Dreadwing x Cybertronian Oc

Terminology You Might Not Know;

Solar cycle; Measurement of time equivalent to an Earth day.

Scrap/Frag; Both slang terms, moreover a Cybertronian curse word.

Glossa; Cybertronian term for the tongue.

~Enjoy

Ch.2; Choose Team

She looked worn, somewhat cracked and broken in such a pathetic state of need and regression. Her one working optic winced as the claws surging deeper into her armor began to rip into the base coat of her paint...closing in on the thin sheet that protected her inner wiring. How he held her...so firmly with the tips of his claws digging into her arm, seemed almost careful and considerate of more sensitive wires. He held her like a favorite possession more of a prisoner, as if he was proud of his hostage.

Wheeljack made no effort to move, his frame tense and his face burdened with the daring expression he usually wore, backed by loss on either end. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place...forcing on the realization of either leaving Synopsis behind or surrendered the device; a device that had the potential to end the war in Decepticon or Autobot favor if used properly. Neither was a winning conclusion.

He bit his glossa in an attempt to hold back an agravated grunt. The mech stood on higher ground, atop a scrapped down frame of metal pieces and beams that had once been the most impressive of towers in Ronus. His faceplates pulled back as he briefly glanced at her, still keeping his focus on Dreadwing. She looked pained...hurt...weak...she looked like shit.

White plating was dirtied until a coal black, her appearance moreover miserable as she hung limply from one arm in the unwavering grasp of Dreadwing. Synopsis felt...useless. She wanted so bad to just scream at Wheeljack...tell him to leave her behind and somehow end up the sacrificial hero of this entire ordeal, but she couldn't. The other miserable part of her processor prevented her from doing so...reminding her of fear and pain even as she experienced both within the instance. She didn't want him to leave her...she didn't want to be blown to scrap and left for dead just as others had sacrificed themselves. But that program was beyond important. But she wanted to live...and she desperately wanted Wheeljack to know that. Yet the look in her single operational optic deceived such emotions and gave a stoic unrelenting stare that 'Ops hadn't meant to give off. It said 'hurry and leave' just as their current group leader had made up his mind.

Highride approached him, yelling. Their mouths moving but words deaf to her audio receptors from their distance and elevation, only allowing her to observe their body language as Highride pointed at her stiffly. The red mech's face scrunched up in disgust, shaking his helm as Wheeljack shook the device in his faceplates and then directed his attention to her. Highride shook his head and snatched it from his hand before walking behind him, planting his stabilizing servos beside Seaspray who stared at the ground, optics dimming between decisions.

Wheeljack nodded stiffly, and while exposing a distraught expression, turned his back to the femme and disappeared with Seaspray and Highride, both hesitant and looking back with tightened jaws and tense stances. Then they were gone...just like that. They had left her...just barely operational while literally in the single hand of a 'Con. A 'Con who had a reputation for offlining his captives for supposedly 'understandable' reasons.

'Ops could feel tears brimming at the edges of her optics as she stuttered a light gasp; disbelief being evident on her faceplate. The automobile faintly struggled, her attitude suddenly frantic as the femme realized that they weren't coming back. His hold tightened slightly as the mech raised a sharpened brow, the gold color looking brown in the dark.

"Wheeljack!" She screamed, an echo meddling it's way across the landscape of debris and scrap as she stared at their deserted places with wide optics. Her breathing quickened and the pain seemed to dull despite the operations of her receptors. Anger struck her wiring and she clawed at the servo holding her neck, a sense of insecurity forming around her. Wasn't she good enough? Didn't they want her?!

"Wheeljack..." She spat his name again through clenched teeth, a form of rage and bitterness overwhelming her circuits. He always said he'd never let her down...and now this? He always put the team before the mission, before anything! And now...this?!

"How odd that they would be willing to leave you behind. Somewhat foolish." His words broke her focus, the temper rising as the angry tension in her limbs dissipated at the Mech's tone, and she went slightly limp in his grasp.

Synopsis grimaced, her lip components seeming to snarl as her wiring once again pulled from her unkempt rage. There was that small emerging of hatred...of a thick despise that furthered itself from within the depths of her processor that was far more compelling and dangerous than just rage. All of this unfair treatment...all of her suffering and supposed punishments had gone on long enough.

She deserved more than this...all of this treachery and demise. 'Ops was a confident, strong, and smart figure that could run everyone who'd crossed her into the ground. Even Wheeljack...the mech who'd claimed to 'care' about her enough to just dump her behind and leave without even considering a relevant plan. He made her come on this mission...possibly just to get rid of her. No, probably to get rid of her. In set the paranoia and self-loathing, blinding her sane judgement and making her inwardly snarl.

"...Somewhat." Dreadwing managed a crisp smirk at her answer. She wasn't as useless as she currently seemed...not to him anyway. He released the femme, watching her stumble to the ground and quiver back onto her feet, looking like a sparkling just emerging from it's berth.

"Assert yourself and gain a sense of honor towards the Decepticon cause. Do what you feel is appropriate." He had her. That sense of regret and rage fueling her sudden and unjustifiable need for revenge. He could see it clearly, spot it without question and capture it without difficulties. He already knew her...just by her reaction alone. Why terminate an Autobot who clearly hadn't fought for their cause? Why rid Cybertron of someone who could pose useful in their ranks? He wouldn't waste his time...he would be more prone on retrieving what was rightfully Megatron's, the one and only leader of the Decepticons. He could use her to a new advantage, and she would be undoubtedly useful.

"Was this a plan?" She asked it so skeptically, as if she hadn't been handed over as useless trade by the very bots she trusted.

"It would have been impossible to coordinate anything of this caliber without a full presentation of the outcome." The way he said things...the way he spoke and pronounced and the way his tone wavered with description. It was as though he took his time on each word, an unknown accent shadowed by that unintentionally fierce gaze of intimidation. His eyes were thin, sharp, narrow, and red...her large blue ones seeming dim in comparison and wide. She swallowed, watching as he strode past her and his excess troops with an air of power and strict confidence while he sheathed his sword. His steps were heavy, steadily crushing anything beneath them and ensuring the appearance of strength and durability. An Autobot could never be so...thought provoking, or so alluring just by minor and casual antics. Synopsis held her arm, the wiring frizzing a bit and making a spark or two fly as she nearly stumbled on her bad leg.

"What, do I go with you?" She managed the question and limped beside him, the sight pathetic. But she made up her mind. So quickly, and so foolishly out of spite and anger and blind observation. She wanted revenge, the reasons obvious as 'Ops set her finger components over the busted optic circuit. Dreadwing had done this...but they had left her, right?

"Decide before I change my mind..." The comment came out sinister, almost threatening as he narrowed his optics and glanced over his shoulder, the height he stood at making her shrink back and take in a quick breath.

"..." She bit her lower lip component, feeling uneasy and enraged as one servo clenched around her arm and the other fisted tightly. The conflagration had dimmed, and the atmosphere was brightening little by little as Cybertron's sun slowly began rising, the clouds of pollution and smoke looking gray against the rest of the sky. This planet was poisoned, she so often noted, it's core slowly rotting away from the war. All because of the Decepticons.

"I never did make a great Autobot..."

Short. Chapter is short.

Anywho, updating from my phone again. Pain in the butt. Hope you all enjoy!

Please review! c: