The blue dragonfly stood over his fallen opponent. He had fought a Predacon, on Predacon territory. There was a good chance someone had heard the ruckus, and was coming even now. If not, well, he could be patient. The accidental deaths had sobered him up somewhat, so that his usually belligerent demeanor was subsiding by necessity. He needed to remain calm long enough to get this all cleared up. He had defeated the Predacon - just a weak scout - and successfully reigned in his power, sparing the fallen one's life. The dents in the scout's armor were still significant, but not nearly as bad as what had happened to Taurius, Redtop or Moonhunter. Sensibly, he had waited for the other Predacon to initiate the attack, as he knew he would. No questions asked, the scout had attempted to ambush him. As long as it was the Predacons starting the conflict, he couldn't get in trouble for it.
He turned his small black eyes in the direction he expected them to come. He wasn't deep in their territory, which meant that they'd likely come from the direction of the base, or at least from further in, not out. The scout hadn't even been a challenge, but he still lived. This was the power that Streak had wanted, the ability to dispatch his enemies quickly and easily, which would leave room for some style. After all, who didn't want to live up to that image? What warrior didn't want to cut through a swathe of enemies and still have the cool to smile and casually nod to the younger bots?
Surely, that would be the life. With just a little more work, that could be him. His strength was definitely on par with a Prime right now, though it was certainly a different kind of power than any he'd heard of before. It was probably some internal weapon he hadn't known how to activate before...to think, he'd been functioning as a frail skirmisher for so long, when he had been meant for greatness! Once he proved his abilities here, it was conceivable that he'd prove himself to be too powerful to simply disassemble. He would agree to many years imprisoned if it meant being re-accepted into the Maximals to live out his dream as the preeminent fighter of the age. Certainly, even a century or two of penance for his unintended crime wouldn't be too long to wait for that rich reward. Now, all he had to do was wait.
As the Conquest colony's Survivalist Consultant, one of the first things the Predacon known as Toxicon had insisted when the colony had landed on the planet was the establishment of a sensor grid around their territory. Obviously something extensive and running all throughout their land would take time to construct and build. But they needed something that would provide an advance warning against incursions by large native creatures and any Maximals.
But of course, when the alarm had gone off, Toxicon himself was the only ranking officer available to respond to it, for whatever lame reasons. Only one Maximal energy signature had registered, but already a scout had reported hostile action. He knew their Maximal neighbors could not be trusted. For all their bravado and self-righteous ramblings, Maximals were even worse than Predacons. At least the Predacons fought for something. And so Toxicon had grabbed the first Predacon underling he could see and ordered her to follow him to the reported incursion. That was his first mistake. He should not have allowed his impatience to goad him on and waited for someone better suited for combat to heed his call. But the realization did not strike him until he was halfway to the Maximal's location.
When Toxicon decided to answer the alarm, Rift thought it natural to tail him. "Be a doll and watch the monitors," she pulled over some mech and forced him into her seat. "Be back in a tick." Rift had pelted down the halls, knocking into some very pissed Predacons, who would eventually get back at her, but for now, she was a one-track mind. To better hide herself, Rift assumed her beast mode outside of the Conquest, and followed ten, maybe twenty feet behind the shiny black creature. He was scary, no discernable eyeballs and a second set of jaws. Yick. He called his beast form a "xenomorph." At least he had a wicked tail, or Rift would give him zero points for a beauty pageant. She shook her head, destroying that track of thought.
There the Maximal stood, over a wounded Predacon. Toxicon knew of this one… Bane had come back after an encounter with him and put a price on his head. "You must have a death wish, Maximal," he hissed, saying "Maximal" as if it was the greatest of insults. He had heard that this Streak had once been a Predacon. To be called a Maximal now was indeed an insult. Streak shamed his warrior heritage.
Rift was confused. The mech opposite certainly didn't look like a Maximal. He wasn't spouting slag about peace treaties and Pax Cybertronia for one thing. Rift rolled her optics, and zoomed in on the 'Maximal'. A bright, pretty, perriwinkle blue. Gorgeous. Definitely a flier. Why else would he have appendages growing outta his butt? She tentatively crept up beside Toxicon, transforming back into robot mode.
Streak grimaced at the hideous thing that met him. What wasthat alt-form? He couldn't remember ever seeing anything so disgusting...or fearsome. This Predacon had certainly chosen right... if there was anyone to test his control against, this was it. A comparatively tame looking ferret stalked behind the first-comer. "Oh, I wouldn't say that, pretty-bot." He smirked, in classic form. He'd need that cockiness to keep calm in front of such a grotesque adversary. "Just came out to stretch my wings, and your little buddy here jumped me." The Predacon at his feet groaned. Made sense...he hadn't gotten off easy, even though the dragonfly was holding back.
"Kind of on the outs with the Maximals at the moment, so I needed to find someone else to jerk around. I remembered that the Predacons were always good for a scrap." He cracked his knuckles loudly and tilted his head suggestively at the monster Predacon before him. "Your little buddy should join in. I suppose you could still run. I wouldn't stop you. But knowing that you won't, I feel it only fair to tell you that you won't last long by yourself." The smirk widened into a toothy sneer, one of Streak's favorite expressions. Sometimes, he forgot just how well he fit amongst these people.
Most 'bots who mocked Toxicon's choice in an alternate mode regretted it before too long. He was not subject to the pitfalls of ego, but sometimes ignorance needed to be remedied with a swift and brutal lesson. Beauty was nothing compared to effectiveness, and this creature was nearly flawless in design. (Truth told, however, he himself found the beast's form aesthetically pleasing.) Warning or not, the scout had been doing his job. He would be commended if he returned to their base alive. This impertinent intruder either did not understand that or did not care. And his lackadaisical attitude to proper conduct aroused an ire in Toxicon that wanted to educate this Cybertronian. Toxicon did not care about his affiliation or who he was on good terms with. Maximal or Predacon, it didn't matter. He was an enemy who would soon learn the consequences of attacking a member of the Conquest expedition.
"Toxicon: Terrorize!" he snarled. Hand-standing, the creature's arms began the robot's legs. He shifted and contorted, finally settling into a form that had just enough silver and purple to break the monotonous black. The Predacon drew his rifle, waiving it in the air in warning. "I will give you one warning. One. Leave now or end up in a recycling bin back at our base. Our chief medic has a reputation of doing… unpleasant things to bodies."
Alright. Cool, fight coming up. And Hotshot Jr. was going to regret calling Rift little. She favored him with an equal amount of teeth, reaching up into her subspace pocket. Her tri-barreled blaster slid out, glinting menacingly. It was fully loaded with four devastating charges that would eat through Maxie's armor and if she was lucky it'd be able to deflate his big fat head too. She leveled her weapon at him, ignoring Toxicon entirely. He was important, and probably of higher rank, but all that Rift saw was the pretty periwinkle mech about to get his aft-kicking handed to him. "Well 'little buddy' wants to kick your aft single-handedly right now," she smiled sweetly, her voice like poisoned honey. "You think I can't take you cuz I'm a femme or something? Well I'm get a kick out dancing on your empty shell."
Unfortunately, his subordinate was less patient. He saw her allow the verbal jives to affect her, a mistake only a rookie would make. As she brought her gun to bare, he swiftly smacked the side of her head. "Wait!" he ordered harshly. "Do not let his meager insult affect you. They are the weapon of a small mind with little confidence. Give this fool his chance to leave with some dignity intact."
Streak's grin grew to its full width as the two prepared for battle. The ferret had given him the reaction he wanted, though the big ugly appeared a little more level-headed... what a shame. Having something that hideous bearing down on him in bright anger would have been a very good test of his self-control. As it was, he'd just have to give them some reason to make him panic. They still thought they had the upper hand.
The acceleration was immediate. With a single leap, Streak went from zero to a top speed faster than he could normally replicate even by wing, crashing into the purple and black monster without warning. Even as his inertia jarred into the heavier bot, time seemed to slow down for the dragonfly. As the xenomorph flew backward, Streak felt all of his internal systems heating up as the external world became sluggish in relation to his racing mind. He kicked off of the Predacon with his other foot before the blow would normally have even registered to him, and landed in front of the ferret. He could feel the strain on his gears as his hands lashed out, striking at the femme in lightning-like succession, though he was holding his strength back to only two or three times his usual range. His body was never meant to function at this speed...but even now, he could feel that rogue program working changes to make it operable at this time-slowing pace.
His flurry of blows ended in one straight-kick to the torso, sending her tumbling away from him. That was when he heard the whine from his internal servos, and he stepped away, allowing time catch up to him. The burning inside was intense, but the program was rapidly working to make the repairs... clearly, he wasn't ready to move at that speed yet, and had damaged himself. Still, the point would be clear enough to these two.
"One warning, huh? Well, I guess that's thoughtful and all, but I believe that I already made that offer to you.How do you really think this is going to end, Jaws?" He tried to use his smirk to hide his duress. He shouldn't have pushed himself so hard, he was supposed to be holding back. He could have managed the initial charge, but rebounding from the first attack and segueing into the second had been pushing his systems too far. Okay, so he had to reduce his strength for the sake of his opponents, but he'd need to reduce his speed to keep his own body together. One way or the other, he knew they had to be considering a hundred questions after seeing that display, most of which had to do with not getting killed.
Holy spaceballs! He's fa-! was probably the last coherent thought that went through Rift's processor. Streak was everywhere! Continous blows to her head, blowing out an audio, then another to her chest, cracking her armor. Then as a cherry on top, pretty periwinkle sent her flying with a kick in the gut. She must've gone offline for a second or two, cuz she woke up in a bush, pain signals flaring up from all her upper body receptors. She flickered her optics, bringing the fuzzy 5 dimension world she was seeing back into focus. Toxicon - Finally I figured out his name- was back on his feet. The lucky rat didn't even seem scratched.
The banter stage was over though. And Rift had never been good at banter, usually the barbs left her completely speechless and/or seething with anger. Battle was, in comparison, easy. Just point and shoot. She reached into subspace for her blaster... Slag! she had been holding it when periwinkle hit her. She had dropped it near Toxicon's feet.
Toxicon berated himself for not expecting such an attack. But how could he? Such speed defied the laws of physics! There was no way such a fragile-looking mech could accelerate so quickly without temporal manipulation. Cybertronians, for all their wartime and post-war technological advancements, still could not manipulate the fabric of space and time without large, bulky machines the size of a Seeker. And in truth, Toxicon hoped it always remain that way. If manipulating time ever became a pedestrian affair, than it was only inevitable that some fool would damage history irrevocably or even wipe out the universe as they knew it.
But at that very moment, Toxicon had to be more concerned with maintaining his life functions. Worrying that some idiot could wipe out his existence was a more existential matter for another day, if not a pointless exercise. He felt his foe body-slam him even before his optic sensors could process it, sending him flying back into a large tree. He hit it hard enough to be embedded into the wood, but the plant was thick and strong enough to not fall from such a blow. He himself would recover, easily prying himself out.
By the time he had freed himself, the intruder had already downed Rift, but that was no surprise. He seemed to have slowed down, and Toxicon could not pass up this opportunity. He might not have one again. Aiming his rifle, he sprayed a dozen pellets containing powerful acid not only directly for Streak, but all around him in the hopes of cutting off his chances of doging fire. "Today? I do not know. But you have now gained the enmity of the Conquest Predacons. Even if I do not stop you today, this will ultimately end in your termination."
Streak saw the ugly one pull himself up and open fire. He wasn't fast enough to dodge bullets, but somehow he was able to calculate the trajectory just by gauging the angle of the Predacon's gunbarrel with his eye. From there, it wasn't too difficult. His adversary fired haphazardly, pellets flying at him, to his left, to his right, and above him, but because each bullet passed much faster than Toxicon could pull the trigger again, there was always plenty of room to dodge, given that there was never more than one pellet flying his way at a given moment.
Well, it would have been easy, except that Streak's systems began to slow down again after dodging the first six shots. It must have been a sight, seeing him so casually avoid the first half-dozen, but the image of being untouchable was shattered as the next six impacted his thin armor. To Streak's enhanced senses, the splattering noise they made was almost as nasty as the bot himself looked. Then the pain kicked in.
"AH!" He crumpled to the ground, steam trailing up from his armor as he rolled behind the fallen Predacon. He was at his old speed again, and his internal systems were cooling down, but his outsides felt like they were on fire! Writhing in agony, he felt something profound changing within him. The pain began subsiding, and something alien began burbling up from his subprocessors. The program! No! he thought. Back off! It's under control, I don't have to kill them! He remembered how his old wounds had healed. The pain was gone now. He smiled sardonically before rising.
"Terminated, huh?" The holes Toxicon's acid had burned were repulsive...the thin armor had melted readily, but now...the wounds began closing. It had been slower before, now it was fast enough to actually see. "Get ready, because you won't get up after my second pass." Streak bared his teeth, and then his four wings roared into life, ten-fold louder than before. A whirlwind of cacophonous noise and flying debris surrounded the Maximal as he stared intently at his enemy.
What was this, some Maximal trickery? This was no ordinary Cybertronian, and even the normally even-keeled Toxicon was shocked by the rapid recovery of Streak's exo-structure. Perhaps they had experimented on him and driven him mad? Maybe he was not even mad, merely testing a new weapon for them under the guise of being a loner to prevent recriminations. There were rumors of the Maximal elders performing unethical experiments on their own kind, rumors Toxicon was inclined to believe. What better test subject than a former Predacon, someone who was not truly one of them?
Enough was enough. Quickly but calmly, Toxicon pressed a button on his arm, with glowed red briefly as he transmitted s signal back to base. He could swallow his pride if it meant preserving his own life and ending his foe's. "Do you know what I just did?" he asked. "I just transmitted a priority SOS to my base. Within moments, the entire security forces of the Conquest will be charging in, ready to end your life whether I am dead or now. Stick around long enough to kill us and they will end your existence. I doubt even a freak such as you can recover from complete vaporization."
Ordinarily, Streak would not have been able to hear a word spoken by the angry Predacon, but somehow he could make everything out in detail. A counter-threat, huh? Well, that wasn't much fun. Predacons were often up for going it alone, provided you found one whose bravado outmatched their fear. In this case, his opponent didn't seem particularly proud or fearful. Great, I go out to run a test and the guy I get is all business. I could have used more time! He felt a fast calculation run through his head, about the changes he would need to make to counteract that threat...
Changes? Just how far could this upgrade go? No matter what level he reached, he was still one bot. What psycho programming actually considered gearing up for a task like taking on an entire base full of Predacons? I'll definitely need to learn more about it... take things slow. I lost control after the first bout of changes, I can't get carried away with these alterations...
"Tch, you're no fun. Guess I'll see you later, Ugly." That was when something very peculiar happened. That side line of thought had continued contemplating changes, and he was met with an irresistible urge to take these bodies. Take them? He tried to tell his wings to carry him away, but that side thought wouldn't go away. For a moment, his wings stopped dead.
"Just how long do you think it would take me to terminate you?" he heard himself saying, and then he launched forward. When he stopped, he was standing on the far side of Rift, the small transformer between himself and Toxicon. The two of them were connected for a moment, frozen with their bodies linked. The dragonfly's arm was through his enemy, plunged straight through the torso like a fist through drywall, her spark guttered out instantly like candle flame in the hurricane. For an instant, the dragonfly's black eyes locked on Toxicon, and his characteristic smile wasn't there. The mouth was turned down in a slight frown, the head was tilted slightly to the side, as if the intelligence within was contemplating what to do with him. Wordlessly, the dragonfly took off, carrying the ferret by her dead insides. On his way out, Streak grabbed the first Predacon he'd met, leaving Toxicon behind as he shot through the air, back into the neutral territory.