"Broken Down" - A story of the Mechanic - copyright 1994 by Dave Van Domelen
         The Mechanic created by Bob Budiansky, TM Marvel Comics
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     Western Nebraska is pretty much a whole lot of nothing, which made it
perfect for him.  After all, he was a whole lot of nothing too.  Sure, once
upon a time he wouldn't have minded that.  Heck, he was raised a nothing,
grew up a nothing, and by the sweat of his brow and what little cunning he
had managed to become a slightly larger figure against the background of
nobodies.
     Still, his life as a whole wasn't gonna matter in the grand scheme of
things.  Which was fine, people who get noticed get noticed by the cops, and
his life wasn't exactly exemplary.  Overcharging on repairs, running a small
chop shop on the side...his highest ambition was to run a medium chop shop so
he could ditch the semi-legit stuff altogether.  And if nothing else had
happened to him, he'd either have made that goal, or maybe be spending a few
years in the pen.  Either way, he wouldn't be in a trailerpark in the middle
of nowhere Nebraska, wasting away on the booze and cheap entertainment his
welfare check and occasional tinkering jobs brought.
     Y'see, being a loser is okay.  Unless you spend a while as a winner.
Then there's no way you can go back to your old life again.  A stronger man
would have struggled to be a winner again rather than accept this fate.  He
wasn't strong, though.  Instead, he sank far lower than he'd been before his
run-in with those stinkin' robots.
     He'd been SOMEBODY, man!  He'd been the Mechanic!  With just a few tools
from one of them robots, he'd come close to building an empire of illegal
autoparts trading, or maybe more!  Heck, people'd always underestimated him.
Even when he had the costume and the tools they underestimated him, and that
let him beat giant robots he had no right even holding his own against.  But
he forgot to underestimate himself...and he went into the losers bin again.
Forgotten by most, a bad joke when remembered.  Even that Robot Master jerk
got more respect than the Mechanic had.
     Something on the television registered on his self-pitying gin-soaked
brain.  After a few years of absence, those damn robots were back, and
blowing the crap out of Earth.  Well, not all of it.  Just the important
parts.  And he wasn't anywhere near an important part.  Hell, anyplace he was
kinda couldn't be important, right?  He staggered up from his second-hand
couch and winced as he pulled a muscle doing so.  Grabbing almost reflexively
for a fresh bottle as he made for the door, he fumbled with the door handle
using his free hand.
     He stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and held his hand over
his eyes to shield them from the glare.
     Then he heard a familiar rumbling sound.  Looking up, he could barely
make out the shape of a jet.  One of them robots.  Blindly he lashed out as
if to strike something, anything.  He only barely registered the shattering
sound of the bottle in his hand as it struck the doorway behind him.
     He raised his fists to the sky and shouted, "DAMN YOU!  GET DOWN HERE!
YOU CAN'T IGNORE ME AGAIN!  You're killing everyone else..." his voice broke
into ragged sobs as he sank to his knees, clutching the broken bottle like a
lifeline.  "Kill me too...."

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Author's Notes:

     I wrote this story back in 1994 as part of a challenge to take an
ultra-lame Budiansky-era character and write a good story about it.  The
vignette is set during the G2 comic, when the Decepticons are bombarding
Earth.  
     A few weeks after Google extended its archives of newsgroup posts, I
realized I could, and should go back and dig up some of my earlier TF fanfics
and put them up on my webpage.  And so, here it is.