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Hardstop sat on the grassy field, watching as the two suns of the planet Mesera began to set. He adjusted the strap of his brown shoulder bag for what felt like the hundredth time. He looked at the nearby wooden building and sighed. Once again, his friend Shooting Star wanted to meet at a popular hangout spot. “Hiker’s Hill” sounded like a walking trail, not a bustling cafe. It was definitely the kind of place his friend Shooting Star would find comfort in, but he himself wouldn’t.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t fit in there, which was oftentimes a problem for a 9 meter bipedal tank like Hardstop. Hiker’s Hill was a spacious building for all kinds of travelers. It wasn’t too wild either, for it was a pretty chill hangout spot. But, even being quite a distance away, Hardstop could hear how loud the place was. The chit chat, the lo-fi music—all too much for the mech to bear.
Hardstop sometimes wondered why Shooting Star talked to him. Despite his social status, Shooting Star was a kind, genuine mech who never made others feel insignificant. In fact, Hardstop didn’t even know that Shooting Star was a famous mech, until after they met.
They met when Hardstop was out on the planet Cipter during one of its famous Lavender Sunset events. None of his friends back at the Earth base were interested in accompanying him. Cipter was an interesting place to be on, a beautiful yet dangerous world, with glassy floors and sharp diamonds raining from the sky for most of the day. Truely, a nightmare to mechs who had just been out of war. Why would Hardstop want to be there? Because there was something about being in a strange, optic catching place that peaked Hardstop’s interests.
Hardstop had prepared his own shelter from the storm, a huge metal canopy stretched fifteen times his width, and an even wider range of force field protection. These deflected the diamonds from causing damage to him or his stuff. Beneath the canopy, he had a mess of a table, with various brushes of different styles, tubes of paint, palettes, and paper. Beneath the table was a large chest full of various other supplies. A few steps from the table was Hardstop himself, sitting on a chair, in front of a large canvas, where he had been for quite some time. He was having a good time painting when all of the sudden he heard several distinct quick tip taps.
Tap tap tap.
He stood up and looked around. He saw nothing in the distance but the large mountains and the valley below.
Tap tap tap.
Nothing.
TAP TAP TAP THUD THUD THUD
Hardstop stopped swiveling his head back and forth and looked down, and saw a small crumpled figure at the edge of his field. The figure, with abnormal swiftness, picked himself up, smoothing out wide wings, and spotted Hardstop. He then proceeded to tap gracefully at the force field.
“Hellooo! To whoever is there!” the figure called out in a muffled voice that was too calm for what he was going through. “I was out here with a few friends of mine—then our force field shut down, and I guess they forgot about me haha…” The figure tightly wrapped himself with his own wings. “Now, if I could get some assistance, that would be a big help!”
Hardstop jumped to his pedes and without thinking rushed over to the figure. He deactivated a part of the field, just small enough for the figure to come in. Still wrapped in his own wings, the figure comically ran into Hardstop’s leg. He let out a little yelp, backed up, and fell on his back.
Taking a step back himself, Hardstop frowned. “Oh no, I'm sorry!”
“Don't worry about that, lad!” spoke the figure. “I apologize for not looking up, haha.”
The figure unraveled himself, revealing a grey, blue, and purple mechanical being. Hardstop leaned over a bit, and saw he had a bat face for a chest plate, with purple wings that lined his back.
The figure rubbed his green optics and blinked up at Hardstop. He froze for a second, assessing the huge tank of a mech in front of him.
“A Predacon…” Hardstop thought out loud, feeling really stupid as the figure broke into a smirk.
“Thank you very much, Tank Cybertronian! But I go by Shooting Star! Well!” he said, “This is a bit of an awkward state. Do you mind helping me up a bit?”
Hardstop grimaced. Touching others, especially others who were many times smaller than he, always made him uncomfortable. He kneeled down to the small mech, and gently pulled him up.
At full height, Shooting Star barely reached Hardstop’s knees.
And at that moment, Hardstop realised that he let a complete stranger into his space. And he was not the brightest of mechs, but he knew better than to underestimate someone based on size. But apparently he wasn’t bright enough to really think about whether the mech was saying the truth or not about being forgotten, or whether he had ulterior motives. Hardstop didn’t know what to expect.
The tank froze, watching the figure’s every move. Shooting Star turned around and flapped his wings, unfurling hidden frills along his neck and arms, revealing....nothing, just said wings, dotted with diamond shards. “Not too bad of a look, ey? What do you think, don’t I just look star studded? Hold on—Just one second!”
And at that moment, a little circular drone popped out from under the mech’s frills. With a few finger wags and whirls, it began to take pictures of him as he did various poses.
Hardstop stared. The mech had no sense of awareness. He was just stabbed by hundreds of small diamonds, and he seemed to have no intention of taking them out. He didn’t bother to be on the defense, either. I don’t think I have anything to worry about, Hardstop thought. That just proves it. Hardstop just retreated back to his art area, unable to not look at Shooting Star, as the energies of the other mech were just too overwhelming.
When the mech got his fill of pictures, he looked to Hardstop. Hardstop embarrassedly looked away.
“Oh hey! There’s where ya went!”
“Well, stay over there!” Hardstop called out. Oh, that’s kind of rude of me. He thought. He doesn’t seem like a bad mech...just strange.
“I mean—you're welcome to stay until the storm lifts, or until your friends come back. I’m just busy. You can have some of my energon cubes, though I think they're more than you need—”
“Ya got some Engex in here?” Shooting Star asked, already rifling through Hardstop’s stuff, as if they were best buds.
Hardstop shook his head. “No, I've never even tasted that stuff. Besides, Nuclear Storm says I'm not allowed to yet.”
At that name, Shooting Star made a face that Hardstop couldn’t quite describe.
“Nuclear Storm? Hm….You mean that young Decepticon general? The one who now sparkling sits over those former cons—Wait, you’re one of those mechs?”
“I—” Hardstop stopped himself. Well, its too late for that, he thought, for he was a terrible liar.
“Where were ya when the Autobots and Decepticons made peace?”
“Uh, Earth.”
“Where did you train?”
Hardstop nervously rubbed his arm. “Darkmount—”
Shooting Star straightened up. “So you’re a Decepticon!”
“Well, yes…” Hardstop muttered. It wasn’t something he liked to admit, given various reactions he had gotten for it.
“Darkmount was the last Decepticon base that had incoming trainees...so, that means—”
Shooting Star snapped his fingers.
“So! I was saved by a whole Decepticon sparkling!”
Hardstop's tracks turned a bit and he stamped a pede. “I’m not a whole sparkling! But not a grown up, I guess! I’m—I'm—fine, a grown up not sparkling! And I'm not a Decepticon! Not anymore, anyway”, with a bit more attitude than he meant.
He looked up and saw that Shooting Star took a step back, stiffening his wings, bending his arms with his servos up, then giving a solute. He widened his smile in a nervous kind of way. “Woah woah, okay, okay, you’re real grown up neutral mech sir!”
After a few seconds, the mech relaxed his posture, smirked and waved his servos carelessly. “Heheh, its okay, I'm just jesting! I’m not worried about ya, I think you’re a good little sparkling!”
Hardstop huffed and turned away and continued to work. What an annoying weirdo. Well, as long as he stays over there I should be—
And then all the sudden, he felt the presence of the small mech right next to him. His anxiety skyrocketed.
“What’cha doin?”, Shooting Star asked.
“...painting…”
“Painting? Like, as in, swishing around with those organic colors?”
“...yes...” Hardstop said, sheepishly.
Shooting Star looked at the canvas. At the moment, Hardstop had down the basic concept. Dark purple paint sketchlines covered the canvas, with blocks of lavender for the sky, and different ranges of dark green and pink for the ground. The small mech looked up and down a lot, making Hardstop even more nervous.
“I think it looks cool so far! I can see it! Ooo—tell me when you are done with it!”
Shooting Star himself went back to playing with the drone. What a strange, annoying little mech. Hardstop thought, as the Shooting Star went from singing to dancing to making melancholic monologues. Hardstop sighed. But...it's nice to have some company.
And after a while, Hardstop made the last few strokes and called it a day—right when the moon began to rise, too.
Shooting Star was chatting to the drone when Hardstop stood up. Despite not knowing the Predacon well, he was strangely excited to show him the painted piece. Why do I care what he thinks so much? But it was obvious, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It was nice hearing genuine interest in what he was doing, something that he didn’t get often back at base.
Hearing the tank’s heavy footsteps, Shooting Star looked up and smiled, hanging up on however he was talking to.
“What’s up?”, Shooting Star asked.
Hardstop rubbed the back of his helm. “Oh, uh, I...finished…”
Shooting Star popped up onto his pedes. “Great! Let’s see how that bad boy turned out!”
He walked with a strange pep to his step over to the canvas.
Now the landscape was more defined. “Now let’s see here...A dark purple swathes out the expansive fields before us, bordered by the gradient, glossy mountains and grounds that support us, but wait, hold on, a HUGE shower of diamonds of robust shine cascade down from the HEAVENS, into our very being!”
Hardstop cracked an amused smile. Was Engex back there? “Well, that’s one way of describing it.”
“Yeah sure bet it is! I like it!”
“Thanks!”
“I think you could go places. You shouldn’t be so shy, lad! I’m telling you, it's great!”
The sun finally set. The falling diamonds fell softly and twinkled with the light of Cipter’s moon, as if shooting stars. Shooting Star had his drone take pictures. Meanwhile, Hardstop got a blanket and a cube of energon. He placed the blanket on the floor, picked up the cube, and sat, settling on a comfortable position.
Shooting Star still stood. “Well, looks like my ride hasn't come yet. It might me on the way, but who knows.” he said with a frown.
“That's okay, you can stay here, like I said.” Hardstop replied, drinking his energon cube nonchalantly.
“Did ya just plan to stay the night here?"
“Yea. So, leave or not, no problem with me!”
“What a kind host!” Shooting Star shivered a bit. “Its chilly out tonight!”
“Not really.”
“Yea? Cuz you're a warm big fella.” Shooting Star wrapped himself with his wings, making himself look even smaller than he already was.
“Ah hold on.” Hardstop stood up and pulled out one of his chest from beneath his table. From it, he pulled out a scarf, a portable heater, and an energon cube.
He walked back to Shooting Star, and handed the items to him.
“I know these are a bit big for you but—”
“Why, thank you, generous mech!”, the Predacon replied, accepting both items.
As far as Shooting Star was concerned, the scarf might as well have been a blanket. He proceeded to roll himself in it, sitting a Hardstop distance away from the tank.
Seeing that he still shrank himself, Hardstop turned on the portable heater.
“Now that's the spot!” Shooting Star unraveled himself, scooting to the heater.
“I thought Predacons would be all warm and stuff.” Hardstop remarked. “You know, with the fur and all.”
Shooting Star chuckled. “I’m still part metal, and small metal frames get colder faster than big ones! And even if I was a whole organic creature,I still would get cold, silly!”
Hardstop chuckled.
“Well, I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Hm?” Shooting Star looked up at Hardstop.
“I am a Decepticon—was, I mean. I mean I’m not mean, but I mean—” He shook his head and looked at his pedes. “I was created to be a soldier, yes—But I'm not a big dummy who is going to hit people or break things. I never wanted to be. Doesn’t mean I should lose my cool.”
Shooting Star tilted his head. “Well, why does being called a Decepticon make you feel so bad? Lots of Cybertronians were Decepticons.”
“Well, in case you haven’t heard, Decepticons weren’t exactly the friendliest of people to non-Cybertronians. So everywhere I go, I am seen just as bad as the worst of them.” He took a swig from his energon cube.
“I was sent to Earth. I liked it there, as, even though the lifeforms there get spooked too easily, they didn’t know what kind of things Decepticons were known for. One day I was hiding in some hidden away place, and humans found me. I guess they might have thought I was an Autobot though, and they taught me how to paint.”
“We became good friends and it was nice. But then actual Autobots showed up and...then everything became a mess.” he frowned, not wanting to think about the memory. It hurt to think of how his new found mentor friends both feared and turned on him upon knowing what he was, how unnecessary the following skirmish was. “Even though they don’t like me now, I don’t know...I do miss them.
“But from them, I discovered my love for painting. Nuclear Storm made sure they were okay, and got some supplies for me.”
“Well”, Shooting Star said. “Its interesting, you know? Organics sometimes have a much limited capacity in things, but want to feel a connection with everything, be it with art or alien life. And one way they feel out how much they like their world is to recreate it. But sorry you had to deal with all that.”
Hardstop paused, and remembered something. “Ah, enough of that.”, shaking his head. “Oh—! So I'm trying to join this thing...where different artists from other planets stay in a place for a time period or so, doing art and teaching another—an art retreat!”
“How exciting! How is that going?”
“Well, not great, considering my former Decepticon status.”
“Well, maybe I can look for some opportunities for ya—If I can trust you to continue doing good work, I will put in a good name!”
“Would you really?” Hardstop questioned, not sure why the opinion of a random bat mech would make a difference.
“Yea sure, why not?”
“Thanks?”
“No need to thank me. I get it. I am an artist too, gotta help each other out, ya know?”
“Oh, you do art?”
“Well, not in the same way you do—I’m an actor! An artist of people” And from there, Shooting Star gave a very dramatic account of his travels. It was amazing how much a charming little personality and confidence got the bat. And it was during one of his stories that Shooting Star’s drone beeped a particular pattern, and the sound of wind blowing filled the air.
Hardstop looked up beyond the force field and saw a shuttle hovering by
“Ah, well, there’s my ride!” Shooting Star said. He did a little jump and transformed.
Hardstop was actually a little sad at the departure. “Hey! When can we meet again?”
The bat smiled. “When our paths cross, mech. If ya need me, just look me up! And thank you, once again!” and flew away to the vehicle in the sky.
It was later when Hardstop was back at home base that he bothered to look up Shooting Star, who, all intensive purposes, was a shooting star. Shooting Star, a mech known to many peoples, organic or technical, silicon or carbon based. Translator, Ambassador, and Actor. He didn’t realise how big of a deal the meeting was until he mentioned the event to his friends, who absolutely lost it. And Nuclear Storm, who happened to make a face he couldn't describe when Hardstop described the character. However, Hardstop didn’t feel the same infatuation as his friends, but did look forward to meeting with Shooting Star again.
While constantly busy, Shooting Star did find a way to chat with Hardstop. And this was one of those days where the could actually meet.
“Hey, big guy!” called out a smooth voice, that took Hardstop back to the current time. “Hiker’s Hill is over there!”
Hardstop turned around and saw a bat flying toward him. So, there he sat as Shooting Star flew on by, landing on his shoulder. The bat transformed into a slender mech of blue and gray, with long, draping purple and pink wings and frills. “I hope you don’t mind, I just don't want to talk to your under-chest the whole time.”
“I don’t mind.”
Shooting Star rubbed his servos together. “So, you told me that you have some big news?”
“Yeah—I got accepted into an art retreat!”
“That’s great! Where?”
“On Halgran.”
“Halgran? I hear its pretty competitive to get into—Congratulations!”
Hardstop shuffled his pedes. “Yeah…”
“What’s wrong then, lad?”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, cheer up then!”
“But what if it turns out bad?”
“What?”
“What if they don’t like me? Or my work?”
“If they dont like you? Don’t worry about that! Just be real friendly and smile, silly! And your work already spoke for itself!”
“I can’t just smile and wave at people and act goofy and expect things to go well. It's not that easy for me.” Hardstop pouted, anxiously touching the strap of his art bag.
Shooting Star kept talking, and Hardstop receded his head in his chest a little. He knew all of these things, be positive, be happy, look your best, but didn’t the little bat get it? People just don't accept former Decepticons, especially those with military alt forms!
Shooting Star all the sudden stopped talking and sighed. “Now, I know what you are thinking. What does this devilishly handsome actor of a con think he is? Him being such a small insignificant bat and all! His words have no value!”
Hardstop shook his head. “N-no, I wasn’t thinking of that at all—” He twiddled his fingers. He didn’t mean to make his friend feel bad, and he certainly didn't think he was insignificant, not at all!
“You know what, lad? Just for you, I’ll reveal secrets no one else knows! I was a Decepticon, too.”
“You were?” Hardstop asked, skeptically.
“Yes! See, I had a different name back then. Can you believe I wasn’t just bestowed such a great name originally!” Hardstop rolled his optics.
“I am a Destic, a spark stolen during When the Stars Screamed. From what city I came from, to who my mentors could have been...I don't know. I’m sure you have heard of it. “
Hardstop widened his optics. When the Stars Screamed? That one fateful night of infamy, when an armada of organic aliens raided Cybertron's hotspots and took countless sparks to be used for energy sources or drones. So many Cybertronians lost to worlds unknown, one of the greatest tragedies of the planet. The catalyst that led to….tension with Cybertronians and organics, to say the least.
“The Decepticons found me offline by one of their offshoot groups on an organic planet. Perhaps I was misplaced by my captors. Either way, they took me in, assessing that I was meant to be a Seeker, but was locked into this alt mode. So no, I am not even a true Predacon. I didn't have a choice in that, or whether I wanted to be a con or not. But I believed that even a little mech like me deserved rights, deserved to have a voice.
“And when I saw how little of that I got, even in this group that said they believed in it, I persisted! And I did so many regrettable things. I had so many scars and dents by how rough the others were—and sometimes, they didn’t even mean it! And I hated myself, wondering what if I wasn't stolen that night.” Shooting Star’s eyes softened in a sad way. “And sometimes I feel a longing for the trine I never got to be in...”
Then he sat up, speaking with a cheery voice. “I like to believe that perhaps I was put in such a situation because Primus knew I could handle it. Or, at the very least, it does me no good to think about it. The Decepticons helped make me who I am today, even if it wasn't all savory. But all I have is what I can do now!”
Hardstop felt guilty and stammered. “I guess I'm just a big sparkling is all…I’m so—”
“I don't say any of this to make you feel bad, Hardstop.”
He pointed to Hardstop’s chest. “I know that you and I have different problems. I just want you to know that I understand, but you also gotta understand something. You can't let others beat you down and say you're just a big bloke. And you can't beat yourself down and act like one. You haven't even done that much time as a con! Life is rough, but you got millions of years to figure it out—that's why I keep calling you sparkling, sparkling! You have lots of time left, don’t overthink it!”
Shooting Star waved his servos. “So what if those organics think you're scary? There's a whole universe full of weird and exciting people. Just find those that accept what you're doing, okay? And be patient for those that don’t You can't judge people then expect them not to judge you! Besides, it's their instincts that got them this far."
“I suppose you're right…” Hardstop remarked sheepishly.
“Great! Enough of the sad talk. Now, are you willing to come down to Hiker’s Hill? You gotta start somewhere with talking to others and getting used to rejection, especially with a stiff stick up the aft program like Halgran!”
Hardstop whined.
“Hey, Hardstop, I will help you out tonight, I won’t leave you out to juet be awkward! I’ll even buy you some of those popping fluorite crystal drinks that they have just come out with!”
Hardstop couldn’t resist that. “All right, it's a deal!”
“Woohoo!” Shooting Star kicked his legs. “Let’s go—and, by the way, you gotta stop with the sorry stuff! Makes me feel like its your catch phrase!”
“Okay, okay—” Hardstop smirked. “Sorry!”
And Hardstop proceeded to walk toward Hiker’s Hill, a bit more confident and knowledgeable about his friend than before.