Disclaimer: not mine. None of it.
A/N: So, apparently Natsumi has a problem with the number 12. She hates it, can't stand it, and refuses to have it. So now, she ordered that we give her something new to write so that her story count can be 13, not 12. I know that we heard of spark eaters somewhere, but unfortunately, we can't remember where. So whoever thought of this, thank you. Moving on, this is for Halloween, to give a quick little shout out to all the things that go bump in the night. Halloween would never be the same without you. Please leave her a comment, because she is feeling very drained right now and could use a little boost. Thank you all, now excuse me as I go and kill the weirdo. –Gabrielle (Avian Secretary of the Wakabe Writing Firm)
Among sentient beings, it is interesting to note that many, if not all, have a belief in there being more to existence than just the physical self. Whether this manifests in the belief in the soul, the thought of a life after death, reincarnation, or any disembodied entity that was not in regular contact with the rest of the world, it was still there. However, even more interesting than that was the thought of what is commonly referred to by humans as "earth bound spirits." Amongst Cybertronians, there is little thought on such things. The general consensus is that if there is such a thing as an afterlife for a mech or femme, it does not come with the possibility of staying in one place. Generally, it is thought that you immediately go to the Well of Allspark. That is, if you believed in that.
But Thundercracker had never had cause to believe in it. Having grown up with Starscream as a trine mate, he was very aware of the scientific, calculative, and logical part of what information had been gleamed off of what the Spark was. Frag, anyone who got close to the tri colored Seeker knew that he was not one for "such frivolities as sparkling stories of Primus and Unicron." No, Thundercracker was well aware of such things.
He had never been one to follow along with the belief in Primus, no matter how many times he swore his name.
If he were to be anything, the closest thing he could be considered was, at the very least, agnostic. There had yet to be proof for him about what lay beyond deactivation, and truthfully, he hoped not to find out for a long time.
But then, fate never was content to let the willfully ignorant stay that way for long.
So when the Elite Trine found themselves on Cybertron for a recon mission, Thundercracker should have known better than to go walking around. However, for some reason, he felt as if he needed to go and do something. So he had decided to go walking, just enjoying the off cycle. However, instead of staying in the better kept areas, he found himself wandering amongst some of the ruined areas, where family units had been destroyed, and many had been lost.
There was really no reason for him to be here. Unlike most, Thundercracker had little love for Darthmount, or any Decepticon stronghold, if he were honest. No, what he longed for was Vos, that infamous floating city that he had grown up in. Though the war had not spared the city of Seekers, nor had the Golden Age been kind to it. However, it had still been his home, and where he had the most memories that he could ever hope to be able to say (even if it was only half true) he was "fond" of. Which made it all the more unusual and completely out of character for him to go to these areas.
As he walked through the streets, pedes unconsciously missing every little piece of debris left over by the many attacks, he found his mind wandering, as he looked over all the different units. He found himself wondering at it all, asking himself things best left silent. But like other musings that he had, the voices would not shut up, whispering things traitorously into his audios.
And then, he heard the impossible.
It was a small clicking sound. Nothing that he, as a seeker, had never heard before. After all, seekers were once known for being the protectors of sparklings, the defenders of the future of Cybertron, a role that they had lost when the Senate and the civilian class had stopped looking at them as sentient beings, and more like the drones that had been a part of the propaganda that had come. But it was impossible for that sound to be heard now. The Autobots had destroyed many care centers early in the war, and those that had survived long enough to be upgraded to their adult frame had been forced to join one side or the other.
So why was he hearing the signature clicking sound of a sparkling?
Tense, he forced himself to turn around, and try to locate the source. He could feel his sparkling protection protocols slowly begin to click on, but for some reason, it would not fully activate. He ignored it, instead focusing on finding the bitlet.
He walked slowly, waiting for more coos and clicks to come, following them as they came. If his audial were to be trusted, it seemed to be coming from one of the relatively untouched units. It made sense: if a scraplet was to survive, it would want to stay in a place that it felt safest.
Entering, Thundercracker made sure that his weapons were at least on, just in case (in the extremely unlikely event) that this was some kind of twisted and sick Autobot trap. However, upon clearing the doorway, he found himself doubting that it was.
The unit was old, he realized, older even than his old housing unit had been back in Vos. A glance into the "kitchen" revealed an old fashioned energon unit, the kind that had been thrown out before even Shockwave had been activated. The large couch that was directly in front of him had at least three layers of dust on it, and there was a tangy smell in it.
What in Cybertron was going on?
He did not let himself linger too long on the findings. Instead, he turned toward the back area, where he saw that there were two different hallways. A feeling of uncertainty and the first tendrils of dread curled up in his tank, growing as he found himself being pulled down the left corridor. Stepping into the darkened area, a shiver fought its way up his spinal strut, despite his best attempts to stop it. This was ridiculous. He was Decepticon! A fierce warrior, part of the Elite trine, and survivor. A dark hallway was nothing in comparison to what he had faced in the war. He hoped.
So he walked down the hall, optics glowing in the dark, even after he was forced to switch to night vision. For some reason, the passage seemed to stretch on, and each time he came to the doorway of a room, he would look inside, and be greeted only with either an empty room, or just a recharge chamber, empty of all occupants, devoid of the sparkling that he kept hearing.
After a while, he finally found himself at another room, and this one- this one was giving him the creeps. It was very standard, very normal…for a sparkling. There were a few toys scattered on the floor (toys that were dated, used, but clearly loved) and a few datapads on the floor. The recharge berth was small, in order to be able to hold the small frame. A blanket was on that berth, small, but plush. If he could ignore the darkness that seemed to weigh down the entire room, he could almost imagine that the sparkling was near…like grabbing his pede!
By instinct honed by battle, Thundercracker found himself jerking from the little servos that had come to touch his left pede, and pointed his blaster down… at the sparkling.
It was a femme, tiny and small, too small to be older than three vorns. She had bright blue optics, large and unnaturally bright. Her paintjob was mostly white, with a few highlights of a soft grey. No extra kibble, so she was unable to transform. She was cute, adorable as far as sparkling were concerned. And she was giving Thundercracker the creeps. He ignored his unease and the urge to run, and instead powered down his weapon and knelt before her.
"What are you doing here, sparkling?" he asked gently, keeping his voice calm. It would do no good if he frightened the bitlet and she ran. She was silent, looking up to him, her too big optics piercing his own crimson. But it was wrong. Though they were bright, her optics seemed far away, or like there was a barrier between them. In fact, all her colors were indications of deactivation beyond her optics. "Are you okay?"
Still no reply from her; in fact, there was no noise at all. There was only the sound of his vents softly cycling air, alone. He reached out to her.
"Are you-" he suddenly broke off. The frame beneath his servos was too cold. Even for a living machine, it was far too cold to be alive. In shock, he gave a brief jerk away, though his hand stayed connected to her for some reason. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Then he looked up and saw something over the top of her head, something that he would never forget. A pair of optics, that shone black. Nothing else. There was nothing else in that darkness beyond those optics. And suddenly, a memory file from when he was a youngling came to his mind. It was a story about the spark eaters, who would pose as younglings and sparklings, to lure unsuspecting mechs and femmes to their death.
And Thundercracker was in its den.
He couldn't quite recall what happened next. All he knew for sure was that he had bolted out the door, back down the endless hall, feeling the spark eater right behind him, dogging his every step, until at last he made it out of that housing unit. From there, it had been a mad flight back to base, where he had run into Skywarp, quite literally.
"What the slag, TC?" Skywarp gripped as he picked himself off the floor. "What happened, did you piss of old Meg's or something?"
There was no reply, as Thunder cracker had yet to detach himself from the wall. He was still venting hard, optics just a touch wild, and his whole frame vibrating with excess energy and fear.
Skywarp frowned as he took it in. "TC?"
Thundercracker took a moment before turning to Skywarp. "It's nothing."
Skywarp gave him an odd look, but shrugged it off. He was due for patrol, and if he was late again, Screamer was going to throw another hissy fit. So he left his trine mate back there, but made a note to ask him about it later. Who knew, maybe he would end up getting some good blackmail material.
Thundercracker, however, made his way to his quarters, convincing himself on the way that it had all been some kind of fancy hologram or delusion or Autobot trap. It couldn't be real. Spark eaters were a story told to younglings to make them behave. They weren't real. By the time he had made it back to his quarters, Thundercracker was able to put it out of his processors, chalking it up as some weird combination of his three preferred options. After keying his code, he walked in and immediately sat down on the berth. As he cycled into recharge, his thoughts turned back to that room for a moment before he could stop himself. He shuddered as he recalled that feeling in the room, how heavy and creep and just wrong it felt. But he did not dwell on it for long, as recharge finally claimed him. So he was unable to see the door open for a moment and close, letting nothing in, but a pair of glowing black optics.