C.M.D: As mentioned, here's an additional chapter to the fic this month! I had actually hoped that I would be close to wrapping up this fic (as I'm SEVERELY behind the comics now and about to depart to TFcon for the weekend) but alas, I've only just now hit the, uh, half-way point? Yeah, I think I can safely say the half-way point. Anywho, please enjoy the extra update, and do expect at least a couple (if not possibly more!) chapters per month on Nomad, until it comes to a thrilling close!
i.
Everything was on fire. As if an inferno was raging under his plating, melting wires and sensors, gumming up his joints with flaming tar created from his own internals. Sensor net screaming at the overwhelming feedback, Snare felt himself propelled from the blackness; optics onlining with a crackle of electricity, a shriek, that may or may not have come from himself, echoing across the white void.
Where was he?
What was happening?!
His frame spasmed violently in this new reality, processor barraged by a series of warning messages and red-lined issues, but the only thing the Predator could focus on was how he couldn't see a thing. Alarms were blaring all around him, not in his helm he realized, vocalizers and a myriad of other strange sounds creating a painful cacophony against his frazzled audios.
"The 'con is awake!," some 'bot yelled.
"Comm the CMO," a second vocalizer shouted.
Optics tried to focus in on the individuals, but the filaments had burned out in whatever trauma they had sustained. Now they could only see the world around in disjointed, multi-coloured fragments among a scattered map of black and white. One of the such blobs of kaleidoscopic colours shifted and swelled to Snare's right; a vocalizer attached alongside it.
"You can quit struggling. We have you secured tightly to the slab and you're in no condition to be leaving anyhow," the stranger said harshly. "Don't worry- we won't kill you. We have orders not to." The speaker didn't sound too happy about that. "But that doesn't mean you can stay awake."
Before the Decepticon could attempt to speak, something sharp was pressed against the base of his helm, sending a surge of energy so intense it actually overcame the blaze under his plating and threw Snare back into the darkness once more.
ii.
The cell was larger than he had anticipated, but then again, Autobots were more merciful when it came to their prisoners.
Snare shifted, the cuff link clanging softly on the floor before it was pulled taut. How did he end up in situations like this? Saved by Autobots a second time, repaired -not enough to be considered brand new, but enough to be functioning- then dragged away to the brig to await trial. A fancy term for execution. No sign of Impactor and the only glimpse of Guzzle had been when the Predator was escorted from the medbay. The minibot was definitely looking better, if still unconscious.
Maybe this was finally the end of the line.
The thought brought only a fraction of relief to the weary Decepticon.
Some sort of bang echoed outside his cell, drawing Snare's attention away from his tethered wrists and pedes. Sounds of a short scuffle followed, then another bang, and a strange length of silence before pedesteps were stomping down toward the Predator's location hastily. No surprise who broke through the metal with a couple, heavy charges.
"Get up," Impactor ordered, shooting the connecting cord between the cuffs, granting mobility -if not freedom- to the flyer again.
Snare grimaced at the scuff mark on the cell floor, where the laser fire had come too close to grazing his patched plating. "And why should I do that?," he demanded. He'd already been "saved" by the harpoonist once before. He didn't really wish to relive the experience.
The Wrecker glared, his mouth twisting in a growl. "You can either get up and follow of your own volition, or I shoot out your knees and carry you out of here over my shoulder," the larger mech threatened, pointing the blaster forward for emphasis. "Your choice."
He didn't even have time to spear the Autobot with his nastiest look. "Fine," Snare hissed, rising to his pedes under Impactor's watchful optic. Seeing that the Decepticon was following, the Wrecker took the lead back down the hall; stepping over the body of a fallen guard just as alarms began to blare overhead.
iii.
The Autobots chased them for a week, in a large cargo spacecraft that had been retrofitted into a sort of mobile commune. Though much larger, well-stocked and weathered for space's unknown troubles, the ship was still slow and cumbersome. In a well-kept exploration shuttle stolen from the freighter, they made great distance, and were soon out of even radar range of their pursuers.
It should have been a joyous occasion.
It was not.
"You're not leaving," Impactor growled, his bulk almost obscuring the door from sight completely.
Snare glared in return, his arms crossed stiffly over his cockpit. As soon as he had registered that they were safe, the Predator had hurried to the shuttle's rear. The purple mech had followed, leaving the now conscious Guzzle in charge of the helm, as he intercepted the jet and shoved him into a room.
"Are you going to lock me up?"
"No."
"Then you can't keep me here," Snare reasoned harshly.
Impactor made a face -like a bullzoid readying an attack- before he unclenched his denta and spoke again. "I saved your life. Twice!," he snarled.
"I was almost dead because of you -twice," the flyer shot back snidely. Another silent standoff fell into place. The Wrecker could say what he wanted; absolutely nothing would make Snare remain in this pit for another cycle longer.
As if expecting that response, the harpoonist took a step back, nodding his helm with an odd sense of solemnity. "Thought so," he gruffed quietly. Was that a note of defeat Snare heard in the Autobot's tone? "Just so you know, all hatches and doors have been coded. They won't open without authorization now."
Green optics shuttered slowly at the statement, processor taking a long moment to assess the new data and deliver the uncrypted message to its host. As it did, Snare felt his wings sweep upwards in rage; fingers curling into shaking fists as they leapt away from his forearms. "You what?!," the Decepticon seethed.
Impactor said nothing. Of course he wouldn't. The slagging brute just confessed to locking all access ports to the shuttle to keep Snare prisoner. Whole frame trembling with outrage, the Predator shoved past the other mech, storming for the door. He could not abide being in the Autobot's presence one more klik.
As he angrily palmed at the door's lock, he heard Impactor say one last thing: "What monster likened yourself to it?"
Snare practically ran after that.
iv.
Cell R-38: empty.
Cell R-39: empty.
Cell R-40: occupied.
Snare stopped in his stride, turning to the cell in question. The thick, metal door looked the same as any other in the dimly lit hall, with no visible handles in sight, no slots for light -just layer upon layer of impenetrable steel, wired throughout with unseen security forces and only accessible by a specific keycard.
Which the Predator just so happened to have the only copy of.
Glancing down at his datapad, he scrolled through the prison's documented listings, curious to know exactly whom he was about to see. Green optics brightened slightly in surprise. Of all the names he had expected to see in Garrus-9's maximum security roster, the infamous Wrecker Impactor certainly wasn't one of them.
Turning to the cart of energon rations Snare dragged behind him, he took a quick count of how many he had at his disposal; calculations flitting through his helm as the flyer tried to assess the amount necessary to keep the Autobot functioning but not strong. Warrior-types could be such a bother sometimes.
"You down here, Snare?," a vocalizer called out from up the hall.
The Predator looked up, his lip components pursing slightly behind his mask. "Stalker," he greeted shortly. "Why are you here?"
His fellow Predator strode forward through the shadows, blaster slung over his shoulder and visor bright with some unknown excitement. "I thought I'd come collect you for some fun. Overlord's called for another hunt," the communications specialist answered.
So that explained why the ground-pounder was in such a chipper mood.
"Pass," Snare replied coolly, turning back to his datapad.
"Pass?" Stalker paused, a hint of anger in his vocalizer. "You've done nothing but lock yourself away almost every cycle since we took this dump. What's wrong with you? You getting soft or something?"
The smaller Predator didn't need to look to know that the blaster was now pointed at him. Stalker could be so brash sometimes. "For your information," he vented in annoyance, still not looking up from the prison's notes, "It is part of my responsibilities to oversee the state of the remaining prisoners. Or would you like to explain to Overlord why all of his 'prey' is no longer functioning?"
It was quiet for a moment, before there was a curse and a shuffle; Stalker shouldering the gun once more as he kicked at the ration cart. Snare glared at the other Decepticon as the cubes clanked together momentarily. "Fine. Whatever. Be boring then," the communications specialist grumbled. "Overlord would probably use me as the next target anyways if I killed his 'favourite'."
Being called anyone's favourite -especially that monster's- was not a comfort to the jet.
"I'm leaving," Stalker blessedly continued, distracting Snare from his thoughts, even if temporarily. The Predator watched as his fellow 'con turned away, marching down the hall back to the lift to the upper levels. "Just make sure you're at the arena match next quartex. Overlord's orders."
The flyer grit his denta irritably, wings hitching up as his emotions got the better of him for a moment. "Don't you worry about me," he called out. "Sorry you've been reduced to a messenger drone, Stalker."
The ground-pounder made a rude gesture in return. Rolling his optical sensors at the petty reaction, Snare turned back to the cell door, withdrawing Fortress Maximus' keycard and swiping at the access pad before he could think about whom he was about to face.
He hated this all.
v.
Impactor didn't grasp the concept of personal space.
"We need to talk."
Then again, Snare had expected this confrontation a lot sooner. "What?," the jet vented softly from his seat. He refused to turn and face the Wrecker whom had just barged into his room, anticipating this to be a conversation of low-handed insults and awkward questions.
"Would you look at me?," the harpoonist snarled testily.
"No. My hearing is just as good whether I'm looking at you or not."
"Fine," Impactor replied, the sound of something being kicked over as the Autobot marched up behind the Predator. Snare grit his denta in annoyance. "You've been slacking off on your duties, Snare. I believe the requirements were that you followed orders if you wished to cement your position here."
"A verbal contract that you deemed null the moment you pass-coded the doors," the smaller mech rebutted sharply.
He could hear the Wrecker's gears grinding just beyond his wings. The moron's face was probably twisted in that ugly sneer too, the one he always donned when he didn't get his way. "Do you have a death wish or something? Is that why you want to be offlined so bad?!"
Snare's fists curled tighter around the datapad he held, almost threatening to crack the frame. Why did the Autobot always have to make such unprecedented assumptions for? It was beyond irritating hearing Impactor spout his unfounded opinions, but even more aggravating because they were always wrong. Did the Predator wish to die? Truthfully, no. He was afraid of having his spark extinguished, but... But he was also so weary of all of this: the fear, the anger, the lack of control.
What point was there in functioning when the future held no prospects for the jaded Decepticon?
"Is there some sort of point you're trying to make, or did you come merely to give me a processor ache?," the jet replied, tossing the datapad to the side.
Impactor grabbed the back of Snare's chair, spinning the smaller mech around to face him. As expected, the Wrecker's lip components were pressed into a thin line, optics narrowed with ire. "I don't get you," he eventually started, leaning in closer. "You were awfully slagging chatty back on G-9, now I can barely get a word out of you, let alone a straight-forward answer! Why, Snare? Other than fear, what other reason could you possibly have to open up to your imprisoned foe for?"
The Predator flinched. The purple warrior's questions had struck something deep within him, but for all the protests that came to mind, not a single one made its way to his glossa. What was there to say? He'd set Impactor free, told him... What? The truth? Lies? Where had his words come from that orn and why had he so foolishly put his trust in the rogue Autobot?
Impactor stared for several kliks longer before cursing under his intakes and taking a step back. He ignored the puzzled jet's inquisitive look-over, rubbing at his optics in aggravation. "Very well. I'll be the honest one now," the larger mech grumbled. He paused, cycling an intake, fixing Snare with a stern optic. "So maybe I want you around for more than your skills. Slagging right I like the look of ya. You 'cons have an issue with an equally beneficial partnership?"
The Wrecker crossed his arms stubbornly, waiting for a rebuke. The Decepticon though did not have the energy for another bout. "...You know nothing about me," Snare softly said, noticing the stunned expression Impactor donned as the jet turned away. "You're just wasting your time."
"Tell me then," the other mech demanded from behind.
"Goodbye," the Predator replied.
For a moment, there was only silence as neither mech moved. Then... "We're not finished here," Impactor declared, his pedes scuffing the floor as he turned and stomped out of the room.
'No,' Snare thought in exhaustion, hearing the door finally slide close following the Autobot's exit, 'I suppose not.'
vi.
His de-frag cycle was a torturous process of fragmented memories and half-recalled sensations.
Dark hallways laid out in uniform fashion, laden with dark rectangles; power-downed cells that were ripped of their inhabitants long before. He marched through these corridors alone, his pedesteps echoing loudly across the walls, always searching for a living soul among the frightful sounds.
Snare?
He turned at the call of his designation, unaware as the dingy grey walls surrounding him melted into a world too vivid and too white. On his back now, he stared up at a purple-crested helm and a pair of blue optics that looked down at him with a mask of fear.
Snare?
What aren't you telling me?
An energon-soaked servo grappled for one of his own, lying stiff on the slab to his side. There was a thought to move, to possibly reach back in response, but the jet was incapable of such action. "I... I don't know," he mumbled back softly. It didn't even feel like his lip components parted.
There's something. What were you trying to escape on Garrus-9?
A different face overlaid the one he was looking at currently. Less blocky, more confident; a large, cruel smile highlighted under bloody orbs. "Him." The words escaped in a rapid hush, causing his spark to flutter with a shiver of terror. "I had to get away from him."
Him? ….Overlord, you mean?
"Yes," the jet muttered. He felt so terribly exhausted suddenly.
Why?
Fingers were gripping at his servo again. Onlining his optics suddenly, he stared dimly at the change of face once more, marginally relieved it no longer belonged to the psychopath. "He... 'favoured' me," he explained slowly, prompted by the intense optics gazing down on him. "I was amusing, when he began to get bored with the games he'd started on Garrus-9. He knew the one thing I never talked about... and he enjoyed tormenting me with that fact."
Elaborate.
He shook his helm weakly.
Snare.
"No," he protested. "I'm not faulty. I don't... I don't need reprogramming. He understood that." It was painful admitting that. Made him cringe in woeful acknowledgment as the words escaped. "I didn't ever want that creature's 'empathy'."
A strange length of silence stretched for the duration of this recharge-like limbo.
...What did he do?
"Nothing," he sighed. Overlord's greatest weapon wasn't what he could physically do to him, it was the promise of the torment he could entice his kin into projecting onto the lone jet. The presence pressed closer and he shrunk away from the contact, discomfort squirming across his sensor grid. "Stop. Please. I dislike it."
Later. Later, I want you to tell me more. No more excuses. No more lies.
"It'll change nothing," he replied, weariness more notable in his tone. The watcher remained quiet, and, drained, the jet finally let his optics offline again for good. His frazzled processor cooling down as it set to healing the last of his damaged archives.
C.M.D: Impactor just can't and Snare doesn't want to. What a pair of idiots :D
Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?
