Flintlock and the Covenant of Primus

Written by Erik Morton
Edits by Lauren Baker

There came the sound of a faint crack.

In the darkness, a small fissure of light appeared. After a moment, it expanded, moving outward along the cold surface of the stone wall. This darkened stone chamber had not been disturbed by movement or a living presence in untold ages. But now…

There was another crack, and a small piece of the rock face composing the wall toppled down to reveal a small pin prick of light. It trickled into the chamber, and dust motes drifted lazily along its beam. They surfed the foreign air currents from outside, moving in circles and eddies until they disappeared once more into the darkness.

Then, with a sudden clamor of small rocks and skree, the wall caved inwards. A large hammer wielded from outside hung in the air where it had smashed the wall to pieces. Light and sand poured into the room, revealing carved stone walls and tiled floors. The hammer was pulled back and, for a moment, a shadowy figure stood in the hole blocking the light from outside. Then a large metallic foot extended through the impromptu door and with a hiss of servos, a large bipedal robot pulled himself inside.

He, in so much as a robot can be a he, wasn't a very shiny robot. He wasn't powerful looking, he wasn't expensive looking. His frame was covered in the sort of grime and dirt that came from working outside all day. It coated every inch of his surface, blending in with his brown and tan paint scheme. There was a unshakable feeling that this robot didn't mind getting dirty... and didn't wash all that often. However, his smooth movements and obvious self awareness indicated just how technologically advanced he was.

His was a race of sentient robots from the planet known as Cybertron, a planet that was itself mechanized to the core. Cybertronians come in many forms, and take many shapes. This one was bipedal and fairly humanoid. He had two arms, two legs, and five digits on each hand. But his face, young and cocky and full of life, was where he was most human. He had two optic sensors, blue in color and glowing from within. These were set above a broad nose like ridge that served much the same purpose as a human nose, housing atmospheric sampling and filtration systems. Below this was a mouth that was, more often than not, set in a cocky lopsided grin above his firm jawline. In fact, the similarity to human facial structure was quite incredible. For at that time the first humans had yet to set foot upon the Earth.

Early on in the dawning of this universe, Cybertronians either took form as a natural process of their world or they were built and then somehow acquired sentience. Unfortunately something catastrophic occurred at some point long ago in their history, and all records of that time and several millions of the years in between since were completely lost to Cybertronians because of it. The search for that lost past, and the very reason for their existence has been a constant pursuit for the natives of Cybertron. It was all the more so for this one in particular. Now he was hoping that he had found what he was looking for, setting himself on the proper path to discovering the forgotten history, and his destiny.

His blue optics glowed with an intensity, fueled by intelligence and deep curiosity, as they scanned the room around him. Reaching a filthy metallic hand up to his head, he flicked on a pair of floodlights set into his helm. They flared to life, blasting the room with bright artificial light and chasing away the shadows.

A great feeling of time and its passing hung over the darkened chamber, like some vast predatory bird. Carved walls, once containing elaborate sculptures, were broken and eroded. Tiled floors, once full of color and luster, were chipped and faded. A rumbling sigh escaped his frame as he looked about him at the destruction wrought by time. He seemed oddly disappointed. This hadn't been what he had hoped to find.

Finally, the beam of light settled on the outline of a door at the far end of the room, and the robot's sigh caught in his intakes. While the room itself was in a terrible state of decay, the doorway appeared smooth and fully intact. He almost tripped as he rushed over to it, barely able to contain his excitement.

He muttered under his breath as he rubbed a finger along one edge, "Please, please, please…" His hand came away grimy, revealing a lustrous orange metal beneath the dust. With growing excitement and fascination in his optics, he held up his right hand with his fingers outstretched. The last joint on each digit folded upward. There was a hum, and then a gust of air bellowed out of each finger, blasting the dust off the door frame wherever he pointed them. After a few moments he lowered his hand as his fingers folded back into their proper shapes once more. He just stood there, staring at what had been revealed.

The doorway was rectangular and made entirely from that shiny orange metal. It was about three times his width, and split down the middle into a pair of doors. Each door was covered in elaborate etchings and illustrations that had been previously hidden by the dust. Shaking, he reached a hand out to touch the large, ornate icon that was bisected by the seam between the doors. It was rounded and far larger than all the others. It had drawn his attention because it was also slightly raised. As his hand touched it, the rounded outline suddenly glowed bright blue and he had to pull back to shield his optics.

When the glow had subsided, he looked up to see a pair of handles had materialized outward from the icon. With a devilish grin and an air of triumph, he reached out and took hold of them both. He leaned backwards and pulled with all his might. Servos whined and gears turned. After a moment, the doors slowly opened outward, metal edges scraping along the chipped tiles of the floor with a determined squealing and tinkling sound. To most, it would have sounded like a turbo fox being tortured by a pack of cyber hounds… To him, it sounded like victory.

The doors opened at last, he sidled into the next chamber. Unlike the antechamber he'd just left, this one was spotless. It was a short hallway where the walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of that same orange metal, and there was no dust to be seen. A more elaborate door at the far end beckoned to him. The same circular icon extruded above it, lined with crystals of various colors set into the metal itself.

He stared at it in awe and wonder, his feet moving forward of their own accord. Then he stopped. Something wasn't right… He contorted his features into a frown as he stared at the short hallway again. It was bare and open and inviting. The door at the far end continued to beckon him forward, promising the treasures he sought.

"Hmmm…"

There didn't seem to be anything wrong, but every internal alarm in his mind was telling him that this was far too easy. He didn't know what he was expecting beyond the stone antechamber… but it certainly wasn't a plain and bare hallway leading to another door. There was more than met the eye to this room…. Something he wasn't quite seeing…

Without a word, he slid back out through the open doors. After a beat, there was something that sounded very much like someone vacuuming and then he returned. His fingers were once more folded back on themselves to reveal the airjets, and he pointed his hand at the open hallway. This time when he activated them though he filled the room with a spray of dust collected from the previous chamber. Lowering his hand, he smiled in contented justification.

Crisscrossing the passageway, little red lasers created a web of light amidst the dust. Had he taken one more step earlier, he would have stepped right through one at his hip. His smile widened.

"Now then," he mused out loud. "I wonder what you could possibly be for." His fingers folded back again, and a little blue diode on his wrist blinked on. As it did so, there was a coinciding flash of blue light and the large hammer he'd been using earlier materialized in his hand as it was pulled from his own little piece of parallel dimension beneath this one known as sub-space.

The technology to store things in pockets of this sub-space was quite commonplace on Cybertron. It was invented several millennia ago by some of Cybertron's top scientists. He could have probably named them, if given enough time to think about it, and a decent holonet connection, but it didn't really interest him all that much. With a mental command, a search program would be activated that would open a small hole into sub-space and retrieve whatever he'd placed in the pocket. This particular sub-space pocket could hold a number of things, provided that together they were no more than his own mass.

Hefting the hammer, he eyed the still visible laser light in front of him. Gingerly, he extended it until it intercepted the beam. A bolt of energy hit the middle of the hammer where it touched the beam, neatly slicing it in half. He whirled his head just in time to spot a small, lethal-looking energy weapon as it folded seamlessly back into the wall. The heavy head of the hammer slammed to the ground, landing on his foot. As he back stepped painfully, hopping up and down on his other foot, he couldn't help but wonder what such a weapon would have done to his somewhat thinner than military-grade outer armor… Sitting down for a moment to rub at his sore and dented plating, he shuddered. He thought he had a fairly good idea of what would have happened. At least he only had sore dermal sensors to deal with.

He sub-spaced the remains of his hammer and, moving carefully to avoid the red lights, he made his way down the hallway. As he approached the doorway, the rounded icon glowed blue again, and the door dematerialized, leaving an empty archway with a dull red glow emanating from beyond it. The sound of machinery powering down also filled the room, and the red beams of laser light flickered out. Curious, he waved a hand through where one of the beams had been. Then he suddenly remembered the consequences of such an action. His jaw dropped in fear, and he quickly shielded his face with both arms, raising one of his legs for good measure. However, nothing happened. After a moment, he stopped cringing and looked out between his arms. Nothing continued to happen. He grinned.

"Heh…"

Just because he could, he strolled up and down the length of the hallway a couple of times. Confidently, he returned to the now open archway, ready for whatever might come next.

As he passed through it, a wave of intense heat rolled over him, causing his coolant systems to whine precariously. Red hot cinders raked across his armor, leaving blackened streaks in their wake. Raising an arm to shield his optics, the intrepid Cybertronian examined this new challenge.

The room before him was a couple of vuns long, a vun being roughly equivalent to a hundred earth meters. The walls were once more composed of the lustrous orange, but now there were sections that were melted, revealing stonework beneath. A pit full of molten metal ran nearly the entire length of the chamber. Bright swirls of metal flowed from one end to the other, indicating some sort of current system. It caused the red hot liquid metal to occasionally splash against the end he stood at , like waves against a rocky shore. Fiery droplets arced upwards and sprayed the ramp before him. Speckles of metal, both solidified and still molten, indicated that this had been going on for quite some time. The ramp itself ran between two posts that presumably had once lead to a bridge… However, now the bridge was gone, a short stone spar leading out over fiery oblivion was the only testament to its existence. On the far side, he could just barely make out a similar platform with his optics on standard zoom. He stared a moment longer and then cocked his head slightly to the side. He kicked out at a solidified nugget of metal, knocking it into the pit. It made an ominous sizzling "plop."

"Hmm."

After a moment of standing there stupidly, his optics slowly raised to the ceiling, and he surveyed a series of decorative fixtures. They were made of a metal that was very dark purple, almost black. Their lines were very straight, and their was something predatory and dangerous in their design. They clung to the ceiling at even intervals like massive, yet orderly, shrike bats, and ran the full length of the chamber.

Raising his left arm, he pointed his closed fist at the nearest one. A panel on the top of his forearm flipped over revealing a small conical device. It swiveled back and forth and after a series of clicks, it "dinged"' and then a small holographic screen materialized in front of his face.

His eyes scrolled over the accumulated data and his mouth slowly pulled into its standard lopsided grin. He brought his other arm up as well, extending his index finger and thumb on each hand. He moved the crude frame created by this up and down a few times before quickly turning and making his way back through the archway, chuckling quietly to himself.

From the previous room, there was the sudden sound of moving servos and clicking gears, creating a distinctive chk-chk-chk, followed by the rev of an engine and squealing tires. In a burst of movement, a large 6 wheeled vehicle accelerated into the room and took the ramp at great speed. It vaulted into the air, wheels spinning wildly as they lost all traction, through the heat haze.

And then with another grinding of gears, the panels on the vehicle started to fold back and shunted away, revealing the robot within.

Cybertronians, as has been noted, were quite technologically advanced. Long ago it had been determined that their mechanical bodies could be further improved upon, beyond adding upgrades. Having only one form, one configuration of plates and limbs, was considered severely limiting. Thus, the ability to change and transform, from their robot modes into any number of alternate forms and shapes was developed. Unfortunately, much like the story of their race's origin, when this occurred exactly was sadly lost during that period of forgotten history.

This new capability unlocked nearly limitless possibilities for their species. Most alternate modes, or alt-modes as they were more commonly called, were based around transportation needs, and thus had wheels, treads, wings, etc. However, alt-modes might also be occupation specific, allowing inclusion of more scanning gear or communication equipment by transforming the Cybertronian in question into, say, a microscope or a radio. They were also useful for discrete examination of alien species in their own environments, by adapting an alt-mode based on alien vehicles or technologies. And of course, there were always those who had alternate modes to suit needs of a more military nature.

As he soared upward through the blazing hot air, he threw his limbs out spread eagle with a maniacal laugh. Reaching the zenith of his flight, he brought his right arm forward, hand folding back inside his forearm. A beam of red arcing energy shot out from his wrist where his hand had been, catching one of the fixtures and sparking wildly where it connected. With a look of pure elation, and laughing all the while, he swung forward, supported by the beam of energy, until he reached the end of his momentum.

Disengaging the beam, he threw his arm forward once more and reignited it. Once more it sparked as it attached itself to another fixture, and once more he swung forward. He repeated this process again, and again, and again until finally he was swinging toward the platform on the opposite side of the room.

Now, most individuals would probably have repeated what had already worked, and most individuals would have easily made it across to the other side. This robot was not like most. Grinning devilishly, he kept the beam connected a moment too long, and curled his legs upward. As he disengaged the beam, he let his upper torso continue its momentum downward, going into a backwards flip. For a moment, he offlined his optics and reveled in the sensation of free fall. The hot air moving across his various dermal sensors filled him with elation, even as his internal systems fought to regain balance. There was no chamber around him, there was just him, and this flight. And then he brought his optics back online and suddenly the world was there again.

His distorted view, showing only the potential molten death below him, slowly rotated, bringing the opposite platform into view. His devilish grin, ever so confident, faded away as he realized that he wasn't spinning fast enough. He wasn't going to complete his rotation before landing! He flailed his arms in sudden panic.

"Slag!"

And then he landed, arms and legs in all the wrong places as he bounced and skidded across the platform, coming to a stop lying on his back with his legs up against the door on this side. There was a flash of blue light and then his legs tumbled to the floor as the door dematerialized underneath them.

He groaned in pain as he sat upright, shaking his head and rubbing the areas around the floodlights. He carefully ran a finger across the broken glass covering one of the shattered bulb, and looked over his shoulder. Indeed, he had left a trail of shattered glass and scraped paint in his wake. Turning around again to look through the open doorway, his mouth gaped. His eyes widened, and then his mouth slowly pulled into a smile.

It glimmered. That was the only word for it. The room was shrouded in shadows, but light from the fiery chamber behind him cast flickering reflections across everything. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, everything in there shown with a tantalizing metallic sheen.

Groaning slightly, he placed a hand on his lower back as he pushed himself to his feet. Servos whined in protest, and he nearly crumpled down to the ground again. But as he rose to a standing position, lights in the chamber flickered online. At even intervals, lights along the ceiling and walls came to life, starting at the doorway and moving inward. His optics widened further as he was finally able to see what the room contained. The walls and ceiling were golden in color, and a cursory sweep from his wrist scanner was all he needed to realize that it wasn't just the color. They were almost pure gold. The floor was comprised of a pattern of metallic purple and red rhomboid panels leading up to a set of stairs. The stairs themselves led to a small altar and on the altar there was…

His intakes froze once more. After a moment, he raised a hand to wipe away any grit on his optics that might be impeding his vision. When he was sure that his vision was clear, he looked up again, optics burning with azure delight. It was there! He'd been right!

Atop the altar sat a short dais, and atop the dais… There it was… He could scarcely believe that he was here right now, staring at it. Well, he had known it would be here, as soon as he has found the first doorway. But he had almost not believed that he would actually end up here, before the final dais.

The dais was comprised of that orange metal again, and was circular in nature. It was covered in ornate metallic sculptures. Arrayed in a ring around the center, they depicted what looked like various Cybertronian figures holding their hands out and raised to the middle of the circle. Little fountains of light shown from these outstretched hands, and illuminated the object rotating slowly in a suspension field at the place were all the lights met.

A golden orb, about twice the size of his head hovered before him. Red gems glinted in the light along its surface as it continued to slowly spin about. As it did so, a large impression that had initially been hidden from sight on its far side came into view. In it, a large blue gem could be seen set into the orb's core. Etchings lined the sides of the orb, connecting the red gems like some sort of Sparkling's game. The air around the orb crackled slightly.

This was it! This is what he was here for. He took a step forward… and then paused. Those internal alarms had just gone off again. Looking to his left and right, he suddenly noticed the stone statues standing in the nooks that lined the walls. Stone statues in a metal chamber? Something was very wrong here.

They were large, huge even. They were at least another couple heads taller than he was, and certainly twice as wide. Each statue was in a kneeling position, with one humongous arm pressed forward, fist to the ground. They didn't so much have heads as they did raised ridges where heads should have been. In the center of each of their chests was a small rectangular hollow… It looked like there was scorching around those spaces… like the carbon scoring around the barrel of an energy weapon…

He eyed them suspiciously, and couldn't help but notice that each statue faced the checkered red and purple tiles that lead to the dais.

With a flash of light, the hammer's head materialized in his hand. "Let's see now… If I do this…" and he chucked it into the center of the room. It landed with a clang on one of the red panels. Nothing happened, bouncing back into the air, it fell once more to the ground, and landed on a purple panel. There was a click and a hum of building energy. He was able to turn his head in time to see the hole in the chest of one of the statues glow bright white, and then a beam of energy shot forth from it. The blast struck the hammer head, dissolving it until nothing was left.

Then all was still again.

"Huh… so… no stepping on purple panels… got it."

Nodding respectfully at the statues, he advanced slowly, making sure to gingerly step on the red panels only. This was somewhat difficult since his feet were about twice the size of each panel and he had to stand precariously on the tips of each one. It was made all the more difficult, because he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He tried not to imagine the faceless statues. After what seemed like an eternity, he'd crossed the entire room, and found himself at the stairs. He felt it was time to take a break. What would come next could wait a few moments. After all, he'd been waiting a long time already, a little more wouldn't hurt. He warily eyed the statues and idly wondered if they were only activated by the floor panels.

Once he felt settled, he turned back and ascended the stairs and stood before the dais. It was right there, all he had to do was reach out and take it… followed by a nice leisurely stroll back out of this place. Then he sighed again. Of course it wouldn't be that easy… but he'd come prepared. He'd done his research.

Holding his hands out, he unsub-spaced a large metallic sphere. It didn't have the gems of the one before him… but it was roughly the same shape and size… and above all, weight. He held his fake up beside the true artifact for a moment and took a deep breath, cycling the air slowly through his systems. This was it.

"Here goes nothing."

And without further ado, he jammed the fake orb into the suspension field, knocking the real one free into the open air. Throwing out a hand to catch it, he let out a shout of dismay as it rolled of his fingers and tumbled towards the floor… and an array of purple panels behind the dais that he hadn't noticed before! In a blur of retracting digits, the red beam shot out and caught the magnificently decorated orb in a shower of sparks. It hung there, right above the floor panel it had nearly landed on. Shuddering slightly, he grit his dental plates as he held his arm aloft, like some sort of expert fisherman fighting a powerful fish on the line. Slowly… Surely… he drew it back upward until he could slide his other hand down and take hold of it.

Finally, he had it in his hands, and he disengaged the beam. He could scarcely believe it. Here was his ticket, his deliverance into fame and fortune. No matter what happened now, he had it made. He turned around to make his way back out, and felt the large tire comprising part of his shoulder bump against something. That something gave way… with disconcerting ease.

His optics lost their focus and he stared off into space in terror. Time seemed to slow as he turned to see what he already knew. The false orb was falling slowly to the ground. He'd knocked it free of the field, and all he could do was watch in dread fascination as it revolved slowly towards the floor. His optics followed its descent and his mouth gaped wider until, with a resounding "Clack!" it landed on one of the purple tiles.

If time had slowed down before, now it came to a full stop. There was only himself, the orb, and the terrible clacking sound ringing in his audio receptors during this one agonizing moment. "I was so close…" he thought to himself as time sped up once more, and the orb bounced along off of the altar, depressing several more purple panels on its path.

A slow rumbling started then, gradually shaking the entire chamber until bits of metal and rock started to fall from the ceiling. He was barely able to hold his own footing, let alone his trophy, and it tumbled from his hands, rolling a short distance away. With a cry, he reached for it, only to stop suddenly, mid-reach.

Once again, some sort of internal alarm hardwired into his thought processor caused him to suddenly throw himself to the side. He rolled into a crouch as a large stone fist slammed down in the spot he'd been standing, shattering the metal there as though it were glass. He looked up… and up… and up some more, as one of the previously kneeling statues rose to its full height. The statue was moving. His processor skipped over that one for a moment, for what concerned him more was that it had some how gotten right behind him without a sound. For all he knew and cared, it was magic. It turned towards him and raised it's fist once more to strike at him.

He heard explosions now, both somewhere deep underneath him and somewhere high above him. But he had little time to worry about them as he dove to the floor to avoid another blow from the statue. He landed hard, and felt something in his knee joint crack. Looking up, he could see the chamber was slowly filling with smoke, and through the smoke came the ominous stone guardian, seemingly full of implacable anger towards him. And in the smoke he made out the outlines of more stone figures, rising to their full height and turning his way. He tried to get once more to his feet, but his knee stubbornly refused to work, circuitry filling him with painful feedback. He crumpled once more to the floor, just as the stone guardian reached him.

This was it. He didn't have anymore in him. He resignedly huddled himself into a ball on the floor, placing his arms around his bent legs and shuttered his optics, waiting for the imminent blow that he knew was coming. And to think… things had been going so well…

"Stop Magnificence Module." A cold voice boomed out overhead. "Reset to system log point 343.117 and pause."

The smoke and debris vanished. The statues were back at attention in their nooks. The orb he'd come for, the Magnificence (a heavily documented and researched, though ultimately lost, artifact), was once more rotating slowly in its suspension field. In an instant, everything was as it was when he'd first entered the room and the lights had come on. He unshuttered his optics and looked up as a previously hidden door in the wall slid back.

Inside, there was a room only dimly lit by computer screens, each one depicting a different view of one of the rooms he'd been through. One of them appeared to be on a loop of his somewhat less than graceful landing, and he thought he could hear stifled laughter from inside. However, the robot emerging from the doorway was what held his attention, and he was clearly not laughing.

He was a shorter robot. Stooped, as if with age. Indeed, his metallic plating was worn with time and a bit of corrosion. His limbs were lanky and very lightly armored, and his right knee was locked up, giving him a terrible limp. Clack, clack, clack. A titanium enforced cane supported him as he approached. His expression was one of stern disapproval. Clack, clack, click. He stopped before the prone robot on the floor. With a whirring of servos, he slowly loomed forward.

"Well Mr. Flintlock." His optics glared through the large external focus lenses he wore. Moving his mouth silently for a moment as though chewing something, he continued "Where do you think you went wrong?"

The tension in the air directly between the two robots was palpable. Everything else went silent, even the quiet giggles and chuckles from the darkened monitoring room grew quiet. The younger robot, Flintlock, looked upward at the smaller, yet imposing robot with dread and hesitation.

"Err…" He started, but was quickly cut off as the older robot moved with surprising speed and agility and thwacked Flintlock repeatedly about the head with the cane.

"Furthermore, where do you always go wrong?" He smacked the metallic plates that composed his lips a few more times, and trembled with emotion.

Flintlock raised his head again and opened his mouth to speak. "Well-" But he was cut off once more as the older hunched robot thwacked him across the top of his helm. More glass from his broken floodlights went flying under the assault.

"You're too rash and you don't take things seriously. You never do things properly or the least bit by the book." The older robot stopped hitting him, and turned around with a sigh. "I'm only glad your father wasn't here to witness this…"

Cowering for another moment, Flintlock finally uncovered his head and got hesitantly and painfully to his feet. "Um… Professor? My father isn't de-" Flintlock was once again cut off as the older mech whirled and thwacked him with the cane. This time across the legs. Flintlock collapsed with a strangled gurgle as his bad knee was struck. Clutching his leg and rolling around on the ground at the feet of the older robot, he felt very much the fool here.

"I know that. But if he'd been here to see this… this…" His face contorted as he attempted to find the right word. Finally he merely settled for "This!" as it didn't seem any other word would fit his mood properly. "He'd have never let me hear the end of it!" The older Cybertronian sighed and reached a hand up to massage at the softer metal plates that made up the bridge of his "nose."

"Flintlock… you are a brilliant young mech… Probably my best student…" the unspoken "but" hovered in the air between them, filling Flintlock with nameless dread. His professor lowered his hand and placed both firmly on the top of the cane before him. "You're always dreaming. Got your head up in the clouds, instead of down in the ground. That's where an Archaeologist dwells." He glowered at Flintlock a moment longer and then turned away. Flintlock unraveled himself and looked up at his professor's back. He felt as though he were about to unravel more though…

"I should fail you… You've certainly made a mockery of your exam…" Again, that unspoken word vibrated in the air between them, but this time Flintlock's spirits were raised by it. The older mech walked briskly back towards the viewing room. Clack, clack, clack.

"You have one last chance. But this time, you don't get any preparation. No research, no tool selection, no maps. We'll drop you in the vicinity of your exam, and you must find and catalogue the site on your own."

Flintlock watched the back of the retreating form. The hope that had risen in him went out like a flame doused in water. How could he ever hope to pass his final exam without any preparation? This wasn't a second chance at passing, this was a second chance at failing! At making a fool of himself! He slumped forward onto his hands and knees, wincing as he did so.

"Professor? Don't I even get to know what module I'll be running?" It didn't matter really. He was doomed regardless. The old robot stopped, and seemed to consider this for a while. He half turned, glaring back out of the corner of his optic.

"You'll be running the Leadership Module… Get to the repair bay. You'll be launching in 12 cycles." Then he turned away again and disappeared into the shadowed viewing room. The door shut behind him, and there was no trace that it had ever been there.

Flintlock stared at the place it had been, and then with an effort he got to his feet. Another doorway opened on the other side of the room, lit from within by red lighting. He hobbled towards it, barely able to suppress his lopsided grin. Maybe this was a second chance at victory after all? Why else would the old mech have given him that module? He pulled himself into the access corridor beyond and slowly followed the markers that lead to the Iacon School of Applied Science repair bay. He was grinning quite broadly by the time he got there and had a far off look in his optic. He'd already started to plan out his graduation party…