Fight to Win
DropZone
Little Sister does not hesitate. Even before Onslaught has fully righted himself, before Brawl can respond to his offering, she has already twisted into action. She grabs him by the breastplate; she yanks him down to her level, and uses a combination of his mass and this world's natural gravity to throw him into Swindle. The two go down in a tangle of weapons and limbs, shouting at one another in disarray.
I watch from my vantage point on high, peering through the magnification of the laser rifle I borrowed. I watch for hesitation. I watch for weakness. Little Sister was not meant to traffic with Autobots. Little Sister was not meant for soft emotions, and laughter and camaraderie. Little Sister is just like me: the means to an end. I engineered the virus so carefully. It needed to strip away all the dulling experiences. It needed to revert Little Sister to her base function. She is an agent of Death. She is an agent of Destruction. Middle Brother is far beyond my grasp, but if only she and I survive to carry on our Creator's mission, than so be it!
Little Sister has rolled to her feet, narrowly avoiding a clumsy grab by Vortex. He has already completed his transformation, and taken to the air. He, and Blast Off, high above, will continue to rain down mortars. Little Sister once humiliated the Combaticons, though she likely does not remember doing so. This is their chance to get revenge, and my chance to see if my virus is working.
She is beautiful and mesmerizing in the way she moves, as fluid as molten steel, as graceful as solar winds. Swindle and Onslaught have barely gotten themselves untangled, as Little Sister dodges a volley from Brawl's heavy cannon. I lose her for a moment in the shadows. She doesn't follow a logical progression of motion, ending up where I, and any other logic governed 'bot, would not expect her. I find her with the scope again, just in time to see her plunge two glittering energon daggers into the junction of Swindle's neck and arms.
The con-bot seizes up in circuit overload, falling free of Little Sister's grasp. She moves with the stasis-locked body, keeping him as a shield between her and the rest of them. Vortex strafes the field of battle, rounds pinging off Swindle's heavy chestplate, only to be yelled at by Onslaught. There was no reason for that move, aside from endangering the loudmouth.
Yelling loud enough that I can hear him from my high vantage point, Brawl charges forward, throwing Swindle's inert form out of the way, and engaging Little Sister in an exchange of brutal hand-to-hand blows. Little Sister does not have the armor to withstand that kind of barrage. She is not the defense; I am. I am meant to be the shield that takes her to her final purpose. You see, that is my purpose, to protect Little Sister until she can fulfill her core directive.
Brawl screams in sudden pain, but his body blocks my ability to see what has transpired.
Almost as quickly, the valley floor erupts in a hail of missile fire, dirt and earth and greenery thrown sky-high with each explosion.
"DropZone!" Onslaught pings my personal frequency, desperate. "She's different. She's not pulling back!"
Excellent, good, this is just what I wanted. I know she can beat any mech in a fair fight, but taking on all the Combaticons at once, and being able to hold her own, well that is something she could have only done when she was hard and angry, and my Little Sister. I lay the rifle down beside me, and launch from the escarpment.
For a moment, my form blots out stars, and moon alike, the simultaneous whine and rumble of my engines drowning out even Brawl's screams of agony. Ah, she's melted him. Or at least, part of him. Ingenious. As I set back to earth, Little Sister has allowed herself to get distracted by my presence. I hold up a hand, stopping Vortex and Blast Off before they unleash their next salvo. Onslaught begins to carefully approach, only to pull up short as a pair of energon daggers quiver at his feet. Little Sister didn't even have to look. I can feel my Spark swelling with pride.
Little Sister is still holding Brawl's arm twisted. The current running from her own reserves manifests as an occasional spark of iridescent purple across the Combaticon's armor. Brawl is on his knees, contorted in agony. From joint to hand his arm is twisted nearly 270 degrees in the wrong direction, nerve receptors in his protoform respond to the melting armor. Brawl probably believes himself to be on fire.
And still, Little Sister is staring at me.
"They told you I was... extinguished... did they not?" I send to her on our private channel.
Her reaction is immediate, and nonverbal. Brawl is released; she kicks him in the face, so that he keels over in the dirt. No Combaticon rushes to his side. She steps on his chest, walks over his twitching, howling body, and approaches me. Little Sister stands barely to my chestplate. I lean down toward her, obligingly.
And gasp in shock as pain sparks across my face.
She... hit me...
Little Sister hit me!
I feel something I have not felt in many, many cycles. It builds inside me until I have no choice but to give it voice: laughter. Long, and loud... laughter.. amusement! My Little Sister has returned to me! Every inch of her hateful, and angry, and ready to kill whatever is placed in her path!
