A/N
:: So FINALLY I get this chapter out! I've been editing this thing for over a week and I really wanted to get it out before it hit the 3 month mark of the last upload.
:: Find me on tumblr with the same username and let's chat it up
:: Some cool in kids in Peru really dug chapter 2 in November, winning the most views from a country (I'm going to keep track it's pretty fascinating).
:: /\ is a change in scene (I like to think it's a soft chhht sound)
:: Units of Time
Cycle – Day
Joor – Hour
Klik – minuet
Breem – second
Eidolon
Chapter 3
"I'm afraid, Camber."
"We all are."
There aren't many places on the Nemesis that could be considered secluded, but the ones that are happen to be in the most barren sections of the ship. It is uncommon that anyone ever has an official reason to be there since it was mostly empty storage that had depleted throughout the vorns. Camber had met here with Aileron countless of times after realizing that these areas were beginning to lose foot traffic, for a number of reasons. Mostly it was just to get away from everyone else. Series Two's and Three's, they don't understand. They had found it interesting to watch the area change from overstocked rooms to discarded receptacles. Camber sat across from Aileron on a large, now hollow and skewed container in the enclosed room. His friend was nervous to say something, restlessly shifting his attention from point to point. He was never one to hide his emotions- even if he wanted to.
"No," Aileron looked down with a pause, his voice was deeper than most.
He made it that way.
"Not… not just of death," his visor came back up to meet Cambers. "But of dying for no reason."
No reason?
"Aileron, I don't really understand what you're getting at."
That was a lie, and Aileron knew he was lying. Camber had always tried to support his friend, though not as well as his friend always supported him. Still, every soldier was sparked with a reason.
Agitation lined the winged mechs voice as he rose to his pedes, taking a step closer. "Don't be so daft, Camber! After all of this time, watching out comrade's fall and their bodies sent to salvage." Their visors locked together in an unwavering stare. "How many One's are left?"
He knew the answer.
"How many!" Camber leaned back, surprised by his outburst. It wasn't a question. He didn't want to respond to him, and he didn't get the option to answer as Aileron motioned a servo between them. "The only One's left are you and me!" Aileron grabbed at the edge of his own visor, "I'm sick of being afraid to die as nothing, a no-face!" A small click from a lock coming undone was heard. "A majority!" He spat, before tearing the visor away from his faceplates and throwing it across the room. Actually break the visor off of his helm. Only Camber watched it ricochet off the wall, tumbling and skidding haphazardly.
Aileron had always been dramatic, Camber always wondered if he knew just how much.
The visor stilled and the tantrum appeared to be over. "Just like them." Aileron spoke again in a far-off way. Camber turned his helm back towards the defeated jet, who faced half-away; servos simply hanging on either side of him and wings slack on his back.
He unconsciously tapped his servos on top of his leg struts, unsure of how to respond, to consolidate, the distraught flier. How could he feel as though he is nothing? We are created with purpose, and we die with honor for our purpose. He knew this, why couldn't Aileron? Why has he never accepted this? Camber stared across the way at the bare faceplates. It was marred with optics that looked tired and a scar that wasn't allowed to heal right, trailing from above his right optic down to the left of his chin.
He also made it that way.
From very early on it was apparent that Aileron had issues with identity, more so than others. Though, he never realized to what extent, or never cared as much. Bare optics lifted up and Camber stilled. They studied Cambers visor, trying to read the masked face and unresponsive body language before turning away again. The jet dejectedly stepped over to the discarded visor and picked it up, studying it in his servos. Looking at it but not really looking at anything. His voice was so quiet, defeated.
"What has it all been for?" It sounded like Aileron was asking himself that more than to his still sitting comrade. "We've never actually seen Cybertron as anything more than the rubble we left it as-" He flitted one of his servos in the air, "Except for those glorified images that Megatron has had shoved into our processors again and again."
Lord Megatron.
"We don't even join the Well…"
You don't know that.
"I can't tell you that I still think it's worth it, after all this time. Are you honestly going to tell me that you do?"
Yes, he did.
Aileron kept his body facing away as he turned his helm to glance back towards where Camber was sitting. But he didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. Didn't want to look at him. He never gave him a response. Whatever he had to say would have made his winged friend more upset at the lack of acknowledgement towards that idea. So he kept his vocalizer quiet, taking in the fact that his friend had been tearing himself up inside, and he couldn't bring himself to empathize.
Still, Aileron continued, trying to bring Camber to understand. "We're going to die if we stay, you know. We've stayed alive this long against all the odds- but that luck is running out. I know it. You know it." Aileron finally turned to fully face Camber, with is marred and unique features. His optics continued to look tired but now there was a hint of optimism. There really shouldn't have been. He stood straighter, confidently, squaring his shoulders with perked wings. "I've been talking to a few others, and we're leaving. I want you to come with us."
Camber sat there, unconsciously craning his head to the side and staring at the mech across the room incredulously. Leave? Others? Meaning, he discussed this with others first? Meaning, he's filled others processors with his ridiculous notions? "And go- where, exactly?" His voice was harsh; biting, unbelieving. It was the first response to him, and it sounded so callous. Still, he stood strong.
"To the Autobots."
It felt as though the energon in his veins stopped and his body ran hot all at the same time. Camber could only stare at him, grateful that he too did not take his visor off- so Aileron could not see his expression. Even then he wasn't sure what it would have shown, all of his emotions churning inside hiding behind a perfectly identical mask.
He felt- betrayed.
/\
"Ah, there he is,"
\/
Aileron continues on about how the Autobots were strong despite their low numbers. Admiring their endurance, sputtering nonsense about how the fight is tied, and someone needs an advantage, and how it could be with his- our help. They- we, could be the key to the war ending. Progress could finally start and then we could go home. Rebuild home.
That slagger spoke of leaving. Leaving! The organization which created us, the organization which sparked is with a goal bigger than ourselves. He didn't care what we were fighting for- or maybe he had forgotten, malfunctioning after crashing cone-first too many times! Camber wasn't sure which was worse. He not only wanted to leave the Decepticons, he wanted to fight us. He wanted to fight his brothers. Didn't he realize this?
If that was the case- then he would have to fight Camber as well.
/\
"Soldier V1-722," He was walking towards him, servos behind his back, helm held high and wings poised higher. Starscream stopped just before him, studying his faceless mask a moment… "He is a prime example that all of you should take note of! I have always expected that level of loyalty out of all of you,"
\/
Wings were perked up on Ailerons back as he spoke excitedly about the possibilities. It made Camber sick. He didn't want to hear any of it. His longest lasting dearest friend; was a traitor, of the Decepticons.
/\
"you, a prime example ```` of loyalty"
\/
To him.
/\
"you,"
\/
Eventually Aileron slowed in his tirade of chatter when he realized that Camber wasn't responding to his excited babbling like the half-wit he expected him to be. Instead, Camber was hunched over where he sat, arms resting on leg struts, helm in servos. Aileron said… something. Probably still trying to explain why his idea was a good one. Still trying to get him to understand. The only thing he wanted Aileron to say was that this was one huge joke- perhaps even a hazing? Soldiers testing soldiers on how dedicated of a soldier they were…
Suddenly, a servo rested on Cambers shoulder. "Camber… I-" His helm snapped up from his servos as he dodged under Ailerons comforting touch, leaping onto his pedes and slapping the servo away. Away from him.
Ping.
1 MESSAGE
SOURCE: A1-712
REVIEW / DISCARD
It was painfully dim in the room, where illumination was nothing but a dull flicker. Camber looked up at the ceiling, still lying where he accidentally fell into recharge earlier. He should fix that… eventually. Out of all his vorns of existence, these were the memories that were plaguing his processor in recharge? This slag was getting real old. Camber checked his chronometer; he hadn't been passed out for long, there were still joors until he had to be on shift again.
Aileron used to be so proud of what he was, who he was. We all were- are. But he had always been dramatic. A while after we Series One had been sparked, we began to become… 'unique'in the processor. We were developing personalities. We were created as drone soldiers, identical and mass produced. Rules, laws, hierarchies, and objectives were programmed into us. Drone soldiers were not designed to develop personalities or become unique, it simply happened. To be effective Drones could not just be a machine; which is why we were given sparks, so we could think and learn from experiences in order to be a successful militia. Soldiers began to react to events in different ways based on their own past experiences, and eventually some began to question a lack of a true designation, a 'name'. Originally, and formally, soldiers are addressed by their identification. Model, series, and number.
Mine is V1-722; Vehicon, Series One, seven hundred twenty second created.
Aileron was A1-712; Aerialcon, Series One, seven hundred twelfth created.
The officers had individual designations, and the naturally-sparked 'Cons had designations, so soldiers wanted a designation as well. Some complained that identifications were a pain in the aft to say. A1 this, V1, M1 that. Aileron was not one of the complainers. He chose his out of pride of what he was, an Aerialcon.
Camber raised his servo above his helm, the red glow of the visor reflecting off of armor. Back then, it felt as though energon was boiling in his lines, his spark a storm of emotions. It took everything to not punch Aileron squarely in his 'uniquely'-scarred face.
Looking back, he should have done it.
"Frag frag frag frag frag scrap, slaggin'! Frag!"
Camber and the other vehicon troopers were behind a makeshift bunker out of the bent scrap that used to be the side paneling of a building. Lasers fired aimlessly above and there was the small sound of plinking on metal as explosions caused debris to rain down, further dirtying already filthy armor. The impacts caused ringing in the audios but still that accursed vehicon's rambling voice kept piercing its way through.
"For the love of Primus… Would you shut-up!"
No matter what anyone said he continued his rambling. This wasn't the first battle any of them had been in, how could the mech possibly break now, now! With the Autobots pushing their way forward! Camber looked to the side where there was a bulding that was only half a shell of what it once was, literally. The building had half of it blown apart, its structural supports and material collapsed and created a jungle of debris at its base. All of the remaining wall covering showed that it was weather and took more than its share of beating. Everyone needed to get over there and climb its remaining layers for an upper hand of raised shots. As he glanced down his visors heads up display provided information on the distressed soldier panicking on the ground; cowering against the shelter wall with his digits desperately gripping his helm.
VEHICON DRONE
IDENTIFICATION V1-493
No one was consoling him, and Camber wasn't about to either.
Another explosion, another wave of falling debris, and more ringing. Everyone flinched, hugging the wall tighter. Cambers pede met the cowering 'Cons side with a jarring kick in an attempt to get him to respond. He didn't. "Come on, let's move!" Camber started to make his way along the collapsed material in the direction of the higher point, his voice sounded muffled, like his shouts were on the other side of thick glass.
There was an open space between the end of the barricade and where the group of vehicons were at and where they needed to go. Camber came up to the edge and peered forward, pressing his back against the wayward metal, holding his blaster in the other servo.
They were shaking.
Cambers fans were working overtime, with no hope of cooling down soon. He leaned his helm against the barricade and shuttered his optics behind his visor, taking in every second before they had to move. Fired shots still sounded so distant even with them whizzing right overhead and thru the gap that they needed to get through. He could make it. They can make it. They have to make it.
Lost in his attempt to compose himself Camber didn't notice the other blaster inching its way around the corner until it was too late.
He froze.
It was an Autobot. The world seemed to slow down- and he froze. Merely nanoseconds passed as the 'Bot raised his own blaster towards Camber's helm. His sharp visor met with the assailants' optics, and their blue gaze burned into him. There was so much hatred, Camber never realized until that moment how loathsome blue optics could look. His processor swam and registered everything painfully slow. He just stared at him. The blaster was charged and glowing a blinding blue- ready to fire when another laser singed the side of his helm, and suddenly the Autobot jerked back- firing his blast into the sky as his form fell to the ground. More dull-sounding lasers blew pass him into the downed Autobot. He glanced back and saw his brothers, shouting at him, and motioning their servos forward.
VEHICON DRONE
IDENTIFICATION V1-358
VEHICON DRONE
IDENTIFICATION V1-1067
VEHICON DRONE
IDENTIFICATION V1-901
VEHICON DRONE
IDENTIFICATION V1-427
Gears shifted and slid together in a panic as Camber transformed into his alt mode and accelerated so quickly that his wheels spun and skidded, wailing into the ground before he actually moved forward. Just keep going, a little further. Blue lasers were firing madly all around; shards of metal were flickering at his sides as they impaled the ground.
So close, everything was so close.
Then, searing pain. His alt mode began to shake; he tried to keep himself straight but his left wheel burned so badly!
Finally, Camber made it pass an opening between the still standing wall and fallen supports, transforming back before slowing down. His frame tumbled on the ground, rolling over papers, shards, and rusted plates of metal. It was the fastest way to get off of his wheel faster. The world was so chaotic, the mass of high-pitched blasters firing, shouts, low booms, it was all so deafening. Everything muffled into sounding so far away. The only thing heard clearly were internal fans choking from the rough treatment. Achingly Camber pushed himself up from his servos, bringing a pede forward in an attempt to stand. Raising his adjoining servo Camber touched his shoulder wheel. Primus, it stung. Energon had splattered all around the wheel and shoulder, with tread shredded in ribbons on the rim; which was dented, burned, and had a blaster blow a chunk out of the edge. He hastily looked up at the new shelter, calculating where to go before begging an ascent. Every movement, every time he had to pull himself up, or move himself around an obstacle, was right- side oriented. There was no way in pit he was going to his that left shoulder if he could help it. As he finally reached a sufficient height, Camber peered through gaps in the collapsed material and could see the force of encroaching Autobots below. That's when everything dawned on him. Camber was alone. None of his brothers followed him.
Carefully, so as not to disturb any loose flooring, Camber shuffled to the side where it was possible to see the makeshift bunker where he and his brothers had been.
Sound flooded back to his audios.
His brothers- were screaming, pleading. Through the orchestra of the battle he could hear their cries. Camber looked out, and immediately regretted it. Energon was everywhere behind the bunker, pooling underneath the mechs. They had been shot, but only enough where it disabled their ability to get away. They were stabbed over and over in the abdomen, kicked and stomped to break their armor. Blasters were smashed and shattered. A brother had his helm ornaments torn from his own faceplates and jammed into his neck line. Limbs were bending in unnatural ways. The one who cowered just moments before was forcibly pinned to the ground as an Autobot punched his helm until the metal gave way and crushed under the force. One brother tried to escape in his alt mode- tried. However, a large and brutish Autobot grabbed his fender and raised his rear wheels off the surface. With too easy of a force, the brute flipped him over onto his back. Other Autobots seized the opportunity and jumped him before he even had a chance to transform back. His cries… were the loudest.
These Autobots did not swiftly end their lives, or take them as war prisoners, they massacred. They chose to inflict as much pain as they could before allowing his brothers solace. Camber changed his right digits into his blaster and rested it on a support aimed at the bunker where his brothers laid dying. He tried to calm the shaking and ragged fans to concentrate in on an orange 'Bot that just stood there watching the others attack the brother on his back. The orange one was covered in energon- his brothers' energon. Camber let his fans breath a large rush of air, and calm his engine for one moment, and fired. Energon exploded from the back of his helm as the orange Autobot stumbled one step forward before falling to his knees and collapsing face first to the metal ground. The other 'Bots immediately took notice to the attack and began looking around them for the offending blast.
One more intake.
Calm.
Fire.
This blast hit another, bur not fatally. Just enough to piss him off, evidently. The Autobots began to fix their stares in Cambers direction and in a panic he fired a barrage of blasts and yelled; in frustration, in fear, in anguish, in mourning, he yelled for everything. They fled after firing a few shots of their own, leaving behind two fallen comrades and the bloodied, ravaged husks of his brothers. After they left, it didn't take long for the next wave of Autobots to appear, obviously not encountering any other enemies because they simply ran forward, helms on a swivel to eye their surroundings, hardly sparing a glance at his brothers on the ground- except for one 'Bot whom stopped and shot each one in the helm before moving on with the rest.
Camber moved away from the gap and sat down, sagging against a support- mindful of the shredded wheel. Fans inside his chassis were still attempting to calm a overheated and ragged engine as what he witnessed replayed over and over in his processor. Their screams were so loud.
Or maybe that was his.
The lock unhitched for his visor as Camber lurched forward, and purged his tank.
.
Time passed for who knows how long. The whine of lasers had since faded away, and the booms from explosions became muffled from being at a distance. No more Autobots- or Decepticons- had passed this way. There were a few scouts, but Camber never attempted to shoot at them for fear of blowing his cover. He knew that he couldn't stay in the same spot forever, as much as he thought he should just go ahead and do that anyways. The wheel on his left shoulder still burned, though this wasn't his first battle, it was the first time being shot. The right side of his helm also had a mild sting from the laser his other wheeled brother fired. That mech had saved his life, and Camber left him behind.
He had left all of them behind.
Eventually Camber mustered enough nerve to push forward and climbed down from the hidden perch, thru the layers of fallen supports of the structure. Once on the ground he ran in the opposite direction from the massacre, refusing to look back. Blast holes and scorch marks tarnished every place you could possibly look. After a short time of steady jogging, corpses started to appear. Some were Autobots, some were Decepticons, but most were Vehicons. Each body was lying in a sloppy pool of their own energon. Maybe some died from a well placed shot, while others bled out, but none of them were as mangled as his brothers at the bunker.
Explosions started to become louder, and Camber could hear the whine of lasers again as he neared the shifted battleground. Then there was a familiar shriek blaring in the sky above. Jets, set in a V formation, grew closer. The leader was silver, and the rest were a deep color- Aerialcons. As if on cue, they split apart, diving down closer to the shattered landscape, weaving past collapsed spires as they fired a steady stream of blasts at the offenders below them and receiving blasts in return. Their shrieking turned into a thunderous boom before they lifted back into the sky and tapered away. Camber had seen Aerialcons in battle before, but there was something to this troop. They were more precise, graceful, and beautiful than the rest. It wasn't until the thunder left from their wake paled away that Camber realized he had stopped moving in order to watch them.
Stupid! Idiot!
After nervously scanning the area again his pedes picked up the pace again. Except for the terminated 'Bots frozen face staring right at him- he had gone relatively unnoticed. Then the shrieking returned, drawing closer from the direction that had left in. This time Camber ran over to a large panel of skew metal to cover behind. Of course he knew he should kept moving, still, he couldn't bring himself to not take in the sight. The leader was flanked by two Aerialcons onf either side of him; all raining down what looked like a curtain of blast fire. They all came in fast when the leader abruptly pulled up and bank away without the others. A heat-seeking rocket shot up from the ground, and the troop was heading right into it.
Shoot it down! Move! Mov-!
His own thoughts were cut short as the missile collided with one of the Aerialcons. The area became disgustingly bright as he exploded in a fiery rage, engulfed in a blaze from his own fuels igniting. Creating a boom that was deep and guttural. Shrapnel from the explosion was falling in a torrent of flame and metal. His frame never emerged from the blaze; he was completely obliterated… Two on his opposite side banked away while another who was close to him was caught in the wake of the blast. The winged mech couldn't fight the force and was pushed wing over cabin. The Aerialcon was barreling down; a small trail of energon was draining behind him as he was drawing nearer. He transformed out of his alt mode as he plummeted towards the ground, getting pretty close to Camber... Scrap! He was falling towards Camber!
His pedes seemed to have jolted on their own accord, springing closer to the descending mech. He was not about to let one more brother die! Camber scrambled on top of a crumbled piece of metal paneling, crouched down- and prepared. The world seemed to slow down again as his optics followed the falling flier. Closer, just a nanosecond more, one more…
Camber leaped forward, catching the Aerialcons frame from the side- gripping one servo around his torso and another on his wing, holding their fronts closer together- and the world sped up again. Primus! Everything hurt. His back smashed into the unforgiving landscape, bouncing like a discarded toy before digging the heels of his pedes against the terrain in an attempt to slow down. Sparks licked at his armor from the force of screeching across the metal. Then… he let go. Let go! It's just that his shoulder hurt so badly… The Aerialcons frame violently tumbled away from his as they both came to a stop as heaps on the ground. As Camber laid there he could hear the faint cheers of triumph from the Autobots on the level up ahead. All of his joints were sore as he rolled over to face the Aerialcon; his helm was face down as energon dripped from the crevices of his mask- laying half to the side with most of the weight leaning on his front. The larger of his wings were warped at the end from the heat and impact.
And… he wasn't moving.
For the second time that day Camber raggedly pushed himself back up, and with pede steps that felt far too heave, treaded over to his brother. He lifted up the slumped frame in a graceless manner, wrapping his servos under shoulder struts. The sharp edge of wings pressed uncomfortably against him as he hurriedly dragged the body under cover of the nearest sad excuse for shelter. The last thing they needed were Autobots that were too good at their job spotting his crappy rescue attempt.
Camber laid the hurt mech down in the shadows and kneeled beside him, surveying the damage. Energon bled from shrapnel wounds splintering his entire front from the explosion. Some still had pieces lodged within his armor, and that grand catch in the sky probably didn't help it any… Warily Camber placed a servo on a weeping hole in the tattered abdomen in a shoddy attempt to keep the energon from leaking. Frag it all! His programming was nothing close to a medic! How was he supposed to help this mech- if he was even still functioning? Reluctantly, he shifted his attention to the visor.
AERIALCON
A1-712
He knew it was damaged, but he didn't want to see just how badly. Curiously, it was bent. Right across the middle; where a piece of armor must have struck him, which was much better than the worst case scenario of a piece of metal lodged in his faceplates. Energon trickles from below the seams of the visor. Camber reached forward and curled his digits beneath where the mask used to connect seamlessly with his helm. Without much effort the lock disengaged and he slowly peeled it up from his faceplates where it slid up to rest above the fliers helm. His features were slack; optics shut and mouth slightly open. The bend in the visor had mirrored onto his face, trailing a bleeding gash that spread from above his right optic, across his olfactory ridge, and down the left of his chin.
A quaking boom from an explosion that sounded- and felt- way too close shook the shelter they were under. Without thinking Camber quickly moved his frame protectively over A1-712 as debris fell from the ceiling, pelting his back and damaged wheel. It was then that he studied 712's features during the shaking and there was no response. His face didn't even twitch. So here he was, risking even more injury for this mech and he wasn't even sure if he was alive!
Communication with the Vehicon squadron leader had cut out cycles ago, and there is no way a Vehicon drone would have the Aerialcon leaders' comm. line. Drones are not supposed to send a distress beacon, but A1-712 was really damaged, and they were stranded. The Decepticons needed to know that soldiers were out here.
.
"What's your designation?"
It had been a little over a joor, Camber was surprised to hear the choked static behind him. He turned to see A1-712 gripping his abdomen and looking at him, or rather, watching him.
"Don't waste your energy talking. I called for help," Camber moved closer to the jet, taking in his sorry shape. Weeping wounds, a gash in the faceplate, dented and torn armor, wings that warped and lost their beautiful sharpness… "I'm not sure how much longer we'll be waiting, so, if you could just-"
"Hey, hey, hey!" Battered vents attempted to filter cooling air. "I just askchhed for the designation of the mech that saved my sorry afhht." This mech actually tried to make light of this whole situation, like it could. There was a cocky smile on his faceplates that was a cover for how much pain he was trying to hide. Perhaps he should just ignore the mech. Maybe if Camber didn't talk back then neither would 712? But that was scrapped- ignoring him wouldn't do wonders for his moral, per se.
Sigh.
"V1-722."
/\
There were no other soldiers in the room as he paused his task to turn and face his commander. "Soldier V1-722,"
He was walking toward him, servos behind his back, helm held high and wings poised higher. Starscream stopped just before him, studying his faceless mask a moment before bringing a digit up under Cambers chin, leaning closer.
\/
712 made a face. "Thahht's not what I asked, what is your name?"
Camber was about to retaliate about his argument when a small troop of pede steps was heard just beyond the entrance of their shelter. He transformed his servo into a blaster and prepared to defend when a gruff voice spoke up.
"We got a distress call! Medical rescue-" Three Decepticons came into the opening, one was carrying a pack of medical supplies travelling between two much larger soldiers.
"Awwh slaggit! It's just a couple of drones!" The larger of the soldiers whined. "How did you get a hold of the distress channel?"
What? "Sir, listen, I can't use my vehicle mode and A1-712 is horribly damaged; he needs medical aid right now! That's what you're for, right?"
The soldier sighed with agitation. "Yeah, we're for Decepticons, not wasting resources on Eradicons."
There was a tense moment of silence as what was just said went thru Cambers processor. "What are you talking about! We ARE Decepticons!"
"No- you're drones." The soldier replied curtly as he pointed in the direction they had just come from. "If you need to be repaired there are is a station for you at the outpost. I'm not even sure why this is an argument." He turned to leave. "Come on, Backtrack, Rotorbelt, there are other calls."
The medic, who was the smallest out of the trio, looked between his guardians and the two Eradicons.
"Don't you think that if I could get him there I would?"
There was a light touch of digits on the back of Cambers pede. "Hey, stop… it's alright,"
The largest soldier began to walk away, not even bothering to look back. "Whether or not you can is not our problem."
The smaller soldier nudged the medic and motioned his head to leave before turning away himself.
"Hold on, slaggit! You can't just leave a mech dying!"
Another ragged intake and a pathetic tugging grip at Cambers pede again. "I don't neehhd help from fraggers like thhhat,"
The medic watched the second soldier leave and tightened his grip on his medical pack. He turned his helm back to Cambers shoulder and 712 on the ground, torn and unsure. His optics weren't like most others, they were a vibrant yellow. Finally, for the first time since he showed up those optics held resolve. He quick-stepped to the other side of 712 and set his pack down, digging through it hastily, all the while glancing back at where the soldiers left. Numerous items were pulled out; a portable welder, proto-mesh, and an extraction tool were the main ones Camber was interested in. Lastly the medic extracted a small condensed energon cube that glowed brighter than usual and closed his pack, slinging it over his back as he stood. "You will need a new wheel," he set the cube on the ground next to the damaged fliers' helm. "and be the one to remove the imbedded shrapnel."
"B-but… I don't have medical programming, sir,"
"This is all I can do," He jumped slightly as his name was shouted with a cross tone. Those yellow optics swept over A1-712s frame and locked with his bare red optics. Suddenly he broke that contact and hastily headed out. "Consider it field training."
.
It was crude, and shoddy, and A1-712 kept making pained faces but tried not to verbalize any discomfort. Pretty much trying to keep Camber from feeling any worse about how bad of a job he was doing at removing the metal from his torso.
"Camber…" 712's voice fizzed.
"What?"
"That's your disgnathhhion. I know, it's pretty great. I think of the best ones." Camber looked at his faceplates. He wore a cocky smile. Obviously this mech was only a little arrogant. "Mine is Aileron."
Both of them were close in number, meaning that they were produced at relatively the same time. However, Camber had not gotten close enough to any Eradicons before. Socializing wasn't a part of the programming. He'd do the drills he was told to do, be a part of the squad he was told to be a part of, refuel when told to refuel and recharge when the alert says it's time too. No one has thought to give him a name, and he would never choose one himself, identification was efficient enough. Still, he couldn't help but feel a tug at the corner of his mouth. He let it sink in. Camber…
Yes, it was a good name.
/\
"Good work, soldier."
\/
"Thank you, Aileron."
"No, Camber, thank you."
Ping.
1 MESSAGE
SOURCE: A1-712
REVIEW / DISCARD
What did a mech have to do to get a decent recharge? The chronometer said that it was only half a joor until my next shift began. I sat up, my systems groggy from the memories and lack of a full tank before passing out.
My processor mulled over everything, and through the silence I realized that I didn't care.
I didn't care about the past. I didn't care about what would happen without him here anymore, I can deal with anything on my own. And I didn't care that I was the reason he's found out whether we join the well or not.
Aileron was selfish, only thinking of himself and not of the very cause he was sparked to become a part of. He had forgotten why the war began in the first place. What all of our comrades have fallen for.
1 MESSAGE
SOURCE: A1-712
REVIEW / DISCARD
To be continued
A/N
So here's chapter 3! Your thoughts (good or bad) help bring the story forward. Help a brotha out! (Yeah even you, anons. I know your all out there.)
[I tried to get fancy with the placement of the Vehicon Drones in the battlefield scene but this site has formatting limitations :[ Sad days]