Transformers: Core protocols

Ch 1

The officer stopped at a reinforced door labeled "PERSONNEL QUARTERS – UNIT C4-621" in bold, blocky letters. A scanner flashed green as the officer swiped their credentials, and the door slid open with a faint hiss.

"This will be your quarters for the duration of your assignment," the officer said, stepping aside to let him enter. "You'll find basic necessities inside. We'll contact you when the briefing is ready."

621 nodded once and stepped inside.

The room was small and utilitarian, its walls bare save for a single corporate logo etched into the metal. A cot was bolted to one side, a narrow desk to the other. A locker stood in the corner, likely stocked with a standard-issue uniform and supplies. The only window was a narrow slit overlooking the barren expanse of Rubicon's surface.

621 dropped his gear by the cot and sat down, his body stiff but silent. The hum of the base's systems filled the room, a faint and constant reminder of his surroundings.

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Elsewhere
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The faint hum of an engine broke the eerie silence of Rubicon's barren landscape. A sleek, magenta vehicle glided over the uneven terrain, its low frame hugging the ground with precision. The polished body, accented with soft pink highlights, gleamed under the pale light of Rubicon's dim skies. Her form, unmistakably Cybertronian, was both elegant and efficient—an aerodynamic marvel blending beauty and functionality.

The Autobot insignia on her hood glowed faintly, a proud yet somber reminder of her purpose. Her headlights, bright and purposeful, cut through the swirling dust, scanning every shadow and crevice as she searched for a trace of her friend.

Inside, Arcee's Spark was restless, heavy with worry. She hadn't heard from Windflare in hours—a silence that spoke volumes on a planet like this. She pushed her speed higher, the hum of her engine climbing into a determined growl. The signal she'd been tracking led her to the heart of a scorched battlefield, and as the scene unfolded before her, an ominous chill settled in her circuits.

Arcee slowed, her tires crunching against the rubble-strewn ground. She transformed smoothly, her panels shifting and rearranging with a fluid grace until her humanoid frame stood tall among the ruins.

Her optics scanned the area, taking in the devastation. The battlefield was a wasteland of shattered rock and twisted metal. The air hung thick with the acrid stench of scorched earth and faint traces of leaking energon.

Then she saw it.

Windflare's remains were scattered across the ground like a broken mosaic of red and silver. His proud, aerodynamic frame—once so full of life—was now a collection of jagged fragments. His wings, symbols of his soaring strength, had been torn clean off and thrown carelessly across the dirt. His torso was ripped open, exposing the hollow cavity where his Spark had been savagely removed.

Her servos trembled as she stumbled toward him, her optics wide and glowing with a mix of grief and disbelief. "Windflare..." she whispered, her voice cracking.

She dropped to her knees beside his broken body, her hands hovering over his shattered chest as though touching it would make the truth less real. Her fingers finally brushed against the jagged edges of his plating, and a sob escaped her.

"No... no, no, no," she whispered, shaking her head. Her shoulders heaved as her grief consumed her. "You didn't deserve this..."

Tears of energon streaked down her face, glistening trails of cyan against her magenta armor. She clenched her fists, her servos digging into the dirt as a surge of anger began to bubble beneath her sorrow.

Arcee stood slowly, her fists shaking at her sides. Her gaze hardened as she looked at the scattered remnants of her friend, and then to the distant horizon. The marks left behind—deep, precise gouges and the unmistakable scorch marks of corporate Armored Cores—told her everything she needed to know.

"This... this wasn't a fight," she said through gritted teeth. "It was slaughter."

She turned back to Windflare, kneeling one final time to gently place her hand on his lifeless head. "I'm sorry, old friend. I'm so sorry I wasn't here. But I'll make this right. I promise you that."

In the distance, the low whine of approaching engines reached her audio sensors. Her optics flared as she rose to her full height, transforming swiftly back into her vehicle mode. Her engine roared to life as she sped away from the site, her tires throwing up a cloud of dust in her wake.

"Ratchet...."

Static crackled for a moment before the familiar, gruff voice of the Autobot medic came through. "Arcee? What's your status? Did you find Windflare?"

"He's gone Ratchet." Arcee forced out as she raced across the sand dunes. "They tore him apart, Ratchet. His Spark... it's gone."

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, Ratchet spoke, his voice filled with quiet grief. "Do you have his coordinates?"

"I've marked the site. It's... bad, Ratchet. They didn't just kill him—they dismantled him. Like he was some kind of machine to be scrapped."

The medic's sigh came through the comm, weary and full of sorrow. "I'll dispatch a recovery team. Thank you, Arcee. You did what you could."

"What I could?" she snapped, her grief turning into a brief flash of anger. "I wasn't there for him, Ratchet! I couldn't stop this. And now..." Her voice broke again, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. "Now it's too late."

"Arcee," Ratchet said, his tone firm but empathetic, "we can't be everywhere at once. None of us can. But what matters is that we honor him now. We bring him home."

"This isn't even his home...." Arcee spoke in a cold whisper, getting no response from Ratchet. She ended the comm channel and drove in silence.

END!

Hope you guys are hooked and enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to comment your favorite transformer, my personal favorite is Grimlock honestly.

Let's give it up for cliffjumper, he didn't die this time!