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Scavenger came back online slowly, disoriented.
His systems rebooted one by one. The darkness around him was so deep that he couldn’t see anything, and he had no idea where he was. Pain throbbed through him, sharp stabbing jolts from his left leg as well as a dull ache that spread out through his entire frame.
His external sensors activated, and he realized he was lying on a hard surface that sloped down at an angle. Whatever it was, the surface was slick, and he wondered if he’d been damaged so badly he was leaking fuel. But although there were plenty of reports in his HUD, glowing green against the lightless void, his fuel tank and coolant reservoir were intact. His fuel levels were actually high, so perhaps he had topped up before… before…
MEMORY BANKS ONLINE.
He remembered now.
He’d been exploring a city long since fallen into ruins, mapping out locations and running routine analyses for subsurface deposits of metal. But when he’d discovered a tunnel, he’d taken a few cautious paces inside it, wondering how far it extended into the city’s infrastructure. That was when the ground gave way under him, and it was the last thing he remembered.
Scavenger turned on his headlights, so two narrow bars of light shone up. And up. And up. The surface they made contact with was so far away that he could barely see it in the weak glow, but there were great metal arches that almost met over him, with a space between them that he guessed was what he’d fallen through. Past the ruined roof, he caught a glimpse of a drainpipe or some other sort of ductwork.
The surface he lay on wasn’t metal, though. It was smooth concrete, he could tell that from touch even without his shovel’s chemosensors, and a thin film of cold oil covered it. The oil had a strange, unclean smell he’d never before encountered. But it was, he realized, the least of his problems right now.
His chronometer was offline. His shovel was intact, and thankfully he wasn’t lying on it, though the shaft was twisted uncomfortably beneath him. His left leg was bent, and he suspected he’d fallen on it, because the treads were dislodged, and his knee-joint was damaged so badly he couldn’t straighten his leg at all. His left arm was in little better condition. He could flex his fingers and rotate his wrist, but the thick armor was crushed and any attempt to move the arm itself hurt so badly that he had to turn off his pain receptors. Hook could manage basic field repairs, but this would be beyond him, so he would only be able to stabilize Scavenger for transport to a medical facility while scolding him for being careless.
Except Hook was nowhere near. Scavenger had got Scrapper’s go-ahead to search the city for anything useful or interesting, but Scrapper wouldn’t have any idea where exactly Scavenger was now, and there was no way he could call for help, because on top of everything else, his comm was offline. His self-repairs might be able to fix that, but there was no guarantee of it.
For the first time Scavenger realized how very much alone he was. That never bothered him when he was exploring, not when there was a world of discoveries to be made. But the world had shrunk to the surface on which he lay and the walls that surrounded him and the darkness in the distance overhead, none of it familiar at all.
Wondering how far he had fallen, he got his right elbow under him and tried to sit up. His elbow slipped a little on the oil that slicked the surface, and before he could recover, a sudden crack cut through the silence. The concrete trembled beneath him. Scavenger’s entire body slid downwards, and he caught instinctively at the surface, hard enough to scrape the paint off his fingers.
He came to a halt, panting through his vents. A raw ache burned through his fingers, but he ignored that. It was nowhere near as important as the sound of the concrete cracking.
Scavenger tilted his head back until his helm rested on the wet concrete. He wanted as much of that solidity beneath him as possible, and he was irrationally afraid that if he sat up, he would slide down further. Carefully, he lifted his good arm off the surface and over his head, reaching back as far as he could.
He felt a fissure snaking its way through the concrete just behind him. No way to tell how deep the split was. Or, for that matter, how thick the concrete was, though he guessed it had been damaged already from his fall. And what would happen if the rest of it gave way?
Scavenger lowered his arm again so he could hold on to the surface as best he could, but he inched his helm and then his shoulders up, just enough to direct the beam of his headlights ahead. Opposite him, perhaps ten yards away, was another concrete curve. It dropped down at a steep angle that grew a little shallower, just enough to make a sloping ledge, and then it went down again steeply and vanished into a void.
The sight of it made the fuel go cold in Scavenger’s lines. He couldn’t see what he was lying on, but he could feel it only too well, and other than the crack in the concrete, what he was looking at was a mirror image of it. But what on Cybertron was this? It had clearly been designed and built, but for what purpose? And how deep was the dark space between the two curves?
No, don’t think about that. Besides, there was something else he’d noticed, something about the sloping curve before him. He hadn’t looked closely enough because he’d been distracted, but now he increased the gain on his optics.
There were scratches on the concrete. Two sets of scratches, not deep enough to be cracks like the one beyond his helm, but definite scrapes in the curve. As though another mech had fallen there, and had caught at the concrete as Scavenger was doing now, and—
And what happened to him?
Scavenger leaned his head back again, not wanting to look at the sight. He offlined his optics too. His temperature had risen a little, but he kept the airflow from his vents slow and even. There was no point in panicking, so—
Primus help me, I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to—
—so he had to push himself back very slowly, until the crack in the concrete was past him. He couldn’t see any way to get himself out of this, but he didn’t have to. Once Scrapper realized he wasn’t answering his comm, they’d come looking for him. It occurred to him that he might have fallen into a deliberately set trap, and he couldn’t warn anyone about that, but if he disappeared, Scrapper would be prepared for the worst, and certainly wouldn’t be dumb enough to search anywhere alone.
Moving only one limb at a time, Scavenger bent his right knee and pressed the sole of his foot to the concrete. This had to be a smooth, concerted movement. He drew in air, braced himself, and pushed down with both hands and his foot.
Metal scraped against concrete with a grating squeal that made his joints twinge, but he managed to push himself up a couple of feet. His audials were set to their highest gain, alert for any cracking sounds, but he heard nothing unexpected. All right, now do it again.
He pressed down, forcing himself back a little more. And the blade of his shovel touched a rough-edged chunk of concrete. Before Scavenger could do more than guess that it had fallen from the roof with him, it rolled down towards the brink.
Even if he had been in perfect working order, Scavenger would have thought twice about trying to catch it, and the chunk was gone at once. Never mind, he thought. At least now, when he heard the piece of rubble come to a stop, he would have an idea how deep the space between the two curves was. He held very still and listened.
There was no sound at all.
Scavenger’s mouth was dry. He ignored that, just as he ignored the ache of his raw palms as he levered himself back for the the third time. That’s it, now once more—
A wet drop splashed down against his chestplate.
Startled, Scavenger went motionless. Another drop hit his right knee. Rain? He was acid-proofed, but the concrete curve might not be. No, it couldn’t be rain, not when he was so far beneath the surface. So deep. Cut off from the sky, from the world, from everything.
More liquid began to patter down lightly on either side and on him. The sensors on his shovel came into play, and he realized it was oil. The ducts and pipes overhead, did they carry oil, and had one of them been damaged when he’d fallen?
Whatever the reason for it, he was lying on a film of oil. It worked its way everywhere, trickling cool beneath him, giving him no grip beneath his fingers. If he waited long enough, would it stop? He didn’t know.
Oil dripped down on his face, over his optics. Instinctively Scavenger brought his right hand up to shield his face. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, he slid lower. With a gasp, he flung his arm out again, clawing at the slippery concrete to hold on. His downward momentum stopped. Another piece of broken concrete slid away, rolled down the slope, and fell into nothingness.
Stay calm, Scavenger thought. Stay calm. All the work he’d put into pushing himself back had just been undone in a few kliks, but he could do it again. Just stay calm.
As if moving components made of crystal, he lifted his right knee as he had done before, bending it a little to push the sole of his foot against the curve.
There was nothing beneath his foot. Scavenger lowered his leg another few inches, and then froze as he realized what had happened. He couldn’t see it, but his foot now extended over the abyss.
Oh, Primus.
He couldn’t pull himself back up with his hands alone. But then he remembered his shovel. Maybe he could use that. Refusing to think of what would happen if this failed, he dug the edge of the shovel into the concrete as deeply as he could, anchoring himself. Then, jaws clenched, he pushed down with both hands.
It was as though his prayer had been heard, because he edged back a little from the brink. His back felt as scraped-bare as his palms. But nothing was as terrifying as the abyss, and one more effort would pull his foot back from that curved and sloping edge.
Something stroked the sole of his foot.
Scavenger gasped and pulled his leg back. He did that reflexively, then froze in case he’d made the surface beneath him that much more unstable. But his shovel still bit into the concrete, holding him in place. His ventilations came faster, though, no longer under his control.
What had that been? Something had drawn itself lightly along the length of his foot. And it had felt different from the beads and trails of oil sliding over his plating; it had been solid. Pointed. A little like the tip of a wedge.
“Who—” Scavenger had to cycle his vocalizer before he could continue. He tried to speak firmly, but couldn’t. “Who’s there?”
There was no answer.
“I know something touched me.” If he shouted, would he hear echoes? Would he hear anything else? “Who are you?”
No answer.
“What are you?” Scavenger asked, but now it was only a whisper. He clutched at the concrete, his limbs quivering with exhaustion. When he had begged not to be alone, he’d never thought his prayer would be answered in this way. If there really was a Primus, He had a twisted sense of humor.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who or what that was. He just had to move again. If he was far enough from the edge, whatever was beyond it couldn’t—
A mechanical shriek rose from within the abyss. It was a mindless sound, like massive rusted cogs scraping together, tearing against each other with a piercing scream. Scavenger jerked. He felt crumbs of concrete slipping away from the blade of his shovel, dislodged. They skittered away over the edge and were gone.
Help me, please, someone help—
His comm snapped on abruptly. “—avenger?” It was Scrapper’s voice. “Where are—”
The comm went dead again. Desperately Scavenger checked the reports from his damage control subsystems. He’d reroute every speck of power to his comm, if only that would open a link back to the world.
Except the damage was extensive, components dislodged and wires snapped by the fall. Given time, his self-repairs might still manage to reconnect some circuits and bypass the ones which needed replacement, but Scavenger knew his time had run out. He wanted to howl out loud at the unfairness of it, because he had tried so hard. For a moment, terror and frustration nearly got the better of him.
But if this was a deliberate trap, he wouldn’t give whoever had done it the satisfaction of hearing him make a sound. And he was half afraid that once he started screaming, he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Besides, he knew with a bleak bitter resignation, even if his comm opened and stayed open, what good would that do? Scrapper couldn’t reach him in time. Not when he was in the subterranean depths of Cybertron, as many as twenty levels below the surface. And not when there were other scavengers, when there were creatures that dwelt in the depths, and one of them was awake.
Scavenger lay trembling as he listened to the sounds from below. Whatever it was didn’t shriek again, but it seemed to be moving instead. Faint vibrations traveled through the concrete, and he felt them against his plating. And then they were no longer faint. Something dug sharply into the curve’s dropoff, gritting hard as though clinging on as it rose towards him. The concrete shuddered and above him, there was another crack as the fissure spread or deepened or both.
Over the sounds, Scavenger heard himself whimpering. The curve tilted minutely, and he slid down another foot or two, arms flung out as he scrabbled for purchase. The rain of oil had stopped, perhaps because it was no longer needed now, and Scavenger came to a halt, panting through his vents. He didn't want to die in this long-drawn-out way, frozen with terror and despair. He didn't want to die at all, but he knew surviving this was no longer a possibility.
Then don't try to escape, he thought suddenly. Do the opposite.
He reached over to his damaged arm and prised off two of the armor panels over his forearm. Underneath, his fingers brushed over an exposed fuel access port. Swallowing hard, he reached into a subspace compartment.
He’d always known it was a good idea to collect things that other mechs considered junk, though it was little consolation to be proven right now. He pulled out a length of tubing and connected it to the fuel access port.
With a metallic click, something closed over the edge of the curve. Whatever was in the abyss—some creature, some massive entity, he didn’t want to imagine—it was pulling itself steadily up. Scavenger felt the impact thud through the solidity beneath him as he stared up into the endless dark. Let this work, please let this work, he thought, and tossed the other end of the tubing up.
He opened the access port. Fuel forced out of his tank flowed through the tubing. Scavenger couldn’t feel it trickling down over the curve, so he could only hope it was pouring into the fissure instead, filling the tiny air pockets in the concrete, seeping into cracks. His fuel levels dropped to half. Warnings lit up his vision, but he didn’t bother looking at them, let alone deleting them from the queue.
A jagged heavy weight came down on his ankle, digging deep into the joint and pinning his leg in place. Scavenger’s fuel levels fell to a third. Now. He pulled a flare from subspace and flicked the tiny switch that ignited it.
I’m sorry, Scrapper, he thought and threw the burning flare behind him, past his helm, into the deep fissure and into the fuel collected there.
The fuel ignited with a muffled explosion, a hard whsh that thudded against his audials. Sound turned solid. Fire leaped up and light splashed against the walls, gold and orange, brighter than a sun. And the fire raced flickering along the line of tubing that joined him to the fissure.
I’ll die. But on my terms—
The fissure in the concrete split into a wide rent. Already weakened from his fall and from the additional weight that had clawed its way up out of the abyss, the huge curve cracked and broke off completely. Scavenger felt it tilt down, felt himself slide towards the gaping emptiness and whatever lived in that. But the fire was faster and reached him first.
—and I’m not going down—
The fire reached his fuel tank and it exploded, ripping out half his internal components and blasting his chest open. Scavenger’s visual feed went dark.
—alone.