Disclaimer: Transformer character names belong to Hasbro Studios, Steven Puri, Mandy Safavi (and so on) unless stated an OC which in case belong to the author, andshecryz. No copyright infringement is intended. Plagiarism is theft so is prohibited. Do not copy or create a reproduction of this work in any language without express written authorization of the author, andshecryz. Thank you...Please enjoy c:

Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc

~Enjoy

Ch. 1; Press Start

She glanced at the once serene skyline, recalling the time where it had displayed the very tips of Cybertron's buildings and continuous movement of its inhabitants. What was left was simply rubbish; masked by the everlasting darkness of the sky which had formed from the chaos that had taken this city and drowned it in an inferno of war. She swallowed hard...the feeling chaste against the metal of her throat as the femme struggled to recall what the city of her creation had originally looked like.

Even those who'd been raised within the depths and ghetto of the forgotten ruins could only guess it's name. Ronus had been beaten into nothing but pieces...and even now as she and her fellow Wreckers hid within the darkness, on a mission, she couldn't help but analyze the blackened and destroyed skyscrapers that were now reduced to nothing but shacks and metal plates sticking out of the ground. The air, she noted, was crisp despite the smell of burning alloys...the feel of it against her playing being rather calm and soothing even in their cornered situation.

"Synopsis, what's going on?" He asked as if she actually knew.

"I don't fragging know...you tell me Jack!"

"Just answer the fragging question." Wheeljack grimaced as the femme beside him looked through a peephole, the growing conflagration and seemingly endless destruction blinding her view of the Decepticons searching for their group. It was dark...too dark to see clearly even with the small fires scorching the leftovers of the town and flickering more small shines of light against the armor of passing Vehicons. One nearly stumbled over himself, making her wonder just how 'elite' this team really was.

"We're vastly outnumbered..." She mumbled it more to herself, bitterly wincing at the reply she'd received.

"What else is new?"

"Shut up for one second?!"

"Would you two quit bickering?!" Seaspray groaned out of a growing irritation, his patience wearing thin as he held his arm cannon steady and knelt further behind the wall of the roofless metal shack they sat it. It was bad enough that they'd been spotted in their first attempt to retrieve the device...the last thing he wanted to hear was the all too familiar sound of his colleagues arguing like a rusted down couple.

"Hop off Jackie's aft, would ya' Synopsis?"

"Highride shut up! I wouldn't be 'on his aft' if he hadn't taken this scrap-heap of a mission in the first place!" The neon-red mech sighed in defeat at her persistent anger, his optics rolling at both the group leader and femme sniper in response to their constant immaturity.

"Hey! We need payment right now...I wouldn't be complaining, Ops."

"Jack shut your mouth plates! This is all your fault...at least admit to that. We're fragging surrounded by 'Cons, and the worst part...I think the group is being led by Skyquake...either him or Dreadwing, I can't tell the two apart without confrontation." The white femme again muttered bitterly as she continued glancing through the hole in the wall, her right optic rotating to increase focus on the main 'Con as she readied her wrist pistols for action. It was Dreadwing, she assumed; having recently learned that his twin's presence was demanded elsewhere by Megatron himself. The small clicks of her blasters matched the movement of her lips as they quirked in curiosity; catching Jack's unwanted attention.

"What in Primus do you think you're doing?" Wheeljack slammed the palm of his servo into the base of the femme's head, her already thin optics narrowing rather spitefully in response to the unnecessary action.

"I'll run out...I'm the fastest. It's a group of Vehicons...so they'll just shoot what they see. The rest of you grab whatever it is we were sent for-"

"-The processor manipulation program?" Seaspray managed a coarse whisper as he leant against the back wall with a groan, being all too ungraceful.

"S-sure whatever...just make sure you get it and get out."

"Are you glitched?! What's your malfunction thinking that you'll survive this?!" Wheeljack stepped forward as best as he could in the crowded space; his servo fisted and threatening as he argued with the femme. She simply rolled her optics in reply; the small smirk tugging at her lip components going unnoticed from the dark atmosphere.

"Who said anything about surviving? If anything I'll probably be offlined in the line of duty. About time don't ya' think?" She playfully nudged his arm with her elbow and the usual smirk, a sense of fear enveloping the femme at her own comment.

"Synopsis we're not letting you go alone."

"Highride...I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. Trust me. Besides...they have the program, so it's guarded. You'll need three big, strong, fearless mechs to get it back." She pouted jubilantly as if carefree and mocking towards her companions.

"When I'm done...send for clean up." The femme winked, her smile broadening as she patted Wheeljack's arm reassuringly. He'd made her a Wrecker...he'd given her a chance...and for that she was thankful. He was the only one in her life who'd ever kept his word, and had never let her down. Jack always left her expectant and never disappointed; it was one of his better leadership qualities.

She swiftly turned around the thick metal slab of the shack they'd been hiding in and ran, the wheels on her feet spinning at an irrational speed as she began shooting at each target with impressive aim. Aim and strategy was all she was famous for...strength...not so much.

She laughed as if enjoying herself; for once she ignored the war beyond her...she ignored the destruction and pain that, in all honesty, she'd never really minded. Synopsis looked past the fact that the first city she'd walked in was gone and nothing but shards and fragments of melted metal...the femme grinned because she was alive. And because she was entertained. All this time she was criticized for her 'fun', for her 'pleasure'. The few people she'd confessed it to said it was wrong...they said it was cruel and only something a 'Con would say was 'gratifying'. Killing was a release...an expression and a freedom that she could maintain within a near-perfect world that had never once concerned her. Almost an art. Apparently no other Bot saw it that way, no one else made it a game and no one else appreciated the smell or crisp appearance of freshly spilt energon.

What they'd become was nothing short of monsters as they ripped eachother apart plate by plate...and as often as she denied it the femme preferred it that way. She liked the gore, the fear, the battles of will and belief that kept the fire of their eternal disagreements burning. This apparently left her untrustworthy, selfish, disgusting, crude, and ignorant. It forced criticism upon her as if a plague infecting her innermost circuits. Yet...she was an Autobot...and for the greater good a Wrecker. Because Wheeljack was an Autobot...and because Wheeljack was a Wrecker.

All of the 'Bots had talked trash...they had all saw her as some kind of malfunctioned scrap heap because of her interests. Everyone but the Wreckers. Wheeljack understood. He accepted her minor flaw obviously caused by a fried circuit located in the frontal lobe of her processor. The single circuit that gave her a sense of empathy wasn't functional...and he didn't give a damn.

Her thoughts were once again brought into reality with a lively, but unnecessary, cartwheel that sent her off the edge of an old rusted platform as she continued shooting with immaculate aim, at one point wishing that she were comfortably situated in an abandon building or cliff edge watching and waiting to strike.

She missed her sniper duties, but apparently she was better suited for ground work. An opinion she would usually argue over, but nonetheless truthful despite her well-known reputation. Seaspray had said it himself; 'You're a natural fighter'. Of course he was right. She may have been afraid of close confrontation at first...scrap, even now! Moreover terrified of being offlined, but that hadn't stopped her.

No...no, she was dumb that way. She didn't mind.

A sudden burning sensation. A blast struck her plating and immediately her pain receptors were shut down on instinct. Now that severe black mark on her side was just a mild discomfort, barely capable of making her wince. Ops continued running while directing her firepower towards the sky. Seekers followed her trail, not much of a surprise considering their Captain was obviously a seeker himself, judging from the wings of his back.

An explosion mere feet in front of her caught her startled attention, sending the femme flying backwards and into a random slab of metal; a numb feeling quickly overwhelmed her senses, flickering her pain receptors on and off in a dizzying spree of confusion. She stood quickly and backed up, the rubbish beneath her stabilizing servos crackling under her weight and shifting with each quick step the Wrecker took. That blast was throbbing in her wiring now, sending chills of gratification at her luck of such a minor wound coursing through her pipes. But suddenly another hit her back, and another burnt her leg.

Synopsis groaned from frustration while keeping her receptors in check and firing constantly at her multiplying opponents; all growing closer and cornering her against her surroundings as they lowered their weapons. A stern mixture of relief and fear poked roughly at her wiring as the hissing sound of her sizzling armor caught her audio receptors.

"Scrap..." Ops mumbled under her breath, rubbing her glossa against the inner plates of her cheek before wiping a pinprick of energon away from her chin.

The troops froze, the several seekers landing behind the group before her and all seeming to part simultaneously like some trained congregation, splitting down the middle of their cirlce around her and awaiting some order. She made it a little joke to herself, trying to lighten the situation and annoyance of her loss as she watched these numbered lives act like the emotionless troops they truly weren't.

Then...he walked up through their freshly parted path. Armor pristine, untainted despite his many battles. Blue and gold, tall and masculine with a scowl matching his narrowed red optics perfectly. He somehow looked aerodynamic, that thought making no sense at all to the femme just as she admired his proud and unintentional air of a sinister appeal.

He seemed too perfect to fit the role of Decepticon lacky, but...she'd thought the same over Soundwave and Shockwave, both beyond capable of success on their own. This wasn't Skyquake, no...he walked with too much pride and not enough sunken disdaine for everything around him. The explosives that had caused her fall would have been so out of place if this were Skyquake. This mech...this proper and rather meticulous director and captain of a large armada was Dreadwing. A 'Con she personally found much worse than his counterpart.

Blue optics went wide at the unnerving silence, her wiring fidgeting under his thin glare as he studied her. White...a rather unusual color for a femme much less a scout. Too difficult to keep clean, and too obvious to the optic. She was small, swift, agile, and an excellent aim, he noticed, by the count of offlined 'Cons she'd left behind in her path. Impressive could be a likely term used to describe her exhibited skills, but she stood so frail; staring at him with terrified optics despite her will to take the lives of anyone else in her way.

She was cowardly, and Dreadwing could smell it through her coolant as she heavily scoffed in an attempt to catch her breath. He only wondered where her companions were. It was obvious such a small scout wouldn't attempt this alone, even the pay wouldn't have been worth it. Stealing such an important device from the firm grip of a Decepticon Captain alone was foolish...outright suicide.

"A femme?" There were hardly any around as of late...such easy targets throughout the consistent battles of the war.

"Dreadwing, I assume." Synopsis winced, just barely realizing that his explosion had unhitched the retina her right optic, the glow now dimming into a monotonous gray as the femme narrowed her sharp gaze. She was terrified. There was no coming out of this alright...there were too many. That made her inner wiring tense vividly, expressing the fear that bothered her into a shaken mess of metal.

"Most would confuse me with my twin." The word came out crisp and defined...'twin'. And how casual he spoke...it was almost stifling to listen to his small talk, knowing that he'd kill her without hesitation if necessary. First he might talk her to death with such an intelligent and thoughtful vocabulary, then rip out her spark when he was done.

"I've studied both of you as a precaution. Skyquake's too much of a blunder, and more importantly he's stationed on some remote planet for energon mining. I'm lucky...if you were your brother my spark would be shards by now." He narrowed his gaze, looking to the shakiness obvious in her right leg and the nonfunctioning optic that managed a dim flicker. Her teammates, the ones who'd failed in their first attempt in retrieving the program, wouldn't be far.

"I would advise you to cooperate." She coughed, unsure of what the simple phrase had fully implied. Ah...Wheeljack, Highride, Seaspray...all somewhere around this burning dump of leftovers probably, or hopefully, miles away with the device that they'd come for. Stolen right from under the 'Con's faceplates.

"Clever, but...it won't work." The way she spoke, so fearless despite her appearance. Despite her shivering and how tense she was, and despite her stiff expression of anxiety. Her expression deceived her.

"It would not hurt to try." He smirked, something she though was so off, so out of character despite her lack of knowledge of the 'Con himself. His stare was sharp; his servos both fisted and his movements completely controlled.

"I think it would."

Alright...this sucks you guys. I have so many damn ideas for TFP Oc fics, and I'm not even done with my Soundwave one. Anyway, I'm currently vacationing in Missouri and through that'd I'd update what I wrote on the plane. Second chapter has maybe a paragraph to go before I post it. (After feedback of course.) c;

Plus, I want to see how people will take the chapter so far. If you guys approve then I'll add chapter two. :P

Love You Guise c: