Fanfic -- Diligence
Aug. 3rd, 2007 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dunmurderinTitle: Diligence
Originally Posted: August 26, 2006
Author: Dunmurderin
Fandom: Transformers (G1)
Characters/Pairing: Combaticons
Prompt: Diligence
Word Count: approximately 653 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers; wouldn’t particularly want to -- though it would be fun to be able to screw with the hardcore fans. (Then again, Transformers KISS is doing that better than I could dream of so...)
Author's Notes: Story takes place six million years in the past in my personal Transformers story universe. Features Combaticons being Not Nice, as is their wont, in their pre-Bruticus days.
Diligence
Onslaught watched the neutral village, his optics set to their highest magnification. From his vantage point on top of an abandoned communications tower, he could see the entire layout.
It was a ramshackle place, similar to a dozen other settlements Onslaught had seen back on Cybertron. It was small, with perhaps fifty inhabitants at the most. It was a hard life, as Onslaught knew -- he and his brothers had been spent most of the first vorn of their lives living in various neutral settlements -- and for this community, that life was no doubt made harder still because it was located on Cybertron’s second moon.
Rumor had it that this village was the site of a secret cabal of Autobot sympathizers planning on building a spaceport to help smuggle supplies to Autobot cells in the contested regions of the Southern Hemisphere.
The idea, of course, was absurd. The closest thing the village had to a cargo shuttle was a derelict Exodus-class cruiser that was currently serving as a makeshift village meeting hall. The only way it would reach Cybertron would be if it were carved into pieces and shipped there.
The rest of the village wasn’t much better -- a few scrap metal shacks serving as private homes or businesses, a refueling station that was converting solar energy into hard-won energon.
The villagers themselves were a motley collection of refugees, mostly neutrals though there were a few here and there who wore a faction‘s mark. No doubt all of them were hoping the war would just pass them by.
They were going to be sorely disappointed. Onslaught and his fellow Combaticons were going to bring the war directly to their doorsteps. And when they were done, only wreckage would remain.
It didn’t matter to Onslaught that the rumor wasn’t true. He’d never really believed it in the first place. High Command wanted the Outer Rim settlements pacified and the rumors of spaceports and Autobot cabals were simply convenient justifications for what had to be done.
What did matter to Onslaught was that the assignment was an insult of sorts. It was little more than busywork, a chance to test newly formed units like the Combaticons before throwing them into real combat against the Autobots. Most of his fellow commanders were treating the mission as a kind of vacation -- they were hitting targets but lackadaisically, all too often allowing survivors to escape and spread the word.
Not Onslaught. Not his team. The Empire wanted the neutrals destroyed and their territory taken, so they would destroy the neutrals and take their territory. That way led advancement, prestige and the chance to go up against real opponents.
“Blast Off, are you in position?” Onslaught turned his gaze skyward, reducing magnification slightly as he looked for some sign of Blast Off’s presence against the blackness of space.
“Almost.” Blast Off’s reply came just as Onslaught spotted the faint outline of a shuttle, as indicated by the sudden disappearance of several stars as Blast Off passed in front of them. “They haven’t spotted me -- fools don’t even have rudimentary anti-meteorite radar. It’s a wonder they haven’t been wiped out before now.”
“Indeed. Swindle and Vortex are in position; they’ll be serving as your spotters,” Onslaught said. “I want the buildings destroyed first -- remove any and all chances of them having a bolt hole. Secondary targets are any groups of five or more individuals and any individuals Guardian-sized or larger. Once you’re done, land and join the rest of us for mopping up, understood?”
“Perfectly,” Blast Off said. “Swindle won’t like not having a chance to loot the buildings.”
“He can loot the bodies,” Onslaught said. “He’s been warned; if he gets too close to a primary, he’ll be considered collateral damage. Our mission comes first. We wipe out the village.”
“And then move on to the next ‘spaceport,’ I suppose?”
Onslaught chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “There might actually be one out there somewhere.”
“I’m sure,” Blast Off said with a small, sarcastic snort. “I’m in position.”
Onslaught nodded to himself. “Good,” he said. “Begin firing on my mark.”
Originally Posted: August 26, 2006
Author: Dunmurderin
Fandom: Transformers (G1)
Characters/Pairing: Combaticons
Prompt: Diligence
Word Count: approximately 653 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own Transformers; wouldn’t particularly want to -- though it would be fun to be able to screw with the hardcore fans. (Then again, Transformers KISS is doing that better than I could dream of so...)
Author's Notes: Story takes place six million years in the past in my personal Transformers story universe. Features Combaticons being Not Nice, as is their wont, in their pre-Bruticus days.
Onslaught watched the neutral village, his optics set to their highest magnification. From his vantage point on top of an abandoned communications tower, he could see the entire layout.
It was a ramshackle place, similar to a dozen other settlements Onslaught had seen back on Cybertron. It was small, with perhaps fifty inhabitants at the most. It was a hard life, as Onslaught knew -- he and his brothers had been spent most of the first vorn of their lives living in various neutral settlements -- and for this community, that life was no doubt made harder still because it was located on Cybertron’s second moon.
Rumor had it that this village was the site of a secret cabal of Autobot sympathizers planning on building a spaceport to help smuggle supplies to Autobot cells in the contested regions of the Southern Hemisphere.
The idea, of course, was absurd. The closest thing the village had to a cargo shuttle was a derelict Exodus-class cruiser that was currently serving as a makeshift village meeting hall. The only way it would reach Cybertron would be if it were carved into pieces and shipped there.
The rest of the village wasn’t much better -- a few scrap metal shacks serving as private homes or businesses, a refueling station that was converting solar energy into hard-won energon.
The villagers themselves were a motley collection of refugees, mostly neutrals though there were a few here and there who wore a faction‘s mark. No doubt all of them were hoping the war would just pass them by.
They were going to be sorely disappointed. Onslaught and his fellow Combaticons were going to bring the war directly to their doorsteps. And when they were done, only wreckage would remain.
It didn’t matter to Onslaught that the rumor wasn’t true. He’d never really believed it in the first place. High Command wanted the Outer Rim settlements pacified and the rumors of spaceports and Autobot cabals were simply convenient justifications for what had to be done.
What did matter to Onslaught was that the assignment was an insult of sorts. It was little more than busywork, a chance to test newly formed units like the Combaticons before throwing them into real combat against the Autobots. Most of his fellow commanders were treating the mission as a kind of vacation -- they were hitting targets but lackadaisically, all too often allowing survivors to escape and spread the word.
Not Onslaught. Not his team. The Empire wanted the neutrals destroyed and their territory taken, so they would destroy the neutrals and take their territory. That way led advancement, prestige and the chance to go up against real opponents.
“Blast Off, are you in position?” Onslaught turned his gaze skyward, reducing magnification slightly as he looked for some sign of Blast Off’s presence against the blackness of space.
“Almost.” Blast Off’s reply came just as Onslaught spotted the faint outline of a shuttle, as indicated by the sudden disappearance of several stars as Blast Off passed in front of them. “They haven’t spotted me -- fools don’t even have rudimentary anti-meteorite radar. It’s a wonder they haven’t been wiped out before now.”
“Indeed. Swindle and Vortex are in position; they’ll be serving as your spotters,” Onslaught said. “I want the buildings destroyed first -- remove any and all chances of them having a bolt hole. Secondary targets are any groups of five or more individuals and any individuals Guardian-sized or larger. Once you’re done, land and join the rest of us for mopping up, understood?”
“Perfectly,” Blast Off said. “Swindle won’t like not having a chance to loot the buildings.”
“He can loot the bodies,” Onslaught said. “He’s been warned; if he gets too close to a primary, he’ll be considered collateral damage. Our mission comes first. We wipe out the village.”
“And then move on to the next ‘spaceport,’ I suppose?”
Onslaught chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “There might actually be one out there somewhere.”
“I’m sure,” Blast Off said with a small, sarcastic snort. “I’m in position.”
Onslaught nodded to himself. “Good,” he said. “Begin firing on my mark.”
