Watching their old, desolate planet continue to putter on in eternal darkness was not nearly as satisfying as watching the sunrise on Earth. Appreciating the sights was usually Sunstreakers forte, but Sideswipe found himself missing the planets first lights and the abundance of colours that would wash over the sky as the sun snuck up on the horizon.
Cybertron instead offered a dreary show of darkness. Once towering buildings now sat rusted and burnt, and the crumbling remains of others decorated the cracked and charred ground. But for all of Earths cryptic displays of natural phenomena, Sideswipe still missed Cybertron. Maybe not some of the particular mechs that once inhabited it, but the planet was home.
War had done a number on the planet, and Sideswipe struggled to remember the days where Cybertron glowed and basked in shimmering lights from all over. Kaon offered seedy neon signs, while Vos flashed with an unwavering radiance and Praxus threw thriving crystals that glistened softly. But the planet paid its price, and as war-raved on, it became indestructible, plowing through anything in its path and eventually reducing Cybertron into an unliveable metal sphere.
Sideswipe frowned, remembering some of his first days on the frontline. How they would hunker down and listen to the cacophonous sound of bombs and artillery exploding. They eventually grew used to it, and the sound instead lulled into a litany, their audials accustomed and much hardier.
He shook his head and switched off his comm. unit, sick of listening to the crackling of static that had been droning into his audials for the last couple of breems, his processor finally giving in to the fact that nobody would be answering for some time. But still, there was nothing better to do than to hold onto that wisp of hope that something would get through, Prime, Jazz, Blaster, heck Sideswipe would even welcome Gears at this point.
A cycle of laying low, and getting aching joints due to lack of movement, really brought the desperation out of the red mech. Sitting still was never his area of expertise. But he wasn't a mech to give in easily either, so he ducked his head, clenched his fists and pushed on.
There was a heavy intake of breath and a heaving cough that brought Sideswipe attention back to the present.
Sunstreaker.
The one thing that was bothering him more than boredom, or the worry that he would be stuck on this planet.
As Ratchet had predicted, an infection had assaulted Sunstreakers system, which wasn't a surprise given the lack of proper medical supplies to safely remove the shrapnel slowly making its way through the yellow twin's internals.
Another throb of worry pulsed through his spark, and he pulled himself to his feet, away from his designated look out corner to instead drag himself over to his brother, who was wheezing, a cold sheen of lubricant dripping down the front liners faceplates.
"Can I do anything?" He asked tentatively, face drawn into a rarely seen, albeit reserved worry.
Ratchet frowned, his hands gently dabbing his brother's forehead, cleaning away the light sheen across his face.
"I could send you out looking for supplies I suppose, but fat lot it's done for us so far."
Sideswipe shook his head, "I could go out further this time, search more thoroughly."
"Sideswipe, we still have three Decepticons out doing Primus knows what."
"So? I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself."
Ratchet scowled, tossing the cloth to the ground as he stood to face the impulsive twin, "Your legs still aren't repaired properly."
"I can walk fine," Sideswipe muttered, face twisting to match the medics own expression.
"Yes, but can you fight? What if all three of them came at you?"
Sideswipe shrugged, "Two of them are injured, so I think I'd have a fair shot."
Ratchet threw his hands up, scowl twisting into a grimace as he turned, "Fine, fine! Go, just don't come crawling back here half dead."
The frontliner grinned toothily, "Sure thing, Ratch."
"And don't," The medic grumbled, "Call me that."
"Sure thing, Ratchy!"
Sideswipe ducked out of the lobby just in time to dodge an empty Energon cube. A poor substitute for his usual wrench, but much less painful.
Venturing further than the ruins of the shuttles and beyond was much more exciting, and Sideswipe found a skip to his step as he maneuvered through old alleyways and ducked into crumbled buildings.
Kaon, despite been as ravished by war as the rest of the cities, was still distinctly… Kaon.
Sideswipe grimaced. The city really didn't hold any pleasant memories for him or his brother. Spilt spark twins were considered, abominations by all accounts. Yelled at, experimented on, kicked out of places and ridiculed, just for being different.
The frontliner scowled, foot jerking out angrily to hit a patch of gravel. Sideswipe watched the rocks scatter with satisfaction until his leg throbbed in indignation and his face twisted into one of pain.
"Great."
He continued to trudge through old streets, the place barely recognizable from what it used to be.
Sideswipe silently wondered if the tales of Primus throwing the 'demons in the darkness' into the sewers, or somewhere deep underground, was true. If they had emerged again after the planet fell into solitude and silence.
The frontliner huffed a laugh at the thought.
Supplies were minimal, and Sideswipe had hardly found anything worthwhile to subspace, let alone anything to help aid his brother. The buildings were cleaned out, old artillery machines had held some old rations, but nothing much else. But still, the rusted out machines were a sight to see.
"Wow," He muttered as he ran a servo over the rough exterior of the machine. Canons that were long out of juice were drooped over, and the larger machines, the ones that were run by mechs, held rusted bodies that Sideswipe didn't bother lingering around for too long. Riffling through their subspace proved worthwhile, however, and Sideswipe managed to fish out a basic first aid kit, and a white plasma knife. One that had probably once glowed fantastically. The frontliner held it between two fingers, spun it around his servo, and then subspaced it with a grin.
Old guns were also discovered under foliage, out of power and crushed. Sideswipe wondered exactly who had fought here, and if they were still alive.
His only answer was his own shrug, and he continued to amble on, optics sharp. He ventured further and further into the ruins of the city, ducking under knocked buildings and easily jumping over foliage. His only real difficulties laid within the amount of rumble that had built up over time, and he found it slightly difficult to climb and scale with his injured legs. But he managed all the same and tried his best to ignore the sharp burning sensation that was now assaulting his legs every time he made a particularly jarring fall.
The frontliner jumped over the last bit of blockage, and his optics were immediately drawn to a sight he thought he had left behind long ago.
His pedes had seemingly taken him to the lower part of Kaon, and in between the alleyways and the tight-knit apartment complexes and buildings, was a familiar large stairway, crumbled and dark, but familiar.
Spark thumping with surfacing memories, he jogged down, hesitation left behind as his steps echoed into the darkness.
Despite his low energy reservoirs protesting, he switched on his headlights and instantly found it easier to walk down the steps with light at his aid.
He wondered lower, taking in the small abandoned medical zones, where supplies had been stripped clean long ago. Training rooms with dried energon stains on the floor were dust ridden, an old bar stood in ruins, and finally, in the deepest part of the establishment, was the arena. With the large fences, and empty stadiums where mechs screamed and whistled crudely as their favorite gladiator tore into their opponent.
The frontliner stood, taking in the place that Sunstreaker claimed was 'for mechs like us. We fit in here.'
They didn't, but they weren't targeted for being twins if they fought well and earned credits. And fought well they did, until the gladiator from Tarn, had ripped into his brother and gone in for the brutal kill. I guess it's what tipped them over the scale, when Optimus stepped in, brandishing his axe in all of his holy glory.
Sideswipe scoffed and stepped into the arena. A weird and unfamiliar sensation when you weren't holding a weapon and mechs weren't looking down on you.
Before he could waver on the subject much more, his proximity sensors perked up, and his battle programming burst to life. He crouched, switching off his headlights and unsubspacing his gun, before thinking better of it and instead unsheathing his arm blades, optics spiraling in an attempt to adjust to the sudden darkness.
There was a crunch. A footstep. And then a snarl and gunshot echoed around the arena, missing Sideswipe by an iota of space as he ducked and rolled, ending right in the middle of the cage.
"Frag." He cursed softly, and backtracked carefully, relaxing marginally when his back met the wall.
Another gunshot echoed out, but the aim was wild, and Sideswipe used the flash of light to sprint to his opponent, only illuminated for a second, before the red frontliner was crashing into him. They tumbled to the ground, snarling and cursing.
Sharp claws dug into his seams, drawing energon. Sideswipe bit his lip at the sharp pain, and lodged his own fingers into the mech's armour, attempting to placate the struggling enough for him to gain the upper hand. A leg kneed him in the stomach, and Sideswipe snarled, bringing his head down to smash into the mechs nasal ridge. The mech howled in outrage, bucking in an angered haze. He threw Sideswipe off him, and the frontliner cursed, bringing his headlights back on.
Deadlock ducked out of sight, fist flying back in to deliver a nasty right hook. It was blocked, then parried, as Sideswipe offered his own punch. His fist collided with something, but another blow was delivered and Sideswipe optics fritzed as the servo collided with his temple. He backtracked, pile drivers replacing his blades, and with a nasty grin, collided with the Decepticons finials, squashing the already dented one, and popping the other one. The screech of pain was a familiar one, but the lurch in his direction was not, and Sideswipe had no time to react as sharp fangs dug into the exposed protoform under his neck. He yelled, hands finding themselves around the Decepticons neck, and squeezing as the denta ripped into his protoform. His knee found the injured hole in his stomach, but Deadlock didn't let up, and Sideswipe squeezed harder, his owned servos digging and ripping into the Decepticons neck. They stumbled, landing hard on their backs as Sideswipe brought them into a roll, shoving Deadlock off him in the process. He ignored the energon dribbling from his neck, and without hesitation, brought his piledriver down right onto the Decepticons faceplates, breaking his nasal ridge with a sickening crack.
The piledriver came down once more as Deadlock attempted to lurch up again, and he finally dropped limped.
Sideswipe intaked deeply, servo going to his neck, where two sharp puncture wounds around his ripped protoform were oozing energon. It dripped onto his servo, trickling through his fingers and escaping down his shoulder.
Ratchet was going to kill him.
He grimaced at the Decepticon, his wound had been reopened, and his faceplates were dented and disfigured from his pile drivers. He leaned over him, fingers expertly pickpocketing his subspace. His servos found nothing, and the frontliner frowned.
Maybe he was hording his supplies somewhere else, in case something like this happened.
He brought himself to his feet and winced. His gaze found the Decepticon once more, and he sighed, leaning down on his haunches once more. He may have been a dirty fighter, nasty on the battlefield, some sort of a cheat, and a mech with a brutal hit. But he was still an Autobot.
Which is what he kept reminding himself as his servos found the other mechs armpits, and he began to drag.