still rigid and unimpressed– he couldn’t help his anger. Sifting towards the back again, Hot Rod raised his arm into the air and fired one shot into the sky. The cattle startled, and like a torrent of energon, they began to spill down the path towards the inner canyon, flooding into the space until they reached a dead end. Guilt immediately sent a pang through his chassis. The poor animals bellowed and bucked, stumbling over each other as they pressed into the space. Nowhere for them to wander and nothing for them to graze on, but he knew he’d frightened them. He ex-vented, turning around.
“Whoops,” he said, lamely. “They’re moved, though.”
“You…” Ultra Magnus started, walking over to meet him. “Shouldn’t be so reckless, Hot Rod. Getting good at these things takes time, though. Of course, neither of us are supposed to be experts at herding the cattle,” he said, and placed a servo on Hot Rod’s shoulder armor. “So don’t worry about it.”
He resisted the urge to push Ultra Magnus away, instead giving his shoulder a dramatic sweep of his servo. “They’re moved, alright?” He said, rubbing his tired optics. “And when it’s time to go, I’ll be the one to get them out.”
That seemed to be the end of it, or at least, he hoped it would be. Working with Ultra Magnus wasn’t impossible for him– he’d always prided himself on being a good team player! But Hot Rod believed that the two of them worked best as far away from each other as possible, preferably with a few mechs in between them to mitigate their exposure. He assumed the larger mech felt the same way. But as he began to dismount from his horse, his optics got caught on Ultra Magnus’ expression, and his shoulders drooped at the sight. Finials whirred downward, lips pressed into an even harder frown than before. He followed his gaze towards the same direction that their teammates had set off in.
“They should have returned by now,” Ultra Magnus said. “It’s been quite some time.”
Hot Rod looked onward, humming. He hadn’t been keeping track of the exact time, but the sun was noticeably lower in the sky. He supposed it was a little perturbing. “I’m… sure they’re fine,” he replied, however, nodding his head to believe the words. “I heard them. They said it was probably nothing. And uh, they’d have lit a smoke signal if they were attacked.”
That didn’t seem to alleviate his teammate’s concerns.
The cowboy didn’t typically extend much thought to his decisions, but this time, he at least allowed himself to ponder it. The rest of their team hadn’t arrived back after several hours. The cattle were safe– mostly, safe– tucked away in the folds of the canyon. Riding to catch up with them while they went on a reconnaissance mission would be cool and exciting, and it wasn’t like Ultra Magnus would tell him no, given how worried he suddenly seemed. Hot Rod smiled, but wiped it from his facial plating quickly, waving a servo out towards Ultra Magnus.
“Alright. Let’s go find them.”
The relief in the larger mech’s frame was noticeable, and Hot Rod would almost find his sensitivity amusing if not for the slight dislike he still held towards the rule-addled bot’s temperament. He had enough courtesy to wait for Ultra Magnus, however, as he placed a servo on the saddle and began to transform. Such was protocol, after all; all wielders must be accompanied by a weapon, and vice versa. Plates popped and snapped into place, pistons exhaled, and locks clicked, and a weight fell by his side soon after. Ultra Magnus’ alt mode was yet another thing he wouldn’t have associated with a cowboy. A rocket launcher, cylindrical and heavy. He wondered just how anybody could shoot something like that. The weapon seemed like half the size of his own smaller frame.
Their groupmates hadn’t exactly told them where they were going, but Hot Rod had made a mental note of their shapes on the horizon as they’d left, and relied on that to lead their gallop as they raced in that direction, hoofbeats kicking up sand in their wake. The air in this direction suddenly felt stuffy and thick, unlike the previously comforting warmth he’d enjoyed at their campsite. They bounded down hills and precariously plodded dunes, with Ultra Magnus bumping back and forth against his side as they rode.
“Are you keeping track of where we’re going?” The weapon spoke.
“Yes,” Hot Rod replied. “Of course I am.”
He didn’t understand Ultra Magnus’ poor perception of his abilities. So what if he enjoyed a bit of sunbathing? His partner, Kup, was the best of the best. A simple model pistol, slung to his side whenever they rode, telling him stories and instructing his movements. The memories were fond. “Yes, yes, excellent work, lad,” and “impeccable timing, ‘kiddo. You’re shaping up to be one hell of a cowboy.” He believed in him, at least.
Kup had also been the one to teach him the intricacies of the relationships partners on the surface were meant to share with one another. “I recall a pair of younguns,” he’d once prattled, “both small, like us. Not a lot of metal on them, no sir, but a real spectacle once you caught ‘em moving. Yep, and their secret was in their weaponry.”
“Their weaponry?” Hot Rod had repeated.
“Themselves. What a couple. Stronger together than any one mech could expect to be alone. That’s why it’s important you bond with your partner, Hot Rod. Stronger bonds equal won battles.”
The younger mech smiled, tilting his head. “Yeah, like us, right, Kup? We’re close, aren’t we?”
They’d only just barely met each other, and he meant it as more of a kid. But his mentor hummed, looking away and waving a servo, though his bashful regard towards his new wielder was evident. “Eh, eh, I haven’t decided on you yet,” he said, and Hot Rod laughed, feeling with certainty that those words hid deeper meanings.
Kup believed in him, he thought again. His expertise is surely what allowed Hot Rod to traverse the desert before them with such ease. What allowed him to eventually take notice of the craters that riddled the landscape, and the debris that speckled the sand. What allowed him to realize, with a twist of his internals, that their teammates had definitely found those bandits, the ones they’d said not to worry about.
“Why have we stopped?” The voice to his side asked.
It became apparent the longer Hot Rod looked that the debris that surrounded them wasn’t debris at all, but rather bodies, and suddenly, the air around him shifted. Dismantled, bits and pieces, blown– torn–? apart. And their horses, too, their frames a mess of organic and metallic materials muddled together in a sickening display of violence. He clutched his horse’s neck tightly. Who could do such a thing?
The weight by his side dismounted, but said nothing.
Somehow, above the panic, the shock, and the rising anger, it struck him that this was the exact reason he’d been given a spot in their group. It was why he’d been chosen to serve alongside such impressive mechs like Kup, and Mirage. All the reports of the increase in bandit attacks were true, and he had only been chosen for this mission out of desperation. A pitiful hope to train as many willing bots as possible– to avoid a future where there was no one left. Hot Rod was no leader– he’d barely been a cowboy for longer than a few days. Yet here he stood in the aftermath of a massacre, with hundreds of animals corralled in a canyon just a few kilometers away, and the city they’d departed hundreds of kilometers farther.
He wished Ultra Magnus would rattle off one of his memorized paragraphs– the one that told them what to do when every single mech that ranked above them was killed in combat–, but for once, the older bot was quiet. Frozen in fear. Hot Rod hissed.
Why hadn’t he heard anything? Was it because he had been off mucking around? That couldn’t be it, because Ultra Magnus hadn’t heard either. This job had been quick and professional. Not some everyday thief, and maybe even more than one. He couldn’t shake the feeling, then, of optics on his frame. Watching him. Waiting for his next move. And they had to move.
“Magnus?” He called, stifling his shaking frame with a tight squeeze of the reins. “Magnus, listen, we have to go back for the cattle. That’ll be their next target–” if they aren’t already dead– “they might not know we exist, yet. If we can get the cattle moving, it won’t be so easy to target us.”Not a single word he spoke was laced with any kind of confidence, but he could at least fake its involvement.
Would it be better to run away? He wondered– but dismissed the thought with a surge of anger through his chassis. No. No way. Their teammates were dead. Brutally murdered, and who knew what these bandits were planning for their cattle, next. He refused to allow whatever it was to happen.
“Magnus,” he repeated. “Please, you have to snap out of it. We have to go– together. Transform!”
“I-I don’t–” Ultra Magnus whispered. “Primus–”
But somehow, in his shock, the large mech managed to extend a servo outward. Hot Rod grabbed for him and hoisted him upward as he transformed, pushing him into the pommel of the saddle. “It’s ok, I’ve got you,” he mumbled.
A final look backwards, optics grazing the sand. Nothing could have prepared him for this. A second too long spent huddled over a fleck of pink-stained cyan, and he turned away, kicking his horse into a gallop.