'Sup, guys and gals? Didn't think I was dead, did 'ya?
I know some of you might remember the original version of this, but I can promise you that this is most definitely the better edition. Not much has changed base story wise, but there certainly is a difference in quality (aka- I finally learned how to write a decent one-shot). I hope you enjoy!
Oh, and for anyone who hasn't been informed as of yet, a vorn is the Cybertronian year and a cycle is their version of an hour. I had someone who read this before I posted ask what a vorn is. *shrugs* But I do have to warn you guys, this thing is way more graphic than the last one, so be warned.
The central sectors of Nion were quiet in the post-battle haze of exhaustion. Rubble cluttered every street, and the still-warm frames of the fallen lay motionless in glowing pools of energon. No surface was unscathed, scorch marks and craters left like ugly scars on everything the optic could see. Darkness crowded once-pristine buildings and oozed out of the city's pores like infection. Fires danced in the streets and waved eager farewells to the sparks of the dead while consuming everything in their paths.
As a lone medic made his way through the lifeless city streets, scanners out and weapon ready, he could not help but feel as if the optics of phantom enemies were tracking his every step. The sensation encouraged him to move faster, to reach his destination and escape the accusing stares of invisible optics. He didn't stop to check for survivors as he sprinted passed once-enemies and allies alike; there was only one whom he'd come for, one and one alone.
When the medic finally slowed his pace, the frantic whirring of his vents echoed off the hollow buildings around him. He had reached the co-ordinates, a mostly collapsed structure that consisted of a few terribly mauled walls in a field of blackened debris, and was horrified. The area looked like it had been bombed, dozens of homes and businesses left nearly flattened in the wake of yet another ferocious battle. It was amazing anyone survived such destruction.
Slowly, hesitantly, the medic tip-toed through the ruins. Each pedefall sparked a burst of sound as metal crunched and whined in protest, crying out like an injured sparkling to an unhearing world. Had the medic been more concerned with stealth, such cacophony would have frozen his spark in its casing, but for the moment he was far more interested in searching for what he had come to find-for who.
Optics bright with dread swept the area in a thorough gaze, no spot overlooked, and the medic moved deeper into the broken room. He knew he was close, but the chunks of wall and ceiling that shrouded anything further in made it hard to tell exactly. Visuals were getting him nowhere, precious time wasted on a fruitless task. Not even his more sophisticated spark-scanner registered anyone hiding nearby. There was no steady marker to guide the medic, no signal to follow, no indication of life.
Had he arrived too late? Was his comrade-the one he'd come for-an offline husk buried beneath his pedes? Had the optics that so often hid boundless energy and passion darkened into pits of icy cold? Or was death taunting his brother-in-arms with its suddenly illusive promises of an ending to all pain and suffering while the medic struggled?
Pausing for just a moment, the medic adjusted the sensitivity of his scanners. A part of him wished he would find nothing as he did so, wished that he HAD been too late to save his fellow, and that he would find nothing left but a few charred remains. But then again...he just wasn't that cruel. Mouth falling around the edges, the medic's worn servo balled slightly for less than a moment. He never allowed a patient to die alone-ally or not. He couldn't; it went against his training to make someone suffer like that. So, optics squeezed shut and servos clenched at his sides, the medic prayed to Primus he had made it in time. He had someone to save.
For a moment that seemed to last a vorn, silence flitted anxiously through the air. It recoiled at every intake and outtake the medic took, but he felt it gradually descending on him. It would swallow him whole if he didn't hurry.
Opening his optics and giving them a moment to refocus, the medic glared at the scanner in his servo. The stupid, out-dated piece of scrap metal was taking forever, but there was no replacing it. He gripped the dented casing and felt his digits slip into the indentations left there from times before. The paint was dull, a mere wisp of what it had been, worn down by the device's constant use. Irritation twisting his face into a sneer at the mockingly blank screen, the medic pictured the antiquated machine bursting into pieces. He growled lightly, the slight rumble almost deafening in its solitude.
Frag it all to the Pits, there was no time for this!
Discarding his scanner with a sharp toss and jolting forward almost too suddenly, the medic crested the mounds of destroyed metal impeding his search in a single rolling leap. Servos meeting the ground first, the medic's entire world flipped end over end in a nauseating swirl of reality. A pause allowed him to still his churning tanks and reacquaint himself with an age-old distaste for acrobatics. The chronometer was ticking, though, and he knew it. No overly-sensitive equilibrium would keep the medic from his friend when he needed the medic most.
Hauling himself into an unwavering stance, the medic called out to his comrade with the almost desperate wish that the younger Cybertronian would talk back straining his voice. He didn't really need a response, but if the soldier could talk then the damage couldn't be too severe. It would mean that all the medic's anxiety had been unnecessary, that the almost suffocating dread that he would ultimately be returning to base alone was the trick of an overworked processor. It would mean that there wouldn't be another unburied friend lying somewhere with his optics staring vacantly into the void of space because the medic couldn't get there soon enough. So he listened carefully as he walked swiftly through the room and into a black-drenched hall, ever hoping. But nothing echoed back alongside the simple query...nothing at all.
Chassis-bound lights automatically coming on as he transferred into the unlit area, the medic counted five doors on each side of the hallway and a stairwell halfway hidden behind a short divider. Seven of the ten were shut tightly, two of them giving off a faint glow where they contacted the floor. The other three doorways opened into a chilling emptiness that could have gone on forever. It sent chills sweeping up the medic's back struts just looking at it, the way the blackness looked as if it were alive and moving as he peered at it in passing. But most disturbing was the familiar electric blue glow of spilt energon only just visible on the stair steps. With a gasp that was both relief and concern, the medic dashed to the base of the stairwell where, even in the low light, he saw the limp servo of his comrade poking out from behind the corner.
"Scrap!"
Steps were taken by the thirds, the medic nearly flying in his haste as he shouted for the soldier to answer him. Two of the slack digits twitched, and the medic's spark swelled with promise. Almost tripping over his own pedes in the process, he swung around the corner...and froze. There, tucked against the impact-mared wall in a crumpled heap, lie the soldier. Light poured in from a small, mech sized hole in the wall behind the medic, illuminating the sickening scene. Energon pooled thickly around the broken, grimy form, dripping from what had to be everywhere on his mangled frame through trails carved into the fine particles. Whole sections of armor were ripped clean off the smaller chassis, others curled back like burnt paint or hanging loosely, exposing vulnerable internal mechanisms that had been melted into an irregular mass of cabling and wires. The soldier's helm bore the brunt of what was sure to have been a vicious end to a forced flight. A jagged gash sunk down several inches into the plating, stretching from the left eye ridge to just behind his right audio. Once proud wings bent at unnatural angles and, like the rest of the mech's battered frame, looked ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
But it was the unattached chest plates, spark casing visible and cracked wide open, that struck the medic most. Inside the twisted chest plates, the soft green glow of the soldier's spark shone weakly in a slowly fading brilliance that was eerily reminiscent of a dying star. Such an injury was fatal, and thanks to the severity, irreversible. The medic dropped down to his knees with a choked cry, servos coming up reflexively to keep him from descending further. His processor was unable to accept that he could not repair the damage. Mending fused internals and a split spark casing was something no one could do, not anymore.
A harsh, whining cry tore through the air and the medic tried desperately to silence himself. His aged vocals refused to cooperate, and after a few trembling wails escaped the older mech's clenched denta, he relaxed into lowly howling sobs that shook his being. The cruelty of his situation, finally being able to assist one of his closer comrades and then coming to the realization that it was an illusion, drained his strength like poison. The hurt that throbbed in his chest left barely enough energy for the medic do anything more than weep and stutter out half-finished pleas for forgiveness.
"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, unable to face the younger mech even when common sense told him this wasn't his doing. "I'm so, so sorry."
Through the hiccuping of his vents, a small scratching made itself known. It lasted several astroseconds, a strangely agonized scraping that inched steadily closer before abruptly halting. The medic did not even register the sound, too lost in his grief to notice anything other than the all-encompassing ache in his spark. Only when the cool weight of another servo landed on his own did the medic become aware of his comrade's movement. A jolt rocked him in place, helm snapping to lock gazes with the soldier. He watched a thin smirk crease the younger mech's mouth, pain not quite hidden beneath the genuine happiness.
Words failed the medic as he gazed at his comrade with wide, sorrowful optics, shock stalling his processor. The young mech's grin softened, servo lifting weakly to pat his fellow's. It's okay, the gesture seemed to say, and the medic felt a few tears slide down his face. It's not your fault.
Time passed slowly as the two mechs sat in silence, the medic monitoring the steadily declining pulse of the soldier's sparkbeat with a bowed helm. He would have said something to distract the younger mech, but with vents coming slower and shallower by the astrosecond, an unmistakable sign of approaching oblivion, he decided there was no need. Soldier wasn't aware enough to listen anymore, systems mostly offlined as the ghostly shine of his spark started to falter out of existence. So there they sat, quietly, slight breeze blowing in from an impromptu window nearby. It didn't take much longer for the fading beat to skip, the soldier's breath hitching in response, last exhale barely audible as it slipped passed parted lips like a sigh.
The medic held himself still, listening with practiced audios for any trace of life, but there was nothing to hear. The soldier was gone, another unfortunate casualty of their 'great' war. With a silent prayer to Primus, humbly requesting that the young mech's spark might be received kindly in the Allspark, the medic disappeared down the stairs. He was no longer needed here, crumbling fragments of a wounded city blurring away as he jogged passed.
"Goodbye, my friend."
End
I hope you fine humans enjoyed my little tale. But even if you didn't (and I have no clue why you wouldn't), it is an honor to be able to write for you guys. Leave a review if you feel compelled to do so (or don't). I like the feedback.
-AboveAverageShadow