CHAPTER: FOUR - "Not Today"
CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics
RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.
SUMMARY: Misfire continues his search for the Necrobot.
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to. All typos on this chapter are more or less on purpose.
In an hour, they're finally taking off from Jennix Station. No doubt from how the events have bowled over Spinister and Fulcrum alike for reasons that still evade Misfire will finally start being left behind, but then they'll all be a little more relieved when Crankcase complains slightly less. Not for another hour, but still. It's something, at least.
With an hour to kill, Misfire's grabbed his box of clinking vials and practically prancing his way to the cargo bay. Literally throwing the door open, the jet sits down and sorts through the little bottles of various liquids, the only sound being glass tapping against each other and the slow whirl of the fans above.. At first, he has it sorted by size, though he realizes that's not a very practical manner in which to have them. It's hardly going to verify what kind of flavors they'll probably have, so he opens the cork on each and goes by scent instead. It seems like a good idea, but unsatisfied, he puts them in order of color.
Whatever. He should just test them out instead of dillydallying like this.
"Okay." Misfire picks up the strange glowing gray bottle, peering at it. The way it swirls makes it not quite so silvery as opposed to the visual appearance of melting steel. When he opens it he, he says, "Well, let's start with you."
It's not as smooth as energon as it goes down. It's bland as hell, a bit miserable actually. Like breathing in a mouthful of ash through his vents. Unpleasant and dry-tasting afterward.
Really unsatisfying. "Well. Glad it was free," Misfire remarks. He lifts up another vial, this one with blue-colored contents. "Wonder if-"
Out of his peripheral vision, he sees someone pass. He isn't sure who, but the color is catching. No one else has that color, no one else moves like that, and he already knows depth of that red. He's been familiar with it for awhile.
"Hmm." Misfire peers down at the vial in his hand.
All right, then.
It's him again.
"Hey now!" Misfire calls after him. "I know you're here! Just you wait!"
Silence.
What a jerk.
Running down the hallway, Misfire keeps just seeing glimpses. Brief moments of him, down and down and further into the ship. Slipping just out of eyesight, but enough of a glance that he can be seen and this time, this time for sure, Misfire's is going to track him down.
"Krok! Hey, Krok." Misfire is reaching for his commlink, peering around the corner. "I've got him this time!"
"Him? ...Oh. I see. The Necrobot." Krok sighs. "Are you gonna be back within the hour?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, of course I will." Misfire tsks. "Don't go anywhere without me!"
"Come back in an hour and I won't. Make this short."
Good enough. He has Krok's go, so he'll make good on this chase.
Practically leaping out from the W.A.P., Misfire transforms and tears into the air, following undoubtedly his target. It's strange for a moment, as it feels like there's a rush of everything passing by him. It's fast, as fast as he can go, but as he tries to increase his speed, everything else slows down. The blur of stands and humble buildings of the station start to become clearer and more crisp, as if he isn't moving much at all. The mass of people below him are clear at first, but then they seem to mash together in some way. They're grayed out, nearly faceless, meaningless in comparison to the striking red of the Necrobot.
Yet, in the busy streets of Jennix Station, the Necrobot's back can still be seen as he slips down an alleyway.
"Fine, we'll do it this way," Misfire mutters to himself, transforming back to root mode. Landing onto his feet, he runs down the street, managing to squeeze by everyone hounding the roads.
When were there so many people here, anyway?
The detail is nearly forgotten as he sees his goal step through an open door. Grinning to himself, sure of the fact that he was going to succeed this time, Misfire runs through the entrance.
The door slams shut tight behind him. Eh, he'll figure it out later.
Stretching out before him is an incredibly long hallway. It's strange to him, because it doesn't look like it belongs on the station at all, much less in this building. It doesn't seem like it's been made to fit such a shack, and the rest of the station is grimy and barely holding together since the attack from the Raiders. Yet, this interior? It's... plush, almost. The paint is fresh and new, colorful and striking to the optic. It reminds him of the one time he'd ever seen where the higher class mechs stayed on Cybertron before the war. There's all that, plus also the fact that both walls are covered with dozens and dozens of doors.
He touches the wall curiously, then glances up as he sees him again, disappearing through one of those doors.
"Frag," Misfire curses to himself, dashing down the hall. Once he reaches it, swings it open.
Finding himself faced with a steel wall instead of an actual entrance waiting for him.
"What the...?" Misfire frowns and scratches his head. How is that even possible?
Backing up from the wall, the jet turns and glances down the seemingly endless hallway. Is it just him, or does it seem like it's growing longer and longer?
Hm.
Curiously, he tries one of the other doors, walking through it.
Only to come out the opposite side, almost comically.
"Hmm. A portal?" Misfire guesses to himself. "No, no. Clearly, it's magic."
Whatever it is, it's interesting. Amusing, even!
Each time Misfire opens a door, it either leads him to another door in the same hallway, or another wall. One of the doors even manages to drop him down to the floor, face first. Which is impressive, how does that even work? Stumbling back to his feet, his wings flicker in both curiosity and frustration.
"Oh, c'mon! I know you're here!" Misfire calls out.
He hasn't lost him yet. He can't have.
There's a pause and Misfire looks down at the vial still in his hand somehow. Despite all of the transforming and running around and falling, the glass is still there, full and unspilled, blue and glowing and inviting.
Well. He is a bit hungry.
Misfire downs the contents. He feels an uncomfortable shiver through his plating.
The walls immediately begin to rust over. It crawls and reaches, killing the once intriguing colors into nothing but grime and nothingness. It all crumbles away, the doors falling to the floor, one by one.
When the last door falls, there he is, turning and leaving through a dark entrance once again.
"I got you!" Misfire shouts, practically giddy, racing after the Necrobot into the entranceway. "I've got you now!"
Here, it's different, and it's immediately felt the further he runs inside. There is nothing but the blackness in here. It's almost suffocating the way it's all around him, sucking him in, yet it's wide and expansive and lonely. That chills him; it's like being lost in space with no stars to guide him by, nothing.
All he has to do is run forward, chasing a distant red figure before him.
This is the longest run he's had. He's going to do it this time!
At the elated feeling, he somehow feels steps for his feet. He climbs and climbs, the ground under his feet lighting up every time his feet touch the ground. At first the ground seems to glow blue, then to red, purple, and eventually it just starts to flash colors in no particular order or meaning.
The path before him brightens and givens a clear path now, leading hopefully closer to the Necrobot. Yet, it only seems like they're getting higher and higher, high enough to be completely surrounded by stars.
"Um," Misfire comments brilliantly, staring all around himself. Nebulas can be seen oddly not too far off, colors shifting and changing. Rushing through the darkness are apparently a series of comets.
Abruptly, one of the comets twists around into an impossible loop in the air. It smashes and lands onto the path in front of him; bursting forth from the sparkling remains is, somehow, Soundwave.
Sure. Why not. Misfire isn't even going to argue. He just grins and says, "Awesome."
Soundwave says nothing and simply throws some sort of string instrument at Misfire. The jet manages to catch it, and finds himself completely jamming out in the stars and lights and colors. The music feels like it's rushing through his plating and electrifying his entire sensory net. The stars are beginning to burst and explode around him in an impressive display.
The only appropriate thing Misfire feels like he can do now is shout out, "AW YEAHHHHHH!"
Everything dulls all at once and Misfire finds himself on his back. He stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan slowly turn clockwise in the cargo bay of the Weak Anthropic Princple. The tingles in his body slowly stop and he frowns.
Oh. Well, frag, that was one hell of a trip.
Slowly, he sits himself up and looks down.
Two vials, empty on the floor.
Briefly, he checks his internal chronometer, squinting a little. Five minutes have passed, and he can't remember what part had started out to be real and when it stopped being reality. When did he lose sight of the Necrobot? He'd been there! Misfire had almost reached him finally.
He glances at his vials of various fuels, considering deeply for a moment. Whatever had happened, it felt close enough that he almost reached the Necrobot. With these, can he do it again? Can he get there?
Only five minutes passed. He has time before the ship takes off.
"All right, then." Misfire picks up one of the vials, peering at it. The way the colors swirl make it appear strange, almost kind of oily. "Let's give this another go, eh?"
The contents are taken in one shot. The texture definitely is strange, almost kind of filmy. He wrinkles his nose briefly, clicking his tongue, as if that'll somehow make the flavor more favorable. Misfire shakes his head a little. What the hell were the merchants doing with all of these, anyway?
He glances to his right and raises an optical ridge.
"Funny," Misfire muses to himself. "Never seen this before."
It's a door on the floor of the cargo bay. Strange, he's sure that Krok would have said something about it before. And it's not like they have so much equipment that it'd be easy to hide, either. So did it just suddenly appear?
Either way, his curiosity gets the best of him. With a grunt, Misfire manages to prop the door open. Down below seems, oddly enough, a tunnel. Logistically, it shouldn't go on for as long as it seems to, otherwise it'd just be a hole in the ship.
Fortunately, Misfire is not much on thinking about the logistics of things. Mentally, he waves it off as magic or some such before he grins to himself and hops down the tunnel. The way down has a way of making it sem lik it gets smallerand smaller, the sheer blackness juat almost consuming in some way. It's discomforting and he debates flying back up, but he can't even see the top of the hole anymore.
So it's time to go down.
Eventually light abruptly hits his optics, almost blinding him as he falls and hits the bottom. It takes a moment for his optics to readjust, but once they do, the sight he sees is a strange one no doubt. Looking up from the floor, Misfir see two of the biggest idiots sitting at a small, elegant table. The furniture is made of pristine metal, polished and flimmering as both Grimlock and Spinisiter sit back in equally fancyas-hell chairs. The designs carved into the damned things is far more intricate than it ought to be, and fefinitely does not suit the two at all.
SHeesh.
There's a small sniff from Grimlock as the Dynobot peers down at Misfire. "I do say, chap, you gave us nearly a fright there for a moment."
"Indeed," Spinister agrees, picking up his energon and giving it a sip, somehow delicately if that was possible for him.
"Well, I cab;t reakky tekk uf tgis is crepy or what," Misfire mutters to himself. He pauses for a moment, frowning to himself. His mind is starting to feel more and more muddled. What does that mean, exactly?
"Well. I, Grimlock, must say that youre making a fine interruption of my lunch date with our fine surgeon here, wot." Grimlock sighs. "In any case, can we perhaps assist you?"
Sluggishly, Misfire gives a shrug and says, "Don't suppose you've seen a red mech around here? Carrying a datapad. A list of some kind."
Spinister shakes his head gracefully. "Terribly sorry, but no. If it's the Necrobot again, Im afraid we're having non eof that at our lunch. Isn't that right, old boy?"
"Quite right," Grimlock agrees. "Perhaps try down there? I, Grimlock, did notice a smashing new door."
"Smashing indeed."
Somehow, he hadn't noticed it before, but it is there across the room. It's an odd door, completely out of place considering the rest of the artistic decor. It's bland, flat, and scraped up from use. Not much to look at, but it sticks out almost obnoxiously. Huh.
"All right, you guys are just wigging me out," Misfire grumbles. "I'll, uh. Use that door you mentioned."
"CHeers," Spinister muses.
It opens easily enough.
Just as it shuts behind Misfire easily enough.
[This portion of the ship truly makes no sense and should not, though with how things have been going, that should be no surprise. Although we can assume this is from the perspective of MISFIRE, as this should be pretty clearly different from the rest of the ship. The hallway is long, rectangular, and direct. Yet, at the same time, everything is discolored by age and beaten and worn. It is rusted and earthy and should give the distinct feeling of being unclean.]
MISFIRE:
The hell is going on here?
[Both the right and left walls are lined with three doorways. Next to each doorway is some sort of statue, only on each one there's some sort of slot, as if a lever should be in each one. With careful observation, one should be able to find that one statue already does have a lever in its chest, and the door next to it is open. Briefly, MISFIRE dares to look inside. The room has little in it: several pieces and debris, and a pair of impressively sized feet.]
MISFIRE:
Uh. Okay, then.
[With wide optics, MISFIRE steps back. He decides to try to open door number two, hoping that it'll be a little more promising. Set up with little care against the wall is either some dead body or just a shell that has never been used. The head is caved on in the left side, and in its hand is one of the levers. Without hesitation, MISFIRE grabs the lever from the hand.]
MISFIRE:
I'll take that, thank you very much.
[After backing out of the room, MISFIRE looks at the lever in his hand, then to the statue outside of the room. Curiously, he places the lever into the chest. It clicks into place. He grabs and pulls the lever.
At the lever is pulled, it is slow and grating, like rust against rust wailing out. It's almost like the statue is screaming. MISFIRE stands there for a moment, optics wide in surprise. He tries to tug the lever out or move it again, but it seems locked in place.]
MISFIRE:
[Grumbling.] Well. All right, then.
[MISFIRE sets to the task of investigating the other rooms. Each one is slightly different than the other, but they all have a lever somewhere. Every single time he places the lever into the chest of the statue outside the door and pulls it, the same thing happens: it sounds like the statue screams, and he can't get the lever out once it's in.
The following room contains a taller corpse with the hands torn off, the fingers spread apart on the floor. The lever had been sticking out of the back until MISFIRE had pried it out.
That covered the right hand side of the hallway.
The next room had a much larger body, the head completely missing. Where the head should have been, the lever was there. After that, MISFIRE found the next room to be a little bit different, if only for the fact the body is actually sitting on a piece of furniture. The face is missing, as if ripped off, the lever sticking out of one of the holes in its chest.
It makes him uncomfortable to look at, but MISFIRE takes the lever anyway.
The last room on the left side of the hallway makes him stop completely.]
MISFIRE:
[In disbelief.] The frag...?
[Hanging from the wall is what he hopes to be the last of the bodies. The hands and feet are impaled on spikes, leaving it to dangle from the wall. The limbs seem to be mostly pulled from the body, but not quiet, leaving it looking a bit elongated in some way. It makes MISFIRE squirm as he stares up at the body.
In its mouth is the final lever, clenched tight between teeth.
Warily, MISFIRE removes it, quickly stepping out of the room and facing the very last statue at the end of the hallway.
He isn't sure if he wants to use it, but he has no where else to go at this point. Slowly, he places the lever into the last statue. Wincing, MISFIRE pulls the lever.]
The scream is loud enough to cause an echo in the hallway. Misfire widens his optics and he can't seem to stop. Slower and slower, the lever moves down, the shriek ending in a gurgling moan until the lever is done moving.
He wants to take it back. Suddenly, he wants to take it all back and not be in this hallway, but he can't stop it now. He can't turn back, there's no where to turn back. Yet, he has such unease in his tanks, his spark twisting. He feels like, maybe, he's just made an enormous mistake.
Still, with no where else to be, Misfire opens the last door, stepping inside.
Strewn about the floor are several body parts, the plating gray and showing no sign of life in any of it. It's too familiar, maybe a dozen or so corpses in here, with broken guns scattered. Old, dried energon is splashed across the walls and terror rises in him.
Misfire turns around sharply to leave, finding himself facing him. Him.
The Necrobot stares down at Misfire.
"It was an accident," Misfire blurts out, backing up slowly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this!"
The Necrobot stares.
"I was just curious! I didn't mean to do any of that." There's a yelp as Misfire trips over one of the pieces on the floor, landing squarely onto his aft.
The Necrobot stares and begins to approach Misfire.
"It was an accident!"
Slowly, the datapad in the Necrobot's hands turn. There on the list, there are many names, but Misfire sees many he recognizes.
He can't speak suddenly. It hurts to try. There's a prominent tremble in his body. He knows what was done and there's no excuse for it and he wants to undo it all and try again but that's impossible now, purely impossible and there's something. So horrible. Climbing over his plating.
With a hiccup in his vents, Misfire watches in horror as rust crawls up his legs, breaking him apart.
"No! No no no!"
He looks at his own hands crumble away, becoming dust to the floor.
The Decepticon known as Misfire is then nothing more than bits of forgettable metal.
Optics come online and Misfire is on his back again, staring up at the ceiling. He feels the fan turn, and it is moving counter-clockwise, air moving over him because its motions. For awhile, Misfire simply looks up, seeing it move, observing it. It doesn't make him calm, but it does make him feel introspective.
Slowly, he moves his hand down his own torso, letting it settle over a spot on his abdomen. Freshly sealed from sometime ago when Blithe and his crew attacked the W.A.P. and Fulcrum gave him, really gave him his fuel pump.
It draws him to think on the K-Con. There's the whole hey you nearly got us killed and also you sort of put us on the D.J.D.'s List factor, but otherwise, Fulcrum has been a good addition to the crew. He's not very strong, but he's smart and he's been adapting to life on the ship very well. There are various times when he's upset and Misfire has honestly no idea how to handle that very well, but he tries to stick by his side.
Because... well, because he does like Fulcrum. Very much. Even if he's a bit evasive on that topic.
He remembers his hallucination from the Cerebnum. Misfire knows what that means, and how much he'd rather have Fulcrum laughing than dwelling on every bad thing that happens to them.
Misfire knows how he feels.
Feeling something ignite in him, he sits up sharply and marches out from the cargo bay. This needs to happen now. He can't contain it.
Making his way onto the bridge, Misfire dramatically throws the door open. "Fulcrum!"
"...Misfire?" The K-Con turns and looks at him incredulously. "What's gotten into you?"
"We really need to talk!"
Fulcrum raises an optical ridge. "Okay, so... talk? Talk to me."
Rushing forward, Misfire grabs onto Fulcrum's shoulders. "You remember when we were on that planet? With the Cerebnum?" Fulcrum gives him a flat look. "Okay, stupid question. Of course you remember. That hallucination I had, well..."
"You said it could have been anyone."
"I lied! Completely lied. To your face. Because I was embarrassed. I was giving it a lot of thought, and how I feel about you. I really just want you to be happy with us. With me."
Fulcrum looks alarmed at the revelation. "Misfire?"
"You're the one for me, baby!" Abruptly, Misfire dips Fulcrum down and gives him an incredibly sloppy kiss.
Optics come online once more. The ceiling is hardly any different, only the fan is turning clockwise again. There's a tired sigh from Misfire as he reflects on the last hallucination briefly.
Complications are not a thing that Misfire particularly enjoys. He understands that coming to terms with thoughts and feelings require him to sit still and consider. Even if they are true, it's not wise to approach much further than his own mind. Not right now, anyway. He has no idea what he could say to Fulcrum. It's not like the Decepticon military trains you on this particular matter.
Misfire rolls onto his side, looking at the vials he's been drinking. He feels exhausted. He winces as he remembers the names on the list from the Necrobot. Real or not, it terrifies him to think about.
The chronometer states it's a half hour until launch.
After a small internal debate, he picks up a vial. Murky, brown, downright rust-colored.
Misfire downs it anyway. His optics shut off at the awful, stinging flavor afterward.
And he opens his optics.
Familiar, but different. The same, but not so much.
"Are you sure you have that?"
"I'm about as sure as I've ever been about this."
He finds himself on his back, staring up at faces he knows and can't remember knowing. Wary and weary optics look down at him and Misfire sees his own fuel pump in the hands of someone else.
Misfire squints up. No, he should remember a chin like that. Shouldn't he?
"Hello?" the jet tries.
"Pretty sure that corpse just talked."
"You sure you didn't imagine it?"
"You think that's the best my imagination can do?"
The bronze colored mech above him frowns and looks over his shoulder. "Flywheels is right. This one's alive, Krok."
Gradually making his approach, the one named Krok looks down. "Hm. Fully functional?"
"Got all his parts in order, according to Spinister. I'll, uh. Just put the fuel pump back?"
"Do that."
"What's going on?" Misfire glances around, more in confusion than fear. This doesn't seem right. Is this the right place?
"Hold still." There's a small huff of annoyance from the small, lanky-looking Decepticon tending to him. This feels awkwardly familiar. "Sorry. We came across you when we were looking for spare parts."
Not even remotely upset about that factor, Misfire gives his surroundings a look. Five different Decepticons, all barely holding together. Their optics are (familiarly) dim from lack of proper fuel. It seems like he should know this situation.
But he can't make the connection.
"So long as I get my parts back right where they ought to be, then." Misfire grins. "You should introduce me to everyone!"
"I, uh." The bronze mech peers at him. "I don't even know your name-"
"Misfire!"
"Oh. I'm Fulcrum." He shrugs. "Is your name accurate?"
Misfire grins sheepishly. "Well, that's a long story, actually."
Briefly, his mind reels. He remembers. The room with the body parts, that belonged to at least a dozen people. The list that was shown to him.
That. No. That doesn't matter now. Does it?
After some help to his feet, Misfire leans on Fulcrum's shoulder. "Go on! Tell me who everyone else is."
"Um." Fulcrum tries to shove him off, yet somehow the smaller mech's strength is so miniscule that he doesn't even budge the jet. "All right, guess I will."
It's like a sudden rush through Misfire.
Quickly the scenes move. He learns all of their names, their quirks. He feels like he's known them forever but there's been no time at all. The amount of speed and lack of attention span throws them off. Crankcase complains, Spinister is confused, Krok sighs and shakes his head, Flywheels offers a hesitant smile, and Fulcrum just rolls his optics as Misfire bugs him and drapes himself over his shoulders. At least we have another flier is what is offered by the K-Con. When they huddle around the fire, Misfire gets close and Fulcrum doesn't bother trying to shove him off anymore. There might be a smile, it's hard to say, and Misfire is just comfortable and
somewhere along the way
there's a Dynobot
and there's the Decepticon Justice Division
It all stops and becomes irrelevant when Fulcrum runs and runs and runs to the top of the crashed ship. Misfire knows what this means and this time, he chases him. There's sudden fear in him, and he doesn't like this feeling.
He reaches out, grabbing Fulcrum's wrist. "Don't! Don't jump. You still have your-"
"Payload? I know." Fulcrum shakes his head. "I can't fight. I'm not that strong. I can jump, though."
Misfire, who can't aim at anything and misses.
Fulcrum, who supports underneath.
"Let me go, Misfire."
"I can't. I can't do it."
The list. He remembers the list.
Not from the D.J.D., but from Him and it's too much, and he can't let go.
He can't let any of them go.
"You big idiot." Though the way it's spoken, it's almost said fondly, with Fulcrum smiling a little bit. "I have to jump. That's how it goes."
Misfire can't seem to sort it out, how Fulcrum somehow escapes his grip no matter how tight he holds on. He watches as the K-Con leaps and transforms.
And it's all gone.
Misfire sits up sharply, exhaling. There's a tremor running through him so hard that he feels like his plating is going to come off. He looks up at the ceiling. The fan.
It's clockwise.
There are empty vials around him, though not all are gone. It doesn't matter now, though. He's had his chase. He's followed the Necrobot and found himself still unsatisfied. Frightened, now, so suddenly at the idea of loss. Before he'd been able to pass it off a little bit; if one of them fell, they could make use of the parts. That's how it goes.
But the idea of something happening to Fulcrum brings this weird sense of terror that bothers him.
Slowly, Misfire stands up. He'll sort out the vials a little bit later. For now, he checks up on his chronometer.
Ten minutes until launch.
The jet walks through the ship, looking in on the others. Krok is sitting with Spinister in the medbay patiently, the medic staring at the floor as their leader murmurs a story from one of the battles of the war to coax the violent surgeon. On the bridge, Crankcase grouses and grumbles as he tries to shove Grimlock off of the pilot chair with little success.
Fulcrum sits in the engine room, datapads piled around him. The K-Con glances up as Misfire steps inside.
"Sooo... what're you doing?" the jet asks, tapping his fingers against the doorway.
"The merchants gave me a lot of maps and data. I missed some years on the war, and while I'm sure Krok could fill me in on a lot of the more important bits, I like having some details down." Fulcrum shrugs. "What's up? Where have you been for the past hour? It was quiet."
"Just havin' a bit of me-time." Sliding into the room, the door closes behind Misfire. "Listen, loser - uh. Fulcrum. I've been thinking about before."
"About what, exactly?" Fulcrum glances up from his datapads, as if hearing his name from Misfire means that's serious business.
Misfire shrugs a little. "You've been upset since the Raiders. I mean, you're better now, but you're still not quite yourself. And you were upset after what happened with the Cerebnum, too."
"I was stomped on by a guy that turns into a tank and I wasn't a big fan of everyone getting their minds messed with. I'm gonna be upset about it."
"That's not what you said before." Misfire rubs the back of his neck, trying to not sound frustrated or accusatory. "You said that I wouldn't understand. And maybe I wouldn't, not really, because I know we're all different and everything, but it's like I said. You aren't alone." There's a small sigh from the K-Con. The jet holds out his hands helplessly. "I want to help you. So, would you please talk to me?"
"Misfire..." Fulcrum looks down again at the datapads, then back up to the jet. "I've had a lot on my mind. And I mean that. I'm still bothered by what happened at Styx. I keep trying to turn away from it, but it just seems like there's a lot of reminders. I miss my old frame, and that tank, he..." His shoulders slump. "I knew him. From before. His name's Barracks, and... and he was one of the guards at Styx, okay? I recognized him, and he remembered me."
It all has to boil down to that. Styx and the K-Class. It's hard to forget and they all have their nightmares and demons, but most of them can hide from it most of the time.
Fulcrum just has to look in the mirror for his reminders and Misfire supposes that can't be very helpful.
"C'mere." Misfire holds out his arms.
Briefly, Fulcrum looks at the outstretched arms, then up to the jet. "...What?"
"C'mon! The offer's gonna expire if you keep waiting. Hurry up, pinhead."
"Um." Warily, Fulcrum stands up and approaches the jet. When he gets close enough, he gives off a small oof and Misfire is grabbing him up into a tight embrace. Not enough to crush the little K-Classer, but he's essentially blanketed in all that is Misfire due to his smaller size. To his satisfaction, Fulcrum is not struggling or fighting, but relaxing against him.
That's more like it.
"I know my focus isn't great," Misfire admits. "But I'm not stupid. We're friends, yeah?"
"Yeah. Okay." Fulcrum leans a little against him. "...Thanks, Misfire."
"Great. Fantastic. Now come here."
"What- hey!"
Catching the technician by surprise, Misfire gathers up Fulcrum into his arms with a sharp smile. Without any mercy, he begins to wriggle his fingers over Fulcrum's torso and sides, all the while still holding him up.
"S-stop!" Fulcrum tries to kick, but it's completely effectless as he wriggles and laughs from the tickling. "I swear to fragging Primus-! MISFIRE! You big idiot!"
"There you go! That's more like it, loser!"
When the chuckling escalates to outright screeching giggles, that's when the satisfaction hits Misfire. He stops and sits down, clutching the K-Con to himself. Tiredly, Fulcrum gives him an ineffective shove to the shoulder.
But there's no fighting. Fulcrum is still giving the aftershock of snickers from the tickling.
It's better to see him this way.
The Weak Anthropic Prinicple finally starts up. The repairs are done as much as can be, and on schedule, Crankcase pilots their rickety ship away from the station at long last.
As they go, things seem more relaxed by comparison. Not perfect, but Spinister seems to have forgotten why he was even upset to begin with and Fulcrum tolerates Misfire's teasing with more of a smile.
"You ever find him?" Krok asks as he passes by Misfire.
Him? Does Krok mean... the Necrobot? Did that transmission actually happen? Misfire looks at him for a moment, as if unsure how to respond, then he shrugs. "Didn't get what I was looking for. I'll go find 'im again another day, Krok."
There's a pause, then Krok nods. "Fair enough."
It's true, what Misfire says; he didn't really find what he was looking for. Not this time, anyway. But he did have some thought on what feels important right now. That ought to be good enough.
No. They're not perfect.
But this is all they have and they'll get by. They always do.