Hello! This is a new story I've been working on for quite some time. Sort of an apology for not updating in a horrendous amount of time.

Title: Wavering

Rating: M for safety.

Genre: Supernatural, Angst, Horror, Suspense

Summary: The dreams have been plaguing me for quite some time. I never know where they come from, or what triggers such nightmares. But I need to find out. There are disturbing messages, ones that only cloud my judgment and sane reasoning. And, for some strange reason, I feel as though they will give insight to my muddied past. But I have yet to know or understand why.

Warnings: Disturbing Themes, Possible Dementia and/or Schizophrenia, Explicit Gore, Hinted Possession, Dark Alternate Universe, Torture, Sadism, Masochism, Mental Instability

Author Notes: Chapters will be relatively short for this story.

It was a quiet, cool orn. The weather on Earth was pleasant, cool with a slight breeze. It was nice and quiet.

At least, it was outside.

The Autobot base was full of noise, ranging from frenzied whispers to outraged snarling and cursing to irritated groaning. It was enough to give any mech or femme a massive processor ache.

Prowl stood at the head of the meeting room, wings spread in a neutral position as he stared coldly at the rambunctious mechs and femmes before him. Optimus flanked him, battle mask making it impossible to tell what the enormous mech was feeling.

Jazz tapped his claws against his armor impatiently, baring pointed dentia as he glanced over at the two larger mechs. "Shouldn't we call fer order? We ain't got time ta be dealin' with this slag."

"We did call them in for a meeting at an uncomfortably early hour," Optimus rumbled, watching as Arcee began to curse at Hound while Sunstreaker watched with cruel disinterest before returning to his sketching. "They are expected to react in such a way."

"They must become acclimated to such conditions." Prowl spoke, his voice icy and detached as his gaze was locked onto a datapad that contained the schematics of an invention Perceptor wanted to be approved. "These mechs and femmes can hardly be called adequate soldiers. They may get the job done on the battlefield, but with their significantly increasing amount of recklessness and disregard for the obvious authority, they have much work to do."

"Yes, but we cannot rely so heavily on them for things," Optimus countered, shifting his considerable weight from one pede to the other. "We are the ones expected to lead."

"I was never implying that we were not." The Praxian's optics flicked up, amber pools of fire that held no noticeable irritation. "They need to conduct themselves more professionally and stop acting like they were sparked yesterday." Not giving the mech a chance to respond, he cleared his vocalizer and spoke in a thundering voice. "That is enough!"

The chaos immediately froze. Jazz muttered something in approval as he leaned against the back of the chair that was before him, his talons tracing against the metal of the chair. Beside him, Optimus and Prowl stood tall and strong, assuming the specified position of leaders.

"We expect the entirety of you to be seated and quiet when you see us waiting." Prowl's voice rang with a clear and cold efficiency as he flicked his wings. "This will not be tolerated any further as of this moment. Refusal and failure to comply with this understanding will result in time spent in the brig. Do you understand?"

There was a murmured acquiescence as the mechs and femmes all nodded.

"Good." With a heavy vent, the Second in Command motioned with a servo to a mech standing in the back of the room with a datapad clutched in his servos. The mech nodded in confirmation and onlined the datapad, and in response, a hologram appeared on the table of a map of an area near their base.

"An Energon signal has been located at one of the supposedly abandoned mines under the jurisdiction of the Decepticons." Prowl flared his wings wide behind him, cold golden optics fixed on the holographic screen before him. "We understand that this may be nothing but a fault in our detection systems—and if it is, then we are currently working to fix the problem—but we have decided that investigation of this matter is crucial in case our enemies have decided to increase their dwindling amount of energy."

Jazz stepped forward, visor burning bright. "Mirage, Hound, an' tha Twins'll run a recon mission out front in order ta make sure this ain't nothin' but a trap. Should there be any concern, the rest of ya here will be called outta yer posts ta serve as backup."

Hound shifted in his seat, hesitantly clearing his vocalizer. "Sir, Mirage isn't here."

"And where is he?" Prowl demanded, crossing his servos. "He is expected to attend."

"Apparently, he was not feeling up to attending a mere meeting." Tracks spoke up, his clear and smooth, accented voice ringing strongly. "Perhaps he had one too many a night at the bar."

Hound's engine growled as he glared at the winged mech. "Mirage doesn't drink, and you would know that if you didn't have your helm buried in a bottle every orn."

"I say, is that any way to speak to a comrade?" The navy blue and gold mech grinned coldly, golden optics bright. "We must get along somehow."

The forest green mech growled, beginning to rise from his seat. But before he could snap any further at the elite mech, a deep bass voice rang throughout the room.

"That is enough!" Optimus' presence was nearly overwhelming, his powerful electromagnetic field rippling widely. "All of you will either calm down and behave like the adult mechs and femmes you are or all of you will work overtime shifts without your consent." The red and blue mech faced fixed his gaze on Hound. "We will contact Mirage after the meeting. Without a valid reason, he cannot miss a meeting."

"What will we do if we find out that the mine does contain Energon deposits?" Sunstreaker spoke, his optics still locked onto his sketch pad, but his helm was tilted to angle his wickedly sharp audio horns at the Prime. "Are we going to take it all or are we going to blow it?"

"That'll depend on the state o' those who're scoutin'," Jazz replied, visor twinkling with a dark light. "If ya're fine, then we'll take as much as we can. If ya aren't, then we'll send in reinforcements and blow the mine once ya're through tha bridge."

"Those who we assigned major roles in the reconnaissance mission will be expected to be in the main bridge room at eleven hundred hours, Earth time," Prowl rumbled. With a flick of his wings, he turned and fixed his cold glare on each mech and femme before him. "You are dismissed."

I sat, shivering, on my berth, my servos wrapped around my torso as I rested my helm on my drawn up knees.

My processor was aching tremendously, sending relentless stabs of pain through me every time I moved.

It has been plaguing me for quite some time. The processor aches and overall pain, that is. Today was worse than the others; usually, I was able to hide the acid fire that ran through me, but I was not so sure that I would be able to today.

An incessant beeping sounded in my audio receptor, making me groan involuntarily in pain. Steeling myself for a painful conversation, I brought a shaking servo up to brush over my communications link. "This is Mirage."

"Ya were absent from tha meetin', mech." The smooth, suave tenor of my commander sounded. "Ya know how Prowler hates tha'. He'll be houndin' ya fer info, 'specially since we need ya talents to complete tha mission we're schedulin'."

"Ah..." I winced as my tanks decided to momentarily rebel against me, and I fought back the sudden impulse to purge. "I suppose that I should have known better."

"Ya alright, 'Raj? Ya don't sound so hot." Jazz's voice became stained with the weight of suspicion, and I growled internally. I couldn't have him wondering what was wrong with me.

My tanks lurched again, and it took me a moment to get them under control even as the faint taste of half-processed Energon rose in the back of my throat. It hadn't been a pleasant wait if the rumbling growl of Jazz's powerful engine was any indication.

"I am fine, Jazz." I was surprised at how even my voice suddenly sounded, but I knew that I was far from okay. "I only have a mild processor ache."

"Hmm." There was a brief pause before the Polyhexian spoke again. "Well, get yer aft down 'ere. Prowler's 'bout ta blow a gasket, an' as amusin' as that'll be, Ah don't wanna have ta pick up the pieces after he crashes."

"Very well. I will be there in a moment." Shutting off my communications link, I vented heavily and threw my legs over the side of the berth, wincing as a torrent of static momentarily overwhelmed my sensory network and a brief bout of nausea plagued my tanks. Forcing myself to my pedes, I fixed myself up in a decent and presentable manner and headed to the office of my commander.

Jazz perked up instantly from his upside down position in a chair when his audio horns caught the sound of approaching pedesteps. Judging by the feather-light brush of metal against the floor and the sheer grace of the steps, it was Mirage heading down the hall towards him.

But Jazz could not help but think that there was something wrong. Mirage's walk was...off. As if he were merely forcing himself to move, or as if he were in some sort of pain.

A knock sounded on the door before the Polyhexian could voice his concerns.

"Jazz, sir?" A smooth and cultured tenor sounded, accented lightly and barely audible through the thick and reinforced metal doors of the Third in Command's door.

"Come on in, Raj." The Polyhexian did not bother to sit upright as the door hissed open. From his current position, he could see the mech's heeled pedes and slender, elegant frame heading towards him.

"Jazz?" The pedes moved closer, stopping once they were at the edge of the desk. Jazz could feel the heat that the mech was radiating, more than likely a result of the former racer's engine running at full power. "May I ask what you are doing?"

With a determined huff, the silver-white mech flipped around and fixed his visor-covered gaze on the spy.

Mirage was standing there, almost unsteadily, as if his weight was distributed unevenly. The lights reflected off of his sleek armor, and his golden optics were dim and almost sickly looking. There was a pained aura around the former racer, and his electromagnetic field was pulsing wildly but revealed no emotion. Despite that, Mirage seemed to be obdurate and did not want to seem to address the obvious pain he was in.

"Hey, Raj. Have a seat." The saboteur waved carelessly to the seat in front of him. He watched the lithe mech intently as he settled himself into the chair with a faint grimace, his pain enough to make him shutter his optics against it. "Ya sure ya're alright?"

Golden optics brightened momentarily as the former Tower mech glanced up at him. "I told you before that I am fine, Jazz."

"Ah can get Ratchet down 'ere ta check ya if ya want. Can't have ya in pain on a recon mission—Raj?"

The blue and white mech was leaning against the TIC's desk. His optics were shuttered and a deep grimace of pain was on his faceplate as he brought his servos up to rest against his forehelm, his ventilations rasping as he trembled visibly.

"Mirage?" In an instant, Jazz was on his pedes and behind the spy, placing a hesitant servo against his shoulder panel and painstakingly aware of the burning heat swirling around the mech. "Wha' is it? C'mon, mech, talk ta meh."

"It is..." The blue and white mech intaked deeply before forcing his servos down and clenching both of them into fists. "Just the...m-my processor acting out. I will be fine in a...moment."

"Ah don't have a moment." The Special Operations Commander growled, visor flashing brightly. "Raj, if ya can't handle this, then Ah'll get someone else. This mission is of top importance right now, an' Ah don't need it slagged up 'cause ya were fightin' a virus during the recon."

To his surprise, the deceptively powerful mech onlined his optics and glared at Jazz with a renewed fire. "Jazz, I said that I am fine, and I will be so long enough to conduct this mission." He scowled and bared his dentia as the mech made to protest. "I will not repeat myself, Jazz. I am fine."

Jazz narrowed his optics, internally caught between forcing a medical leave and making the mech take the mission even though he knew that he would most likely collapse on the job.

"Fine." The Polyhexian headed back to sit behind his desk, engine rumbling deeply as he glared at the defiant mech through his visor. "This is your mission."

The minute that Jazz had dismissed me, and the moment I stepped out of his office and was a far enough distance from the saboteur, that was when I relented.

I cried out, cradling my helm in my shaking servos as I stumbled and fell to my knees.

Oh, Primus—the pain. Make it stop, make it stop.

My tanks churned, and I barely stopped myself from purging.

I had been so close to snapping. All because of some stupid little processor ache.

Forcing myself to my pedes, I vented heavily and forced myself to continue walking. I had to get out of here. I needed space.

Before I snapped any further and attacked someone.

Grimacing as both my processor and tanks protested, I headed towards the back exit of the Autobot base.

Jazz watched as his best spy left the room. Once he was sure that the mech could not hear him, he brought a servo up to his communications link.

"Ratchet? It's Jazz. No, Ah'm fine. But Ah need a favor from ya. Could ya send meh immediate information on Mirage's most recent exams? No, it's nothin' serious, but Ah need 'em before the recon mission. Send Jolt over, would ya?"

Kind of a slow start, but I feel that this is necessary for the plot. Also, for my readers that have read New Member, did no one like the idea of the prompt for Purgatory? It's posted now, and I get it that you're all busy and have lives, but it would be appreciated it you all took a look at it and tell me what you think.

This chapter may be updated in a bit. Check back later.