From the shadows of the alley, he silently bore witness. -- Cybertronian Slums

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Date Posted: 19:11:09 01/16/02 Wed
Author: Fulcrumm
Subject: From the shadows of the alley, he silently bore witness.
In reply to: Religion 's message, "It did indeed start off small..." on 09:38:38 09/08/01 Sat

The once withered Micromaster was much changed from the frame of a robot he once was. Most of the changes however were cosmetic, and his spirit remained as it had always been, shattered, and yet clinging the two percent possibility of hope.

That hope had come in the form of a deceased armored Nebulan, one whom Fulcrumm could only infer had been murdered by his own Decepticon partner. Why and under what circumstances were unknown, the suit's final recordings posing as many questions as it answered, but the bottom line in the slums was always survival. The Nebulan Snipar would never benefit from his armor again, and so Fulcrumm had found the means to a rebirth of sorts. The mute Autobot still grappled with the mystery of a Nebulan race with green leathery skin, but it paled next to the discovery of the nature of Snipar and Blackeagle's partnership.

Targetmasters. In life, the previous owner of the armor now incorporated into Fulcrumm had the ability to become a weapon. As a lover of peace, having seen far too many of his Autobot brethren cut down, Fulcrumm detested the notion that he himself was now an instrument of destruction. Feverishly, he had continued to work with his new components but had not been able to eliminate the offensive capabilities completely. His failure stemmed not from lack of ability but desire, survival again forcing his hand in actions uncharacteristic. Though the gun-form would remain, he had found a way to compromise by devising several alternate modes.

He was not at peace yet, and as he watched the throngs heading to the streets, he wept inwardly that he could not embrace such comfort so easily. Would that he could vocalize their cry of 'wings of hope', a part of him was still dead inside. Or perhaps more information was required. He had repaired so much these past few weeks, regained so much confidence in his ability, and yet fixing his spark still evaded him. He decided to catch one of the alley-dwellers before they left and acquire more information. As he tapped the Predacon on the shoulder, inwardly pleased that with his armor they were at even height, the dilemma deepened: how to ASK what he wanted to know? He could only hope the information would be volunteered out of the mass hysteria bubbling about the slums...

"We are what we pretend to be"
-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

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Replies:

Of course there was no answer... -- Fulcrumm, 22:04:26 01/21/03 Tue