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lets-try-some-writing · 5 months

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Silence is Salvation

None know where the Angels of Death came from, but when they broke free from the earth, there was no stopping them. Now millennia after the fall, Cybertron is split in two. Those with wings life safely in their floating city, unable to be touched by the Angels which roam the ground. Those with wheels on the other hand were left to perish, to serve as prey for the abominations that all Cybertronians.

In this new age, only silence is salvation, and Orion Pax has only one goal. He will find a way to defeat the angels for the sake of all their kind.

(This is the first chapter of an AU I have been cultivating quietly. I decided to put it here to gauge the reaction to it. Hope you all enjoy :D)

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Orion Pax was the designation given to him upon his creation. He did not know who his Carrier was, nor his Sire. But according to the others, he did not have either since he was one of the last grounders who emerged from the Well of Allsparks, a final wave of hopeful newsparks not yet adapted to survive in their deadly world. Others of his generation perished almost immediately, and Orion would have been part of the unfortunate masses if not for the appearance of the Patriarch.

Orion was lucky. He was part of what his fellows called 'The Line of Primes', a legacy all those who served under the Patriarch shared that secured their futures. He did not understand when he was young, but he did know one thing, a simple but essential lesson.

Silence is salvation.

He had few memories of his early sparklinghood, a not uncommon trait amongst those who were born of the Well. However the beginning of his life stuck with him and never faded, usually haunting him during the loneliest part of travels.

He recalled climbing and hearing the sound of things that his coding instinctually told him were not of his kind. He remembered pulling himself out and watching in silent horror as those who came alongside him were slaughtered by long limbed creatures without features save for their deadly maws. He only escaped the devastation by pure happenstance. A piece of rubble was just large enough for him to hide beneath as the creatures wreaked havoc.

There was a moment of salvation during that formative cycle. As Orion huddled in fear beneath the rubble and watched through a crack the absolute carnage playing out before him, he saw something nearly angelic. Beings he knew to be Cybertronian flew overhelm, their wings glittering in the light of the nearest star like a promise of sanctuary. Orion almost left his place as he saw them dive toward the ground. They had to be there to help him, maybe even to kill the creatures.

That was what his younger self assumed. He was dead wrong.

The flight capable Cybertronians did not stop the slaughter. Instead, they dived and scouted, watching the sparklings being killed and devoured. Only once they seemed to have gotten enough data did they twist and glide toward the ground, their thunderous engines catching the attention of the creatures and leading them away. Once the creatures took off in chase of several of the flyers, two landed and transformed, their bodies shining and their plating all but glowing as the light bounced off them.

Orion remembered calling out, small cries coming from his vocalizer as the flyers wandered and looked over each sparkling, the living and the dead. However, as the young gathered around the flyers, looking up at them with optics shining in hope, Orion remained hidden. Something deep in his coding told him that leaving his hiding place was a death sentence despite the fact that fellow Cybertronians stood mere meters away.

He was right in following his code.

The flyers looked over each and every sparkling, disregarding all save for those who bore wings just as they did. The grounder sparklings wailed in confusion as the flyers scooped up the four sparklings gifted with wings and returned to the skies, their thrusters causing the little ones to fall to the ground coughing up dust and soot. Then, just like that, the flyers that led the creatures away could be seen joining their brethren in the air, shooting off into the distance without so much as a moment of hesitation to consider the dozens of other sparklings abandoned on the ground.

There was no salvation for those poor sparks, and Orion could only watch as they were left to their doom.

Bodies littered the ground, energon spilled from lifeless frames, and limbs lay strewn about the scene as if some sort of grizzly decoration. Orion was too young to fully understand what he was seeing at the time, but he knew that leaving his hiding place and making any noise at all would lead the things to him. The creatures came running the moment his fellows cried out in terror at being left behind, and they did not hesitate to eliminate the young grounders. Even the fastest of his fellows had been caught and cut down the moment they screamed. Orion was not gifted with swiftness, he was not blessed with agility. There was nothing he could do but hide and remain silent.

His decision to remain in his hiding place saved his life, and on that cycle he learned a very harsh truth. The world he was born into was not one that loved him and his kind. Only those graced with wings were seen as living beings worthy of being saved. Despite that-

Not all hope was lost.

He did not know how long he lingered in his place beneath the rubble, too frightened to move and terrified for his life. But at some point, he heard noises beyond the confines of his small haven. On instinct, he looked through the crack in his hiding place fully expecting to see another creature prowling around the bodies of the dead to consume them or to note their status and select a new direction to continue its hunt. Instead, Orion all but cried in relief as he saw someone just like him. The Cybertronian had no wings, instead possessing a cape and a sturdy frame fitting of one intended to govern over the ground. A smile graced the features of the one who shared his frame type and Orion managed a sniffle, too afraid to do much else.

"Come. It is safe." Orion never moved so fast in his short existence as he scurried from his hiding place and into the arms of his savior. He knew what the words meant from his inbuilt datapack, but it mattered very little to him. All he cared about was the simple fact that he was safe in the arms of a being that felt like family. From that point onward, his memory of his early life devolved into a mix of emotion, sights, sounds, and smells. But he was aware of the arms that carried him, constantly hushing him when he tried to make a noise. Steady servos that fed him energon shards that caused his tanks to hurt for his first few vorns of life. And soothing fields that washed over him, calming him on dark cycles when the creatures roamed nearby.

At some point, he learned to whistle instead of speak. Noise that was unnatural brought the creatures, and that could not be allowed. Eventually, his savior and the dozens of others who shared his similar features and colors showed him how to speak with his servos through gestures and symbols. He learned that his vocalizer was unneeded in the face of far safer communication and it did not take him long to adapt to the new method of speech, no matter how much it went against the coding he was created with. When he was old enough, he was taught to express himself with his EM field, ensuring his emotional outbursts remained completely silent. The creatures could not sense their fields after all. It was their one true safety blanket.

Silence was his reality, noise brought death.

When he had completely learned to communicate in the various ways of his comrades, he was able to continue his education. He became aware of the fact that his savior had a designation. The one who saved him was called Alpha Trion, a designation only whispered by his fellows when they were near sources of natural sound which covered their murmuring. It was at that time that he also learned the names of his fellows and was able to tell them his. Up until that point he had only been referred to by a specific gesture as a way to ensure he was able to be set apart as an individual while also not requiring speech. That suited him just fine, and he actually preferred the silence.

Of course during those hushed moments by plasma pits and oil springs, Orion Pax was told stories of the old world and given gifts far greater than most of his frame type would ever receive.

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"We are the last of the Well Forged." One of his fellows, a young mech perhaps a millennia old who operated under the servo gesture 'Little-Bird' spoke up amidst the hiss of the oil spring nearby. His voice was deep and echoey, a side effect of only speaking when absolutely required. His frame was gaunt and thin, hardened by cables long since toned by continued exertion and covered in scars from many vorns of receiving injuries without plating to protect his protoform. Even still he pulled datacables from their sockets on his armorless frame and smiled as he extended them, testing their abilities as he continued.

"We are remnants of the old world, the only keepers of ancient knowledge. They once called mecha like us Archivists. In the old world, we guarded and tended to great citadels of knowledge where information from all over the world was stored." Little-Bird spoke with awe in his voice, a reaction Orion shared. Little-Bird's protoform strained as he reached out for Orion, every cable and wire visible on his body as he worked. To Orion it looked cold, but he knew it would not be long before he too would need to shed his armor to remain silent while moving.

"There are not many of us, but we have one goal." Little-Bird's datacables slipped into a socket on the back of Orion's helm, connecting directly to his processors. It was uncomfortable the first few times his fellows fed him data in this way, but every time he grew more used to the process. Already Bright-Fire, Tall-One, and Smoke-in-the-Wind had offered their collective memory and knowledge. Orion knew more with every upload, and each time he saw more glimpses of the world that came before.

Every Archivist carried the data preserved from the fall of their world. Upon death, that knowledge was downloaded by the remaining Archivists to be given to the next generation to preserve. Orion had never had to collect what remained of the dead personally, but more than once in his short life he witnessed the frames of the fallen, abandoned after being shredded by the Angels. Often the abominations did not even want fuel, merely a chance to hunt without aim.

"We have been ordered to preserve the knowledge of the old world and use it to find a way to defeat the Angels, no matter the cost." Little-Bird's fists clenched in anger as he uploaded his data. Memories flowed into Orion's mind, showing him images of cities glittering gold and offering data from all sorts of seemingly unconnected sources. More knowledge than he could ever use was dutifully filed away in his processors to be tended to until he had need to call upon it.

It hurt to have so much put into his helm all at once, but he understood Little-Bird's anger as he also received memories of the fallen that Little-Bird had collected from the bodies of the dead. Dozens of other Archivists, ones Little-Bird had been raised alongside, all eliminated. Each were cut down by Angels or torn to pieces by raiders, as was common amongst those who lived on the ground.

More memories greeted him as Little-Bird’s anger transferred over. Little-Bird had not lived to see the fall of the old world, but the memories garnered from that time had endured. In front of his optics Orion saw cities, shining and powerful, all reduced to rubble as Angels of Death broke free from the ground like some convoluted version of a sleeper agent and proceeded to slaughter all in range. He saw countless mecha cut down, torn to pieces as the Angels rampaged. Mech, femme, and sparkling alike were slaughtered with equal prejudice.

It was all so loud, so… wrong. The old world was bright and noisy, filled with color and life. Then over the course of a few memory files, shells were dropped, bombs launched, and everything fell silent as survivors fled and the Angels endured. Orion did not wish to believe it. How could he?

“What caused the old world to crumble?” Orion questioned softly, not wanting to aggravate his fellow Archivist more than necessary. Little-Bird looked up, his expression softening into something more akin to sorrow rather than rage. Through their connection, Little-Bird must have sensed his denial as he calmly picked Orion up, placing his small frame on his lap.

“The Angels came, freed from where they lingered in stasis underground. They have no thoughts, no sentience. They are merely creatures that destroy and hunt us regardless of whether or not they require fuel.” Little-Bird ran his digits along Orion’s helm, easing the nervous flutter of his spark and smothering his fears in the comfort of clan bonds.

“Millions perished, and those who did not quickly learned to survive… save for those with wings. They did not struggle like the rest of us. They merely fled to their floating city, abandoning the rest of us to the Angels.” Bitterness seeped into Little-Bird’s voice, memories of an Archivist begging for aid from a flier only to be denied repeated in Orion’s processors.

"Those in Vos have done nothing to save us despite the fact that they have the power to act. We can only rely on ourselves." Little-Bird scowled as Orion was given memories and data about the flying city. When the world fell, only those who had wings were able to escape the devastation by fleeing to the floating city of Vos. Grounders, those not blessed with the ability to grace the skies, were left to rot and serve as prey for the Angels of Death. There were reasons according to the data Orion was given. Too many mecha living in the city would be unsustainable, an understandable reason to be picky about who to save.

But that was not their greatest sin. No, the reason all of grounder kind hated those who were blessed with wings was quite simple. Not only could they flee from and lead the Angles away, they had the ability to give grounders the chance to collect energon in peace and save their sparklings from death. They did not need to live in the last shining city of the old world, all grounders needed was help.

Help that they had been denied time and time again for the simple fact that it was inconvenient for the high and mighty flyers.

"This life is a dangerous one Orion Pax, but we do it for the safety of all our kind. If we cannot find a solution, then we need to be ready to preserve our history so that hopefully, others may use our wisdom to end the threat." Little-Bird grasped Orion's shoulder, a determined glint in his optics. Orion nodded as the data upload finished and he laid down to process it. The last moments of Archivists killed by numerous threats played out in his mind as data was filed away. He tried not to listen to the screams as he focused on adjusting.

It would fade with time, and when it did, he would learn from the mistakes of his elders. Death was common on the ground, but it was also sacred. Every death offered wisdom and insight that could be used by others. No death was meaningless, regardless of how hard it was to see the last agonizing moments of those who did not have Primus's favor.

Knowledge was power. An Archivist could not afford to lack any of it.

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Orion grew in the quiet, never uttering a word as he graduated from being carried on the backs of one of his fellows to walking on his own two pedes in response to his increasing knowledge. That was when his education changed yet again. He had long since learned to communicate without so much as a peep, but moving in silence was a whole other matter. He was a hazard to his clan and it showed with how often Alpha Trion needed to wield his relic to keep the Angels at bay.

Neither Orion nor the others knew exactly what Alpha Trion was or why his Covenant kept the Angels away, but they did not feel the need to know. So long as they remained close to their leader, he could open his great book and extend his field and the Angels would simply be unable to locate them or otherwise flee.

Usually, Orion and his clan kept far away from settlements built around natural sources of sound. They did not like to be involved in the politics of the gangs and other such organizations that ran those areas. Often their travels took them through the remnants of cities where their duties included hunting for anything of the old world still salvageable. Sometimes that meant taking memories from the dead if their frames were not too damaged. In other instances that entailed going through highly dangerous areas filled with finicky technology that could make any number of noises in order to get to relics and items of interest.

Whatever they did, it was always a gamble.

Orion was quick to learn how to stalk quietly. His fellows all shed their armor once they reached younglinghood since by that point it grew too bulky and noisy to be kept. Thus, Orion followed their example. With the help of his comrades, his armor was cut away and he was left in just his protoform. His inbuilt weapons which had only just begun to come online were swiftly shut down and Orion was taught to vent manually instead of running his fans. Cool air had to be cycled through his intake instead of his vents and heated air had to be released the same way. He struggled greatly to regulate his temperature as he adjusted, often passing out for the first few stellar cycles.

But his fellows were patient, and Alpha Trion was willing to stop so that Orion could train in the art of silent steps. It took him time, and he was never as quiet as his fellows. However eventually he managed to achieve a degree of silence in his steps that at least ensured he wouldn't die the moment he put his pede down too hard. Regulating his temperature manually became second nature and before long Orion was ready to receive his first and only augment, the one every grounder got as soon as they learned the art of silence normally.

Never before had he actually been to a settlement for more than a swift pass through to collect energon. But to receive his augments, he was taken to the only doctor Alpha Trion trusted with his Archivists.

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"How old is he?" The doctor, known as Ratchet in the spoken tongue, asked as he readied his tools.

"Nineteen vorns. He has completed his preliminary training and is ready to begin his advanced survival training as soon as his augments are in place." Alpha Trion replied from where he held Orion's servo. The Patriarch liked to be with each of his Archivists when they got their augments, and that Orion was thankful for. His fellows were not subtle in making it clear that receiving his augments was going to hurt like a glitch.

"Never one to waste time are you?" Ratchet remarked with a hint of sass in his tone. Alpha Trion said nothing as Ratchet sighed and collected a series of saws.

"I haven't been able to make more anesthetic. I cleared out my old clinic vorns ago and I don't have the tools to produce new compounds without attracting the Angels. This will hurt." Ratchet was blunt as he held up the saw. Orion's optics widened and he bit his derma as he looked up at Alpha Trion in fear. He was no stranger to pain since removing his armor. Protoform took time to harden and be capable of taking a hit without causing severe damage. Even still, a saw to his legs…

"All will be well Orion Pax. These augments are the first of many trials you will endure, but these changes will serve you well." Alpha Trion's field brushed over Orion, calming his spark's nervous spin. He vented deeply through his intake, just as he had been trained in order to calm himself without sound. Then after a moment of readying himself mentally, he nodded. There was no need for words.

"I will try to keep this as quick as I can." Ratchet alerted before his saw descended on Orion's right leg.

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Ratchet kept his promise that cycle. Having performed the surgery countless times before, the process only took a joor. Despite that, Orion was left bedridden for several cycles afterward as his new legs healed and his various minor augments settled.

When he could stand again, Orion had to relearn how to walk all over again. Having legs like that of a cyber-feline was not exactly comfortable after spending all of his sparklinghood with the leg structure of the average bipedal. A reinforced jaw was also new, along with claw attachments on his digits and heightened senses. However, when he rejoined his fellows, he found that the augments were indeed a huge boon.

He was able to easily stalk as his comrades did now that his legs were restructured to grant him greater stride and a larger distribution of his frame weight across the ground. Running on all fours was now also possible due to the claw attachment, giving him the ability to climb and run like a mech-animal without damage. Keeping up with his fellow Archivists was no longer a chore and rather a joy. Silence was his specialty and he greatly enjoyed the freedom his newfound speed offered him. There would still not be any escape from the Angels if they caught him, but at least like this he could travel faster than before.

His reinforced jaw allowed him to finally learn how to find and extract energon as well. Little-Bird and Gold-Sky had more than a bit of fun watching him try to scratch away at energon deposits, collecting as many scrapes as he could without alerting any Angels. They had far less fun when he broke off a whole energon chunk by accident and Alpha Trion had to use his Covenant to ward off the Angels.

Still, he learned. His heightened senses finally let him notice the things his comrades did. His legs gave him speed and silence he never had before, and his jaw at last let him eat without someone else needing to hunt for energon for him and crush the crystal into something consumable. He was no longer a sparkling.

Fully recognized as one of the number of Archivists, Orion Pax spent a few more vorns traveling with Alpha Trion and receiving data uploads until he had all of the old archives within him. But all things had to come to an end, and eventually there came a cycle when Alpha Trion looked over the Archivists he had led so dutifully for vorns on end and bid them all farewell. It came out of the blue for Orion, but the elder Archivists seemed to expect it when Alpha Trion sat with them one final time and gave each of them a data upload from his own processors to ensure they lost nothing and were able to preserve what they gained.

"Why is he leaving us?" Orion whispered his question to Little-Bird, the one who had become a mentor to him over the vorns. Little-Bird merely patted him on the helm fondly and watched Alpha Trion complete another data upload with an Archivist.

"It is the way. When we are grown and ready to set out on our own, Alpha Trion will give us our final data upload and we are to scatter and search on our own." Orion's finials perked at the information. This couldn't be right. Was it not more effective to travel as a clan? They were family, and together they had strength.

"I do not understand." Orion murmured as Alpha Trion came nearer.

"You will. We all do eventually." Little-Bird assured before standing and wandering off to another group of Archivists preparing to leave. Evidently, they had decided to stay together once Alpha Trion dispersed them.

"Orion Pax, last forged Descendant of the Thirteenth born of the Well of Allsparks." Alpha Trion listed his full title as the Patriarch knelt down to Orion's level. The Covenant sat on Alpha Trion's hip comfortably as he took Orion's servos and rubbed circles onto the front with his thumbs. Such a small gesture, and yet Orion wanted to cry all the same. This was farewell. He had never truly been alone his whole life.

"Do not fear that which lies beyond. Ahead of you is a future filled with joy. You need only seek it out and endure the trials that come with it." Alpha Trion's datacables slid from their sockets and into Orion's with ease. Orion relished in the feeling as Alpha Trion scoured his processors, making minor alterations to ensure nothing Orion learned was lost.

"Travel to the old City of Iacon. Search for the Matrix of Leadership. There you will find what you need." As Alpha Trion pulled away, Orion almost wept at the loss of connection. However, he stayed strong as the Patriarch moved onto the next Archivist in line. He had a mission now.

Iacon was on the other side of the world and was by far one of the largest cities on the planet. It would be a nightmare to comb through, but he would search. His records had a great deal to say about the Matrix of Leadership. Such information would surely be needed if and when he located the relic.

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'Orion Pax. What are you doing here?' Ratchet signed as Orion walked into his clinic. The Medic was always on the move, it was quite a pain to track him down. But Orion was not going to be wandering into any cities without someone to repair him on call. His fellow Archivists had fallen too many times not to death by the Angels, but instead due to injuries long left untreated as a result of having no friends or clan.

Archivists were known for traveling alone. Orion had no such interest in doing the same. Success would come to him with the aid of others, this he knew from his time with the Archivists.

'I come with an offer.' Orion signed back as he put down a series of tools he managed to bribe off a fellow Archivist before they went their separate ways. Ratchet's optics blew wide as he saw the tools, all in pristine condition. Orion was not sure where they were found, but any medic would kill to have such tools, that much he knew. Without the means to make more equipment, at least without Vos getting involved, all tools were valuable and knowledge sacred.

'What do you want?' Ratchet questioned, his servos hesitating and his field extending in suspicion. Orion did not begrudge him that as he smiled and bowed slightly in respect. Politeness was always the correct course of action with those who were to hopefully become a clan.

'I wish to travel and explore the cities, but I cannot do so alone. Too many of my fellows have died due to lack of practical knowledge and medical care.' Ratchet remained on guard but gradually seemed to come to some sort of calm as he took the tools and examined them. He took his time and Orion did not rush him as the medic looked over the offering. These sorts of agreements were sacred and took time.

'You wish for me to join you in your wanderings.' Orion nodded once and Ratchet returned the gesture, both understanding the other.

'We will stop at every settlement along the way so that I may tend to those in need of repairs.' Ratchet put forward his demands and Orion almost allowed his shock to show as he nodded. Such reasonable terms were all but unheard of, especially among those as highly regarded as medics. Still, he would not question such a gift.

'That is more than agreeable.' Orion smiled and Ratchet took a moment to think before he did the same. They reached out and shook servos, agreement filtering through their fields. They would not be clan for some time. Those bonds were slow to form, but as it was, they had the beginnings of a family. All clans started with deals, as was the nature of the surface.

'Then I will gather my things and we can prepare to set off. I would recommend a guide however. A mech who knows the area and has connections would be valuable.' Ratchet suggested as he began to collect his small assortment of items. Medics tended to travel light.

'I believe I have a mech in mind.' Orion assured as his processors kicked into action, providing him information about local guides. He and his former clan hired the services of one particular mech enough times to prove he was trustworthy. If he could be found, he would be instrumental in the success of Orion's mission.

'And who would that be, young Archivist? Your kind do not tend to associate with settlements enough for me to believe you truly know what you are talking about.' Ratchet raised an optical ridge and Orion merely smiled again.

'I am unlike my kin. I wish to form a clan to travel alongside. With that in mind, I was thinking of the guide known as Jazz. He has aided my former clan on occasion.' The medic paused, thinking as he put the last of his things into his pack. He seemed skeptical before he appeared to recognize the designation and signed back his response, only seeming a little exasperated.

'That one will be nothing but trouble... but his skill is undeniable.' Orion grinned and Ratchet shook his helm. He had a feeling things were going to end up alright in the end. He just had to get to Iacon and find the Matrix. Then he could figure out everything else.

In the worst case scenario, he would at least get a good relic out of the mission and hopefully some clanmecha as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #orion pax #alpha trion #ratchet #alternate universe #silence is salvation au #post apocalyptic #worldbuilding #fic idea #I brainstormed with a buddy to get this thing planned out #I have more ideas for this au if it is seem favorably

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