Follow My Ruin

Trailbreaker sat alone in the deserted lobby of the Central Iacon Athenaeum. Once home of the Autobots’ most treasured and sacred dataspools, it was a derelict shell now. Trailbreaker hoped the brief moments of solitude would help detach him from the planetary ataxia that had consumed his kind.

With eyes shut and fingers knitted tightly, he bowed his head and prayed. Twisted faces melted across the periphery of his vision, crying out for help. The guilt within his circuitry rose to intolerable levels.

The room where he sat boasted crystalline architecture with high ceilings and grandiose etchings across its tungsten sheet walls. The only sounds were the echoes of Trailbreaker’s slow, controlled movements, punctuated occasionally by distant explosions. Everything seemed so far away here.

Trailbreaker checked his chronometer. He had less than a breem until his meeting with the Autobot Council of Elders. The very thought tugged at his nerves. Since the assassination of Caapek, their conceited bull sessions had degraded into panicked chatter and ill-conceived countermeasures.

Lifelong friends and familiar faces had all been lost to the Decepticon air strikes, but the council didn’t seem to care. They had become numb to the gnawing cries of help from the rest of the planet, while Trailbreaker remained raw. They dug in their heels, but he kept his eyes, ears and heart open. Off the record he referred to them as a presidium of recreants. But on the record he had sworn an oath and became bound by duty.

He hated being a pawn.

The council didn’t have a clue: not Traachon, the so-called general, nor the datacrat, Tomaandi.

Trailbreaker opened his eyes and pushed away the guilt, trying to organise his thoughts.

The explosions outside stemmed themselves for a moment. It was a welcome sigh of relief. Then a sudden sound wave from a nearby airburst rattled through the structure of the athenaeum. Trailbreaker stood sharply and snapped his waist to the left, dodging a shower of falling debris. He gasped as he looked up to see the entire ceiling splinter and fall apart in large, broken slabs. He braced for the impact and instinctively activated his force-field emitters. A balloon of electromagnetic energy swelled around the stocky black robot, protecting him from the falling wreckage.

Once more, like countless times before, his god-given gift had saved his life. With a fervent urging, Trailbreaker wished he could extend his powers to cover the entire city and beyond.

As the Autobots’ most senior defensive strategist, it was his role to save as many lives as possible. But the council had introspected that duty with the task-at-hand.

He checked his chronometer again, and resigned himself. The meeting would not sway to his favour. He knew that his deep-seated insecurities would afford them the winning move. He would do as he was told, he always did. But for the first time, in response to those tortured souls outside the city limits, doubts seeped in and settled in his conscience.

Trailbreaker rolled unsteadily along the floor of the tunnel. The treads of his newly installed tyres purred contentedly on the polished ferralt surface. It was more of a favour to Wheeljack, a feigned gesture to humour him and his so-called vulcanised-alloy-flux compound, rather than any personal desire to upgrade.

Trailbreaker felt heavy and clumsy on his new wheels. He missed the control and grace of his null propulsion plates when he hovered above instead of now, literally crawling on the ground.

He imagined the Council above, sealed away inside some top-secret bunker in the heart of Iacon, waiting like impatient children for the tunnel to be completed, guarded by the likes of Ironhide and Sideswipe. It was their port in the storm while the Decepticon forces lashed at the walls of the city like tidal waves. He remembered their cold words and then his uncharacteristic need to suddenly cool down.

The voices ahead refocused Trailbreaker’s attention, and he allowed himself to roll to a halt. His tyres whined and the noise echoed and bounced across the tunnel walls. He transformed. Looking down into his chest-mounted plexi-glass monitor screen, he identified three Autobots moving towards him, making their way towards the surface. He pushed personal thoughts and selfish motives to the back of his mind and stood taught.

One of the three Autobots spotted Trailbreaker in mid-sentence and immediately snapped to attention. Quickly following suit, the other two did the same.

“Sir,” said Scoop.

“Namistai,” replied Trailbreaker. “How goes the dig?”

“Ahead of schedule, actually,” said Scoop. “We were just making our way back to Iacon for Zero-time.”

“Nothing like honest work to discharge the batteries,” said Landfill with a smile.

Trailbreaker fixed his gaze on Landfill for a moment, noticing his scuffed armour and the film of grime that coated his entire form. “See if you have time for a thorough wash when you go to recharge,” he said.

Landfill looked down at himself while Scoop and Quickmix shook their heads.

Trailbreaker stepped up to Landfill and placed an open palm on his shoulder. “I’m joking,” he said.

Landfill laughed, then remembered protocol and stifled himself. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be,” said Trailbreaker. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony down here.”

“Speaking of which,” said Quickmix as he shuffled impatiently and eyed Trailbreaker with obvious contempt, “what are you doing down here anyway? Have you come down to giddy us up? Are we not building this tunnel fast enough for the High Council?”

“Quickmix!” Scoop snapped, before turning to Trailbreaker. “Sorry, sir, he didn’t mean to speak out of turn.” Scoop then turned to his teammate: “Did you?”

“Uh, quite,” said Quickmix. “Sorry. We’ve been hard at work for a solid fifty breems without a break.”

“I understand,” said Trailbreaker. “We’ll just say for now that I’m not down here in any kind of official capacity. I was just curious about the new kid we’ve got down here.”

“Oh, you mean Landmine?” said Scoop.

“Yeah, now he’s good,” said Landfill. “In fact, he’s been non-stop for about a hundred breems. Makes Quickmix’s complaints all the more petty and juvenile.” The Autobot laughed.

Quickmix turned to Landfill and sneered. “Why don’t you shut the—“

“Quickmix!” Scoop snapped for the second time. “You’ll have to forgive him, sir, I think all those corrosive agents he’s been mixing for us have gone to his head.”

Trailbreaker stretched out his arms. “Yes, well, I don’t want to keep you from your clearly much earned Zero-time.”

“Yes, of course,” said Scoop. “Sir.”

“So, I’ll be back to check up on your progress in another, say, twenty breems.”

Landfill faked a smile, but the joke missed its target with the other two. Not another word was uttered. Trailbreaker made his way further down the tunnel as Scoop, Quickmix and Landfill headed back to Iacon.

Trailbreaker returned to vehicle mode and continued his sojourn. An absent thought crossed his mind and he asked himself why Optimus Prime was so charismatic. Trailbreaker tried so hard to relate to all the Autobots in his unit. He wondered if he should take a leaf from Prowl’s book and maintain a certain distance so he didn’t have to try.

Deep down, he knew a lot of the Autobots now resented the Council and saw Trailbreaker as something of a glad-hander. That fact could not have been further from the truth.

Trailbreaker stopped suddenly. He was sure he could make out Quickmix’s voice behind him, uttering something loud enough for him to hear: “Who does he think he is, coming down here! I mean, why’s he down here, anyway?”

Why indeed, Trailbreaker thought to himself.

Trailbreaker addressed the Autobot Council of Elders with nervous indecision. He stood, alone, in the centre of the makeshift chamber. An underground utility junction had been stripped and hollowed. It certainly wasn’t a job well done, and he could feel the damp under his feet. Above, the Council members sat on a shallow balcony overlooking him. Though densely armoured and with thickset posture, Trailbreaker felt tender and exposed.

The Councillors sat four-in-a-row with Xaaron and Obsidian at each end and Traachon and Tomaandi in the middle. They remained motionless and conferred silently. A secure talkcircuit wired between them allowed them to converse with one another without fear of Trailbreaker overhearing. With their ignorance they scorned and belittled any and all who might seek an audience with them.

The chamber’s ambience was dim. A spotlight shone on Trailbreaker, but the Councillors themselves remained unlit. It didn’t matter that the walls were uneven and grubby, that the floor was dirty, and the ceiling was anything but hallowed.

All eyes and lights pointed at Trailbreaker. He was under their influence.

“Report,” Traachon said out loud.

Trailbreaker wanted to start with a update on the death toll, that the citizens of Cybertron were dying faster than even the most sophisticated supercomputers could count.

The Council were never interested in the mathematics of a planet-wide slaughter, unless it involved upping their chances of survival.

Sensing their impatience, Trailbreaker began. “Operation: Crosscut proceeds according to schedule, Emir. In fact, a new member has joined the team down there. His name is Landmine, and…“

“When will it be finished?” Tomaandi interrupted.

Trailbreaker pushed his chest forwards, and refused to be cut short. “…his contributions are really pushing us forwards. I was thinking actually of making a personal inspection down there.”

“Our timetable makes no allowances for personal inspections. You have enough duties to keep you on the surface.”

“As you wish, Emir,” Trailbreaker said.

“And news of Prowl’s investigation?”

“I have not been in touch with Prowl for several breems. But I am assured he’s working hard to find out how the Decepticons were able to evade our early warning systems and detection nets.”

There was a brief pause as the Council conferred. Trailbreaker made an effort to console them. “Emir, I understand that the loss of Caapek must be difficult at this time.”

The four Council members stopped their silent conversation and turned to Trailbreaker.

“Many of the Autobots I have been speaking to wish me to pass on their sincerest sympathies to the Council,” Trailbreaker lied.

“Your comments are noted on record,” Tomaandi said dispassionately.

“And what of Optimus Prime?” asked Xaaron.

Trailbreaker shuffled slightly. “Optimus Prime remains in the field with the Elite Flying Corps. Though I am really the wrong person to ask. He does remain in constant contact with Ratchet and Prowl, and I get my news of his good work second hand.”

The Council turned away from Trailbreaker again. And even though he was oblivious to their words it was plainly obvious that Prime’s charisma was slowly eroding and undermining the Council’s authority.

“His reckless actions, though favoured by Xaaron, are officially unsanctioned by the Council,” Traachon said.

Trailbreaker took exception to Traachon’s comment. Trailbreaker’s desire to be outside Iacon’s limits, at Prime’s side overriding all sense of courtesy. “It’s not reckless, Emir, it’s courageous.”

Traachon stroked his chin. “Your misguided opinions on the matter are irrelevant.”

Trailbreaker kept his head high and noticed Xaaron smile down at him. He changed the subject. “Has the Council given any more thought to my suggestion?”

Obsidian poised himself to answer. “Your force field idea has merit and we did consider the possibility at great length.”

Tomaandi cut in. “But the energy expenditure would be phenomenal. Iacon’s stocks dwindle by the day.”

“But the number of lives we could save would be worth…”

Tomaandi shook his head and furrowed his brow over his eyes. He pulled a datapad from his desk and glanced across it. “And while we are on the subject, Trailbreaker, I notice here that your energy consumption is somewhat higher than the calculated rations.”

Trailbreaker glared up at the Councillor. He spoke slowly and coldly. “Are you suggesting that I should decommission myself?”

Traachon snatched the datapad from Tomaandi and silently berated him. “Of course not!” he sang down to Trailbreaker. “After all you are becoming something of a figurehead for Operation: Crosscut.”

Scapegoat, more like, thought Trailbreaker.

“We are relying on you as our link to the people of Iacon, to keep them informed of developments.”

Trailbreaker took a step towards the Council, preparing to tell them all of his indecision, or his disdain for Operation: Crosscut and his true feelings for them. He wanted to snap at them, childishly tell them where to stick their escape tunnel and then hide behind his energon ration breaking force field. But once again, his intentions were cut short.

Obsidian disconnected himself from the collective and stood. “I think we can leave it there for the time being,” he said, stopping Trailbreaker before he could start. “We’ll reconvene in one hundred breems.”

Trailbreaker stepped backwards and followed protocol, bowing slightly. “Emirs,” he said solemnly.

The four Councillors replied in unison. “Namistai,” they said.

Trailbreaker turned on his heels and stormed out of the chamber, feeling even more frustrated and useless than when he went in.

“Trailbreaker!” Xaaron shouted. His voice bounced across the walls of the utility duct with the muffle of a wet echo.

The stocky black Autobot turned, his body already half climbing into an access doorway. His left hand kept a tight grip on the doorway’s arch. His shoulders heaved, betraying the anger that he was trying so hard to hide.

Xaaron kept his distance, realising that with a single shrug of his arm, Trailbreaker might possibly rip the duct’s framework apart and bring all of Iacon down on their heads. “Please wait,” he begged. “We need to talk. Candidly.”

Trailbreaker relaxed and faced Emir Xaaron. “What?” he snapped.

Xaaron opened out his arms with a well-practiced gesture. “You must forgive the Council. This is not the way they planned all this.”

“There are many options when it comes to scurrying underground to save yourselves and forsake your people.”

Xaaron frowned. “You think we’re cowards?”

“Well…”

“Do you think I’m a coward?”

“No.”

“You must understand, Trailbreaker, that what we’re planning is for the eventual good of all Autobots on Cybertron.”

“But we’re in the middle of a war!”

“This war you speak of was over the day Megatron launched his first strike. We need to take stock of what is left from the Decepticon attacks and build for the future, build a resistance.”

“You’re building a hiding place.”

“I can understand how that seems, but you have to look at the bigger picture.”

“I am,” said Trailbreaker. His resolve strengthened. “I am going down there right now and pulling the plug on the entire operation. Our resources are needed in the field.”

Xaaron resigned himself. “In all honesty, there’d be nothing stopping you. You know as well as I do that the Council’s rule is weakening.”

Trailbreaker laughed. “So I have your permission?”

“That’s not what I mean. But the truth is we need you, Trailbreaker. We need you and Prowl, and Jazz and Optimus Prime to help show the other Autobots that our choices are right and justified.”

“But we don’t agree with them. Optimus certainly doesn’t, otherwise he’d still be here, instead of out there on the surface somewhere, fighting…”

“Optimus Prime, though admirable, is foolish.”

“He’s done more to protect the Autobots than the Council ever have.”

“If you truly believe he is right and we are wrong, why are you still in Iacon? Why do you not get yourself out in the field?”

Trailbreaker lowered his head. “I’ll tell you why, since we’re talking so candidly. I’m a liability.”

“How do you mean?”

“You heard Tomaandi say it himself just now. My fuel consumption is too high. I’m uneconomical, a guzzler.”

Xaaron reached forwards to place a hand on Trailbreaker’s shoulder. His gesture was brushed aside.

“That’s why I remain in Iacon,” Trailbreaker continued. “A better Autobot than me can make better use of the same amount of fuel in the battlefield.”

Trailbreaker wore his insecurity on his sleeve.

“Look at me,” he said. “I’ve even had Wheeljack modify my vehicle mode and add these ‘wheels’ so I’m more economical.”

“I don’t know what to say to you, Trailbreaker.”

“Nothing. You don’t need to say anything. I’m just doing my best, or at least trying to, for the Autobot cause.”

Xaaron shook his head. If he thought Optimus Prime was foolish but to be admired, then he felt the same way about Trailbreaker.

“Can you and the other Councillors say the same thing?” Trailbreaker asked.

“Yes!” Xaaron assured. “I know your faith has been stretched to its limits, but I can assure you, categorically, that we act only in the best interests in the Autobot cause.”

“You sound almost convincing.”

“We’re not self-serving. We’re not hiding. Just because we’re not fighting now, doesn’t mean we’re not planning to. Resistance isn’t futile.”

Trailbreaker turned back to the doorway. “I have to go.”

“Are you going to halt Operation: Crosscut?”

“I don’t know, Xaaron,” said Trailbreaker. “I’m not a Councillor: I don’t make promises that I know I’m going to break.”

Trailbreaker was alone again. The voices of Landfill and the others had disappeared. As he travelled in vehicle mode, he noticed the smooth, polished surface of the floor give way to a rougher, unfinished track. Makeshift lamps that dangled from the ceiling cast a gritty and unfocused glow. He gathered speed and as he passed the lights one by one, faster and faster, a pattern formed in his mind and he began to imagine what it was like on the rest of the planet.

He imagined holes in the ground, much dirtier and grimier than this. He imagined groups of broken Autobots sat huddled and scared. He imagined their eyes closed. He imagined them clinging to life, waiting for the Decepticons above to move on. He imagined their lives slipping away as the last residues of energon within their batteries burned out.

Now several kilometres underground, still speeding, still wrecking his newly installed suspension on the ground, Trailbreaker imagined the worst.

A call for help struck Trailbreaker and he braked sharply and stopped suddenly. Snapping out of his daze, he transformed into robot mode and tuned his scanners. Before him, some hundred metres further down the tunnel, he saw a bright flash of solar gold. A second later the sound of an explosion juddered up the tunnel and shook Trailbreaker on his feet. There was a moment of silence, then another cry, and then another explosion.

Oh my god, Trailbreaker thought. The Decepticons.

The Autobot held out his arms and his wrists retracted and were replaced with short-range fracture shell launchers. He sprinted forwards, ready to meet the Decepticons head-on. He pumped his legs onto the ground and readied himself for battle. For a split-second, he thought of Landmine, no doubt already dead, the first casualty of the Decepticons’ inside-out attack on Iacon.

Trailbreaker ran into the sound of a barrage of short-range explosions, punctuated by over-acted battle cries. A visor slid over his eyes to protect them from the phosphor flash of the explosions.

As he neared ground zero, he tensed his body and slowed to a jog.

Something didn’t sit right. The explosions, he realised, were all coming from the same weapon. The shouts for help and cries of battle lust, he realised, were all of the same voice. His jog slowed to a walking pace, and then a complete stop.

Before Trailbreaker was not a Decepticon battalion, nor an infiltration unit. The grinding sounds of repeating explosions were not from weapons of mass destruction. And the convincing cries and shouts came not from an arrogant squadron leader.

Trailbreaker felt like a fool, though one that had over-reacted with good cause, as he saw the source of all the commotion: An Autobot miner called Landmine.

“They told me you had quite some imagination,” Trailbreaker said.

The smaller-by-comparison grey Autobot, whose armour was caked in shavings of magnesium and powdered iron, replied modestly. “I just get caught up in my work, is all.”

“Well, we’re all very impressed with your progress. Where are you from, Landmine?”

“Tyrest, originally. I worked the Stook Mines before transferring to Iacon.”

“Before the war, I take it.”

“Yeah. We’ll just say, between you and me, that I was getting bored with my job and well, a friend of a friend of Scoop got me a position here.”

“When you say bored with your job…”

“I’m an adventurer at heart,” Landmine said proudly. “I follow the action.”

Trailbreaker smiled. Sometimes the innocence of youth was a more potent fuel than any energon blend. “And the action’s down here, underneath Iacon?”

Landmine laughed. It wasn’t often that an Autobot under Trailbreaker’s command laughed at his jokes. “Well, not exactly. But it’s what you make of it, know what I mean?”

“But you’d prefer not to be here?”

Landmine picked up his mining apparatus and held it up proudly. “This here is my astro-blaster. She shoots a stream of incendiary explosives. One burst every three seconds. Look at what she’s done down here with this tunnel.”

“I can see.”

“So just imagine what she can do to a few tens of hundreds of Decepticons in battle!”

“Then why aren’t you out in the field, using, uh, her?”

Landmine rested the astro-blaster back down on the ground. “Ah well, that’s the thing, isn’t it.”

“That is the thing,” Trailbreaker repeated, not quite sure if he was following Landmine’s thread of logic or not.

“I have a duty to do, don’t I? I mean, just because I have the means and/or have the inclination, doesn’t mean I can shirk my responsibilities and race out of here, all guns firing.”

Trailbreaker poised himself, attentive to Landmine’s words.

The miner continued: “It’s like mining. Everything’s gotta have structure. You can’t just start digging without first planning the angle, the depth. You don’t want the whole place caving down on your head now, do you?”

“Well, of course.”

“I may not know the details, but I know there is a plan to be followed. Get this place dug out, fortify it, and then build our resistance against the Decepticons from there.”

“So you’re happier down here?”

“Happy? No. I’m sure I’d be in my element in the field, gun in hand, doing the hero thing. But my place is here for the moment. Everyone has their place within the bigger picture, don’t you think?”

“Sure.”

“And it would be pretty selfish if I didn’t do my job. Got to think about the others, we’re all in this together.”

“You’re not wrong, Landmine. You’re not wrong.”

“I’m just doing my job, following orders.”

“Do you ever wonder that your orders might be wrong? That the higher command element might have made a mistake?”

“It’s not my place to, sir,” Landmine said. “I just do what you tell me.”

Despite the clogged atmosphere of the foot of the tunnel, Landmine’s words were a breath of fresh air to Trailbreaker.

“So,” laughed Landmine. “Did I pass my inspection?”

“What? No,” said Trailbreaker, insecure and undecided. “This isn’t an inspection. I just came down here to tell you… To tell you to carry on as you are, to keep up the good work. The Autobots are counting on you.”