Introduction to Arcadian High Society (World Quest)

[Starscream]

“So, I was sitting there with two of my buds, and I start reelin’ in this big, golden...thing, almost pulls my damn arm off, and my bud Keith is screamin’, and I-”

Starscream sits in infuriated silence, listening to yet another of Jim Halley’s long, drawn out stories. According to Halley, the trip to Erde Nona would take “the better part of a day”, but with his incessant chatter it felt more like the better part of a year, the human constantly rambling about subjects that Starscream truthfully had no interest in whatsoever. The annoyance was compounded by the fact that Starscream’s seat was clearly designed for a smaller humanoid, just tight enough to be uncomfortable but not quite enough to make him demand another seat. It made him want to scream. But it was never wise to be rude to your ride, especially when said ride is taking you through the dark vacuum of space, and especially when one is injured. Starscream is currently in both scenarios, so he has no choice but to respond to Halley’s ramblings with a constant stream of ‘mm-hm’s and ‘I see’s and ‘ahh’s, no matter how much they made him want to grab the human by his throat and toss him out of the window.

Jim is just finishing his story of how the “big golden thing” flew out of the water and almost tore his head off when the green, white, and blue planet in the distance starts to become more clear, vague patches of white turning to clouds that hang in the distance, then turning to puffs that the ship flies by, revealing the ground below. And the ground below is a wide green carpet, spanning as far as the optical sensor can see, and only broken by a coastline that leads to shimmering blue waters. All of it seems to point at one central point: Arcadia.

The city itself is a wide expanse of bright lights, tall towers, and sprawling castles, and the entire thing is dotted with the sights of flying buses and massive airships making their way through the place. Starscream grins to himself as he sees this. This place is absolutely perfect for him. The place is clearly some sort of hub for industry, and by extension clearly a hub for business and politics as well. All the things Starscream loves to get his servos into.

“Well, here we are,” Halley says as they fly into one of the designated lanes for an Arcadian space port. They fly through for a moment, accompanied on one side by a woman riding some sort of strange organic creature, large and reptilian with massive, leathery wings, and on the other side by a flying truck, strangely reminiscent of Optimus Prime, at least to Starscream. They go closer to the port until they’re stopped by a metal barricade manned by a guard clad in full steel armor.

“Your reason for visiting Arcadia?” He asks in a dull, bored tone.

“Well, I’m just stopping off on the way to visit my family on the old homestead here on Erde Nona. But I’m also dropping off my friend Starscream here -” Halley gestures towards Starscream, expecting him to finish.

“Right. And well, my reason for visiting...well, I’m new around here, you might say, so I’m looking to stay a while and establish a better base for my further endeavors in this world.” The guard nods.

“Understood. Just head on through, you’ll be docking in...bay 4,” the guard says, looking down at a computer screen. With the press of a button on the same screen the barricade in front of Halley’s ship opens up and the ship flies inside.

“Y’know, they ask me that every time I come down here. Ya’d think they’d get used to me by now, right?” Halley chuckles.

“Mm-hm,” Starscream mutters simply, restraining the urge to point out the idiocy of assuming all the presumably many workers at the space ports would remember one man, who doesn’t even seem to visit that often.

The ship makes its way through a winding passage of the space port, crossing a few intersections before making it to bay 4 and finally landing down on solid ground. Halley turns the ship off and turns to Starscream.

“Well, I gotta get all my cargo unloaded before I head out, so you can go on ahead. Unless you wanna help?” Halley asks.

“No, that’s quite alright. Thank you again for the ride, Jim Halley.”

“’Course.” Starscream stands up and begins to head to the door. “Hey, before you leave, here’s my card.” Starscream turns and Halley hands him a small, beige business card, with various means of contacting him inscribed on it. “Let me know if you ever wanna get in touch again.”

“I will do so, Halley,” Starscream says, then immediately turns and walks outside the ship. Once outside, he crumples the card into a tiny ball between two fingers and tosses it onto the ground, finally liberated from Jim Halley’s obnoxious presence. Next to the ship stands a small robot next to a conveyor belt.

“Hello,” Starscream greets the little bot, then waits for an awkwardly long moment, receiving no response. He narrows his brow as he realizes this planet must be like Earth from his own reality: robots are made to serve their organic masters. Sickening. Starscream shakes his head and walks away, out of the ship bay and into the main part of the port.

The place is exactly what one would expect from a commercial spaceport, filled with little souvenir shops and cheap restaurants for the hungry traveler. There is also a spot for travelers to pick up their cargo that had been previously loaded, and Starscream notices it is manned both by robots and by organic workers. At least that was more balanced.

Starscream steps towards a window and looks out at the city of Arcadia. The port is elevated quite far from the ground, so he can see the entire expanse of the big city below. He smiles. Different bots always had different ideas on big cities – some thought they were a hub of greed, some thought they were great because of the culture, the socialization. But to Starscream, the big city always meant one thing: opportunity. And soon, he would seize that opportunity right here in Arcadia.

 

[Arthur Morgan]

The entire space port was awash with light, its soaring main hall cast in a bright golden glow from the 400-ft skylight overhead, large glass windows and a cast-iron roof blending together to create a handsome spectacle of Arcadian ingenuity and engineering. Travelers of all shapes and sizes drifted throughout the space, the white-marbled floors echoing with the cacophonous sound of thousands of individual footsteps and chattering voices.

“Isn’t it beautiful, friend?” Pathfinder asked the robot beside him, unable to resist sharing his good cheer. His fellow bot, a copper-colored fellow with big protruding light bulbs for eyes and no mouth to speak of, did not deign to respond. That was alright, though— the two were fast at work unloading several large crates from a tiny luggage shuttle, attempting to arrange them on a small pushcart. It made sense that Pathfinder’s new friend wouldn’t have the time to respond, really, and—

“Don’t bother, man,” the Miqo'te teenager stood at his other side grunted, trying to draw Pathfinder’s attention back to the task at hand as he struggled to heft a box full of what felt like sold freakin’ granite, judging by the weight of it. “Most of the bots in this port aren’t even—hnng—sentient. You’d have better luck talking to that wall over there than getting a response out of ‘em, so stop blabbing and—oof—give me a hand here, will ya?!”

With a disappointed whir of his vocalizer, Pathfinder looked away, easily taking the crate from his struggling friend with the superior strength of his mechanical arms. He turned, depositing it onto the cart (which emitted a dreadful creaking noise at the sudden weight), and cast his gaze around the rest of the station, taking in the menagerie of colorful spacecraft and travelers.

To tell the truth, this coworker was the closest thing he had to a friend in the twinkling, bustling city. And while Pathfinder appreciated the teen’s candor and willingness to bring him up to speed on certain things, it was very difficult to remember his name, especially since they interacted so little. What was it, again? Something like… Trip? Pathfinder’s memory banks seemed to believe this to be the case, but with how untrustworthy those old files could be at times, the MRVN really couldn’t be certain.

He continued to survey the station idly, wondering at the vast assortment of disparate individuals milling about inside. Suddenly, the lone orange optic at the center of his round helm brightened, fixing on something just over his sapient coworker’s shoulder. “Even that one, friend?”

Trip’s brown feline ears flicked in response, his eyes narrowing in confusion as he turned to look. His mouth promptly plopped open, brows shooting up toward his hairline in a mixture of shock and surprise.

There, towering above practically everyone else in the main station, was a terrifyingly tall robot. Like, seriously tall. Not only that, but he appeared to have a pair of wings jutting out from his back, a glassy amber cockpit on his chest, and were those… jet turbines?!

As Trip and Pathfinder observed, the bot carefully picked his way across the main station, apparently a visitor taking in the sights. The dark metal of his face creased with a slight scowl as a group of babbling schoolchildren stumbled across his path, effectively waylaying him in the middle of the station.

“Uh, well… I dunno, my guy,” Trip stuttered, for he had never seen such a sophisticated robot of that size in the port. He was a simple farm boy before moving to the big city of Arcadia, after all— bots of Pathfinder's height and build were uncommon enough. This guy? Practically unheard of.

“I’m going to go say hello!” Pathfinder chirped, his optic flashing brightly in delight as he spoke. Setting down the last crate of the bunch, he turned and began to make his way over, picking through the crowd of bustling tourists and jet-setters.

“Path, no—” Trip hissed, trying in vain to drag his coworker back by one blocky, blue-painted arm, but it was too late— Pathfinder was already striding over, waving excitedly to try and snag the other robot’s attention, a lofty task when the target of one’s attentions was so… big.

It was all Trip could do to scramble after him, leaving the mindless automaton to continue on with peddling the cart away to storage. As a result, he only caught the tail-end of whatever nonsense Pathfinder was saying to the taller bot, but his familiarity with the plucky little MRVN could fill in the blanks well enough.

“Hi there, friend!” Pathfinder enthused, that dumb electronic screen on his chest flashing with a starry-eyed smiley face. “My name is Pathfinder. You seem new around here, what brings you to Arcadia?”

Red optics turned to look down at the cheerful little MRVN, and for a brief moment, Trip could’ve sworn he saw the other robot’s life flash before his eyes. Pathfinder seemed to have that kind of effect on people.

“Hello, Pathfinder,” the bot-with-wings appeared to rally himself, schooling his expression into a vaguely polite smile. “My name is Starscream. You are correct, I am new around here—”

“Starscream… What a pretty name!” Pathfinder interrupted blithely, utterly ignoring the mixed reaction that elicited. “You’re in luck, then. I’ve been here a few months, so I know all the best sights! If you will give me a moment to clock out, I can show you around!”

The larger bot, Starscream, adjusted his stance, apparently thrown a bit off-kilter by Pathfinder’s exuberant manner. A suspicious glint winked in his optics as he considered the… generous offer. The MRVN, predictably, was oblivious to the scrutiny.

“I do find myself in need of a guide,” the Cybertronian stated at last, stroking his chin in thought. He peered down at the scout, then, straightening. “Very well, Pathfinder. An escort would be appreciated.”

Pathfinder’s optic brightened, the digital screen mounted on his chest reflecting his merriment with a colorful burst of electronic confetti. “Superb, friend! You won’t regret this, I promise. Now, if you’ll follow me—!”

Trip fell into step beside Pathfinder as the MRVN began to trot away. “Pathfinder, you can’t keep doing this,” the teenager hissed, throwing a nervous squint back at Starscream. “This is the third person you’ve dragged off on a random sightseeing tour this week alone. You’re going to get fired, at this rate!”

“It’s funny that you should say that, friend,” Pathfinder replied, optic winking cheerfully back at him. “I lost my previous job as a tour guide before I came to work here! I never learned why...”

 

[Arthur Morgan]

Walking down a long, dark hallway leading to the space port’s shipping bay, it soon became evident why Pathfinder couldn’t quite cut it as a tour guide.

“Now friend, I know what you’re thinking— you shouldn’t be traveling with me to a secondary location! But you can trust me,” Pathfinder informed Starscream very seriously. “I’m being paid to move boxes, not kill you. Plus, if I wanted to do that, I would’ve done it already!”

Trip cringed. Yeah. It was super obvious why the bot couldn’t keep that job, alright.

Surprisingly, Starscream seemed only mildly perturbed by what most would consider a very real threat to their life. Like maybe he heard that kind of thing a lot. “Oh, really?”

Pathfinder nodded, having to crane his head back pretty far to look the other bot in the optics. “Hmmm, maybe. Though you’re quite a bit bigger than what I’m used to—”

“Oh look Pathfinder we’re here already, let’s get on in there and get you signed out for the day!” Trip blurted, shoving the MRVN with both arms through the wide entrance to the shipping bay. Thankfully, the entryway was tall enough for Starscream to fit through, though only just barely; the Cybertronian still had to duck.

Inside the shipping bay, it became pretty clear why the space port seemed to employ primarily robotic workers over their organic counterparts. Rows and rows of shelves lined the warehouse from wall to wall, stacked to the ceiling with massive crates. And what did these crates contain? Well, only the bread and butter of Arcadia itself… and several other worlds scattered across the Crossroads, if the various tracking labels and logos stamped onto the sides of the crates were to be believed.

It was also an unreal amount of crap, Trip thought privately, but he would never admit it out loud, much less within earshot of his manager.

Pathfinder turned around, bouncing a little in his excitement. His single orange optic glowed a bit eerily in the darkness of the shipping bay, his dark blue paint job allowing him to almost seamlessly blend in… that is, were it not for the brightly lit screen on his chest.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured his two friends, then wandered off… presumably to find the punch clock. Never could quite tell with that one. Whatever he was doing, Trip sure didn’t appreciate it— it meant he was left alone with the big scary robot with the creepy red eyes. Yikes.

“Well, I’ll just, uh… be going now…'' the Miqo’te said, eyeing the aforementioned big scary robot. Slowly, he began to edge away, eyes turning to the pathetic little coffee machine set up at the front of the room. Ah, yes. Sweet salvation… and more importantly, caffeination.

Unfortunately, he was waylaid about halfway there by the sudden arrival of his manager. The man stormed into the shipping bay in a whirlwind of red-faced huffing and premature balding, clutching a handful of shredded wires between his fingers.

The Miqo'te froze on his way to the coffee machine, going absolutely motionless. He was pretty sure most bosses had vision-based movement. If he could just stand completely still, maybe the man wouldn't notice him!

“You!” his manager barked, marching over to Trip, for the moment completely overlooking Starscream’s loudly-colored presence.

With great reluctance, Trip turned away from the coffee maker. “Yessir?” he asked, resisting the urge to withdraw when the man came within spitting distance.

“It’s those damned raccoons again, kid,” the man hissed. “They’ve been gnawing at the wiring. I need you to get up there and root them out, stat!”

Trip’s eyes widened. “Me? But… didn’t the city hire a druidic taskforce to convince them to leave?”

“Yeah, a fat lot of good that did,” the man snorted. “Apparently the damn things like it here because the wires are ’spicy,’” he added with a disbelieving scowl, directing a pointed glare up at the ceiling. “Point is, the mangy little shits are costing us a ton of money. Get up there and take care of it.”

“I don’t think that’s in my job description,” Trip muttered under his breath, then blanched when his manager’s eyes narrowed at him. “I mean, you’d know better than I do, duh, but like, couldn’t someone else do a better job? Someone like— Pathfinder!”

His eyes landed on Pathfinder, who’d decided to rejoin them at just the right moment. The scout perked up at the mention of his name, a bright green question mark flashing on his screen.

Trip gestured frantically to the MRVN. “Pathfinder can take care of it. He’s really good at climbing and stuff, lil’ robo-dude tells me about it all the time. Surely he can spook a few raccoons easily enough.”

“Hmm… you might be right. Pathfinder!” the balding man snapped his fingers, the MRVN snapping to attention in response. “C’mere. I’ve got a job for ya.”

Without much prompting, Pathfinder trotted over, eager to help as always. He turned to look at Trip first, head tilting to the side with a mechanical whirring sound, and then looked to his manager.

The shipping bay manager straightened. “Alright Pathfinder, listen up, this is important stuff. Y’see these lights?” he pointed to the lights hanging from the ceiling, several of which began to flicker and emit a curious electrical whine. “Well, it seems we’ve got a raccoon infestation. What I need you to do, is climb up there and give them a scare. Think you can manage that, tincan?”

Pathfinder looked up at the ceiling. It was dark up there, the majority of the lofty metal scaffolding hidden by a hazy curtain of shadows, only the occasional bulb illuminating the wide, gloomy space. There were rows and rows of shelving to explore... thousands of crates, boxes and barrels to search through. Truly, there was no telling just what could be hiding up there, aside from millions of credits worth of precious cargo. The raccoons could be anywhere.

“You can count on me, friend,” said Pathfinder, shooting a thumbs up. He took careful aim at the ceiling with the grapple gun mounted on his arm, then looked to Starscream. “I worked as a wildlife removal specialist, once. I’ll be back before you know it!”

With an exuberant whoop and whir of his zipline snapping to something in the distance, Pathfinder went flying up into the roof, a distant thunk ringing out as he landed… somewhere, high above the shelves.

The trio standing on the ground stood in silence for a moment, only the faraway clunks of Pathfinder puttering about echoing around the shipping bay. Abruptly, the manager seemed to notice Starscream for the first time, startling visibly. “Now wait just a minute— who’s this, huh? You looking for a job or somethin’?”

 

[Arthur Morgan]

High above, Pathfinder carefully clambered over the top of several crates, his zipline whirring loudly as it retracted back into the mechanism mounted on his arm. He looked up, shielding his optic against imaginary sunlight as he took stock of the situation, one foot balanced precariously on the edge of the large metal shelving unit.

“If I were a small, furry mammal, where would I hide?” he asked aloud, a magnifying glass emoticon appearing on his screen. There was no answer, naturally. Instead, his voice echoed across the dark rows of shelving surrounding him on all sides, petering out gradually as it travelled.

There didn’t appear to be any raccoons in the area. Pathfinder was relatively certain that this was not a true indicator of if there really were any nearby. From what he knew of raccoons, they were tricksy little fellows, great at climbing into tiny spaces and hiding. He would need to investigate some more to have much luck finding them, it seemed.

With great care, Pathfinder began to pick his way along the length of the shelf, keeping an optic out for signs of ringed tails or masked faces. Didn’t raccoons have clever little paws, too? Hopefully they hadn’t figured out how to climb into the vents...

After quite a while of quietly clambering about, Pathfinder became aware of a faint rustling noise. He paused, tilting his head to listen, but all was quiet. Almost too quiet, if he was being honest with himself.

Must have been the wind, the MRVN thought to himself, and continued forward.

It was almost as if whatever was causing the noise had waited for him to begin moving again. To Pathfinder’s chagrin, the rustling noise started up as soon as he took a single step forward— rattling from somewhere... behind him?

Pathfinder stopped again, perching atop a crate like a great big metallic bird. Sure enough, the odd rustling noise ceased at the exact same moment.

Puzzled beyond belief, Pathfinder glanced over his shoulder, but found… absolutely nothing. Only shadows.

“How odd,” the MRVN’s cheerfully robotic voice whirred, not an ounce of fear in his tone. On a whim, he glanced up.

Bright yellow eyes, glaring at him from the dark. Pathfinder, being a robot, most certainly did not jump or shriek in fright, though he did stumble backwards a bit… a purely defensive maneuver!

“What are you doing up here, scrapheap?” a sinister voice hissed from the shadows, the words dripping with disdain. Pathfinder instantly relaxed.

“Revenant! I didn’t know that you would be up here, friend!” the MRVN exclaimed, sounding relieved. “Have you seen any raccoons around, by any chance?”

 

[Starscream]

Starscream stands with a slightly confused look on his face. He had been offered a guide to the city he found himself in, Arcadia, so of course he had accepted. But in this case, he may have chosen poorly. His “guide” seems preoccupied at the moment with...raccoon extermination, which will take Primus knows how long. His train of thought is broken as the other bot’s manager asks him if he’d be interested in a job, and the large bot raises one eyebrow inquisitively.

“A job?” He asks.

“Yeah, there’s uh, always cargo that needs to be lifted, and uh, you know-” the man gestures at Starscream, tracing his body in the air with one hand as if to point out his large size, then briefly mimes picking up a package “-you look like you could lift quite a bit, you know. Hey, speaking of moving cargo – Trip, what are you doing just standing around? Get back to work!”

The teen briefly opens his mouth as if to protest, but then just shakes his head.

“Fine, boss,” he says, then walks to the nearest wall and begins to unload cargo onto a cart.

“To answer your question, I am in search of work to do,” Starscream says to Pathfinder’s manager, then gets ready to continue speaking, only to be interrupted.

“Great, I’ve got a shipment coming in of machine parts – forklifts and such. You head down to bay 7 and I can get you started, we’ll sort out payment specifics and such later -”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Starscream says, provoking a slight gasp and a look of annoyance from Pathfinder’s boss. “I am in search of work to do, but Starscream never lowers himself to the level of manual labor.”

“Hm! Suit yourself, I guess. You have fun finding a job out there, in this economy, that pays better than here without having to do manual labor.”

Starscream smiles smugly. It’s the little things, like making a humanoid mad by refusing to stoop to the level of a maintenance bot, that make life worth living. The bot looks up at the ceiling, where his guide had gone. Still no sign of him returning, so lacking a better option he walks slowly over to the cart where the teenage worker, Trip, is moving cargo to be distributed to its destination.

“Hey, give me a hand with this luggage?” Trip asks, as he pushes a cart with each hand. Starscream takes one from him, the entire handle nearly fitting in one hand, and begins to push it, walking with him. Sure, he said he didn’t do manual labor, but this was different: he was helping someone in his downtime as an opportunity for conversation and maybe even some more info-gathering. Big difference from working for a boss.

“Oh, and just so you know,” Trip says as they walk. “He’s totally full of shit. If you’ve got the skills, you could easily get a job that pays better than here.”

“Why haven’t you, then?” Starscream inquires, and the teen shrugs.

“Like I said, you gotta have the skills. I was just a farm kid before I moved to Arcadia, so this is about it for me. I’m just trying to find somewhere that pays a little better.” Starscream shakes his head and wonders why every humanoid he meets seems to be some sort of country bumpkin.

“Yes, I see, I see. Well, I’ll certainly let you know if I find any...business opportunities I could use your help with.” The Miqo’te perks up at that suggestion.

“Oh yeah, please do.” He takes the opportunity to start telling a story of the working conditions here, as him and Starscream unload the cargo onto a conveyor belt and then head back to pick up more. Listening to yet another humanoid farmer and working was absolutely not what Starscream was looking for here, so he looks up and sighs softly, ready for Pathfinder to return.

 

[Revenant]

The predatory assassin's glinting yellow eyes studied the MVRN bot with a sort of sickened curiosity. "Raccoons? Don't tell me that fat, pathetic skinsuit down there has you on pest extermination duty." His voice whirred with a grating, robotic disdain.

"Well, he is my boss and he does write my check!" Path chirped. "I do need to find those raccoons though, they are tearing up the power." His chest-plate lit up with a mildly perturbed looking grumpy face. Revenant sighed, rolling his eyes before tossing something at the MRVN's feet with a grunt of affirmation. The friendly recon-bot peered down between his wideset metal legs, his orange optic whirring as it focused on the lumpy form at his feet.

"Oh!" Path said, bending down to pluck a heavy bagful of limp, ring-tailed varmints from the ground. "Thank you for handling them for me Friend! I am grateful!" This time his chest lit up with a sparkling thumbs-up. Judging from the weight of the bag, he figured his simulacra friend had probably wrangled at least of dozen of the critters. Path could always appreciate Revenant's good work ethic, even if he was intimidating and unsociable at times.

"I didn't do it for you. They were getting in my way." The simulacra slunk from the ceiling, dropping down to meet the stubbornly extroverted bot face-to-face. Path was always the time to blather and blather and blather about friendship and positivity... but at least he wasn't a moralist offended by the wily assassin's snark or condescension... Or his very driven propensity to prefer violence and morbidity. He'd served as a helpful scrap shield in those abysmal Death Games they'd participated in some time prior, so perhaps he could again serve a use.

"What are you doing up here anyways, friend?" The MRVN was pleased to see the murder-bot in good humor again, there was no doubt, but in the rafters of his work warehouse had sorta been the last place he was expecting to run into Revenant randomly at.

Rev chuckled, a low, metallic and sinister rumble. "Well I was here to kill your boss, but I couldn't help but notice that giant you're dragging around. I want to know about them."

"That's just my new friend Starscream. They're new around here and I was just about to show them all of the best sights!"

"Didn't you get fired from your last job as a tour guide?" When the MRVN tilted his single optic, Rev shrugged apathetically.

"I never did figure out why..." Path pondered somberly for a moment.

"Are you even clocked in for this stunt up here in the rafters." The deadpan tone in the mercenary's voice made his skepticism plain and clear as he cut back into the recon-bot's attention.

"Actually, he just caught me as I came back from clocking out. Funnily enough, he often catches me after I've already clocked out to ask me to do things."

Revenant sighed, blinking in the darkness before walking past the scout to stand at the edge and peer down at the Cybertronian and Miqo'te. "Go tell your boss that I handled the job, and if he cares about his life he'll forward the check. I want to go on your little tour with this 'Starscream'."​