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Location: The Harbinger Content Warnings: N/A Plot Summary:
Each character joining the Cybertronian Vanguard will be put into The Vanguard member group. Listed below are characters involved in the thread; while there is no posting order, it is recommended that you let everyone have a turn before posting again. If a post is not made in two weeks, an Admin will bump the thread. If you have an idea for Episode 4.1 don’t be afraid to talk it over with the rest of those involved in Episode 4.1!
Perhaps it was fate that had lead him to The Harbinger, or perhaps it was merely chance. Dreadwing did not know, but nevertheless he had welcomed the shelter. Supposedly Starscream had been sent to catalog the wreckage, but if he’d actually written any reports of its contents Dreadwing could not recall them, and for once the lack of paperwork suited his purposes just fine - he desired a home base, a place where he could plan out his next move, and try to decide what he would do next.
It was no easy thing to repair the the basic life support and infrastructure of the ship. He’d started first with the energon refiner (though where he would find raw energon was another problem he would have to solve) and then worked to turn on the lights. Dreadwing was no engineer, and he spent many nights stewing in the darkness after blowing yet another light circuit with his tinkering. Basic shields were next, something to mask the presence of activity within the wreckage, as well as a few proximity alarms for safety. The space bridge he would not touch, for even he knew he better than to tinker with something where one mistake could leave one’s atoms scattered across half the solar system.
While he worked, he pondered. Surely he was not the only one disillusioned with the Cause, and with the War? They fought and fought amongst themselves, but for what? Cybertron lay in ruin behind them, lifeless, a husk. Why continue to throw their lives away when such a path only lead to extinction? What if there was some other way?
Old hurts and grudges would not die easily, he knew, but… surely he was not the only one thinking that the road they were all on ended only in destruction. The more he thought upon it, the more his foolish thoughts got away from him, and what started as a mere passing thought began to grow.
Now, with the communications array finally repaired, he could make his statement. Dreadwing ensured that his transmission could not be tracked by pinging it across multiple human satellites.
<<“To all Cybertronians upon this world, I send you this message: I am Dreadwing, formerly of the Decepticon Cause. I act now upon my own, with my own agency and freedom denied to me by my former leader. I reach out now to you, those who are dissatisfied with their factions, and their leaders, and their lives. Will you allow this War to drag on, until every last Cybertronian has been ground to dust? Will you relegate yourself to perpetuation of the old ways, of castes and functional determinism, of accepting your purpose and the purpose of others as dictated by those in power? Or will you stand forth with me against the very thing many of us always opposed? Join me, and we will be the Vanguard of Cybertron. We will be the future, the ones who will move forward from the senseless violence and war.”>>
<<“Encrypted within this transmission is my private comm link. If you wish to speak to me, I will be here.” >>
The repairs he'd received were the only reason his com worked now; despite his damaged appearance. He still hadn't a clue how to properly use it. The young bot had been outside, a hood distance away from the Autobot base when the sound came through. It startled him and for a moment he was about to freak when a voice started to come through.
"Oh no....not now..." Stitch Tech whimpered; thinking it was another of his imaginings.
Then he noticed something. The voice wasn't anyone from the crash, he didn't recognize it. Didn't feel any familiarity towards it. The words they said, were mostly unfamiliar but with the mention of castes he felt something. He had been on Cybertron for the war, granted he was a sparkling running behind his creator all over destruction and back. But the castes had been something they once discussed; the memory was just another lost one. But he felt like he knew what they were talking about to a small extent. This made him pay more attention, forgetting any chance of this being fake or imaginary he listened.
Even with the aid of the Autobots, Stitch didn't join them. Mainly this was due to the thought not entering his head as well as his normal feeling of uselessness. The ship he was on, it was Autobots but he only got passage on it due to helping them. Right now he had nowhere to belong. While grateful, he felt out of place amongst the great and heroic bots. He felt ..unworthy and out of place. They were all good bots who could do more than he could. Without paying much attention he ended up trying to get the com to work, to latch onto the private com. It took a good long while but finally, he felt a little confident it would work.
"Anyone there?" Stitch Tech asked as he looked around at the desert. "I...I'm not really good at using this thing...anyone there?"
Skystalker dug at the sands of the Sahara, sniffing on occasion to try and get a scent of something familiar. He had been trying to find answers of what had occurred when he first arrived there, from going to a lab to suddenly in the middle of an Earth desert he felt he was no where close to. Lately, things had felt rather off and unusual to him, as if he felt he had been in the confines of a place before and that explosion had resulted in a much different outcome.
He always shook this off as merely a trick of the processor and to pass the times as of late he was seeking maybe to solve the little mystery of being here. So far, he had only turned up twisted and burned metal, bits of glass, and little shards of something he wasn't utterly familiar with. He gave a frustrated growl as he clawed the sands furiously, having dug a shallow hole into the sands before finally giving in after some hours of looking. "Figures, nothing of note." He growled softly, turning and pulling himself from the shallow hole he had dug and shaking the sands that had collected on his form.
The last thing he would have ever expected however was a sudden message being sent out, from a mech he was not familiar with. Skstalker listened carefully, optics narrowing briefly when Dreadwing mentioned of being a former Decepticon but his curiosity became peaked at the rest, intrigued at this mech's seeming desire to forge a much different path than taken by Autobots or Decepticons. The offer sounded tempting, more desirable than his current situation of sticking with the Autobots.
True, he had grown to care for his adoptive faction, even considering two of them to be rather good allies and friends, but he always felt a small bit of himself didn't belong. But at the same time he knew he didn't exactly belong with them. Without much second thought, Skystalker transformed to his robot mode spreading his wings slightly before flattening them to his back, noting of the com frequency embedded in the message before he sent a ping to Dreadwing's, <<"Dreadwing, my name is Skystalker of the Predacons and currently a temporary Autobot. I heard your message and as the humans say you are preaching to the choir.">>
He paused for a moment as his mind thought of his encounters with the Autobots, how they had given him a home, had become his allies, had given him much to ponder of a world he was not suppose to understand beyond being a killer. He would be eternally grateful for the experiences, but Skystalker felt it was time he found his place among a new group, possibly a new home. <<"Where exactly does this Vanguard you envision begin?">> He asked over the private channel.
Predaking had been faced with one singular faction trying to recruit him. A mech by the designation of Megatron. It seemed to be something worth pursuing. It was an opportunity for his species to once again flourish and take root. Something of the Decepticon cause soured in Predaking's mouth, however. The way Megatron seemed to believe he actually held power over him was almost laughable. The beast was not to be tamed, and he was especially not to be tamed by some flea.
The ping alerted his HUD to a message. A mech of the designation Dreadwing was attempting to contact...any user his message could reach. The Predaking was impressed that the message had reached his systems at all. He listened carefully, and he found the offer to be appealing. A team that was outside of this war he hardly understood to begin with. He didn't want to truly take a side just yet but remaining out in the open this way was not an option any longer. He would be attacked or killed if he remained unhoused.
<<"Responding to the message sent by defector Dreadwing. How does one go about becoming a member in your ranks?">>
In all truth, Dreadwing had not been expecting any reply to his message. He knew not of any amongst Autobot or Decepticon ranks who desired to find a new path as he did, nor did he know of any whose loyalties would willingly shift. At most, he’d expected radio silence from the Autobots and an increased effort by Megatron’s forces to find him and bring him to ‘justice’.
To his surprise, there was not one but three separate individuals who desired to speak with him: two Predacons and a rather confused sounding bot. Dreadwing spent a moment in silence to process the fact that his words had actually reached and resonated with others upon this pitforsaken planet. Did they truly have interest in what he had to say? Or was this just a trick to discern his location and make it easier for Megatron to mount his head on the wall?
There was only one way to find out.
To the confused sounding mech, he sent, <<”What is your designation? What are your coordinates? Perhaps I might be able to direct you to my location.”>>
To the Predacons Skystalker and Predaking he sent, <<”Salutations to you both! I wish to establish the Vanguard as a neutral party in this war, egalitarian in structure, with hopes that we may eliminate the inequalities that still persist amongst our kind. If you meet me at these coordinates, I would be happy to speak further with you.”>>
"<<You have my curiosity, I shall be there as soon as I can.>>" Skystalker responded once Dreadwing answered him and someone else. This was getting interesting knowing there was at least one other bot out there who got the message and was most likely meeting the defector like himself. Skystalker however had no way of knowing it was someone else of the Predacons, one of his own brethren who seemed to share little interest in the war as he did.
No, the only thing Skystalker was interested in was revenge really, beyond that he would be more than happy to find an alternative path. Perhaps though, an alternative path was truly presenting itself to him and the mech was more than willing to take a crack at finding where it led. With the coordinates given though, Skystalker pushed off the ground and transformed mid-fllight to begin making his way towards Dreadwing's location, some bits of sand falling from his frame as he did so.
He was taking a huge risk straying from a location he had mentioned just in case he was needed, and this entire thing could just be a trap. But if he didn't start taking such risks he wasn't going to get anywhere.
Predaking was not fully expecting such a prompt answer. Dreadwing was helpful in his explanation, and he seemed somewhat trustworthy. Predaking figured if he encountered trouble with this mech, he may as well simply report his location to the other Cybertronian he'd met on Earth.
There were many implications that this Megatron deemed to force the war upon the Predacon's shoulders. A war he had no stake in, and a war he had nothing to gain from. This was nothing like the Predacon wars from before. This was meek and it was pathetic.
Arriving at the given coordinates, the beast sniffed around, attempting to make sure it was not an ambush. His senses picked up nothing of interest, and he found it best to wait to be approached by the defector. No need to start a fight over simple startle reflexes.