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BONUS COVER DOODLE:
Shutter never fancied herself a religious bot before.
Which is probably why the Forge always seems like such a strange and fantastical sight to behold. It is quite the contrast compared to the glittery Tower of Primes in the heart of Iacon. Instead of the trademark modern and, in her opinion, needlessly gaudy Covenant glam, it has the imposing facade that most structures built before the Golden Age have. The gunmetal grey fortress of a facility stands out among the rest of the cityscape and there are spots that have been permanently stained from smoke drifting up from the Well’s sludgy emissions during Harvest season. Color pops out starkly from stained-glass that lines the many buttresses at its base, the occasional spew of embers from massive vents that reach out like branches, and from the streamers and other decorations left over from this cycle’s Well Harvest festival.
This season’s celebrations have faded as the last groons of the final day of Well Harvest have dwindled until all that is left is a sparse crowd outside the facility. As she heads down the courtyard toward the entrance, Shutter passes familiar sights. A couple pairs of new creators fawning over their freshly forged newsparks, patrolling Covenant appointed Forge attendants, a newly hired batch mentor with their small fleet of toddling mentees, the occasional sightseer eyeing leftovers from the remaining complimentary treat stalls, and desperate last-moment hopefuls like her.
It has been a meager season, comparatively speaking, somehow even lower than last cycle. Shutter already tried to attend many separate forging sequences in hopes for a newspark to rise from depths of the Well. Each time the Crucible rumbled and fluctuated but nothing but rocks floated up into her nets before her time was up she had to leave to let another hopeful try.
Seven rocks in four cycles, almost a record.
One time she had accidentally spotted the couple proceeding her, the two of them cooing at the newspark they had fished out just after her latest failed attempt. It was a terrible thing to be envious of.
Shutter was not forged as a carrier but that did not stop the yearning for a sparkling of her own. Sure, modding, surrogacy, or invitro-budding were options, none guarantees, but those cost considerable shanix that would no doubt eat heavily into ant sparkling-rearing funds. So much shanix that her struggling geologist salary could not currently cover without dipping into her tightly budgeted savings.
So, Forge adoption was her best choice for any hypothetical sparkling, at least that is what she keeps telling herself. The endless red tape, the multiple failures at Crucible trawling, and the empty promises and platitudes from the Forge staff have worn her thin these past four cycles.
Thank Primus, for Sentinel Prime.
He had spotted her one cycle ago exactly as she sat at the edge of the courtyard fountain trembling after her last appointment at the Well ended with her leaving the facility alone again. He had startled Shutter as he took a seat next to her, the evening light reflecting off his golden wings and a warm smile on his graceful features.
The young Prime was a lot more majestic face-to-face than on any holoscreen or poster. Shutter may be one of those few living outside the Covenant of Primus influence in Iacon, and did not think of their Prime as a literal angel like some do, but that belief was shaken when he took her hand in his. He spoke gently and coaxed her to confess her troubles and doubts until she was sobbing, something she had not done since she was very young.
After she had calmed, Sentinel gave her a most wonderous offer.
Two groons.
A private session for two entire groons.
There were rumors that nobles who were the wealthiest and most privileged could buy their way up to one single groon attempt. Two was unheard of.
All he asked in exchange was for her to put in a good word for a project of his with Senator Crosscut, the current Head of Sciences.
So now one cycle later, she’s here and Sentinel’s approved off planet mining project is apparently in full swing.
Shutter enters the grand entrance lobby and is greeted by a newly installed huge mosaic of Primus, the Well cradled in his mighty hands as gold seeps from between his fingers. Below him stood proud silhouettes of the Thirteen Primes and Sentinel, their shapes bordered with shimmery pearlescent metal that makes them look ethereal.
At the foot of the mosaic stands two Well Forgers, clad in Covenant mantles that drape over their pauldrons and cover their backplates and chassis. One attendant wears their hood up, their finials poking through, and their glowing optics indicating a hidden smile on their shadowed face. The one with the lowered hood steps forward, her expression is harder to read due to a sturdy maskplate but her voice is welcoming.
“Greetings once again to the Forge, young expectant. Sentinel Prime sends his regards,” she says with a deep ceremonial bow which Shutter returns with a polite nod.
“Follow us closely, please,” the other attendant says as they usher Shutter along quickly, “Your private session will take place in our southernmost extraction room. There’s a higher chance of an emergence there during the final moments of the Harvest.”
“That’s because the upcycle pumps vent there, right?” Shutter asks, trying to make small talk even though she has done more than enough prep work and research to already know the answer.
“Why yes,” the femme exclaims, apparently impressed with basic trivia, “Oh, such a clever thing.”
“Very clever,” the other attendant nods along.
Shutter is thankful she doesn’t have optics, otherwise they’d be rolling. She doubts she will ever understand Covenant members, at least those who are not Sentinel Prime. They will never have the fraction of the young Prime’s honesty and charm.
She only half-listens as she is guided through orientation as she is led down long halls and then a cramped staircase, she’s heard this spiel before.
They arrive at the lobby at the threshold of the Well of Sparks. The huge underground lake is sourced from an utterly massive bubbling fount of energon. Floating domed crucible rooms are dotted around the surface of the energon, connected by flexible bridges to each other and the dock of the lobby.
The season’s final crowd is packed compared to the wanderers at the Forge’s entrance. A couple of large bots with boat alts ferry hopefuls to any spots of interests that bubble up outside the rooms, which, from Shutter’s experience, often only ends up being rocks.
Her two groons almost feels cruel and greedy compared to her past experiences.
The Well glows a rather dim and murky blue as the final day slowly ebbs away. Most light comes from the railing along the bridges linking the floating rooms that hover right above underground vents that supposedly lead straight to Cybertron’s core.
“Here we are,” the femme announces as the three stop in front of an ornate dome and opens the double doors.
The crucible room is surprisingly smaller than the others Shutter has briefly been in, those were always so crowded, the diameter of the moonpool is roughly the size of the grand roundtable back at the Hall of Sciences. Shutter is certain she can throw a trawling net to any spot on the glowing pool. The energon is crystal clear due to the nearby pumps and there is just enough light that she can see the glowing energon bleed into an intimidating dark abyss.
There are a small handful of attendants already present, each one busying themselves with their tasks at the different ceremonial stations as Shutter and the other attendants enter.
“Preliminary scans have indicated a code 4 flare may occur,” the masked femme informs Shutter as she leads her over to the first station. The Forger picks up a cylinder of cleansing incense, to Shutter it just looks like a cygar lighter, as she continues, “And remember to not be discouraged if it is a false alarm, as often the ebbing aftershocks are. Primus may be listening and he knows how hard you have been trying.”
Shutter just nods impatiently as she holds out an arm so the attendant can do her thing. The tip of the red-hot bimetallic coil sears a painful burn alongside the many others between the plating of her forearm, right into the sensitive mesh, making Shutter wince and hiss.
This is just a precaution, they always insisted, because she is not officially in the Covenant. Just a small price to pay to ensure she was gracious and serious about becoming a parental unit in the optics of Primus and to favor his attention. Shutter takes the pain in silence as her visor is locked on the moonpool as anticipation runs through her circuits.
She is nearly bouncing on her heels as another attendant waves a ceremonial staff. Its trident tip is adorned with dangling metal trinkets, each representing one of the Thirteen. The Forger’s finials lower as they utter a prayer for luck then motion Shutter to the pool’s edge where two hooded bots stand, trawling equipment ready.
The shorter of them hands the blue femme a thickly roped cast net lined with metal weights before motioning to the rippling moonpool. “See how the hues have shifted and the bubbles have increased? Something will happen soon,” one of the hooded Forge attendants explains as she points, fueling Shutter’s excitement.
It takes a few kliks for Shutter to spot something promising in the clear energon.
A large oval shape bobs far below the surface, carried by a stream of huge opaque mineral bubbles from the darkness.
Shutter tosses the net with expert aim. The net’s reach is wide and the weights magnetize together to keep the catch from drifting back down or out of the room’s reach. Once certain it is secure, Shutter hauls the shape up as fast as she can. Once it breaks the surface, she reaches down to scoop it up into her waiting arms, tossing aside the net to get a good look at her-
And it’s another rock.
Granted, this one looks the most like a preemergence sparkling than some of the others she had found but the pain and frustration is heavy in her spark. Shutter bites back a curse and hands the opalized stone, a large fissure cracked into its surface to show a geode-like spikey purple interior, to the nearest attendant and sets her visor’s sights back on the Well.
She fishes out two more rocks afterwards as the first groon ticks away. One is much too small and the other brakes into frail geode bits as soon as it is in her hands. With this, her failures have tallied up to ten rocks in four cycles.
Utterly sad and embarrassing.
Shutter knows she needs a miracle at this point. So, for the first time in her life, Shutter clasps her hands together and prays to Primus.
Dear fragging Primus, if you’re actually listening, I know I can be a good carrier, just please, please give me a chance. Any sparkling in my care will grow up protected and loved and I will do anything for them. Just let me prove it, I will be eternally grateful and-
“Oh! Look!”
Shutter is jolted from her improvised prayer to find that the glow from the Well has increased by a few fractions.
The crucible room rumbles as a light quake, not uncommon during this point of Harvest season, reverberates from far below. The bubbles reach a crescendo, rising and falling as they cool, swirling in a tight formation in the center of the moonpool.
Suddenly, something gold floats up from the darkness far below, light twinkling along the surface of its smallish ovoid shape.
Straining with all her might, Shutter instinctually tosses the net but misses as the bubbles spiral around the shape, propelling it towards the surface.
“So close! Try again, young one, try again!” the attendant with the finials encourages.
Shutter nods and spools the net back just in time for the ovoid to breach the energon and splash noisily before it starts to sink once out of the globular bubbles’ reach. She tosses the net once more with a strained shout.
This time her aim is true.
The fresh burn on her forearm stings terribly but Shutter reels the net back into her arms. She frees the metallic shape and feels warmth radiate from a beating source with in the golden form as a weak EM field reaches out curiously for Shutter’s, the electromagnetism mingling between them.
Then it transforms.
Two stubby legs, then two arms, followed by a horned helm unfurl as the round newspark draws itself out in a big stretch. Once things click into place, the tiny newspark instinctually nuzzles its golden helm into Shutter’s chassis, optics still shut tight, chasing the comforting sound of her beating spark. Soft and sleepy chitters coo from its vocalizer as it cuddles into her warmth. Its minibot protoform is almost gel-like to the touch, softer than Shutter ever imagined.
The Forgers all exclaim their congratulations with performative enthusiasm. The masked femme wheels over a large bassinet while the attendant with the finials comes over with a tray of cleaning tools, and warm towels.
For a long moment Shutter is speechless, too stunned by the small and delicate life cradled in her trembling arms.
The attendant with the finial shakes her from her stupor with a tap on her shoulder before motioning to their wrist. “O-Oh, right, the read-out,” she blurts out dumbly as she arranges the gold newspark into the crook of her arm and digs out her communications cable-jack from her free hand.
Gently, Shutter plugs in the medical hardline to the newspark’s neck socket. The read-out is a little laggy at first as the little bot’s energy reserves are rather low, slightly uncommon but not strange according to her research. Shutter reads through every detail with care, eager to learn everything about her sparkling.
Primus… her sparkling. After all this struggle, she can barely believe it.
After reading through the vitals, serial code, self-registration, and system information, plus installing a copy of her top-of-the-line anti-virus and firewall programs, she disconnects the hardline and cradles the little mech closely, nuzzling his helm. “Welcome to Cybertron, B-127 Shutter says softly.
The newspark blinks his sleepy optics up at her and suddenly green light floods out into the open.
There is a gasp of horror.
“Primus, below us!” the attendant suddenly shouts, dropping their tray to the floor with a loud clatter as they recoil, “It is the visage of the Chaos Bringer!”
Shutter blinks her visor, suddenly aware of the world around her again. “Who?” she asks out of reflex, as if forgetting about everything save for the newspark in her arms.
The attendant grows offended, their finials flicking, drawing the interests of the others nearby, “Do you not read scripture, child? I’m talking about the fiendish Unmaker! The Chaos Bringer incarnate!” They lean forward, their voice strained and their optics wide within the shadows of their hood, “The Devourer!”
Exclamations of confusion and alarm echo throughout the crucible room as the newspark draws everyone’s attention.
Shutter looks at B-127 again, her pink visor taking in his every detail as he paws sleepily for her chassis and tries to return to cuddling.
Golden-yellow armor, green optics, large pointed horns, round frametype.
“You’re talking about Uni-” Shutter starts but is quickly surrounded by every attendant in the room.
“Don’t speak its name, foolish femme!” one of the Forgers hisses, his whole frame cringing as he places his palms over his spark as a sign of protection, “No one can speak its name save for a Prime! Do you want to curse us all?”
“Why does the Covenant let such uncouth civilians adopt from the Well?” another attendant sneers righteously, “We might as well let any scrapheap in here.”
“Quiet! This is serious!” the smallest one exclaims before they are all suddenly taking over each other.
“Someone comm the Forgesmith, he’ll know what to do!”
“Forget that, get charms before we’re all hexed!”
“Should we close the Well? What if its evil seeped out like a virus?”
Shutter frowns as she encloses her arms around B-127 instinctually. “What are you all babbling about? I scanned his system info and it reads as perfectly normal for a newspark of his frametype. You are all acting-” she starts to object but something in the moonpool catches her attention, “Um, the bubbles are starting again.”
“Should we inform Sentinel?” the Forger with the finials asks the masked femme.
“He is indisposed at the moment. Business in Crystal City, if I recall,” she replies curtly.
“Er, excuse me,” Shutter tries again but is further ignored.
“What do we do? The signs all line up!” another attendant shrieks in a panic.
“Someone really needs to check the Well!” Shutter pipes up, raising her voice over their chatter as the opaque bubbles begin to froth.
Suddenly, a large tall mech clad in dark extravagant robes with a single blue optic peering from his shadowy hood is at Shutter’s side. She recognizes him as the Forgesmith, high minister of the Forge, from attending his annual speeches at the beginning of every Well Harvest.
“Give it to me, femme,” the lead Forger says with a deep and even voice, his scarred hands outstretched and expectant. “No worries, we’ll take care of it. Go and tend to the new miracle.”
Shutter hesitates but there is a sound of a transformation from the pool that is followed by weak and pathetic mewls of distress.
B-127 makes a sleepy whine as he reaches for Shutter as he is reluctantly handed to the Forgesmith, making her spark ache at the sound. She watches his tiny form over her shoulder as the Forgesmith inspects him with an unreadable silence and nearly trips on the rim of the moonpool.
She finds a little red newspark flailing helplessly in the energon, splashing amongst the bubbles. Luckly, they are within reach and Shutter is able to stoop down and scoop them up out of the mess.
The little thing shrieks indignantly as Shutter wipes away some of the energon and minerals clinging to their protoform and only increases in volume and frustration when she plugs her hardline into the medical socket.
“Primus, what a set of pipes! Just relax, little… er,” Shutter pauses to immediately check the newspark’s serial code as she digs through his readout, “C-13. Easy now, I’ve got you.”
The little red newspark kicks his stubby legs during the file sharing process, lashing out with his EM field until it intermingles with Shutters.
“Fussy little fella aren’t you?” she chuckles as she sends a comforting pulse through her spark.
She just gets a naughty hiss in return, as the red newspark flashes his blunt denta, but he relaxes against her chassis when he begins to suck his thumb.
Shutter vents a relieved sigh as she runs a hand along C-13’s helm, taking in his features.
Red armor, teal-blue optics, large nubbed horns, round frametype.
Everything clicks into clarity.
“Ah, so you two are twins. Guess that’s why you’re a bit grumpy, you probably need to register your brother’s spark signature for the first time to settle down,” Shutter laughs in relief as she rocks C-13. “I knew this was ridiculous. No tales from the Covenant mention the spawn of the Devourer having a twin. This is all just a stupid and silly little coincidence,” she says as she turns back to the others.
She finds the attendants surrounding the Forgesmith who has B-127 dangling sleepily in his hand.
“What are you doing?”
The Forgesmith’s icy blue optic zeroes in on her and C-13, as if just remembering their presence. “You should leave, young one,” the mech says, voice level and stern.
“You…” Shutter chokes out, a stuttering laugh catches in her throat, “You all aren’t serious about thinking the little guy is some sort of demon spawn, right?”
The Forgers all stare in silence.
“R-Right…?”
“I said you should leave,” the Forgesmith repeats, tone growing empty and lifeless as he tightens his hold on B-127’s scruffbar, making the newspark let out a small drowsy chirp.
“Wait a slagging klik, he has a twin. See!” Shutter exclaims as she sets C-13 into the bassinet, gesturing to the little red newspark who shoots the large bots a judgmental look of his own, “There’s nothing in your sacred texts about that, is there?”
The Forgers exchange looks in silence, comms clearly being traded.
The masked femme steps forward, after their leader gives her a curt nod. “Our records have so far indicated only one spark emergence has occurred this groon and, as far as anyone is concerned, that is what happened,” she states matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?” Shutter balks, not believing her audials.
“You may keep the red one, miss,” another attendant butts in, “but we may need to spiritually cleanse him when he’s older. In the meantime, the Covenant will happily provide for both of your needs through our, ahem, executive programs. Any whim and service of yours will be covered and paid for if you accept.”
Shutter sneers in disgust. “Now you’re trying to bribe me? This is absolutely-”
“The Covenant is also offering a furnished estate home in Crystal City and full funding to your geological research, Miss Shutter,” the attendant with the finials interrupts.
“What…?”
“It is quite a deal,” they insist, “A most generous deal.”
“Sweet Solus Prime, what is wrong with all of you?!” Shutter exclaims as dread snakes up her spinal strut. She takes a bold step forward but the Forgesmith holds up his free hand.
“This… mistake needs to be kept from prying optics,” he says, “For the safety of our Prime, what needs to be done must be done. You agree that his life is worth protecting, correct?”
Shutter feels her patience grinding thin as protectiveness flares within her spark. “I don’t believe in some stupid old prophecy! He’s not a monster, he’s a newspark! What are you planning to do to him?!”
“That is none of your concern,” all of the attendants answer in unison.
Their monotonous reply causes Shutter to nearly tremble with unease but her newfound carrierhood overrides anymore fear. She clenches her fists and marches over to the Forgers, her pink visor blazing in the room’s dim light. “If you so much scratch his paint, I’ll punch your optic down into your intake, so help me Primu-!”
“If you are going to question our precautions, keep our deity off of your glossia, femme,” the Forgesmith thunders as he keeps his grip on B-127 tight. “You will watch your tone. I don’t expect a bot of the sciences to understand the will of Primus. A spawn of the Devourer must be dealt with quickly, lest its chaos infect Cybertron.”
Something deep inside Shutter snaps.
“He’s not a child of Unicron! Primus sent him to me!”
The attendants all recoil in utter horror.
“Heretic!”
“Foul apostate!”
“You’ve cursed us all!”
“Primus protect us!”
Shutter ignores their cries and races forward. “Oh, shut the frag up! Give him back to me this instant!”
Unfortunately, as soon as she is within reach, something sharp is brandished against her throat.
There is now a sturdy ceremonial dagger in the Forgesmith’s hands, its tapered shape clearly meant to punch through metal. Its touch is cold against her cabling as it lifts to trace her chin.
“What is that?” she gasps in surprise.
“This tool is a gift from Primus. It will do what it needs to do,” the Forgesmith states simply as the attendants watch on with deadened stares. “Our Prime insists on generosity so I will offer you one last chance, femme. Take the red one and go, before I send for Sentinel Prime and have you put on trial before the holy Angel of Primus himself!”
Shutter spits in his hooded face and lunges for B-127. “Screw you and screw the Covenant! I’m not letting you hurt my newspark!” she shouts.
“Silence, heretic!” the Forgesmith thunders, rearing the dagger back as he struggles to keep her at bay, “I warned you!”
The attendants rush Shutter as the Forgesmith takes aim. In the commotion, he shifts the sleepy golden newspark closer to his frame.
In an instant, green optics flash as B-127 lunges at the large mech’s hooded throat and bites.
Energon sprays everywhere from a severed carotid wire as the Forgesmith screams in pain and shock.
Shutter rushes forward and snatches B-127 as the Forgesmith falls to the hard floor, clutching the mortal wound as energon spurts in a horrid arch as he crumples weakly into a heap.
The dagger falls with a clatter at Shutter’s pedes.
“Quick, the blade! Grab the blade!” the masked femme shrieks but it is already snatched up by Shutter.
Shutter never handled a weapon before, weapons were strictly for monster hunters and Covenant soldiers, but the dagger is quick to find its mark in the helm of the attendant with the finials before she even realizes what is happening. They fall down dead, followed by another than another as they struggle to overpower her.
B-127 is clutched protectively as the weight of the dagger is balanced well in her other hand. She moves as if the blade knows exactly where to land and which wires to sever.
She has no control over any of it.
It is frightening.
It is if she is… no she cannot think it. She tries to reason it away as the Forgers all fall one by one.
Brief insanity?
A virus?
Carrier’s instinct?
Anything but possession.
That is just irrational superstition, right?
What ever the answer, the dagger in her hand does not stop until things go quiet. Before she realizes it, all of the Forgers lay in a heap of matte grey and dimly glowing purple. Energon stains the Well’s sacred grounds in huge puddles. She trembles and pants as her senses clear and her autonomy returns.
B-127 looks up at Shutter with his big haunting green optics and smiles, cooing sweetly as he reaches up to softly touch her stained face.
His mouth is full of sharp denta like those of a sharkticon.
Shutter swallows down a painful lump in her intake.
Purely another coincidence, right?
She is frozen until she registers his EM field and a wave of excitable and adoring energy wash over her like a warm surfactant shower.
Instinctually, Shutter drops the dagger and cradles B-127 closer. He trills and chirps in her hold, trying to cuddle against her warm familiar chassis but she quickly walks over and lays him next to C-13 in the bassinet. The red newspark gives an indignant chirp, apparently not interested in having to share his space, but Shutter feels herself overtaken again, her body marching back to the horrible mess on its own.
She walks over to the grey body closest to the moonpool and, to her horror, kicks it in. There a splash and energon seeps over the rim. The abyss bellow seemingly flickers brighter as the body sinks into the yawning darkness below.
One after the other, Shutter is forced to drag and dump every body into the moonpool. The energon spattering over the rim dilutes the puddles of carnage enough to hide the mess in the dim light.
Finally, it is time for the Forgesmith, who is still weakly twitching in his own purple processed energon.
Suddenly, a scarred hand shoots out and catches her ankle, nearly making her scream and trip.
His single optic glares up at her in righteous disgust. “You may flee with the Chaos Spawn… filthy heretic…” the lead Forger croaks out through his dying vocalizer, static eating away at his words. “But one day…” his vents heave and energon dribbles heavily from the darkness of his hood, “One day, a Prime will rise to pierce the little demon through its dark spark and send him back to his creator…”
Shutter is silent for a moment as the strange presence blanketing her processor yield control back to her and she gives the mech a judgmental sneer. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Shutter says grimly as she yanks her pede free.
“You… can’t fight… fate…” the Forgesmith wheezes as grey seeps into his plating like a rust virus.
Shutter steels herself as she looms over the dying mech. “Watch us,” she growls with a protective rev of her engines. She kicks him into the Well all by herself.
He sinks like a ununtrium weight, just like the others, as if being drawn downwards.
A strange rumble suddenly gurgles up from the endless below as the Forgesmith disappears into the black abyss, almost sounding like a pleased chuckle. The echo of it fills the chamber and makes something cold slither up Shutter’s spinal-strut.
At once reality slams hard into Shutter and she momentarily collapses to her knees. Shutter trembles as she struggles to clean the energon from her frame with nearby scraps of the Forge attendants’ uniforms. Once the evidence is scrubbed from her blue plating, she goes to stand and return to the bassinet but her foot accidentally knocks into something that clatters.
The dagger lays at her pedes, splattered heavily with purple energon. After a moment’s hesitation, she picks it up, avoiding the mess as much as possible. She turns her attention back to the moon pool.
“Here,” she says, as if addressing Primus himself, “You keep it.” She tosses the blade into the depths of the Well.
The light below twinkles, as if a wink, as the blade disappears.
Suddenly, there is a terrible tiny shriek.
Shutter whirls around and rushes to the bassinet, her spark thundering in her chassis. She looks down, expecting the worst.
Instead, she finds the two newsparks still nestled together, B-127 gently nuzzling C-13. A nubby yellow horn accidentally jabs into the younger one’s pudgy cheek in the process. The red twin lets out another wail of annoyance and lashes out in reflex, giving his older brother a good bop right in the noseplate like an ornery little cyber-kitten.
B-127 just giggles in response and wriggles his round little frame, flailing his limbs excitedly and annoying C-13 further. His sharp denta peek out from a bright and sweet smile.
The energon smeared on his soft faceplates is beginning to dry.
Shutter steers the bassinet over to a nearby cleaning station. She forgoes the traditional cleaning ceremony and just bathes the newsparks as quick as possible. B-127 splashes happily in the basin of surfactants while C-13 discovers bubbles with rapt fascination. It would have been an adorable and cherished moment if the clear liquid cleaner was not stained purple with processed energon.
Once they are dry, Shutter bundles the two newsparks up in clean blankets, making sure to hide as much of B-127 as possible, especially his horns.
***
As soon as she steps out of the crucible room, Shutter expects to be swarmed by Covenant guards but, to her utter surprise, the remaining hopefuls and Forge attendants mill about the Well as usual. They barely notice her or the twin’s presence. Down here, a new carrier is a common sight.
Shutter briskly makes her way back to the dock as the expanse of the Well dims by a few degrees, as if aiding their retreat. Her processor pounds as a helmache threatens to form as she rapidly mulls over her options as she weaves through the crowd, formulating a crude plan.
The scheduled session has over a whole groon left, just enough time to make it out of Iacon before someone notices something has gone horribly wrong.
It is surprisingly easy for Shutter to return to the entrance, the Well’s dim lighting and the lingering crowd provide excellent cover. Only a couple of the remaining hopefuls notice her brisk departure, giving her slightly envious passing congratulations but nothing more.
Shutter keeps the twins close and tight in her arms, making sure no one gets a good look at B-127.
Outside, evening has fallen. Shadows of the city blanket the three as Shutter breaks into a run once she passes the Forge’s threshold.
Shutter briefly considers returning home for supplies but thinks better of it. The faster they are out of Iacon, the better.
So instead, Shutter heads to the nearest kiosk and drains every shanix from her account. She then rushes to a nearby sparkling care store and buys everything essential she can carry, including an ergonomic double newspark sling.
Although exhausted, she lets the twins nestle against her heaving chassis, her pounding spark feeling as if it could explode, and bolts to the closest train station with their heavy supplies in each hand. She makes sure no one glances their way for too long. Their train car is packed with the nightlife crowd and no one spares the overwhelmed new carrier a glance.
By the time the train heads across Iacon’s border, it is just the three of them left in the car.
Only then does Shutter vent a sigh of relief. She relaxes into her seat and nuzzles her sparklings gently as she looks out the nearest window. With the twins cradled close to her chassis, Shutter watches Iacon’s vast and complex cityscape disappear into the distance as the train heads towards the border of Tyrest and Old Kalis, two of the few fortified cities left out of the Covenant’s complete control.
They’ll be able to lay low there long enough for her to get a connection to a place completely out of the Covenant’s reach like the crowded rundown city of Kaon or someplace remote in the desert countryside like the Lithium Flats. She’ll have to pull every favor she can think of to erase all of her steps along the way but Shutter can feel her confidence returning.
They are going to make it as a family, all three of them.
As C-13 snores softly, B-127 twitches in his recharge as he dreams of something warm and sweet and glowing. His little smile seemingly never fades as a single sharp edge of his denta peeks out from his lips.
BONUS DOODLE:
