Made for my own projects and aus but free for anyone to use
In the Cybertronian language, instead of having combinations of sounds to create meaning, every sound has a distinct meaning, with even the slightest change in pitch altering the word. It's a language humans could never understand because it requires hearing sounds and slight differences in sound that human ears can't recognize. That's why cybertronian names are usually words or combinations of words, because sound-based names, with no set meaning, would not work in their language. Cybertronian Language is significantly faster and more efficient than any human language and is slightly less prone to Miscommunication. But to a human, the Cybertronian language sounds like a nonsensical mix of random noises, chirps, beeps, and clicks — a strange alien bird's song, often sung at pitches painful to human ears.
The cybertronian language functions with several different types of tones, Mainly context tones and concept tones. Concept tones express, well, concepts and ideas, the closest thing the Cybertronian language has to words. Context tones give concept tones their context, including tense, referring to self or others, age, length, the number of something. It's a tone played on top of the concept tones. For example, a context tone would be used to distinguish Ratchet the cybertronian from a ratchet the object. Several context tones are usually layered on top of every concept tone, giving them a clearer meaning. The Cybertronian language is monotone so the ways tones are sung will not change based on emotion, its always a consistent pitch and sound.
Instead of using emotions in voice to indicate how the other speaker is feeling, it is done through reading each other em fields. all emotional context coming from body language and energy signals. But this also causes problems for long-distance communication most dedicated communication devices have field transmitters to mimic the other parties' field pulses. While things like coms, and non-cybertronian based communication methods often don't have this, so many bots on earth have started switching to human languages and human tonal emotional indication over coms when they need to convey a strong emotion without em fields.
Cybertronian vocalizers are highly adaptable, made to produce a wide variety of sounds, allowing them to speak human languages without requiring any form of modification. Thought that's also why cybertronians always have that metallic tinge to their voice. Though their vocalizers can speak human languages without much effort, they were not designed for it similar to a parrot being able to say human words
Although it is impossible for humans to learn Cybertronian spoken language, it is possible for someone to learn to read the Cybertronian written language. The cybertronain langue is a logographic written on a stave similar to music notes. The primary concept glyph at the bottom or left side, if read horizontally with context tone placed on layers of relevance, the most relevant context tone is written closer to the concept tones. But if two tones are of equal importance, then usually the more novel tone goes closer to the concept tone and will be lower/farther left on the stave, while more common ones are usually higher/farther to the right through the order of the context tones can be written out of order and still understood this is considered improper.
Phew- I’m done. There may be a third but I think this…. Yeah. This works. Once again the beginning is iffy with this one. But this also is just… mehhhhhhhh.
Prima does a lot of talking which makes sense but it feels very untethered to Cometeater so… maybe it still works? Prima just wanted to vent about how he missed out on all the god drama because he was forced to hang out with his weird uncle for too long.
Literally Comet is like: can I talk to your dad I want to see my friend… please
And Prima hits him with: do you blame yourself? Cause I blame my dad. Let’s all blame my dumb father whom I resent.
Anyway, Cometeater belongs to @thebrokenmechanicalpencil! I know this isn’t… exactly what we had talked about for his reason for staying but it just fit very well because I had the idea with the Amica and well… I needed something that Prima could not undo because he’s petty.
—
Leaving the familiar, fire-lit heat of the Pits felt like stepping from a furnace into a freezer. The architecture changed from carved marble and scarred metal to soaring spires of translucent quartz and polished silver. Here, the air didn't breathe—it resonated, a high, vibrating hum that made Cometeater’s skin prickle.
After far too much small talk for Cometeater’s liking, he had finally managed to get a location out of Liege Maximo of where Prima might be.
Crystal City.
A metropolis that was theorized about on Cybertron but only belonged to the Well of Sparks. The very center of the afterlife. Built over the literal well of sparks where sparkling’s washed away the memories of a life that was too short for a chance to start over.
Dropmix didn't follow him, not that the organic expected him to. But the gladiator had stayed behind to trade barbs with his patron Prime, leaving Comet to navigate the shifting geography of the Well alone. Cometeater didn’t mind, it gave him plenty of time to think over the new, rather confusing, information he had received.
His interaction with Liege Maximo had not been what he expected, he was sure of that. Maybe he had anticipated someone more mature? More like The Teacher had always been? He wasn’t disappointed per se, but he was definitely underwhelmed by the Prime he had encountered.
And, curiosity be damned, he couldn’t help but wonder if Prima would be the same.
As he climbed the long, winding stairs toward the highest spire, the light became blinding. It wasn't the warm, golden light of a sun; it was a sterile, piercing white that seemed to peel back the layers of Comet’s soul. He felt every mistake he’d ever made, every doubt he’d ever harbored, every mech he had torn open and consumed, laid bare under that radiance.
Jeopardy had been the one to teach Cometeater about Cybertronian worship and mythos. He had taught him which prime looked over what frame, he told him of their prayer and rituals. The medic had explained how the Primes came to be, how the matrix worked, all of it.
He thought he had understood the complexity of their rankings, how this afterlife worked. But the few words exchanged with Liege had revealed that Comet was a lot more in over his head than he had come to believe.
The organic climbed a staircase that seemed to be made of frozen starlight. Every step he took felt louder than the last, his feet clicking against the pristine surface in a way that felt like a transgression. Finally, after what felt like hours of reflecting in his thoughts and climbing an almost endless staircase, he reached the top.
Nothing that Jeopardy told him could have prepared him for what he saw, and suddenly, Liege Maximo felt all the more underwhelming.
At the summit stood a figure that made Optimus Prime look like a sparkling.
Prima.
The first.
The Warrior of Light.
The Only—as Cometeater had recently discovered.
The First of the Thirteen didn't lounge on a throne or watch him with an almost childlike amusement. No, he stood perfectly still, his back to Cometeater, overlooking a vast roiling sea of pure, untapped energy. This was the heart of the Well, where sparks were tempered before being sent back into the universe.
Prima was taller than Maximo, taller than even the largest Seekers—transports—that Cometeater had seen. He wasn’t bulky, but not overly lean, his frame was a perfect mix of elegance, grace, and lethal power. His armor was a blinding, perfected white, accented by a gold that glowed and a pure, spectral blue. The light did not just reflect off Prima’s armor; it seemed to originate from within the seams of his plating, as if his chassis was merely a cage for a collapsing star.
His wings—vast, bladed structures of crystalline light and golden supports—didn't just sit upon his back; they hummed with the frequency of a thousand choir voices, vibrating the very air until Comet’s teeth ached. He was a terrifying masterpiece of geometry and divinity, an entity that looked less like a living thing and more like a law of physics given a physical shape.
Star Saber—a weapon of myth—rested point-down against the crystal floor, his hands folded over the pommel. The weapon seemed to glow with that same, radical beauty. The captivating ethereal glow of divine grace and power weaved into its very metal.
The very air around Prima seemed to go still, waiting on his permission to exist. And that silence was heavy, so heavy that it felt like a literal weight on Comet’s shoulders.
Within seconds of reaching the top of the spire Cometeater had fallen to his knees, his gaze turned downwards, unwilling to look at the magnificent mech before him. The pressure in the High Spire was an atmospheric weight, thin and sharp, that seemed to demand the air from Cometeater’s lungs as an offering. Every instinct in his organic body—the primal parts that understood he was a creature of clay and blood standing before a pillar of cosmic fire—told him to stay down. To disappear into the starlight-grain of the floor.
The Prime did not turn to face him, Cometeater was almost glad that he didn’t, though he could feel the weight of his judgement regardless.
“Spark-Eater,” The voice didn't come from a vocalizer. It was a resonant, silver chime that manifested inside Cometeater’s skull, vibrating against his brain until it felt like his thoughts were being restructured. It was a beautiful sound, devoid of Maximo’s performative malice, “I was wondering if you would ever show up.”
Cometeater gasped at the name, his frame shivering with a fine tremor as pressure built up behind his eyes. His vision blurred, and he could see small droplets hitting the starlit floor. He whimpered, shoulders hunching as he fought the urge to sob in front of the ethereal figure.
Spark-eater.
Monster.
Prima knew.
The title didn't just name him; it stripped him. In the presence of Prima, there were no euphemisms, no pretenders, and no gentle lies. There was only the raw, jagged truth of what Cometeater had done to survive. To the First of the Thirteen, he was not a traveler or a guest; he was a defect in the sanctity of the Spark.
Here, he was not an Amica, not a brother, son, father, uncle or comrade. He was only an ugly, twisted, selfish thing.
He tried to remember the sound of Jeopardy’s voice, the soothing tone as he assured him that he could not be blamed for needing to survive. He tried to remember the way Coo would look at him as if he was the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on.
Cometeater tried, he truly did.
“I... I am not...” Comet’s voice broke, a small, wet sound that felt like a stain on the silence. “I- Don’t-”
“You are,” Prima corrected, almost uncaringly.
Or perhaps with too much care.
Prima turned then. It was not a mechanical movement of servos and gears, but a fluid, terrifying rotation that felt like the horizon itself shifting. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying beauty. His optics were not pits of light, but lenses of pure, focused intent. His face was a mask of unyielding, clinical perfection, carved from a material that looked like diamond but possessed the depth of the deep sea.
He was beautiful.
Cometeater couldn’t look at it for more than a second.
The Star Saber hummed beneath his hands, a low, rhythmic thrum that forced Cometeater’s heart to beat in time with the weapon's divine frequency. It was agonizing.
“Do not weep for the truth,” Prima said, his voice echoing in the marrow of Comet’s bones. A cruel kindness in his tone, the kind of voice you’d use to soothe a dog before pulling the trigger. “I am not as merciful as my father, Spark-eater. I have seen the filth of the universe, I have spent lifetimes watching the cost of hunger. My father is blinded to your sin because of his own divinity, I am not.”
Cometeater held his breath as he heard the unmistakable footsteps of the First Prime getting closer. He closed his eyes, forcing his choked throat to produce a sound, “I- I’m sorry.”
The second the words were murmured Prima stopped.
“I know.”
The silence that followed was not empty; it was a vacuum, sucking the remaining warmth from Cometeater’s skin.
Prima reached out, an elegant, smooth hand that felt powerful enough to shape the fabric of time gently resting on the organic’s cheek. Slowly and impossibly tender, he caressed the side of the smaller creature's face, trailing down his jaw until he tilted Comet’s chin upward. Forced to look, Cometeater found that Prima’s optics were not blue or yellow, but a terrifying, absolute white—the color of a star at the moment of its birth, a soul at the moment of its erasure.
Or a mind broken too much to ever mend properly.
“My father does not understand suffering the way that you do, the way mortals feel it,” Prima explained, his expression gentle and soft as his eyes burned through the fabric of Comet’s soul, “but I do, and that was my curse. An immortal, divine being that feels love and pain just like any other mortal creature.”
Prima tilted Cometeater’s face, as if inspecting it for the first time, “It means I cannot deal in absolutes like The Judge, but I cannot stand by as Primus does, unwilling to punish.”
The Prime, who had been squatting, finally fully knelt, settling into his heels and resting the Star Saber along the floor. He was smaller than before, but his presence hadn’t shifted, he had only seemed to diminish physically to allow himself contact. His now free hand rose, cupping the other side of Cometeater’s face and wiping a stray tear.
“Which is to say, I do not hate you, Spark-eater,” the godling clarified with a small smile, an elegant, captivating expression, “I do not think I am capable of such a thing, not when I too understand hunger.”
The admission only led to another aborted sob. Cometeater tried to pull away, to look anywhere but Prima refused to release his hold.
“You... you hunger?” Comet eventually whispered, his voice a ragged thread. The grip on his face was light, yet he felt as though his skull were caught in a hydraulic press of pure intention.
“Of course I do, I lived, didn't I?” Prima’s smile didn't reach those blinding white optics. His thumbs traced the curves of Cometeater's cheekbones with a clinical, terrifying affection. The Grand Prime sighed, the air shimmering around him as he did, “I think… once, I was kinder about it.”
Prima leaned in closer, the scent of his frame not like the ozone and grease of the Pits, but like the sharp, cold smell of a mountain peak just before a storm. “But… I had a lot of time to think while I was with Unicron. I watched- I watched his hunger, his… greed.”
He spat the final word like a curse, it didn’t belong on his lips, it was out of place.
He released Cometeater’s face, but the ghost of his touch remained, a cold burn that seemed to mark Comet’s skin. Prima stood, reclaiming the Star Saber with a movement so practiced it felt like an extension of his own limb. The blade sang a low, mournful note as it broke contact with the quartz floor. The Warrior of Light shook his helm, swiftly returning to his post overlooking the Well.
Cometeater gasped, forehead hitting the floor the second he was released from the imprisoning gaze of the godling. He sobbed, a broken, choked sound that the air seemed to swallow up. He shook his head weakly.
He was… good. He was not a spark eater.
It wasn’t Comet’s fault.
He had never wanted to come to Cybertron, he had landed and forced into the pits like a monster, treated like an animal.
It wasn’t his fault.
The pretender curled into himself tighter, the spiritual glow around his body pulling closer until it was nonexistent.
“I do not hate you,” The First One repeated, his voice distant and untethered. There was a long pause as the divine being debated his next words, the air buzzing in anticipation, “But I will not forgive you. No… not- not when you are too alike to… Him.”
He didn’t need to clarify, Cometeater already knew who he was talking about.
Unicron, the Great Devourer.
They shared the same sin after all, didn’t they?
Cometeater could not blame Prima for hating a creature that acted just like his sworn enemy.
“I try, Spark-eater, I try to be fair, to be just. I do not enjoy having to punish my own,” Prima stated almost too suddenly, he kept his back turned, wings flexing slightly.
The mention of punishment hung in the air like a guillotine’s blade. Cometeater’s breath hitched, the crystalline floor beneath him leeching the very heat from his marrow. He felt small—not just in stature, but in existence. He was a footnote in a cosmic epic, a smudge of carbon on a page of light.
“I am not one of yours,” Comet whispered into the floor, the words tasting like copper and desperation. “I am organic. I am... I was just a traveler.”
“I know, and you have already been Judged, Cometeater,” Prima’s wings flared, the golden supports humming a discordant, jagged note that set Comet’s nerves on fire. His tone dropped into something darker, “I can do nothing for you but let myself rot in the injustice of it all. So why, Spark-eater, have you come to torment me?”
The question struck Cometeater with the force of a physical blow. He gasped for air, blinking down at the wet floor like it would tell him what the Prime was talking about. Any of it. The floor didn’t answer. The organic didn't move, his forehead pressed so hard against the starlight that he could see the microscopic fractures in the quartz-like surface.
“I didn't... I didn't come to torment you,” Comet choked out, his voice sounding small and brittle against the roaring silence of the Well. He stocked in a deep breath and forced his body to shift a fraction closer to where Prima stood “Maximo told me you were the only one who could... who could tell me why I’m here. The Teacher… she- she said that I didn’t belong to her but Primus didn’t… love me, doesn’t claim me. I… I don’t understand.”
The organic choked on another cry, forcing himself to swallow it before it cracked his voice. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his tone and keep it from crumbling apart. “I want to go down and visit my Amica, Jeopardy. I want to know how to cross the veil.”
He risked a glance up. Prima hadn't moved, but the air around him had begun to spiral, thin wisps of energy being drawn toward the Prime as if he were a vacuum of light.
The silence stretched on for one minute, then another.
“I have already told you, I can do nothing for you,” The First commented, devoid of any emotion, the only thing that betrayed how he was feeling was the way the light seeping from his armor was almost too intense, his wings drawn in too tightly. “You are not here by my will, or my fathers. If I had a say in it, you wander just like the rest of your kin.”
Cometeater shook his head, it wasn’t- it wasn’t fair. If The Teacher did not own him like she owned his beloved Coo, and Primus nor Prima claimed him, then why was he here? Why not cast into some other afterlife? Or some void where all of the orphaned, unloved souls ended?
He was crying again, wet, hot tears running down his face and puddling on the floor. His throat was tight, his shoulders jumping with the effort of his hiccuping breaths. “I- I… I don’t… Then who?”
Prima turned his head just enough for a single, blinding optic to fixate on Comet. The gaze was heavy with a weary, divine frustration—the look of a king watching a law of nature break before his eyes and being powerless to mend the rift. The blinding white optic looked too much like the madness that had infested Sunrazor’s mind all those years ago, and Cometeater froze, eyes wide.
Prima let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren't so hollow. He fully turned now, the Star Saber dragging a shallow, glowing groove into the floor. A god slayer—Comet reminded himself—the Star Saber had the power to kill creatures of greater power than Cometeater could ever fathom. Who knows what it could do to a parasite like himself.
The Warrior of Light approached, though he did not kneel down this time; instead, he stood over Comet like a monolith of mourning.
Cometeater cowered, pressing himself into the floor, his feet unable to move under the intense, mad gaze of the mech before him. He wanted to run, or plead, or do something, anything to get out of this godling’s line of sight. He wanted to go back to the pits, to curl into Dropmix and pretend the gladiator could fight off such a powerful thing. He wanted to run away with Coo, to let her soul wander beyond that veil and go with her.
But he was trapped. Comet was always trapped.
Trapped on Cybertron. Trapped in the Well. Trapped in the gaze of The First Prime.
“Jeopardy,” Prima said, and for the first time, the silver-chime of his voice carried a tremor of something human. The god child tilted his head, any evidence of his smile wiped in favor of a painfully blank stare, “He keeps you here, Spark-eater.”
The revelation hit Cometeater harder than the atmosphere of the High Spire ever could. The air seemed to vanish from his lungs, leaving him gasping in the vacuum of Prima’s stare.
“No,” Comet whispered, his fingers scraping uselessly against the frozen starlight of the floor. His eyes stung, chest heaving. “No, he... he loves me. He wouldn't... he wouldn't trap me! He’s not even… he’s not here!”
Prima leaned down, his massive, luminous face coming inches from Cometeater's. The heat radiating from the Prime was no longer sterile; it was scorching, the scent of burning ozone filling Comet's lungs.
“And that,” Prima whispered, his voice dropping to a register that made Cometeater’s marrow ache. The Great Prime’s lip curled into a snarl and Comet realized for the first time that the beautiful figure before him had fangs, “is the greatest sin of all. Not that you ate, but that you were loved for it. That a child of Primus found beauty in a void. And now I must spare you because of it.”
The Prime straightened up, his wings unfurling to their full, terrifying span, blotting out the light of the spires.
“He has forced you into this afterlife, Comet. He has closed the door behind you and locked it with a key made of his own spark.” Prima reached out, his hand hovering inches from Comet's chest. The First stopped short, eyes alight with some holy fire, “And because he holds a title that stands outside the hierarchy of the Thirteen, I can do nothing. I, the First Prime, am forced to play host to a Spark-eater because a mortal mech found a way to cheat the Heavens.”
The air in the High Spire curdled. Cometeater felt a cold, oily dread slide down his spine, a sensation so visceral it bypassed his spiritual form and struck at the memory of his flesh.
“Cheat the Heavens?” Comet’s voice was a ragged ghost of itself. He shook his head, his hands trembling “Jeopardy... he wouldn't. He's a medic. He saves lives, he doesn't—he doesn't rewrite the laws of the dead!”
“Think, Spark-eater, use that brain of yours that your creator boasts of so often!” Prima spat, the silver chime of his voice now sounding like a bell cracked by frost. He began to pace, the Star Saber’s tip carving a line of molten light into the quartz floor. “He loves you, Cometeater! He made you his Amica Endura! We are created in the image of a god, we drink god’s blood to fuel our sparks, we are all gods in our own right! Your soul orbits his just as I orbit my father’s!”
Prima stopped, his back to Comet, his wings twitching with a frantic, rhythmic hum. “I gave up my own divinity for that, my chance to join my father in a higher plane for what? To give my people a chance to create something. To not rely on wells to create life. To… to bond.”
“But… But I-” Cometeater stammered, his voice catching in his throat at the sudden outburst. He swallowed, “I’m not… I don’t have a spark. I can’t forge a bond. How could… cow could I be bonded?”
The Prime turned his head, and for a fleeting second, the terrifying, clinical perfection of his face cracked. A jagged line of grief sparked in his optics before being smoothed over by that same, terrifying resolve.
“Because Jeopardy is not mine alone, not anymore,” Prima whispered, his gaze shifted to the ground, terrifyingly blank and detached, “He belongs to something greater now, something that is much older than I am. He determines the fate of souls.”
He stepped toward Cometeater again, but this time, the weight of his presence didn't just press down—it pulled. Comet felt his own spiritual essence, that frayed and hungry thing, being drawn toward the blinding light of the Star Saber. “And, with that power he has weighed your soul as innocent. And because he sees you as Amica, an extension of himself, you are now tied to his soul. That was the verdict he came to that I may not ignore.”
The High Spire seemed to tilt, the horizon of the Well of Sparks blurring into a smear of color. Cometeater’s mind reeled, trying to reconcile the image of the gentle, nervous medic he knew with the cosmic architect Prima was describing. Jeopardy was good, the best, he wouldn’t meddle in whatever Prima was suggesting.
“He... he’s just a medic,” Comet whispered, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering over the quartz. “He fixes fuel lines. He patches plating. He’s not—he wouldn't be part of this.”
“He is a judge now,” Prima rumbled, and the title sounded like a heavy chain being dropped. “And he has decided that you, a creature that feeds on the very essence of our kind, are not broken beyond repair. He has sanctified your hunger. I hope you are pleased.”
Prima’s face twisted, a flash of genuine, unadulterated bitterness crossing his divine features. He looked, for one brief moment, less like a god and more like a soldier who had been given an impossible, nonsensical order by a superior who wasn't even there to explain it.
“It is… foolish. I… if I- If my father-” Prima hissed before going silent. His wings quivering behind him, the air radiating and vibrating with the emotions that pooled from him. The mech sighed. “If my father hadn’t let my empire fall into ruin, if he hadn’t neglected my people, none of this would have happened.”
Cometeater stayed silent, his chest aching with the weight of the revelation. Jeopardy. His Jeopardy. The mech who used to fret over the smallest scratch in Comet’s plating had somehow rewritten the laws of the afterlife just to keep him from drifting into a place where he could not follow. It felt like a gift; it felt like a cage.
The Prime shook his head, glancing at Cometeater once last time before facing the Well once more, driving the Star Saber into the ground with a finality that startled the organic. His voice was low, a hushed whisper of defeat, “Go. Leave me to my thoughts, Spark-eater.”
“But-” Comet began. There was still so much he didn’t understand, so much he couldn’t fathom.
“Go,” Prima repeated, his grip tightening on the Star Saber until the gold on his gauntlets creaked. “Before I decide that the laws of a mortal Judge are worth less than the purity of my Well and I try to test my strength against a force much older than myself.”
Cometeater didn't wait for a third dismissal. He scrambled backward, his hands slipping on the starlit floor, before turning to run.
TFP: Cybertron and the Functionist Indoctrination of Youth - Smokescreen and Ratchet
re-watching more TFP between working clinical support hours to spare my brain
and this scene really sticks out to me, from the episode “Darkest Hour”:
context for the scene:
The others have returned to the base, and have just informed Ratchet that the Omega Lock had to be destroyed in order to save Earth.
Ratchet reacts with shock, and he is physically staggered by the thought that Cybertron may no longer be able to be restored:
Ratchet: You destroyed the only device in any universe capable of restoring our home?
This is a completely understandable reaction, and it is absolutely heartwrenching to hear Ratchet’s voice weaken and waver as he nearly backs up into his console. He is devastated.
However, Smokescreen instantly and somewhat defensively immediately responds, likely misunderstanding Ratchet’s grief as a direct criticism of their actions:
Smokescreen: You weren’t there, Doc. And it’s not your place to second-guess a battlefield decision.
Ratchet: It most certainly is!
Understandably, this sets Ratchet off, and he continues on a bit, getting increasingly agitated.
Although I think Ratchet is still being fairly restrained here and his reaction is again understandable, the others jump on him a bit disproportionately.
This is most likely in an expression of their own stress and displeasure over the situation, but misplacing their own dissatisfaction on Ratchet rather than venting it off in a slightly more appropriate way. Tensions are high between all of them here, for a moment.
(I could do a more prolonged analysis of this entire scene, as I do think it’s worth analysing the full dialogue and not just the snippet above, but for the purposes of examining Smokescreen’s initial response, I’ll be keeping this to the above dialogue excerpt for now and will re-visit the scene in entirety at some point in the future.)
For now, Smokescreen’s response is fascinating, especially within the wider context of what we know about him in relation to the others:
Smokescreen Retains a Very Class/Caste System Influenced Understanding of Society -- And It’s Not His Fault
Smokescreen was part of Alpha Trion’s guard, a select group with a likely very elevated social position owing to the exclusivity of his cohort/given role and the status of Alpha Trion himself in the eyes of others in Cybertronian society/politics/etc.
Within Cybertron’s class and caste system, his position likely ranked him as a higher relative “rank” than Ratchet, even if only be default.
We also know that the upper echelons of Cybertronian society, particularly those in the “higher class” lager city states such as Iacon, where Smokescreen was stationed and likely had lived most of his life within that sphere of society, had relatively little outside worldview or perspective on matters beyond what they were trained and taught specifically as higher class bots.
This type of general ignorance was part of the problem that Orion Pax identified in himself as well, as an Iaconian reasonably well-ranked individual; In the novel Exodus, he purposefully goes to visit a gladiatorial arena in person despite the risks involved in doing so, because he has identified that he has no real understanding or exposure to other classes or castes owing to an orchestrated lack of information or lived experience by design, as a result of the rigidly enforced class system and the political motivations of keeping the comparatively well-off bots ignorant of the struggles of the lower classes and the real damages of the class/caste system that affect everyone-- With those most at risk being the most severely detrimentally impacted.
Smokescreen’s goals are to be good-- Good being defined by those in power with the ability to promote him.
He wants to do well enough that he gets a higher guard position. At least for most of his life, he was primarily motivated by a desire for skill, rank, and status. He took pride in being part of Alpha Trion’s select inner guard, and his attitude has been adopted out of a good faith interpretation of all he had ever been taught: If you get good, you’ll get a good position.
That is of course blatantly untrue within Cybertron’s Council-run society, but Smokescreen likely just had no way to know or understand this.
His life, by all indications, was likely nearly entirely spent within a very relatively closed microcosm of society, primarily within one particular city-state, educated within a narrow framework designed by the oppressors (Council) as a way to ensure their most loyal guards were quite literally unable to conceive of anything beyond status and loyalty-- Because this is what governments like Cybertron’s Council will always do.
And while Alpha Trion clearly picked out Smokescreen as being particular, for reasons we don’t know as we never hear what Alpha Trion’s reasoning may have been for selecting Smokescreen over anyone else (although I believe it is generally suggested this may have been owing to time pressures and the situation at the time the decision had to be made),
it is very evident in the way Smokescreen addresses Ratchet in the scene above that Smokescreen was unfortunately raised within a system designed to indoctrinate him with the Council’s worldview and politics, because of course, the Council wants those well-trained loyal guards.
Perhaps Alpha Trion chose Smokescreen, because it is possible that Smokescreen was least indoctrinated and less likely to rigidly default to beliefs informed by the Council’s teachings rather than learning from lived experiences, thus coming to see the truth and therefore become able to make more genuinely just decisions and defend that which truly deserves his guard-- Instead of defending the Council’s harmful interests.
Others in Smokescreen’s cohort may have fallen back and been overwhelmed by the shattering of their world view as the war progressed. We know that the guard was either disbanded or lost nearly entirely, but while it can be interpreted as meaning that the other guards were all killed, it may also be the case that some defected, choosing to defend the Council, or perhaps even became neutrals or Decepticons. We don’t have 100% verification, and with those who have suffered extreme indoctrination like most of the guard likely did, people will naturally react to having their understanding of society completely broken in front of them in all kinds of ways.
It is possible that Smokescreen was just flexible and curious enough to work for Alpha Trion’s purposes, and may have been less inclined to follow the rules to the letter, making him a better choice. He may have held more personal loyalty to Alpha Trion, rather than loyalty to the Council itself.
This fits with what we see of his character and behaviour in TFP, although this is not explicitly stated canonically and is just a theory based on the available Aligned Continuity lore + what we see on screen in TFP.
BUT.
The Council and Youth Indoctrination: Orion Pax and Smokescreen
Smokescreen, by the nature of the society he was raised in, the nature of his role within that societal framework, and his lack of exposure or understanding beyond that-- All of this clearly and inevitably resulted in some aspects of that Council-enforced class/caste rhetoric making its way into his processor.
And that type of internalised faulty understanding is unavoidable, no matter how good or intelligent a person anyone is, when raised in such a way.
This is why real world deprogramming of indoctrinated persons is so incredibly difficult; It’s not an idea that wormed its way in, but rather, it is literally the framework upon which a person’s entire concept of thought has been built.
The only reason Orion Pax was able to identify the flaws in his own thinking, which was informed by his very similar upbringing as a fairly well-off bot in a generally mid to high class city-state, is because he had access to historical records that helped him come to understand two very important things, and ask the relevant necessary basic questions:
1) Cybertron was not always like this. In fact, it used to be better, in many ways. Why was that? Why and how did things change? What can we do to improve things for the future?
2) Cybertron is not the way the Council portrays it to be. How bad is it, in true? How many are suffering, who are those people, and what are the factors involved that restrict or harm them? How severely have we derailed from our principles, and how do we restore our society to a healthy, equitable state? How do we identify, address, and resolve these inequalities?
It helps that Alpha Trion likely encouraged if not actively helped to ensure that Orion Pax (and possibly Smokescreen as well) would come to some understanding of these things, to help them restore Cybertronian society to the more equitable culture it had been conceptualised to be, long ago when the Primes first stood around the well and held high hopes for the people, whose creation they had witnessed.
But Smokescreen was in a much more visible position, and was likely subject to screening by the Council as part of a formal guard service.
So the depth of Alpha Trion’s involvement was likely not able to be very extensive, and was likely only really engaged later on when the war was kicking off and it became immediately evident that this was no longer a fall-back plan, but the main and only remaining possible plan: Get Smokescreen to Earth.
Smokescreen’s Reaction to Ratchet Is A Little Off-Base, But Inevitable
Given all of the above, Smokescreen’s rather defensive response to Ratchet makes sense, even though it wasn’t entirely appropriate.
Smokescreen is not as familiar with the team or with Ratchet personally, compared to the others.
He has only seen Ratchet in the field a few times, and may actually be unaware of Ratchet’s history and role in the war and within the Autobot Command structure.
To Smokescreen, Ratchet is “just” a field medic. Smokescreen may not fully realise how the Autobots are operated as a unit differently from how the Council likely operated similar units for at least some time, and of course the majority of his training was informed by the class/caste tier system which was applied to all aspects of life on Cybertron.
We even see Optimus reference this type of caste-based classification in the episode “Stronger, Faster”, when he calls out Ratchet for over-retaliating against a Vehicon- Not because Ratchet’s actions were inherently wrong (although in this particular instance they were), but specifically because the Vehicon is not a Warrior Class bot.
So it is clear that the influence of Cybertron’s class/caste system persists, and this manifests all over the place here and there. Bulkhead often speaks poorly of himself, in ways that are often suggestive of internalised classism-- And the other bots don’t refute him. Arcee even exacerbates or reinforces this, on at least two occasions.
While we as the audience are more familiar with Ratchet, and we are more aware of how the Autobots differ ideologically and structurally from any pre-war Council military or similar organisation, Smokescreen was not trained by Autobots. He was trained to become part of the Council’s elite guard someday, and that implies heavy Council indoctrination.
And that indoctrination would have influenced him at a core level, even with the graces allowed to him by Alpha Trion, owing to his circumstances and the little exposure outside of that sphere of influence that he was ever likely allowed to have.
Finally, The Analysis of the Actual Scene
As a result, he reads Ratchet’s distress here as insubordination.
Instead of understanding that Ratchet is essentially a second in command to Optimus as far as the currently available team of Autobots is concerned, and without the context of knowing how deeply and for how long Ratchet has been affected by the destruction of Cybertron,
Smokescreen only sees a field medic who is speaking wildly out of turn and criticising an action that was dictated directly by their Prime.
He is unaware of Ratchet’s history as an active participant in field battles, having only seen Ratchet in the field perhaps a couple times by this point in time. He has no context for Ratchet’s perspective here, and when you don’t have any further context, you tend to rely on the context you do have.
And in Smokescreen’s case, he’s naturally going to be inclined to apply his understanding of things, from the point of view of someone who is trying to be the best Council-trained soldier they can be.
Unfortunately, that isn’t quite appropriate to how the Autobots do things, and doesn’t account for problems with the way he was trained or problems with his world view which he himself is unable to identify-- Because that is what indoctrination does to people.
You don’t know what you don’t know, and a lot of Smokescreen’s more insensitive comments are largely attributable to this type of manufactured and enforced ignorance, which he seems to consistently not identify in himself because of course, how could he? He just woke up, he just got here, and his entire life was informed by a very strict political and societal structure which gave him a reward system that worked for him.
He wanted to be good, get better, get the position of his dreams, prove himself capable and expert. Unfortunately, the Council decided what “good” was, and so Smokescreen likely didn’t challenge their authority over him or in general, because why would it occur to him to ever do so, even with some degree of counter-influence from Alpha Trion at least for some period of time later on in his life?
So he defaults here to what he knows:
Ratchet is a field medic. It is heavily implied that caste systems (within the class structures) of Cybertronian society were extremely narrow and restrictive. Nobody had any remit whatsoever outside of their given expertise or function.
As a field medic, sure, Smokescreen understands that Ratchet is sometimes in the field, probably. He’s seen that a couple times, and that’s within Ratchet’s traditional remit as a Cybertronian field medic.
But from Smokescreen’s understanding, nobody can challenge a Prime.
The Prime is essentially the God-King of their people. Ratchet wasn’t present in this particular instance, which he specifically states. He doesn’t say “you don’t know anything about battle decisions”, he says “you weren’t there”. A quick shut-down of Ratchet’s perceived complaints.
But Smokescreen interprets Ratchet’s shock and dismay as a direct questioning of Optimus’ battlefield strategy.
And from his point of view, for Ratchet to challenge the Prime, much less directly, is unacceptably beyond any possible reach a field medic could ever possibly have.
So even though we do see in peripheral lore materials that generally Cybertronians do respect age and elders, with Alpha Trion specifically being noted to be perceived as bordering on esoterically unhinged yet allowed to participate in Council meetings because of his unparalleled age and seniority,
it seems as though Smokescreen’s outrage at the idea of a lower ranked bot challenging a decision made directly by the Prime himself over-rules any respect he may have for Ratchet owing purely to Ratchet’s age or more extensive experience in general, prompting his statement.
“It’s not your place to second-guess a battlefield decision.”
The implication being, “You’re a field medic, what the hell are you doing behaving this way about a choice that was made by our Prime? Who are you to challenge him, or our actions, which we carried out under Primal orders?”
He misreads Ratchet here pretty severely, mostly owing to a lack of familiarity with Ratchet and Autobot culture and command structure, but also because he was likely chastised in very similar ways when undergoing his own initial training.
As he is essentially undergoing initial training again, just under the Autobots and not the Council, it’s very possible he’s falling back into remembering how he managed such training the first time around, in an effort to integrate himself into his new unit-- Not fully grasping how different this new unit really is, and how things have changed.
I Know I Write Forever, Thank You For Reading, Holy Shit
I’ve never done an analysis featuring Smokescreen before, so I really wanted to do one eventually, and this seemed like a good scene to use to cover a lot of what interests me about Smokescreen’s mindset.
I hope this was interesting to someone out there, and if there’s any scene or aspect of lore that you’d like me to analyse in particular, let me know!
I always have a few lore/analysis posts in the works, but I’m happy to do specific requests if anyone would like a deep dive or likes my analyses and would like to hear me go over anything specifically. :)
If you’ve read this far, thank you very much! <3 <3 <3
Is there anything like The Backrooms on Cybertron?
Do you know something? I don’t think we do.
Cybertronian lore isn’t lacking for liminal spaces, cosmic horror, and places where you stumble in and never leave. If you believe the stories, bathhouses and newspark complexes are rife with spots that are just...wrong. We also have urban legends about bots getting sucked into virtual simulators and spending the rest their lives/time wandering an aimless limbo.
But of course, none of those quite capture what makes The Backrooms frightening. And I think that’s why I’ve always liked them. They’re one of those concepts that’s just uniquely Earth.
Cybertronians are masters of disguise, easily able to integrate themselves into most alien societies. Especially ones that consist of other cyber life or heavly plated alien, things cybertronians can easily mimic. When unable to mimic the native life, bots will often take advantage of halo Forms technology, creating a near-perfect solid light replica of the native life. Cybertronians also have the built-in ability to pick up and decode languages just from hearing them. with Their vocalizer being extremely flexible and able to mimic the sound of other species, and if they desire, some can mimic the voices of specific individuals.
Scouts and infiltrators are usually able to figure out how to mimic the native life's behavior and better integrate themselves. Their disguises are often imperfect, but they're usually good enough not to cause any alarm, allowing these cybertronians to integrate themselves into alien societies undetected so they can insert themselves into roles that would give them the most power and influence. This allows Cybertronians to easily take other alien planets/societies out from the inside either to destabilize them so they become non-threat or to convert Their planet into a cybertronian colonies. But if an infiltration is unsuccessful, Cybertron has enough military might they can usually enforce their will on a planet by force, if need be.
During the war, due to Cybertron's unstable state, many Cybertronian colonies were able to break free from Cybertron's control, and many civilizations whose development was purposefully stifled were able to finally Advance without Cybertrons Influence.
Course, an infiltration campaign is not the reason why our little groups of stranded Autobots and Decepticons are stuck on Earth. So, the stranded bots don't have the same tools that an infiltrators might have. On earth, they can not mimic the native life very well, They are too small and often lack any plating, but they can mimic their vehicles and other mechanical devices, but that can only help so much. Neither side Possesses a haloform generator, leaving them reliant on native beings to perform certain tasks for them and help keep their existence hidden. Barely any Bots on either side had been on an alien planet before, and the ones that have only ever really been on Cybertronian colony worlds. But, one of the stranded Autobots is an ex-infiltrator and is more than familiar with dealing with unkown alien worlds. :)
not sure if i asked before, but have you ever thought about making a post about Cybertronian food? like eating metal to assist in self repair, Energon being used for energy to matter conversion (like Heatwaves water) to skip the need for solid food (at least until there is an energon shortage), other power sources besides energon, that thing the Insecticons did to generate energon in the comics, e.t.c?
Absolutely, yes! :D <3
I just recently did a post here on some Cybertronian cuisine which mentions some alternative non-energon types of fuel/energy sources, but I definitely want to cover more about how "food" is used in the sense of how it actually benefits them to consume certain things over others, how it aids their functioning and in what ways, how different fuels or sources of energy work, etc.
Unfortunately, canon information on this aspect of Cybertronian dietary materials and needs is relatively sparse, and tends to vary significantly on the occasions it is actually brought up in-universe from series to series.
So it's taking some additional research time for me to gather enough information to talk about this part of Cybertronian foods and fuels at greater length, but I have it in mind, and I would love to get an analysis post made sometime soon about these various aspects of fuel and power sources! :)
@emperor-kumquat Oops, don’t forget the Age of Origins!
Very good point, thanks for mentioning this!
Two reasons why I didn’t include it in my timeline:
1) Much of the Age of Origins information is isolated to the Covenant, and does not have any mention in any other canonical/supplementary materials in TFP. There is some implied lore we can pick up on from what little backstory of Cybertron is actually mentioned in the TFP show, but a lot of the Age of Origins is Covenant-only detail.
Which doesn’t invalidate it or anything, it just means that the way the TFP/Aligned Continuity timeline was set up, the Age of Origins seems to be more like supplementary material to flesh out the other established eras here and there.
2) The Age of Origins covers bits from various eras and fills some space in between to sort of bridge eras together a little better, so the timescale for these “origins” isn’t necessarily all happening within a single timespan--- Maybe from Alpha Trion’s point of view, but not necessarily the point of view of Cybertronian average citizens, who are seemingly the ones who defined the other Eras as we know them in the rest of the TFP content.
A lot of the Age of Origins content somewhat overlaps other Cybertronian eras, and can be placed at various stages of separate time periods.
Alpha Trion and Covenant Continuity
The Age of Origins falls into the “Alpha Trion lets us know not to trust his memories/recounting of things 100%” area of uncertainty, as most of the Age of Origins material is specific to the Covenant of Primus.
TFWiki doesn’t list it as a distinct time period on the same master page as the other eras (although it is included in the Covenant related stuff-- if I have the time later to add links, I will), the other supplementary TFP material doesn’t mention it (or doesn’t mention events in the same way--- this is just a general continuity and consistency problem with all of this stuff), and the Age of Origins is primarily a cluster of events which is specific to Alpha Trion’s record of history.
With the Covenant material it’s tricky to determine what is 100% factual occurrence that did indeed happen at or around the suggested timeframe, or what may be skewed by various factors, including Alpha Trion’s own perceptions of things as influenced by his unique relationship with time and his ability to “edit” history.
He tells us up front that he may not be a 100% reliable narrator, and the Covenant covers a LOT of material that is very condensed, so canonically we know we’re likely missing some details or things may be coloured by Alpha Trion’s own memories or even some degree of history editing with the Quill.
Covenant Consistencies
At the same time, there are some events which we know very much did happen, thanks to the “central” canonical timeline (which is the stuff more firmly, if inconsistently, cemented in TFP Cybertronian history across several stories/the show/etc.).
A lot of what the Age of Origins material covers can overlap other eras; I consider the Age of Origins material to be supplementary to the “primary” timeline, which is the individual established eras of Cybertronian history; The canonical and real-world purpose of the Covenant was to do this and help each era feel more real and bring more detail and backstory to material that wasn’t necessarily highlighted in the TFP show, so the framing of it being Alpha Trion writing the Covenant and the Age of Origins seemingly covering multiple eras to varying degrees makes sense in that context.
Some of the events within the Age of Origins may possibly be considered a “tail end” to the prior era, for example some of the Predacon material may fall into that category depending on how one looks at it; We know the eras in which Predacons lived, and how that overlaps with Cybertron’s post-Age of Primes development.
Origins Encapsulates Other Eras
So while the Age of Origins is named an “age”, it isn’t necessarily all happening within one era, and the individual eras on Cybertron are still distinctly outlined by one or more major event from the perspective of the Cybertronian people.
At the same time, Alpha Trion may consider a great deal more to be a collected Age of Origins, looking at history as a total ongoing singular event of sorts, as it is suggested Alpha Trion may perceive time as a single continuity which he has the ability to “edit” and has certain specific events which he considers to be keystone events (which he may have had some influence upon in some cases), whereas Cybertronian people on average may have a different sense of timescale.
So, for example, Alpha Trion may consider the vast majority of several eras to be a singular “Origin” period, whereas average Cybertronians would think of the same massive chunk of time as being broken down into several different eras.
The Age of Origins fits roughly into the first few Cybertronian eras, so I consider the Age of Origins to be overlapping, as the events it details seem to fit in as bookends to certain eras or as intermittent material that sort of bridges the early history together a little more smoothly, although there is some mention of more modern Cybertronian era content as well (stuff that fits in slightly better later on)-- But again, Alpha Trion do be looking at time differently!
So to Alpha Trion, he may consider a huge chunk of Cybertronian history to be the Age of Origins, while other people might categorise those events differently.
This seems to be the way the timeline is presented, when comparing the Covenant to other TFP/Aligned materials, but as with all Transformers continuities, it is impossible to say 100%! :’)
I hope this makes sense; I just woke up and gotta do weekend clinical support LOL so my brain is already fried. :’)
I have no time to cross reference the Covenant at the moment, so please also be aware that I’m almost certainly forgetting or missing something here!
If anyone may be interested in the Age of Origins, I would direct them to your excellent video on that material! :) <3