Transformers: Still Before the Storm
V3.0.1
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.
Part One:
Not from stars do I my judgement pluck;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
By oft predict that I in heaven find -
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive;
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
--Mr. W. H. (condensed)
"Pi, why must you go?" Straxion asked pointedly. His optics smoldered with a keen intellect that smothered out the innocence of his youth. He held his heavy frame stiff; his countenance aloof. His only defense... He was acutely aware of what was happening, even if he didn't understand it. The confusion compounded his pain.
Pi could only stare at this enigma she called son. He was something she could never understand, certainly not relate to. Pi turned to Trak, the elder twin. The youth clung to her hand, as if only she had the power to keep the Pits of Inferno at bay. Pi's optics flickered as she knelt down and cupped Trak's head with her free hand.
"Trak be good," She instructed, making optic contact. Her gaze avoided direct contact with the other twin. "Trak help Strax." Trak nodded, trying to be brave. A glimmer of understanding had crept into Trak's optics. The near resemblance to Straxion frightened Pi. Had she only fooled herself into thinking that the twins were different? Thinking, hoping that one would be enough like her. Pi bit her lip, and said, "Pi be back-"
"No." The tone of finality contrasted Straxion's still undeveloped voice. "You won't." He would not be lied to. And he lost respect at his mother's fallacious attempts to ease their parting. Pi bowed her head, unable to make optic contact with either son.
Trak stared at the hunched over mountain of his mother, as he also bit on his lip. He was torn inside. Wanting desperately to believe his mother's words, but truth irrevocable was with Straxion. The undeniable feeling that he'd never see her again. Overwhelmed, he threw his arms around her neck and clung desperately to the only security he had ever known.
The Decepticon that had been waiting with growing impatience, grit his teeth and snarled at Pi. He couldn't stand one more decibreem of this warmed over slag. "That's enough!" He screeched, as he wrenched Trak from Pi and shoved the boy in the direction of his brother. "You!" He shoved his index finger into Pi's face, forcing her to rise to avoid him. "You get back to your work station before I slag you!" He yelled putting himself between her and her children.
Pi raised up to her full, monolithic height. Her gaze -- once trained to avoid contact with her superiors -- hardened. She hesitated, as her instincts to protect her children fought with the slavish, weak-willed, every-day nature. Her awareness of her social class won out and her shoulders slumped. "Pi obey," she whispered, as she turned and walked away. Her stride slow, and broken, her Spark contrite. She refused to look back.
"Pi!" Trak's wail pierced Straxion's fuel pump. Straxion quickly grabbed his brother's arm, sensing that Trak was about to bolt after their mother. An equal match with raw physical strength. Straxion had an innate understanding of the principles and laws of physics. His reaction was quick, but detached and levelheaded. He had seen this horrid day coming and had mentally prepared for it as best as his inexperience had allowed. Still, it wasn't enough. Secretly Straxion envied the way his brother could indulge in emotional outbursts, as he calmly held Trak back.
The 'Con's thin leash of restraint was severally frayed with impatience. And for one frightful moment he had thought he had bit off more than he could chew when he challenged the labor 'Bot. She had almost snapped, and the 'Con was still trying to swallow his fuel pump from that. His agitation and dissipating fear was channeled into the one emotion he could handle. "Get moving you slags!" he snapped grabbing Trak once more and shoving him in the direction they were supposed to head in. Now that he had something relatively helpless to focus his anger on the Con was feeling better by degrees.
As they marched along towards the waiting transport, the Con began to fume and muse about the twins. He murmured against the Autobrats, and how it demeaned him to have to escort them to the Decepticons' Youth Center. What was so special about 'em anyway? They came from the labor class, the absolute lowest rung on the social ladder. The not so quiet questions and complaints were colored with obscenities the twins had never heard before, and Trak flinched at some of the harsher 'descriptions'.
The Decepticon was tempted to release his contention in sadistic ways and a cruel snarlish smile played on his lips, as he asked the boys rhetorically which one wanted to die first. The wind blew at that moment, and the Decepticon paled. The soft reminder that Tricrom was always watching. The Decepticon held his tongue for the remainder of his time with the youths - he valued his life more than he despised these 'Bots in his charge.
"Trak don't wanna' be a con," Trak confided to Straxion as he sneaked one more hopeful glance behind as he entered the transport. He realized that his mother wasn't going to rescue them in the last breem.
Straxion groaned deep within himself and lowered his head. Trak had made an awful habit of sounding stupider than he really was. A sad attempt to relate better with their dull-witted mother. They, both Trak and Straxion were better than that. They had the intellectual capacities that rivaled the average adult. All they ever had was their wits, and each other. It shamed Straxion to see Trak in such a regressed state.
Trak looked at his brother, sensing the shift in Straxion's countenance. Trak wasn't sure exactly how or why, but he knew he had done something that disappointed Strax. And Straxion was the only familiar thing left in this too strange, too big world.
"I'm sorry," Trak whispered as they settled into the transport. Straxion nodded, barely looking at Trak. Straxion turned his attention to the blurring scenery outside the view port. Trak sighed and looked forlornly at his feet. Unobtrusively, Straxion laid his hand on Trak's, as he continued to gaze studiously out the window. This was Strax's way of letting Trak know that things were alright between them. That they were together.
**
Part Two:
Fever-filled half-way,
My dreams arose
To march again...
Into a hollow land
--Basho (Death song)
"Don't!" Straxion growled, as he scrambled to save the collapsing structure of building blocks. He glared at Tork as the hopeless architecture washed into a wave of blocks at Straxion's feet. The Decepticon youth that had incited the chaos may have been more physically developed, but was sorely deficient in maturity.
"Whatcha' goin' to do 'bout it?" Tork taunted. Bemused that he had finally found something that could entice a reaction from the phlegmatic and reclusive Straxion. He grinned at the Autoslagger, waiting to see if the 'Bot dared to answer his question. He got his answer, only not from Straxion. The Decepticon met the floor up close and personal as Trak tackled him.
Tork roared with surprise and rage, as he struggled to free himself from the younger 'Bot's bulk. Trak fought to keep the 'Con pinned. He was committed to not let Tork free at this point. The Con had a nasty habit of attacking to maim at the slightest provocation, and Trak didn't relish the consequences of what would happen to him should he lose the upper hand in the slightest.
Tork was gaining leverage, at this rate he'd be free. Desperately, Trak grabbed Tork's head with an iron grip and slammed it, with all his strength, into the floor. The resounding crack of metal on metal drew the attention of the other Cons. And the converged around the fight, like sharks to blood. The ambience of the room intensified as they crowded around the two. They could sense a potential shift of power in their hierarchy, and their duplicitous loyalties rolled and ebbed to ultimately flock to the winner's banner.
Trak was swallowed whole by fear, as he kept sweeping away Tork's clawing hand. He thrust Tork's head with redoubled effort. Some how Trak found a part of himself detached and watching what he was doing. He found a channel to release all the pent up frustrations and pain of the last several orns. There was a perverse pleasure in watching Tork's head conform to the shape of the floor - To hearing his name in a fevered chanting of his peers as they goaded him on.
Straxion watch with horror and revulsion as his brother got sucked into the world of these pit-spawned demons. He had never asked Trak to fight his battles. Straxion stirred himself to action. This madness had to stop, now. Time seemed to slow as Straxion pushed his way though the crowd to get to his brother.
Tork's head rang; the reverberation different than before - a secondary rattle, like a muffled scream. Tork gasped and went limp. His optics lost focus, flickering once twice, fading to a dull black. Silence. The other Decepticon youths gawked, numbed by what they had just witnessed. Frozen; unable to process the magnitude of what had just transpired.
Trak released Tork's mangled head with a staccato flick, horrified by the consequences of what he had done. "Tork?" The Decepticon didn't respond. "Tork?!" Trak demanded, shaking him. The silence remained, overwhelming. The youth's hide was fading to an ash gray...Trak bolted off and away from the inert mass of one-living metal. Straxion caught him.
"Look at me," Straxion told him.
"I- I- I- Just - Just wanted to protect-" Trak stammered as he started to turn around to look again upon the work of his hands.
"Trak!" Straxion screamed forcefully, as he shook his brother in an effort to stop his progress. "Look at me! Focus, on me!"
"I-" Trak started again.
"Trak!!" The whip-crack voice cut through the somber hysteria like a laser. The youths parted, leaving a line between Trak and the bunker's commander, Stray. The Decepticon strode into the room surveying the situation. He hesitated at the sight of Tork's body. He'd been too late to save the waste-of-space, but that had been a risk he was willing to take. He looked back at Trak. It was better that Trak had ended it here. If the roles were reverse Tork would have actually reveled in crushing Trak. As it was the young hillock seemed to be in shock, sick with burgeoning guilt. Stray decided to fix that right now. Stopping short of Tork, the Decepticon commander ordered Trak forward to meet at his handy work. Straxion ghosted his brother, still of a mind to comfort him.
"Did I give you permission to move?" Stray demanded of Straxion, as he snarled his disapproval. The harsh light of his red optics riveted the younger 'Bot. Straxion returned the glare, as he continued to pace Trak. The defiant silence carried the obvious retort 'did you forbid me?' Stray was taken aback, unused to having any ankle-biters under his command question or challenge his authority.
Stray lashed out, backhanding Straxion square in the jaw. The young Bot staggered under the weight of the blow without even a dignifying grunt. Trak was spinning around to attend to Straxion, when Stray caught him by the arm and jerked him to a halt. The glare that failed to phase Straxion, quailed Trak.
"I-" Trak tried to explain. Stopping when the grip on his wrist tightened to painful proportions.
"Pick Tork up and come with me," Stray ordered, releasing Trak. "Your 'sister' can blow his own nose without your help.." Stray looked at Straxion. The 'Bot returned an even, impassive stare. Not even bothering to nurse the sore jaw he had just received. It was unnerving for Stray to look at this 'Bot. He had the demeanor of a true predator - observant, calculating. Not given to the hot passions of fear or anger, practically emotionless.
Trak stared Tork's lifeless optics - the black orbs reflected the luminance of the room as they seemed to gape back. "Now!" Stray snapped, breaking Trak's trance. Trak looked up with a start. Then hesitantly, loath to touch it, slowly he shifted Tork until he could lift the dead weight on to his shoulder.
Stray strode purposefully towards the exit, Trak struggling behind, Tork's feet scraping along in a disconcerting stop-start rhythm. Stray gave one more look at Straxion before he left the room. Only Straxion's cool gaze moved, following the commander as if he were prey.
Down the corridor, Stray picked up his pace. Trak lumbered, laboring to keep up, then slowed down. Stray paused. "Move it!" He snapped. Trak had effectively clogged Stray's otherwise smooth orn with extra reports and the unpleasant duty of waste disposal. Trak was going to learn the consequences by taking a share of the duties he had created for Stray.
Trak started to hurry again at Stray's insistence, but he was distracted. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Was it Tork's ghost that writhed and twisted in the shadows, just out of direct vision? The wraith watched several more moments before it shimmered, withdrawing into the wall.
"I - Yes sir..." Trak swallowed. Then he hesitated once more before he marched on. He realized that he had just acted spineless, like Pi, afraid, obedient. In her world that was a good thing... But he was no longer of her world. He had been thrown to the 'Cons, to thrive or die. Tork's arm waved helplessly with each step Trak took. The weight of Tork's body was a symbol of this new reality, and the heavy reminder that Pi's world, the Autobot's world had passed forever from him. He had become the one thing he had fought so hard against - A Decepticon.
Part Three:
"As My heart prompts Me,
"I can make its fate good or bad."
--Ninhursag
"How utterly fascinating -" Tricrom purred to himself as he studied the psychological profiles of Trak and Straxion. The twins were almost four vorns old. It was interesting how their personalities had diverged so much, given that they had the same parents, grew up in the same environment. Both of them had potential for the particular role they had been bred for. Especially Straxion. Given time that youth could be groomed for greater purposes - Tricrom's optics flickered over to Omni. She cradled their newborn son, as she paced just behind his monitors. Tricrom returned his view to the screen, a ghost of a smile on his thin lips. No, he had other plans for Straxion.
Omni continued to circuit back and forth, nervous with having to be here. Wishing that Tricrom would dismiss them. She had managed to settle Winger for the fourth time, when a shadow of movement in her peripheral vision startled her. She turned to see Tricrom leaning towards her, as he swiveled one of the monitors to face her. That faint, malicious smile was on his lips.
"Which one would you choose, my dear?" Tricrom casually inquired.
Omni stopped pacing and intently focused on the screen. Reading and re-reading it, stalling for time. She cautiously looked up at her husband, wondering what twisted scheme the old turbo-fox was concocting this orn. But more importantly, how exactly did he expect her to answer?
"It would depend on what results I wanted," Omni said with a carefully vague answer, giving up for loss trying to figure him out. She had learned in her time as his concubine that vague, unassuming response worked best to distract his attention - If he focused too long; Omni shivered with dread.
"Yes," Tricrom mused, as he swiveled the monitor back. "I'll separate the two. Re-graft them, see what happens." The irony that the labor-class Autobots could produce something of any measurable potential, let alone a potential that could rival himself. ... Pity such potential had to be wasted... Tricrom laughed, and Omni backed away learily of him. His moods were too non-sequitur, too unpredictable.
*
Part Four:
For consider him that endured
Such contradiction of sinners
Against himself, lest ye be wearied
And faint in your minds.
--Hebrews 12:3
Straxion manipulated the last block of his structure with the finesse of a surgeon. Pausing, he lowered his head as he often did when rethinking his schematics. Then proceeded again, all of his attention locked on to this last block.
Trak was sitting opposite of his brother. His hands resting on drawn up knees, as he watched his Straxion's latest creation come to form. Straxion's talent at building had bloomed into a skill worthy of admiration. What had Trak done with the same three vorns? Other than becoming the 'leader' of his fuel-thirsty peers, nothing, nothing worth speaking of.
The shimmering above Straxion's head caught Trak's attention. "Do you see it?" Trak asked, stirring with the discomfort he felt whenever they - he was convinced that the apparitions were plural at this point - were around. "Behind you." Trak elaborated, pointing with a ham-finger.
Straxion gave an exaggerated sigh, as with methodic slowness, he turned his head to humor his brother. Turning back he was tense, and highly focused on that block again.
"A wall," Straxion stated firmly. "Nothing more." The shimmer seemed to listen to him, choosing that moment to fade away. Trak studied his brother's face, looking for some sign that he wasn't serious about what he had said. Did he truly not see 'them'? Was Trak just hallucinating? No. No. He cannot be mad.
"I'm not crazy, Strax." Trak's affirmation sounded weak, as if he didn't quite believe himself.
"I know."
"I've seen them for almost 3 vorns now..."
"I know."
"When I first saw them I thought it was Tork... Coming back from the pits to punish me. But there is more than one, and -"
"It's not a punishment. Rather it's a gift..." Straxion concluded. Trak nodded, uncertain how much he agreed with the statement. "I believe you Trak, when you say you can see things others can't."
"Can you see them?"
Silence.
"Strax?"
"My particular talent is what you see before you," Straxion answered, making a sweeping indication of the structure, and the blocks that lay littered around it.
"I know," Trak murmured, looking at his own hands. He too had a talent, one more contrast to the brother he loved so much.
***
(More to come...)
V3.0.1
By Waspinatrix (waspinatrix@hotmail.com)
Legalese: Transformers, Autobots, Decepticons, Cybertron and the Matrix concept are trademarks and copyrights of HasKen. They are used without permission for entertainment without profit.
This story, The characters: Pi, Stray, Tork, Prima Omni, Roc, Raz, Loq, Winger, Cord, Trak, Tesh, Ping, Straxion, BlackIce, Tricrom, AlphaWave. The Seuq game, and the Shade/Shadow assassin concept are copyright of Waspinatrix 1997-2000. The story is not to be redistributed in whole or part with out my permission. Please do not use any of my characters without my permission.
Part One:
Not from stars do I my judgement pluck;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell;
By oft predict that I in heaven find -
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive;
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.
--Mr. W. H. (condensed)
"Pi, why must you go?" Straxion asked pointedly. His optics smoldered with a keen intellect that smothered out the innocence of his youth. He held his heavy frame stiff; his countenance aloof. His only defense... He was acutely aware of what was happening, even if he didn't understand it. The confusion compounded his pain.
Pi could only stare at this enigma she called son. He was something she could never understand, certainly not relate to. Pi turned to Trak, the elder twin. The youth clung to her hand, as if only she had the power to keep the Pits of Inferno at bay. Pi's optics flickered as she knelt down and cupped Trak's head with her free hand.
"Trak be good," She instructed, making optic contact. Her gaze avoided direct contact with the other twin. "Trak help Strax." Trak nodded, trying to be brave. A glimmer of understanding had crept into Trak's optics. The near resemblance to Straxion frightened Pi. Had she only fooled herself into thinking that the twins were different? Thinking, hoping that one would be enough like her. Pi bit her lip, and said, "Pi be back-"
"No." The tone of finality contrasted Straxion's still undeveloped voice. "You won't." He would not be lied to. And he lost respect at his mother's fallacious attempts to ease their parting. Pi bowed her head, unable to make optic contact with either son.
Trak stared at the hunched over mountain of his mother, as he also bit on his lip. He was torn inside. Wanting desperately to believe his mother's words, but truth irrevocable was with Straxion. The undeniable feeling that he'd never see her again. Overwhelmed, he threw his arms around her neck and clung desperately to the only security he had ever known.
The Decepticon that had been waiting with growing impatience, grit his teeth and snarled at Pi. He couldn't stand one more decibreem of this warmed over slag. "That's enough!" He screeched, as he wrenched Trak from Pi and shoved the boy in the direction of his brother. "You!" He shoved his index finger into Pi's face, forcing her to rise to avoid him. "You get back to your work station before I slag you!" He yelled putting himself between her and her children.
Pi raised up to her full, monolithic height. Her gaze -- once trained to avoid contact with her superiors -- hardened. She hesitated, as her instincts to protect her children fought with the slavish, weak-willed, every-day nature. Her awareness of her social class won out and her shoulders slumped. "Pi obey," she whispered, as she turned and walked away. Her stride slow, and broken, her Spark contrite. She refused to look back.
"Pi!" Trak's wail pierced Straxion's fuel pump. Straxion quickly grabbed his brother's arm, sensing that Trak was about to bolt after their mother. An equal match with raw physical strength. Straxion had an innate understanding of the principles and laws of physics. His reaction was quick, but detached and levelheaded. He had seen this horrid day coming and had mentally prepared for it as best as his inexperience had allowed. Still, it wasn't enough. Secretly Straxion envied the way his brother could indulge in emotional outbursts, as he calmly held Trak back.
The 'Con's thin leash of restraint was severally frayed with impatience. And for one frightful moment he had thought he had bit off more than he could chew when he challenged the labor 'Bot. She had almost snapped, and the 'Con was still trying to swallow his fuel pump from that. His agitation and dissipating fear was channeled into the one emotion he could handle. "Get moving you slags!" he snapped grabbing Trak once more and shoving him in the direction they were supposed to head in. Now that he had something relatively helpless to focus his anger on the Con was feeling better by degrees.
As they marched along towards the waiting transport, the Con began to fume and muse about the twins. He murmured against the Autobrats, and how it demeaned him to have to escort them to the Decepticons' Youth Center. What was so special about 'em anyway? They came from the labor class, the absolute lowest rung on the social ladder. The not so quiet questions and complaints were colored with obscenities the twins had never heard before, and Trak flinched at some of the harsher 'descriptions'.
The Decepticon was tempted to release his contention in sadistic ways and a cruel snarlish smile played on his lips, as he asked the boys rhetorically which one wanted to die first. The wind blew at that moment, and the Decepticon paled. The soft reminder that Tricrom was always watching. The Decepticon held his tongue for the remainder of his time with the youths - he valued his life more than he despised these 'Bots in his charge.
"Trak don't wanna' be a con," Trak confided to Straxion as he sneaked one more hopeful glance behind as he entered the transport. He realized that his mother wasn't going to rescue them in the last breem.
Straxion groaned deep within himself and lowered his head. Trak had made an awful habit of sounding stupider than he really was. A sad attempt to relate better with their dull-witted mother. They, both Trak and Straxion were better than that. They had the intellectual capacities that rivaled the average adult. All they ever had was their wits, and each other. It shamed Straxion to see Trak in such a regressed state.
Trak looked at his brother, sensing the shift in Straxion's countenance. Trak wasn't sure exactly how or why, but he knew he had done something that disappointed Strax. And Straxion was the only familiar thing left in this too strange, too big world.
"I'm sorry," Trak whispered as they settled into the transport. Straxion nodded, barely looking at Trak. Straxion turned his attention to the blurring scenery outside the view port. Trak sighed and looked forlornly at his feet. Unobtrusively, Straxion laid his hand on Trak's, as he continued to gaze studiously out the window. This was Strax's way of letting Trak know that things were alright between them. That they were together.
**
Part Two:
Fever-filled half-way,
My dreams arose
To march again...
Into a hollow land
--Basho (Death song)
"Don't!" Straxion growled, as he scrambled to save the collapsing structure of building blocks. He glared at Tork as the hopeless architecture washed into a wave of blocks at Straxion's feet. The Decepticon youth that had incited the chaos may have been more physically developed, but was sorely deficient in maturity.
"Whatcha' goin' to do 'bout it?" Tork taunted. Bemused that he had finally found something that could entice a reaction from the phlegmatic and reclusive Straxion. He grinned at the Autoslagger, waiting to see if the 'Bot dared to answer his question. He got his answer, only not from Straxion. The Decepticon met the floor up close and personal as Trak tackled him.
Tork roared with surprise and rage, as he struggled to free himself from the younger 'Bot's bulk. Trak fought to keep the 'Con pinned. He was committed to not let Tork free at this point. The Con had a nasty habit of attacking to maim at the slightest provocation, and Trak didn't relish the consequences of what would happen to him should he lose the upper hand in the slightest.
Tork was gaining leverage, at this rate he'd be free. Desperately, Trak grabbed Tork's head with an iron grip and slammed it, with all his strength, into the floor. The resounding crack of metal on metal drew the attention of the other Cons. And the converged around the fight, like sharks to blood. The ambience of the room intensified as they crowded around the two. They could sense a potential shift of power in their hierarchy, and their duplicitous loyalties rolled and ebbed to ultimately flock to the winner's banner.
Trak was swallowed whole by fear, as he kept sweeping away Tork's clawing hand. He thrust Tork's head with redoubled effort. Some how Trak found a part of himself detached and watching what he was doing. He found a channel to release all the pent up frustrations and pain of the last several orns. There was a perverse pleasure in watching Tork's head conform to the shape of the floor - To hearing his name in a fevered chanting of his peers as they goaded him on.
Straxion watch with horror and revulsion as his brother got sucked into the world of these pit-spawned demons. He had never asked Trak to fight his battles. Straxion stirred himself to action. This madness had to stop, now. Time seemed to slow as Straxion pushed his way though the crowd to get to his brother.
Tork's head rang; the reverberation different than before - a secondary rattle, like a muffled scream. Tork gasped and went limp. His optics lost focus, flickering once twice, fading to a dull black. Silence. The other Decepticon youths gawked, numbed by what they had just witnessed. Frozen; unable to process the magnitude of what had just transpired.
Trak released Tork's mangled head with a staccato flick, horrified by the consequences of what he had done. "Tork?" The Decepticon didn't respond. "Tork?!" Trak demanded, shaking him. The silence remained, overwhelming. The youth's hide was fading to an ash gray...Trak bolted off and away from the inert mass of one-living metal. Straxion caught him.
"Look at me," Straxion told him.
"I- I- I- Just - Just wanted to protect-" Trak stammered as he started to turn around to look again upon the work of his hands.
"Trak!" Straxion screamed forcefully, as he shook his brother in an effort to stop his progress. "Look at me! Focus, on me!"
"I-" Trak started again.
"Trak!!" The whip-crack voice cut through the somber hysteria like a laser. The youths parted, leaving a line between Trak and the bunker's commander, Stray. The Decepticon strode into the room surveying the situation. He hesitated at the sight of Tork's body. He'd been too late to save the waste-of-space, but that had been a risk he was willing to take. He looked back at Trak. It was better that Trak had ended it here. If the roles were reverse Tork would have actually reveled in crushing Trak. As it was the young hillock seemed to be in shock, sick with burgeoning guilt. Stray decided to fix that right now. Stopping short of Tork, the Decepticon commander ordered Trak forward to meet at his handy work. Straxion ghosted his brother, still of a mind to comfort him.
"Did I give you permission to move?" Stray demanded of Straxion, as he snarled his disapproval. The harsh light of his red optics riveted the younger 'Bot. Straxion returned the glare, as he continued to pace Trak. The defiant silence carried the obvious retort 'did you forbid me?' Stray was taken aback, unused to having any ankle-biters under his command question or challenge his authority.
Stray lashed out, backhanding Straxion square in the jaw. The young Bot staggered under the weight of the blow without even a dignifying grunt. Trak was spinning around to attend to Straxion, when Stray caught him by the arm and jerked him to a halt. The glare that failed to phase Straxion, quailed Trak.
"I-" Trak tried to explain. Stopping when the grip on his wrist tightened to painful proportions.
"Pick Tork up and come with me," Stray ordered, releasing Trak. "Your 'sister' can blow his own nose without your help.." Stray looked at Straxion. The 'Bot returned an even, impassive stare. Not even bothering to nurse the sore jaw he had just received. It was unnerving for Stray to look at this 'Bot. He had the demeanor of a true predator - observant, calculating. Not given to the hot passions of fear or anger, practically emotionless.
Trak stared Tork's lifeless optics - the black orbs reflected the luminance of the room as they seemed to gape back. "Now!" Stray snapped, breaking Trak's trance. Trak looked up with a start. Then hesitantly, loath to touch it, slowly he shifted Tork until he could lift the dead weight on to his shoulder.
Stray strode purposefully towards the exit, Trak struggling behind, Tork's feet scraping along in a disconcerting stop-start rhythm. Stray gave one more look at Straxion before he left the room. Only Straxion's cool gaze moved, following the commander as if he were prey.
Down the corridor, Stray picked up his pace. Trak lumbered, laboring to keep up, then slowed down. Stray paused. "Move it!" He snapped. Trak had effectively clogged Stray's otherwise smooth orn with extra reports and the unpleasant duty of waste disposal. Trak was going to learn the consequences by taking a share of the duties he had created for Stray.
Trak started to hurry again at Stray's insistence, but he was distracted. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Was it Tork's ghost that writhed and twisted in the shadows, just out of direct vision? The wraith watched several more moments before it shimmered, withdrawing into the wall.
"I - Yes sir..." Trak swallowed. Then he hesitated once more before he marched on. He realized that he had just acted spineless, like Pi, afraid, obedient. In her world that was a good thing... But he was no longer of her world. He had been thrown to the 'Cons, to thrive or die. Tork's arm waved helplessly with each step Trak took. The weight of Tork's body was a symbol of this new reality, and the heavy reminder that Pi's world, the Autobot's world had passed forever from him. He had become the one thing he had fought so hard against - A Decepticon.
Part Three:
"As My heart prompts Me,
"I can make its fate good or bad."
--Ninhursag
"How utterly fascinating -" Tricrom purred to himself as he studied the psychological profiles of Trak and Straxion. The twins were almost four vorns old. It was interesting how their personalities had diverged so much, given that they had the same parents, grew up in the same environment. Both of them had potential for the particular role they had been bred for. Especially Straxion. Given time that youth could be groomed for greater purposes - Tricrom's optics flickered over to Omni. She cradled their newborn son, as she paced just behind his monitors. Tricrom returned his view to the screen, a ghost of a smile on his thin lips. No, he had other plans for Straxion.
Omni continued to circuit back and forth, nervous with having to be here. Wishing that Tricrom would dismiss them. She had managed to settle Winger for the fourth time, when a shadow of movement in her peripheral vision startled her. She turned to see Tricrom leaning towards her, as he swiveled one of the monitors to face her. That faint, malicious smile was on his lips.
"Which one would you choose, my dear?" Tricrom casually inquired.
Omni stopped pacing and intently focused on the screen. Reading and re-reading it, stalling for time. She cautiously looked up at her husband, wondering what twisted scheme the old turbo-fox was concocting this orn. But more importantly, how exactly did he expect her to answer?
"It would depend on what results I wanted," Omni said with a carefully vague answer, giving up for loss trying to figure him out. She had learned in her time as his concubine that vague, unassuming response worked best to distract his attention - If he focused too long; Omni shivered with dread.
"Yes," Tricrom mused, as he swiveled the monitor back. "I'll separate the two. Re-graft them, see what happens." The irony that the labor-class Autobots could produce something of any measurable potential, let alone a potential that could rival himself. ... Pity such potential had to be wasted... Tricrom laughed, and Omni backed away learily of him. His moods were too non-sequitur, too unpredictable.
*
Part Four:
For consider him that endured
Such contradiction of sinners
Against himself, lest ye be wearied
And faint in your minds.
--Hebrews 12:3
Straxion manipulated the last block of his structure with the finesse of a surgeon. Pausing, he lowered his head as he often did when rethinking his schematics. Then proceeded again, all of his attention locked on to this last block.
Trak was sitting opposite of his brother. His hands resting on drawn up knees, as he watched his Straxion's latest creation come to form. Straxion's talent at building had bloomed into a skill worthy of admiration. What had Trak done with the same three vorns? Other than becoming the 'leader' of his fuel-thirsty peers, nothing, nothing worth speaking of.
The shimmering above Straxion's head caught Trak's attention. "Do you see it?" Trak asked, stirring with the discomfort he felt whenever they - he was convinced that the apparitions were plural at this point - were around. "Behind you." Trak elaborated, pointing with a ham-finger.
Straxion gave an exaggerated sigh, as with methodic slowness, he turned his head to humor his brother. Turning back he was tense, and highly focused on that block again.
"A wall," Straxion stated firmly. "Nothing more." The shimmer seemed to listen to him, choosing that moment to fade away. Trak studied his brother's face, looking for some sign that he wasn't serious about what he had said. Did he truly not see 'them'? Was Trak just hallucinating? No. No. He cannot be mad.
"I'm not crazy, Strax." Trak's affirmation sounded weak, as if he didn't quite believe himself.
"I know."
"I've seen them for almost 3 vorns now..."
"I know."
"When I first saw them I thought it was Tork... Coming back from the pits to punish me. But there is more than one, and -"
"It's not a punishment. Rather it's a gift..." Straxion concluded. Trak nodded, uncertain how much he agreed with the statement. "I believe you Trak, when you say you can see things others can't."
"Can you see them?"
Silence.
"Strax?"
"My particular talent is what you see before you," Straxion answered, making a sweeping indication of the structure, and the blocks that lay littered around it.
"I know," Trak murmured, looking at his own hands. He too had a talent, one more contrast to the brother he loved so much.
***
(More to come...)
