My story for the Transformers Halloween Contest, hosted by Alice Gone Madd!
Title: To Know True Fear
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: T in general, M for gore and pure unadulterated insanity. :)
Universe: Prime AU, with some G1 characters and my OCs thrown in. AU is mine.
Warning(s): Violence, gore, death. Intense madness.
NOT for the easily nauseated!
Enjoy! :)
The target was in range. Oh so close..he could nearly taste it. A slight grin turned his mouthplates, exposing flashing white dentia. His visor flashed, claws and daggers unsheathed. Oh, he would never see him coming...
The mech he was stalking slowed his pace, large doorwings twitching as if he sensed the offlined signal of his persecutor.
He froze, ventilation mechanisms halted. Fierce claws and daggers were unsheathed, and the crystal visor flashed. No, he could not be caught...this prey was too valuable...yes, it would be so satisfying to taste that prey, to tear him apart and savor his screams of desired agony and futile attempts to cry for help and mercy like the miserable, pathetic pit-bound wretch it was...
He watched as his quarry continued on. His frame was shaking in anticipation...oh, how he could not wait until he captured him...yes...
His intakes were taunted by the scent...the scent of Energon...hot, sweet, delicious Energon...oh, yes, how he longed -no, yearned- for it. A laugh escaped him, a sound full of pure sadistic intent and desire. His steps quickened; he was agile and silent on his pedes...no, the prey should not...should not, could not, would not..be able to find him.
Oh, just look at him now. All innocent and noble and kind...
...and cold and cruel and guilty and murderous...
...never wanting any harm to come to others...
...wanting to tear into his enemies with the manic cloud of hunger and want cloaking him...
YES...
The laugh was even louder now. His prey could hear him, of that he was sure, now. Those pretty blue optics darting around...ha. As if he would be able to see him.
"Jazz, there's something you should see." The low, irritated tone of the feared swordsmech known as Wheeljack sounded on his comm.
"What is it?" the saboteur demanded, dentia bared as the object of his sights vanished around a corner.
A disappointed vent escaped him.
No snack tonight...
The rasping tone of the insane swordsmech tore into his thoughts.
"Prowl's back."
Those few words alone snapped him out of the black, murderous mood he had been in.
Jazz decided he had never moved so quickly in his life.
... ... ...
Wheeljack's corrupted signal was not far from his position. When he arrived, tires squealing and brakes hissing as he transformed quick enough to give any normal mech a few twisted limbs, he nearly collided with a mass of mechs and femmes. He was at Iacon's entrance gate, where they were gathered. Apparently, judging on the murmured words his enhanced auditory receptors picked up, Prowl had shown up after quartexes of unexcused absence, in which he had been assumed termiated or captured, horribly injured and barely conscious. He had only managed to get one word out before going into critical stasis:
Jazz.
Ironhide was currently standing almost protectively over his comrade Ratchet, who was muttering beneath his ventilations as he worked on the damaged SIC. There were mechs and femmes crowded around the entrance to Iacon, all murmuring and shouting and as confused as a sparkling lost in a city. Everybot had assumed Prowl had either been captured or terminated. For him to show up now...
One could understand the absolute frustration that overwhelmed the Polyhexian when he struggled to see through the crowd, to catch the slightest glimpse of the familiar pair of black, red, and white doorwings, the warm golden optics, or even the lean, extremely tall Praxian frame.
But what terrified him, rather than lift up his spirits, was the large pool of dark blue and silver Energon flooding the ground, one that was rapidly growing and seeping through the unsuspecting crowd, nearly touching his pedes...and he was in the back...
He was barely aware he was moving as he approached Ratchet, who was steadying the unconscious frame of their SIC. Ironhide's massive frame did nothing to improve his futile attempts. Finally he gave up, deciding for the easy approach.
"Prowler!"
"You can stop right there!" Ratchet rose, dark optics blazing as Ironhide gently switched places with him to be Prowl's crutch. "There is no reason for you to be here! Who contacted you?"
"I did," a low, crooning voice hissed as a tall, lanky frame materialized out of the inky shadows. Bright green optics blazed with an insane light as long and sharp dentia were exposed in an unnerving grin; refined black armor flared as huge menacing claws flexed, connected to long and thin digits. "Thought he would like to know. Prowl is his bondmate, after all."
"We are not bondmates, Wheeljack!" Jazz growled, armor flaring from his powerful streamlined frame. His lip curled into a snarl as he faced the storm-grey medic. "What happened and why can't Ah see 'im?"
Ratchet bared his own dentia, dark armor set in a threatening flare. "Prime's orders. We are to stop you from seeing Prowl for the moment."
"Might Ah ask why?"
"No, you may not," the medic shot back. "He is in a condition that is worse for the wear."
"Ya can't restrict meh from seein' mah partner," Jazz growled, optics narrowing.
"I don't care if you are third-in-command, Jazz; as a medic, I can." Ratchet stood towering over the Polyhexian. "Your presence will only be a distraction. Rumors will be spread, and I know you do not want them...unless you are in a relationship with our SIC?"
Jazz snarled, visor blazing. "If ya so much as ask meh tha' again..." His frame swayed suddenly, core temperature falling dramatically as his equilibrium decided to readjust itself to unnecessary capacities.
Ratchet growled in return, his iron grasp immediately steadying the saboteur. Opening a private, triple-encrypted comm., he hissed at the smaller mech. /You were in the middle of a hunt?/
/Isn't it obvious?/ Jazz shoved the other away, baring razor dentia at anyone who stared at his trembling frame. /Ah can't stand it, Ratch. They all smell so good...ya smell so good.../
/Enough of that./ The medic signaled Wheeljack. /You are not going to snap. Prime will blow a massive fuse if you do, and we both know no one wants that./ His dark optics pierced the saboteur.
The towering mech slunk through the crowd over to them. "Yes?"
Ratchet ignored the insanity clear in the swordsmech's intense burning gaze. "Jazz needs immediate refuel. You know what to do."
Wheeljack hissed in agreement, beginning to drag the Polyhexian away, before he broke free.
"No! Ah need ta see Prowler!"
Ratchet growled, stepping in the route of the disoriented, ravenous soldier. "No."
"Get outta mah way, Ratchet." The Polyhexian snarled, armor flared. "Ah need ta see 'im."
"You do not need anything. You only want," the medic countered, sharp dentia bared.
With a vicious growl, Jazz ducked past the taller mech and towards the injured Praxian, uncaring of the lifeblood soaking his pedes. Horror crept its slimy way into his spark as he took in the scene.
Prowl lay in the rapidly increasing puddle of his own blood. The sight was horrible.
Blood was everywhere. His pedes were twisted, enough to show the shattered infrastructure and crooked armor that had been pushed inward. The armor on his lower legs was coated in rust and something that looked like green slime. Pieces of his upper torso armor were broken and shredded, coated in drying Energon even as the wounds beneath them continued to bleed. The Praxian's arms were the only thing left intact, despite the peeled metal that looked better off destroyed than fixed. But the main thing that horrified Jazz was the mech's doorwings.
The once beautful, refined armor was completely gone, not even the slightest bit of it covering the skeletal remains. The dark infrastructure was exposed, reaching out like the dried and yearning branches of a dying tree.
Jazz snarled, visor blazing as he faced the medic. "Who did this?"
Ratchet's vents hissed. "That is the thing." His voice was icy cold, tense and strained.
"We do not know."
There, chapter one! Hope you liked!