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“Package for you!” Smokescreen smiled widely as he held out the package. It was a heavy parcel, one which had weighed him down for almost a deca-cycle as he traveled across Nuon to get it to its receiver. His arms shook with the weight of it, and thankfully for him, the recipient took the package before he could drop it.
“Payment please!” He held out his servos again, his optics wide as he stood on the tips of his pedes. Being so small had its advantages. He could get from place to place far easier than the grown bots and others were more likely to not shoot him on sight so long as he kept his helm down during his travels and put his pede down when it came to payment.
“Thanks little mech!” The soldier he was delivering to patted his helm fondly before placing a small pile of cards in his servos. Smokescreen almost squealed in delight as he took in the sheer number of cards. One ration card was enough to fuel him for a deca-cycle, and in his servos he held six.
“Pleasure to serve!” Smokescreen was quick to salute in the way the Autobots liked. He and his kind didn’t pick sides. It wasn’t safe to do that. Instead, they blended in and got their work done. He had long learned the various salutes, greetings, and farewells of the various factions he delivered to.
“Here's a warning for you. We bots are going to be dropping bombs on the southern border near Tarn in about a cycle, so try to steer clear of that area, alright?” The soldier waved to him as Smokescreen hurriedly began moving toward his next location. A warning was always nice, but he had no intention of going anywhere near Tarn when he had ration cards to turn in.
“Got it! Thank you for letting me know!” Smokescreen called out gleefully before taking off. He didn’t have a proper map, but other messengers were always willing to share information. Last he checked, there was supposed to be a military base nearby. They always let messengers come in and exchange ration cards for energon. Didn’t matter what faction it was.
“Six whole cards. I’m going to fuel well tonight!” Smokescreen giggled as he hurried along, the pang in his tanks an excellent motivator to keep moving. He hadn’t fueled properly in several deca-cycles and had made due with what little he managed to scavenge and steal. Was it honest? No. But everyone knew that having a messenger around came with a few lost cards and rations.
Being small had its benefits.
“Hey there! Are you a messenger?” A guard called out to him as Smokescreen approached the base. Several other guards looked over, most not seeming to care a great deal as they did so. Messengers were everywhere and few ever visited the same place twice. Smokescreen hardly saw other messengers for that matter. Most didn’t last long. But of course, Smokescreen was far smarter than a lot of the other messengers. He knew where to go and where to avoid.
“Yeah! I’m here to turn in my cards!” Waving his cards up gleefully, the guards at the base gate laughed.
“Come on in messenger! Mid-cycle fueling is about to start!” Smokescreen didn’t hesitate to scramble, hunger driving him forward. A few of the guards chuckled as he all but threw himself through the gates and made a B-line for where he could already see soldiers lining up for their rations. He was practically bouncing on his pedes as he got into line and gleefully waited his turn.
“Did you hear about the bodies they found near the border?” One of the soldiers spoke softly. Smokescreen looked up in interest. He always did his best to keep his audials primed for gossip. Having information of any kind was useful for a messenger without the protection of a faction.
“Yeah, the Autobots have been dumping their dead and dying near Praxus.” One of the soldiers cringed and Smokescreen made a mental note to catch a lift to Praxus the next time he had a chance. Throat cutting was dirty, but it paid well. Younger bots like him could easily sniff out the living amidst the mess that was the battlefield and direct medics toward them or put the poor fools out of their misery.
On instinct, Smokescreen palmed his dagger which hung against his side. His mind conjured images of the goodies he might find on the bodies out there as he moved forward in line. Autobot troops were more likely to have interesting tools on them that Smokescreen could sell. Decepticon troops were more commonly found with ration cards. He could use both.
“That’s not all either. There were three Elite Guardsmecha found mangled not far from here. Maybe a klik east.” The first soldier to speak muttered as if they were discussing a ghost. Smokescreen held his cards and noted the line moving forward, but he kept listening even as he approached the front of the line.
“Those younglings couldn’t have been more than a couple vorns old, and I ain’t no doctor, but they looked like they’d been tortured to death.” Now that was interesting. Smokescreen hummed to himself and contemplated the information. He usually tried to steer clear of the guard. They grabbed a couple other messengers a few stellar cycles back and Smokescreen hadn’t seen any of them after that. He preferred to keep his helm out of things that didn’t involve him.
Then again, the guard did tend to pay handsomely for those who had information. Blackmail material was likely worthless, but if he could go find those corpses, maybe he could dig up something or other and return it for a reward. The guard were known to be very good at scavenging their dead for parts.
“Next!” The mech handing out rations called the line forward and Smokescreen all but bounded to turn in his cards. He jumped up and down on the tips of his pedes, trying hard to get the mech’s attention in his eagerness.
“Right here! One ration please!” He slid one of his six cards across the table and the mech looked down at him a little shocked.
“A messenger? Haven’t seen one of you lot in deca-cycles.” The mech hummed before smiling and sliding over a cube. Smokescreen was practically drooling by the time he managed to snag it.
“Stay safe bitlet!” The mech waved to him as Smokescreen took his earnings and hurried across the base’s open field. He didn’t want to get bullied out of his hard earned rations but some down soldier feeling petty. He saw it happen to others. He refused to lose his cube to anyone.
“Finally!” Grinning, Smokescreen settled down in a quiet corner of the field where a few other soldiers were wandering around and peeled the lid off his ration. It smelled divine to his energon deprived sensors.
He didn’t waste a klik chugging his cube like his life depended on it before promptly patting his abdomen in satisfaction. He watched gleefully as his HUD alerted him that his fueling levels were no longer walking the thin line between thirty and twenty nine percent. His tanks stopped churning in discomfort and finally he could sit and take a moment before hunting down more work.
“Hey, messenger. You want to earn some rations?” One of the nearby soldiers addressed him with mischief lacing his glyphs. Smokescreen frowned. He could sense a scam from a mile away and this certainly had the makings of one just from the sleazy look of the mech. He wasn’t a desperate messenger or an idiot. He knew how to pick employers.
“What are you paying and what’s the delivery?” Watching the mech cautiously, Smokescreen was quick to stare directly at the pile of ten ration cards in the mech’s servo.
Ten. Whole. Ration cards.
“Got your attention now? Good.” The soldier grinned, his Decepticon badge glinting as he leaned down closer and Smokescreen hesitantly walked over to him to get a better look and see if the cards were legit. Scamming was common amongst dumber messengers. He had to be sure.
“Megatron is here doing an inspection. I want you to go in and grab something he’s holding and bring it to me. Then I will give you the ration cards.” The soldier smiled and Smokescreen could tell the mech was playing with him. The soldier didn’t think he could do it. Smokescreen had heard all sorts of rumors about the big scary Megatron, but they were just rumors. Another piece of information to help him find work and that was all.
He was just one mech. It couldn’t be that hard to get.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Better give me those cards when I get back.” Not wasting another moment, Smokescreen marched directly toward the actual military installation. The guards didn’t bother to stop him. Messengers were allowed to go pretty much anywhere so long as they didn’t cause trouble.
He wandered around in the dark halls of the military base for a while, taking care to avoid rooms with mecha in them. He poked his helm in a few to look for his target, but otherwise, he kept moving. Thankfully for him, he found his target in good time.
“Send your complaints to Soundwave. I am merely here to inspect the soldiers.” Megatron waved off some officer as he sauntered forward, a datapad in his servo. Smokescreen smiled and broke into a sprint, trying to catch up with the towering warrior.
“Sir! Wait up!” His vocalizer whirled to life as he got Megatron’s attention. The warlord paused in his steps, confusion etched onto his features as Smokescreen skidded to a stop in front of him.
“A messenger? What do you need?” Megatron held his datapad loosely and Smokescreen saw his chance. He could have snatched the document, but that felt rude. Megatron had a whole aura that just screamed of sadness. Stealing outright would have been acid in the wound.
“One of your soldiers is gonna give me ten ration cards if I take something you are holding to him.” He pointed at the datapad and stood on the tips of his pedes to hopefully make him look less like a bug in front of the monster of a mech that was Megatron.
“Can I have that please?” He asked nicely despite fully intending to snatch the datapad if he was denied. Ten ration cards were too good to resist and he had no intention of losing such an opportunity.
“Very well. Would you mind showing me this mech you made a deal with?” Megatron spoke pleasantly as he handed over the datapad. He still felt sad, but there was something more malicious in his field now. It wasn’t directed at Smokescreen, so he shrugged it off and smiled as he took the datapad.
“Sure! This way!” Once again breaking into a sprint, Smokescreen retraced his steps back the way he came. Soon enough, he came back to the mech on the field with the datapad ready to be delivered. He didn’t bother looking behind him. He knew Megatron would be following him at his own pace.
“I got one of Megatron’s datapads! Pay up please!” The soldier paused in his game of cards with two other bots. All three froze as Smokescreen held up the datapad, at least until the soldier who had put ration cards on the line carefully accepted the datapad.
“Well would you look at that. Didn’t think you could do it, messenger.” The soldier was slack jawed as he looked at the datapad. Smokescreen stood proudly, his chassis puffed up as much as he could manage. His servo remained outstretched, his optics on the soldier and pinning him with what Smokescreen hoped was a silent order to pay up.
“Ah, right. Here you go little mech.” The soldier handed over the cards absentmindedly as he and his buddies crowded around the datapad like it was some sacred relic. Smokescreen giggled as he shoved his cards into his carrying compartment with the rest of his earnings for the cycle. He was making out like a bandit and he couldn’t be prouder.
“It was nice working with you!” He saluted and began briskly walking toward the gate, only looking back in time to see Megatron himself appear out of the shadows and grab the soldier by the neck guard.
“Who do you think you are? We don’t use messengers like that! If I were anyone else, such a foolish task would have gotten that mechling killed!” Megatron hissed like some sort of viper as he snatched back the datapad. Smokescreen took that as his cue to vacate the area with a cheerful series of whistles.
He heard a scream as he left the base, but he didn’t bother turning back. He wouldn’t get anything out of it, and it wasn’t like he enjoyed seeing dead bodies.
“Fifteen ration cards. Sweet thirteen, I’m winning!” Smokescreen punched the air in victory as he started heading east. If he wanted to play it safe, he should have opted to head to his safe place first to hide his cards, but he didn’t want to leave the bodies of guardsmecha laying around to get looted before him. He hadn’t seen many other messengers around in the past couple of cycles, but that didn’t mean they weren’t hiding somewhere.
He counted his cards merrily as he walked, occasionally looking up to see if he could spot the bright blue and gold of the guard. Despite not really wanting to get super involved with the guard for rational reasons, there was a bit of thrill involved in looking for a few of them. When he had a spare moment, Smokescreen liked to imagine what it was like serving under a Prime. It had to have been quite the honor. As much as he didn’t really want to hold a golden bowl with delicacies for a Prime to snack from, he honestly didn’t think he would mind all that much if he was around the Prime frequently.
He’d heard nothing but good things about the mighty Optimus Prime. He liked to daydream about a future where he joined the guard, not out of any love for the organization, but just to see the mech in person. Rumors said he was towering and that his optics were so icy that they almost turned white when he was serious. It would be amazing to witness.
“P-Please…” A pained wheeze reached Smokescreen’s audials, breaking him from his fantasy. He scanned the area eagerly, his cards shoved back into his carrying compartment hastily. Soon enough, he found his target.
“Sheesh, you really did get mauled.” Smokescreen crouched by the body of a guardsmech. She looked to be a couple vorns older than him, and her frame was in quite a state. Her legs had been ripped off at the knees, her arms were broken in what looked like three different ways, and her chassis had been cut up in what looked to be a methodical manner. Her helm was partially bashed in, but only enough to keep her from calling for aid over comms from the looks of it. Two other mecha were around her, but they were already dead, likely from energon loss.
Brutal. Must have been one heck of a battle. Either that or she stepped on the wrong pedes.
“Look, there ain’t much I can do for you now since you are all cut up, but I was trained as a throat cutter. If you want I can… yanno?” He pulled his dagger off his hip and held it up to his neck. The femme paused, her optics wide and pained before she nodded slowly.
“Take a deep vent and calm down. I’ll make it quick and stay right here until it's over.” He reached out and put his servo over the femme’s optics, watching intently as she struggled to stay calm and vent. She looked terrified. Smokescreen couldn’t find it in himself to blame her.
“It’s alright now. Vent and be still.” He spoke softly just as he did with all the dying. Some messengers turned throat cutters were brutal and offered no sympathy. Smokescreen wasn’t one of them. He was doing a service, yes. But he was also taking a life. The least he could do was comfort the dying in their final moment.
“Rest well.” He murmured as he did his work and dug the blade into her neck in one clean movement. The femme spasmed, tears fell from her optics and wet Smokescreen’s servo, but he stayed still. He hummed gently until she stopped moving, and only after waiting a klik and offering up a polite prayer did he begin to examine her corpse for anything of worth.
He politely shut her optics and refused to look at her face as he proceeded to rummage around, looking for anything he could possibly sell. His energon coated dagger hung heavy on his hip, but he did his best to ignore it as he pried the badges the guard wore off the bodies of the deceased. If he returned them, he was likely to get something decent for his efforts.
“Youngling, were you the one to extinguish that one’s spark?” A new voice called out and Smokescreen froze with two of the three badges in his carrying compartment. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the sound, until he found himself staring down a towering guardsmech.
This one was uninjured and wore a gold mask modeled with the symbol of the Autobots. The mech carried a set of twin hammers on his hips and stared Smokescreen down without any visible field flares or expression. He shook ever so slightly as he hurried to find a way out of his new predicament. He tried to reach for the badges and offer them up, hoping to placate the guardsmech. However, before he could do much of anything, the guardsmech crouched down in front of him, just a ways off from the bodies.
“There is no need to be afraid. I am the Brother Chaplain of the Elite Guard, and I mean you no harm.” The guardsmech extended a servo. Smokescreen regarded it in suspicion.
“What do you want? I’ll give back these badges if you want them.” He ran his digits along the badges, watching the Chaplain nervously. The Chaplain didn’t move and kept his servo extended.
“I would like you to come with me. I will give you a place among our number so that you might serve the most holy.” The Chaplain’s words took a moment to click, but when they did, Smokescreen dropped the badges in shock. The Chaplain wanted him to join the guard? Why? What did he do to earn such an offer?
“Will I get more rations than out here?” He was too shocked to ask much else. However, the Chaplain didn’t seem put off as he nodded.
“You can have all the energon you want, mechling. If you serve the most holy, you are made more worthy through his might.” Smokescreen automatically filtered out the propaganda and registered the offer before him. If he joined the guard, he wouldn’t be going hungry again.
He looked down at his chassis, mentally counting his ration cards. He would be fueled for a little while, but then he would be right back to scavenging just to survive. But if he joined the guard, he would get to serve the Prime AND be fed forever.
He was a messenger mech. He knew a good deal when he saw one.
“I’ll join you.” He made his declaration, and he got the distinct impression the Chaplain was smiling.
“I can’t take this anymore! Megatron is wiping out the Primacy! Has Primus not heard our prayers!?” Vorns after being accepted into the guard, the same Chaplain who brought Smokescreen into the fold lay curled up on the ground, crying and cursing. His mask was cast aside, a crime worthy of serious punishment in it of itself. Chaplains weren’t meant to show their faces, and yet this one was not only doing just that, but also spouting heretical nonsense.
“Chaplain, you’ve got to pull yourself together. I really don’t want to have to get the Head Guardsmech down here.” Smokescreen leaned against the doorframe. What loyalty he had developed toward the Chaplain kept him from leaving immediately. He wanted to give the Chaplain a chance. Sometimes grief and sorrow got the best of everyone.
“No… no I can’t do this. We are lost! The angel has FAILED and soon we shall join our brethren in death.” Smokescreen sighed and a scrowl crossed his features as the Chaplain wept like a sparkling. There was no point waiting around. He wasn’t going to get back up again unless it was to run to Megatron and give him valuable data.
“Sir, the Chaplain is spreading heresy and has removed his mask. I think he might need to be removed.” He commed the Head Guardsmech and a response came almost instantaneously, although not from the mech he expected.
“The Chaplain has deviated? How unfortunate.” It took him a klik to figure out who was talking, but as soon as he did, Smokescreen fell into a salute despite being alone in the hall.
“I shall be with you shortly. Keep an optic on him for now.” The Master Archivist gave his order and Smokescreen obeyed. It wasn’t often he saw anyone important. He had to make a good impression.
“By your will Alpha Trion.”