Sorry I took so long updating! . I've been away for two weeks and have seriously lacked the normal inspiration to write. I loved visiting family and camping and all but not having the drive to write bothered me. I'm glad that I finally got this put together. I hope you all enjoy!
Thanks so much to theshadowcat, Cassiopeia1979, Elita One, Jason M. Lee, Daebereth, Bunnylass, Flameshield, Lady Tecuma, Bluebird Soaring, Stripperella, Violetlight, Chloo, Kirmon64, and Litahatchee! You are the wonderful reviewers that make writing this fic as wonderful and pleasurable as it is! I have no words adequate enough to convey my deepest thanks.
Thank you goes out specially to Violetlight, Litahatchee, and Lady Tecuma for encouraging me and editing my ass. You three have been the best!
Nightshade- An original character that belongs to Violetlight. Credit goes to her for all her wonderful imaginings.
Quel-Caol- An out of the way Decepticon outpost mentioned in When Heaven Fell
Scrapions- They are the Decepticon equivalent to Junkions. Again, they are mentioned in the expansion fic When Heaven Fell.
Bolding some TF conversations and not others- I'm only going to bold Cybertronian conversation when they are in the presence of humans to show that they are speaking their native tongue in front of us little organics. When it is only the Cybertronians themselves in a room, I think it's pretty much a given that they would speak their own language and quite unnecessary for me to bold it.
Trojan and Worm's lack to talking- it's explained in When Heaven Fell. They're Scrapions from the Simfur/Black Expanse region who reformatted to join Virus.
As We Come Together
In Which Voices Come from Afar
Exacting revenge was all part of being Decepticon, which was why Nightshade felt particularly Decepticon-ish as she marched out from Flamewar's previously locked and forbidden quarters. The once closed off room containing the femme's few treasured items in the universe (a few trophies Barricade had stripped from dead Autobots, weapons bought with dirty money, trinkets from her gladiatorial orns), were now laid to a satisfying waste.
The shattered remains of a crystalline display case crunched loudly under foot, echoing emptily in the silent ship. Shelves once laden with their few burdens, memories of Flamewar's past, scattered in pieces. Utterly destroyed. Some were even charred beyond recognition.
Nightshade paused in the doorway, letting the dim light from the corridor beyond leak into the small, dingy room. There may have been a small part of her that felt remorse for what she had done, thinking of how she would feel if all her own precious treasures had been ransacked and destroyed beyond repair, but the remorse was overpowered easily by the feeling of satisfaction. She'd feel guilt later, if she ever felt it at all.
After all, in her mind, she was just returning a favour; an optic-for-an-optic sort of deal. Flamewar took Waspinator from Nightshade, so Nightshade took everything from Flamewar. The destruction, in no way, made her any less pissed off at Flamewar or Soundwave, but at least she could live with herself now. And to think, she'd cohabitated with the femme for hundreds of vorns on the same ship in relative neutrality, and yet all it took was someone to be a tattletale for this to erupt. Loyalty amongst Decepticons never was strong…
With a harsh snort, Nightshade spun on her heel and marched out. While it had been her intention to attempt repairs on the ship again after her interlude into Flamewar's quarters, the draw of the empty ship was itching at her once more. She may have hated being left behind, forced to sparkling-sit a junk heap, she also knew there was power in being the sole occupant on board said junk heap.
Giddy from her exacted vengeance and the fact that not even Soundwave could punish her for her foolish indulgences, Nightshade paused briefly outside the captain's quarters. The door was nondescript, no different from any other door on the ship, except for the long gouges that ran along the walls and the length of the door, testaments to Virus's temper when a deal went awry. A niggling feeling crept into Nightshade's processor not for the first time; while Virus was gone and everyone else was away, that made her captain. While fear of severe punishment had always kept her curiosities in check, Nightshade was being buoyed by her small victory over Flamewar's room, making her a little reckless, more inclined to do something she might not have ever dared to do before: go into Virus's room. Alone.
It was completely unreasonable to think that so much time had been spent on the dinky Darksyde without a bot experiencing all the rooms at least once, but there were rooms that, no matter the occasion, were always foreboding. Flamewar's private sanctum had been one; Virus's lair was another. Nightshade had been in both on occasion, but to enter uninvited, unsupervised…
"Well, I am the acting captain…" She reasoned, laughing. "So, technically, this is my room until further notice." She slid in as the door hissed open.
There were no windows in Virus's room, casting it in inky blackness. The light leaking in from the hall was weak, as if it were afraid to fall beyond the doorway. From what Nightshade could see as her optics adjusted to the near-blackness, Virus's lair had not changed much from the last time she's been in here; there was no recharge berth, no shelves with personal possessions, no indications of a bot living there at all. Instead, the room was a strange mix of scrap heap and mad lab; eons worth of junk laid in rotting piles along the floor, the rust and corrosive materials eating through the metal of the floor; the walls and ceiling were strung with wires and cables and conductors. Monitors blinked and flickered in chaotic disarray, causing the menacing shadows on the walls to dance in a jerking, violent manner while viral specimens were carefully observed. Frame parts and medical tools laid scattered across the floor, some spattered and crusted with old energon. The Decepticon symbol was gouged into the ceiling where the light never quite hit it.
Nightshade's spark fluttered as she stepped in, morbid curiosity eating at her. She absently hummed a sound-byte she'd heard in a horror holo-vid she'd watched long ago.
The silence was not absolute here as it was in the rest of the ship; there was live buzzing from configurations along the floor, humming from electrical wires vibrating above, and patterns of beeps and clicks and whistles that echoed from the shadows. The haunting, almost malignant, sonata set Nightshade on edge. Everything felt alive in the room, and she couldn't shake the unnerving sense of being watched. There were things left in shadow, rotting things left to disintegrate in dark corners, forgotten projects that festered where the light never shone; this was Virus's haven, surrounded by infectious, diseased fragments she treated as lovers and pets. This was not a welcome place for any sane being.
Too distracted by the macabre treasure trove of viral warfare, Nightshade lost track of where she was setting her feet as she wandered in deeper. To her horror, something cold and oozing suddenly squished under foot.
"UGH!" Every ounce of her being recoiled in disgust, wrenching away. A wet slopping noise joined the din of activity as bits of the slimy substance went flying.
"Fragging spark of a glitch- that's disgusting!" Nightshade cursed heatedly, kicking her foot around to dislodge the last remains of the slime. "Would it kill her to clean up once in a while?!"
The repugnant odour coming off the substance was enough to make her purge. As her foot flew blindly through the air, throwing off the last remnants of the gunk, it connected with something metal dangling from an overly crowded lab table. There was a loud clatter and the thing toppled sideways, and then rolled off the table, taking half the detritus with it.
"Oh pit-fragging Primus, you've got to be kidding me!"
Nightshade immediately dove for the mess, throwing it back up on the table without care. Surely Virus wouldn't notice if someone messed up her mess? But, as the rust and scrap was cleared away, a sliver of weak light glinted on something metallic green. Something not rusted. Clearing the area a little more, a small, limp arm was revealed, connected to a shoulder and torso; in short order, a small frame was dug out from the trash.
Curiosity, again, got the better of her.
Taking hold of the tiny dead frame, Nightshade hefted it into a mote of light. She stared hard, and then smirked at the oddity. "What do you know; a familiar faceplate."
It was either a very small femme or tall microbot, standing within the size range to be either one, but the exact design of the frame left it too vague to denote either model. The frame was medical class though, that much was obvious, as was the fact that it was exactly half of Nightshade's height. The paint glinted dully under scrutiny; metallic green like the carapace of a beetle.
Nightshade knew this frame. It was the frame Virus had inhabited before she reformatted.
"Moonfly."
After all this time, who would have thought a monster like Virus would have kept her old frame? In such relatively good condition no less! Before she could ponder further over the puzzle she'd uncovered, a loud chirping alert rang through the bowels of the ship. Someone was hailing the Darksyde.
A silent thrill of excitement shot through the femme. She tossed the empty frame aside and rushed out. Could it be Virus? Or maybe Soundwave finally calling upon her? Or, Primus forbid, Flamewar calling to gloat? Swinging into the bridge, Nightshade quickly activated the comms, bringing the view screen online when it indicated that visual establishment was possible. To her ultimate surprise, Swindle's faceplate appeared. She sighed expansively, not bothering to disguise any of her ultimate disappointment.
There was a pause as the dealer assessed the femme he saw sitting alone on the bridge of the Darksyde. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd encountered Nightshade in command of the bridge, but the disappointment she was regarding him with now was a little disconcerting.
"This is Swindle, captain of the Double-cross. Am I being received, Darksyde?"
It took an astrosecond for Nightshade to respond. "Yes, you're being received just fine, Double-cross."
"Oh, that's good. I didn't know if the Darksyde was going to be able to receive such a long distance transmission… your transceiver has always been a little touchy."
"That's because it's a piece of slag," Nightshade replied, all in the name of customary small talk. "May I enquire, Swindle, where the pit are you? And how did you find this ship here?"
Swindle settled back in his seat and, for the first time, Nightshade noticed the dealer was being flanked by his three fellow Combaticons. "Well, you see, that's a very interesting story, actually. We are hovering very near the star in this system, just on the outer event horizon of a very strange wormhole."
"And how did you come about the wormhole? You're a merchant, not an explorer. I didn't think it was in your programming to waste resources on a whim."
"This was hardly a whim," Swindle replied, optic flashing a little brighter. "Our… mutual client was more than generous in supplying your location and directions to reach you."
Nightshade's optics narrowed into a suspicious glare. "To what end would Mastermind be supplying you with such information?"
Swindle gestured to himself and his fellow mechs. "We've been requested to find more material for Mastermind's experiments, though he's asking we supply him with an Autobot this time. As you well know, we only do 'Con and Neutral pick ups- the Darksyde does Autobot."
"So, what? You're dumping your business on us? How unlike you," Nightshade pointed out.
"Not dumping, per say. We're only seeking assistance."
"You needn't of come this far; you could have went to Doubledealer for assistance in trapping an Autobot. He's more than equipped and capable, not to mention a little closer to home."
Swindle grimaced. "I know, but he is… difficult to deal with in any case- far more so than Virus is." The mech reasoned.
Nightshade nodded reluctantly. Doubledealer was, much of the time, very awkward to interact with. No one was ever quite sure who was looking out the mech's optics, Dealer or Doubledealer, if anyone was looking out at all. "Fine, fine, I see your point in coming to us."
"Then you will summon Virus so I may speak with her?"
"She's not on the ship at the moment," Nightshade replied curtly.
"Soundwave, then? Or Flamewar?"
A dour expression took hold of Nightshade's faceplate and she answered flatly, "No and no, both are gone as well."
Someone murmured in the background, one of the other Combaticons making something known to Swindle. The mech's optic swivelled gently as he processed the information and he jerked his head in a nod, turning his gaze back to Nightshade. "Is there any way to get a hold of them?" the merchant pressed. "We have a pressing need to get in touch with Virus and we do not want to linger too long around this star- it's flaring, and the radiation is quite high."
"Then move your damn ship," the femme huffed.
"I would, but the wormhole we came through has a most unusual nature. It fluctuates with the solar flares and I fear that it may collapse; I'd rather stay close to get through while we still can."
"That doesn't sound good… it fluctuates, you say?" the femme voiced cautiously. She was loath to the idea of being trapped in this backwater, mud-ball section of the universe.
Swindle pressed his urgency. "Yes, and the sooner you connect me to someone, the sooner my crew and I can be on our way. You as well, if you wished. I don't believe you would appreciate it much to be trapped in this "quaint" section of the universe."
"I'll see what I can do," Nightshade acquiesced, mouthplates pursed. "I'll attempt to connect you to the Invader."
"Virus is onboard?"
Nightshade narrowed her optics. "Obviously," she hissed. "I'll give you no guarantees of contact though. First is the matter of getting a hold of her, which may prove difficult since no one has bothered to hail me since they left, and then there is the matter of her accepting your call at all."
"I trust you will see to it to the best of your ability."
Her olfactory sensor went in the air. "I've never done less."
The Autobot base, while always a hub of activity and construction, was now in an extra flurry of excitement all thanks to the new "guests" that had been dragged into the make-shift brig several levels below ground.
Flamewar and Barricade had come along surprisingly quietly, as soon as everyone realized that trying to separate them for transport was impossible. Ratchet had picked up the change before anyone else, recognizing the signs. He'd ordered a large perimeter set up around them while he attempted to sort them out, which that in itself was difficult. They were newly bonded by only a few joors; it was nearly impossible to have them lucid for more than a few breems. The moment he'd attempted to touch Flamewar, he nearly lost a hand to Barricade. Both of them were more feral than sane. In the end, they had to be heavily sedated and dragged into the specially made trailers Optimus tailored for his alt mode.
They had not been happy when they came to.
Soundwave, on the other hand, had been relatively less trouble to deal with. While his size made him unbelievably intrusive in the middle of downtown Tranquility, he did comply to Optimus's request of transforming and following them quietly to their base. His symbiotes, plus Frenzy, had been left behind in the town to erase every electronic device that might have recorded their presence.
Simmons was more or less having an aneurism over the immense cover up that was being conducted throughout the entirety of Tranquility, not to mention the efforts being put forth to reconstruct the parking lot that had been destroyed. A massive quarantine had been set up for the greater part of the downtown, denizens being held off in camps under the impression that they had bared witness to yet another military experiment gone wrong. In truth, the majority of them were going to be dosed with a large amount of amnesic drugs and told there had been a gas explosion, despite the fact that it seemed nearly impossible to have a gas explosion in an empty parking lot. The lucky citizens who'd been far enough away to only hear the commotion were being told that they were being cordoned off for their own protection and that they would be safe to return to their homes as soon as fumes from the "explosion" had cleared.
There were a few that kicked up a fuss that the incident with the mass blackout and the parking lot were related. Simmons saw to them personally.
Now, as cool, dark evening set about them, the towering mech stood on the very outskirts of the base, surrounded by a bounty of heavily armed humans, watching the sunset without a word.
For the fifth time that evening, Optimus posed his question to the pair of glowering Decepticons in the brig.
"Why are you here?"
For the fifth time, Flamewar shot the Autobot Commander a dark look and snorted. "To enjoy the scenery."
"That is hardly the kind of answer I'm looking for," Optimus replied evenly, despite his waning patience.
"Well, that's the only answer you're going to get out of me."
Bumblebee revved impatiently from his place behind his Commander, cannon up and charged in case the force field keeping the two 'Cons sealed in their cell failed. Barricade growled audibly, shifting so that his grip on his new mate was more securely wrapped around her. His glare was pure poison on the yellow bot.
"I will ask again, what is your purpose for being on this planet, Flamewar?" Optimus pressed.
"You're deluded if you are under the impression that I will speak openly with you, Autobot."
"Megatron is dead and the Allspark is destroyed; there should be no reason for you to come to this planet. Explain your presence, Decepticon."
Flamewar laughed, tipping her head slightly. "'Decepticon'," she hummed, rolling the word over her vocal processor. "It's been a while since anyone's called me that."
Optimus quirked an enquiring optic ridge, to which Flamewar adamantly ignored. She instead turned to Barricade and ran her claw up his chassis, instantly entranced by what she could feel beating so close to the surface beneath the metal. She felt him hovering in the air around her, enwrapping her in a thick blanket of jealous protectiveness. It had been so long since she had had someone who gave two damns about her; this sudden feeling of being wanted and welcome was enthralling and addicting.
"If you are not Decepticon, state your alliance," Optimus ordered.
Barricade's gaze cut to Flamewar, raking her gently. His gentle urging through their raw new bond was enough to spur fire in her frame. His request was easy enough to translate: Give them what they want so they leave us alone.
Very well. Flamewar leaned in and laid her forehead against his shoulder before straightening and turning her sharp gaze once more to Optimus. "I have no alliance," she announced.
"Neutral, then?"
"I am my own master."
"Oh?"
"I have served under Virus for the last countless vorns, first under terms of payment, and then because I had no where else to go," she informed bitterly. "I am not considered Decepticon, but I am often at their service."
Optimus's gaze never wavered. "Ah, I see. Mercenary."
"I was."
"And now?"
"Like I said, I am my own master." Her sharp hand curled tighter around her mate's.
"So you say," Prime acquiesced. "Though, this bond of yours-." Their reaction was instantaneous; both on their feet, snarling. Optimus did not react, but Bumblebee took offense and started forward, only to be restrained by Prime.
"What we choose to do is of our own business and of no consequence to you," Barricade spat, bristling.
"While you are on this planet, everything you do is of consequence to me and all others of our kind on this planet," Optimus pointed out, pressing his calm attitude as he stared down the livid 'Cons. "Choosing to bond in the middle of a populated area was not a wise decision."
Barricade shifted closer to his mate, just as she took a step closer to him. Their armor scraped as they offered support to the other. "We refuse to regret it," the mech growled, speaking for both of them.
Optimus raised his hands, all too understanding to the sensitivities of a newly bonded pair. They were vulnerable and far more likely to get defensive. "I wasn't suggesting that," he said, sighing. "I'm sure both of you had very good intentions in bonding; the choice in locations was simply poor." Bumblebee stifled the intentional laughter that bubbled up through him, ignoring the venomous glares thrown his way.
Optimus sighed, scrubbing his palm against his faceplate. He was tired and this interlude was providing more stress than he needed. He'd already been awake for more than an orn, above and beyond an Earth week, due to all the chaos, if this charade drew out any longer, he'd be awake for another full orn.
Trying to regroup the failing situation, Optimus spoke once again to the 'Cons. "I understand that this is crucial time in your bonding and that the two of you wish to be left to your own devices, and while I am willing to give that freedom to you, I need assurances first that you pose no threat."
"I'll suck slag before becoming an Autobot," Barricade growled darkly.
"Your reluctance is understandable, but without some form of assurance that you will leave the local life forms in peace, you cannot be released from this cell."
"And yet you leave Soundwave out there surrounded by a legion of the local life forms while he could very well be the most dangerous one of us all," Barricade laughed derisively.
"Soundwave has been unusually complacent with our demands and has shown no hostility as of yet," Optimus reasoned.
"He doesn't need to show hostility to be able to reach out and squish a few of your carbon-monkey pets," the mech growled.
"They're not pets!" Bumblebee objected rashly.
"So says the mech who personally looks after one," Barricade snapped back. His hand gestured to the cell around him, to the large base still being constructed. "You house them here, provide them with their needed facilities and organic fuels for them to consume, even offering them transportation and services when needed. It's either they are the pets, or you are."
Irrationally incensed, Bumblebee bristled and marched to the force field separating them. "It's not like that!"
Clearly aware that he was getting under the young Autobot's armour, Barricade sneered. "I hardly want to know what it's like around here. Primus only knows what kind of deals you've struck with these primitive creatures."
"At least we can interact with them in a sensible manner, which is more than what you can say!" the minibot spat back. "We know what you've been doing all these orns, hiding out in a police parking lot pretending to be an empty cruiser; you've just been sneaking around with your exhaust pipe between your legs!"
A snarl ripped from the 'Con as he launched himself up, ready to attack if it weren't for the sharp black needle-armor that dug itself into his arm and forced him down next to his mate. Through their bond, her demand for him to stand down rang loud and clear, nearly making him sick with the clarity of the order. She was planning something, he felt it, but with the fiery pain of her claws latched on to the innards of his arm, he was immobile and not willing to enquire further.
Optimus was a little more vocal with his order for Bumblebee to stand down. His arm went out to catch the yellow mech across the chest, keeping him at bay, and then guiding him back farther.
"Bumblebee, keep your emotions in check. Do not fall for such antics meant to get you going," Optimus warned firmly. "You've been a soldier for a long time; this is no time for you to be forgetting that. Nor should you be forgetting that Flamewar and Barricade are not our prisoners, they are merely in the brig as a safety precaution and will be released as soon as it is deemed safe. I would be sorely disappointed if you were to ruin whatever tentative agreement could be reached between us."
Optics averted, wholly ashamed of himself, Bumblebee nodded and backed off to the far end of the underground room. He refused to leave though, hovering near the door but never exiting. He stayed to watch Prime's back, putting his duties above anything else.
Optimus sighed and walked the few steps back to the occupied cell where his "guests" waited for him, Barricade growling lowly while Flamewar continued to glare through narrowed optics.
"As I was saying before that brief interlude, is it possible to work out some form of assurance of your neutrality in exchange for your freedom? It does not necessarily have to mean defection."
Flamewar leaned forward. She hadn't suffered vorns upon the Darksyde without picking up a few things in bartering. "Then I believe negotiations are in order."
Quirking an optic ridge, Optimus appraised the femme. "Are they?" he asked wryly.
"Yes, they are," she replied curtly. "I want something from you and you want something from us; we negotiate until someone shoots the other. This is called bargaining, Prime."
"Is that how your business works?" Optimus asked dryly.
"I was a mercenary, not a diplomat. Business tended to be a little rougher in the crowds I worked for."
"I have no doubt," Optimus acquiesced.
"What, in terms of assurances, are you looking for?" she asked, watching him carefully.
The Autobot mulled over the question, gauging the mercenary and her mate. "First I would like to hear with my own audios what faction Barricade plans to be with."
They waited on the mech as he drew out the moment, cocking his head to the side as his processors whirred in thought. His gaze strayed to his mate for an astrosecond, watching her carefully before nodding to himself. "I choose to follow Flamewar," he announced. "I will be my own master as well." Without much care, his free hand came up to draw across his Decepticon decal, scratching a gouge through it.
"Very well," the Autobot Commander nodded, satisfied. "Then, in ways of a guarantee of this new found neutrality, perhaps you could supply us with information?"
"I'm no more informed of our kind than you are," Barricade snorted.
"No, you wouldn't, but Flamewar, on the other hand, is obviously more up-to-date than us." He turned to her. "Would you be willing to speak for yourself as well as your mate?"
"You want me to pay for both of us with information?" she enquired. Not the worse price anyone has ever asked of her, though information could get pricey too.
"If you see it that way, then yes," Optimus nodded. "If you truly are your own master, then you should have no problem giving up some information on your ex-faction to prove it."
"What of Soundwave?" Flamewar asked. "If he has been as agreeable as you say, he must have already given you this requested information. I know no more than him and will be of little help to whatever nefarious plot you wish to scheme."
"There is no nefarious plot in the works, only a few bots wanting to know how their own kind are faring. It's been so long since we've heard anything," Optimus sighed, gauging the flash that crossed Flamewar's optics. "He has already submitted his main arsenal into our care as well as allowed a tracer to be placed on his person. We have no doubt that he has the ability to disable the tracer at any given time, but in light of the good will he displayed by allowing us to place it on him in the first place, we decided to leave our requests of him to a minimum."
"Figures," Flamewar sniffed, obviously not surprised with Soundwave's seemingly easy defection. "He was done with the Decepticons the orn they tried to locate him to Quel-Caol; he's probably just using this as an excuse to finally scratch the decal off his chassis. How fortunate for you."
"For you as well," Optimus pointed out.
The femme nodded. "Indeed." She settled back, burning gaze sweeping from the towering commander to the minibot no taller than herself. "What information would suffice to pay for our freedom?"
Optimus leaned back against the opposite wall. "Tell me things only a Decepticon would know?"
The femme smirked. "Like what? Frenzy's favourite colour? You'll have to narrow the field down a bit if you want something, Prime."
"Status of the Decepticon army, then."
"That's a little better," she replied after a fashion. She could lie, and she knew it, but her loyalty had long since waned. If giving Prime this worthless information gained their freedom, then so be it. "The Decepticons are scattered, have been since Kaon fell. There are colonies spread across several planets in several systems, but no base would number over a hundred. The mechs are spread thin and are tired."
"Who is their leader now?"
A hollow laugh drifted from her. "There is no leader, no cause" she replied flatly. "Just fighting." There was something chilling in the way she said it. She leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "There are splinter groups everywhere and they fight amongst themselves as much as they fight with you Autobots. It makes working for them difficult."
Optimus appeared pensive as he thought over the information. "What splinter faction is considered the most dangerous?"
"The Chaar Seekers," she replied without even thinking. "They've got the greatest numbers and are probably the most volatile of any of the Decepticon groups." They were also rude, bawdy, a little too cheap on payment, and most likely to attempt a double cross on any contract rendered. "They're also the most likely group to come to Earth first. They'll be more than a little fragged off if they ever find out Starscream is dead."
"Then it would be pertinent for us to prepare for the Seekers," Optimus reasoned, nodding. "Is there anything else about the Decepticons you care to share?"
Flamewar mulled over the question for a bit. "Nothing much else to say," she shrugged.
"Do you know of the Autobots' status?"
"Bits and pieces," the femme shrugged. "You're just as bad off as the 'Cons, though a little more organized I suppose. Your forces are just as thin and tired, colonies here and there on different planets, stationed on different stations and hubs, but you don't number that many."
"How…" The flame-painted mech paused, his voice trailing off. "How many of us are left?"
Her optics shuttered, displaying for the first time a true sense of regret. "A few thousand, maybe. A thousand for each faction if we're lucky," she murmured. "Neutrals are better off, they have maybe two or three thousand."
The sound of metal scraping against metal chilled the room as Bumblebee numbly slid his back down the wall, staring horrified at Flamewar. Optimus himself had to grasp at the wall behind him for support, too shocked to form words. A pained hiss issued from the femme and she leaned against her mate. Barricade was at a loss to convey comfort when all he felt was shell-shocked horror as well, but his arms went around the femme in an attempt to offer something to her.
"So few," Optimus breathed disbelievingly. They once numbered three-billion at the peak of the Golden Age, now reduced to a few thousand here and there.
"We've been fighting for a long time," Flamewar pointed out quietly, unable to look at Optimus now. "You didn't expect the killing to stop, did you?"
"No, of course not," he replied, having difficulty forcing the words out. "But when did this stop being a war and become a massacre?"
"Was there ever a distinction?"
The new voice made everyone jump. They'd been so preoccupied that they'd completely missed Ratchet's entrance until he appeared around the corner, looking as grave as any of them. He pointed to the security camera stationed in the far corner.
"I've been eavesdropping," he explained. His faceplate was dark, solemn, all his pain focused into his old, faded optics. "Is it really that bad?" he asked, gazing towards the lone femme.
She jerked her head away. "Worse," she replied.
The medic stepped gingerly over Bumblebee, who remained on the floor, and made his way over to the control panel near the occupied cell. The force field flickered before it fell, allowing the mech to enter. He knelt before Barricade with a scrap of black metal pinched between his fingers; the panel Flamewar had ripped off him the night before. The Saleen grunted, turning to allow the medic access to the area. Flamewar watched without interest before the chartreuse mech prompted her to speak.
"How could it be worse?"
She laughed bitterly. "How could it not?"
"What about Cybertron?"
"It's dead."
Ratchet hissed, pulling away from affixing the panel to Barricade.
Flamewar spared him no pity, continuing regardless. "Cybertron's been abandoned for vorns. That region of space is empty now. The only creatures left are the Junkions and the Scrapions, but they hardly count for anything."
Optimus nodded numbly. "I see…" Nothing she'd given over would give them a tactical advantage. If Mirage or Smokescreen had been conscious, they probably would have been able to report the same information. But, seeing as Flamewar had given them what they'd asked for with minimal resistance, Prime could do nothing but honour the arrangement they'd agreed upon. His shadowed gaze fell upon Ratchet's back as the medic fell back into his work, finishing up the quick repair. "Ratchet?"
"Almost done, Prime," he grunted, fingers deftly slipping beneath the cruiser's black armor and attaching something. He quickly did the same to Flamewar. He backed off quickly after that.
"Those are tracers," Prime explained, seeing the question on their faceplates. "Same kind as the one Soundwave was given. They will enable us to find you and contact you if there ever be any need to do so, like in the event you break your neutrality and attack the humans. The tracers will also give you access to a private frequency for this base if ever you should need our assistance. We won't be able to eavesdrop on you and likewise for us. All this is just precaution."
The two 'Cons stood in unison, looking menacing despite the fact that they were half the size of Prime himself; they glided from the cell to stand before the Autobot.
"And our weapons?" Barricade enquired.
"Against my better judgement, you may keep them, and Soundwave's will be returned to him. If you are going to remain Neutral on this planet, then some measure of trust is in order." The Commander waved Bumblebee over, laying a firm hand on the yellow mech's shoulder. "Bumblebee will escort you out." The tone in his voice made it clear that he expected the assignment to be carried out without incident.
Before they entered the lift that would take them to ground level, the Commander posed his last question. "Where will you go?"
Barricade seemed to take a moment to think but Flamewar did not even pause in her walk. "Somewhere where we can belong."
Knowing that his kind numbered few and was dwindling dangerously on the precipice of extinction, the Prime opened his arms to his once-enemies. "You may belong here among your own kind, if you wish."
A snort huffed through Barricade's vents, his head shaking disbelievingly. His femme rolled her optics. "We're homeless, Prime, not desperate." Bumblebee whistled to them impatiently and they conceded to follow him onto the lift, disappearing from sight.
As soon as the three bots were gone, Optimus shifted his tired gaze to the lone medic leaning against the empty cell's entrance. "Only a few thousand, Ratchet…"
"I know." He sounded a little hoarse. His frame creaked a little as he moved away from the entrance, stepping tiredly down the isle.
"Why are you really here, my friend?" Optimus enquired, watching the medic's movements carefully.
"Something's come up and I don't know what to make of it," he replied, optics shadowed.
The gravity with which the medic spoke caught his attention. "What do you mean?"
Ratchet motioned for him to follow. "I'll have to show you." On the heels of the first lift, the two mechs entered and were taken to ground level. They came up in one of the half-finished backrooms of the main control building, Ratchet taking the lead as they stepped out amongst the milling humans that wandered to and fro. Any sparse conversation they had was kept in Cybertronian at decibels too high for humans to hear.
Optimus glanced up to the looming building he was being led to. "The med bay?"
Ratchet simply nodded, pushing open the broad mech-sized doors set into the front of the towering building. It was one of the few buildings on the entire base that was very nearly finished, a strange mixture of Earthling and Cybertronian architecture that created high ceilings and large, light-catching windows, open, wide halls and softly hissing sliding doors. There was a duality in the building that was shared throughout most of the base; large mech-sized doors with smaller human-sized doors set into them. High windows near the ceiling to naturally light the medical building, smaller windows near the ground to offer a view to those who were not two stories tall. A few small human offices were located near the front of the building while Ratchet's medical facilities were located towards the back.
The recovery room Optimus was shown to was nothing special, simply a long, narrow room with berths lined along the walls. There were only two occupied, Mirage on one and Smokescreen on the other. Surprisingly, Mirage was conscious, supporting himself weakly on one arm as he spoke quietly with the human that was perched on the stand next to him. Upon the mechs' entrance, their conversation paused.
"Welcome back," Dr Spring greeted, smiling gently. "I hope everything went well."
"As well as can be expected," Ratchet replied, making his way to Mirage. "Thank you for watching over these two while I was away."
"It was my pleasure," the good doctor replied. "Mirage here woke up only a few minutes ago and we've been having the most wonderful conversation."
Ratchet harrumphed, staring down at the mech. "What Mirage should be doing is resting, not socializing."
"I wasn't over taxing myself," Mirage objected lightly, laying back with a little grimace. "Dr Spring was telling me of the new "guests" down in our brig right now. Care to enlighten me further?"
Optimus sent the human doctor an apologetic nod before switching to Cybertronian. "Flamewar and Barricade have agreed to terms of Neutrality so they were released-."
A long groan echoed from the Master Spy, his head falling back with a light metallic clang. "You didn't."
"I did. We struck a deal, their freedom for information."
"My team and I have been tracking them for vorns, Prime, and you just let them go?"
"Yes."
Mirage made a move to sit up, but Ratchet intervened, pushing him back down. "I don't like it either, Mirage, but what can we do?" the medic huffed.
"Keep them in the brig would be a good start," the spy growled, and then coughed as something hitched in his intakes. "They're dangerous. There's no way that I can reiterate that enough; the crew of the Darksyde are beyond dangerous. They're untrustworthy scum and if you think that releasing Flamewar onto the world will end with anything less than a massacre, then you have a glitch somewhere in your processor. Primus forbid Soundwave be let loose on this planet."
Optimus looked away. "He was released as well."
"Optimus," the mech groaned, shaking his head. "How could you?"
"Some things must be risked in order for something to be gained."
"What could possibly be gained from a risk like this?"
"New allies, a measure of peace between our factions? I'm trying to take the first steps in bringing this war to an end, Mirage. It's gone on for far too long and we have suffered at its hands for long enough. There's nothing to fight for anymore, so I'll do what it takes to end the fighting."
Mirage's hand shook as he raised it to cover his faceplate. A choked sound came from him, and the listening human would have compared it to crying if she thought the alien robots were capable of crying. The entirety of his frame shuddered weakly. "If you knew what it's been like since… since you left, you wouldn't think that way. There is no peace." The choking sound got worse with the added sound of gears starting to grind and welding seams ripping. "I can't believe you let them go- there's only fighting. No peace-."
"Mirage, please, calm down. Getting yourself worked up like this will do you no good," Ratchet warned.
"You released them. How could you?" Mirage whined, deaf to Ratchet's warnings. He continued to shake and choke.
Ratchet was quick to administer a tranquilizer to an exposed energon line on the mech, and soon enough Mirage was silent and still. "He's still unstable," he reasoned.
Optimus's expression was dark. "Was this what you wanted to show me?"
"No, I was only coming to check up on him, but it seems we got a little more than we bargained for."
"Indeed."
Ratchet switched back to English to speak with the awaiting doctor, who looked a little more anxious than before. "Will you be willing to watch over them for a little while longer?" he asked.
After a moment she nodded. "Sure." She glanced to Mirage worriedly. "Is everything alright?"
"Everything is fine," the medic assured, turning to leave. "I will only be gone for a short while. Thank you for your help, Dr Spring."
She smiled, a little more weakly this time, and said, "No trouble at all, Ratchet." She nodded to Optimus, who returned the gesture before leaving.
At the very back of the medical centre was Ratchet's office, complete with a small room off to the side that served as his own room so he could recharge in close proximity to his patients in case something happened. A long stretch of blank wall stared out dully from behind the metal desk in the room, which slid open to reveal a secret lift the moment Ratchet entered the appropriate code into his makeshift computer on the desk. The lift and the levels below were of the Autobots' own construction, dug with their own hands. The humans had no idea of its existence.
Knowing what precious things laid at the bottom of the shaft, Optimus's gaze flickered from the dark entrance to the medic waiting for him. "Has something happened-?"
"Perhaps." He motioned for the other mech to follow. Soon, they were falling into the depths of the Earth, deeper still than the brig, as stale air rushed up to the meet them and blow dust in their faceplates. The shaft bottomed out in a darkened underground cavern, lightless except for what reflected off the two mechs' optics. A switch was turned and stark white lights blazed on, illuminating the crystal-lined cave. It was a mammoth underground space, carved out possibly millions of years ago when the Earth was still young and cooling, larger than any building being built above ground. The cavern literally glittered as the low hanging lights reflected off of the millions of crystals that jutted from the walls, shattering the light into billions of sparkles and rainbows.
In the centre of the cave of wonders, amongst rock and crystal, were two berths. One was laden with the dead frame of a mech, signs of repair obvious with a few tools laying scattered next to still limbs. The other berth appeared empty at first glance, but upon closer inspection, a small shard of metal sat innocuously in the middle.
"Why have you brought me here?" Optimus asked gravely, his voice echoing hollowly.
"To show you this." Ratchet made his way towards the berth where the Allspark shard laid, picking it up in reverent hands. "Scan it."
Suspicious of the demand, Optimus acquiesced to it, only to be shocked at what he found. Ratchet rumbled in satisfaction. "So you picked it up too? It wasn't just a sensor malfunction?"
The flame-painted mech scanned the shard again. "It's impossible."
"Apparently not if it's happened," Ratchet grunted, placing the shard back down. "Ever since Mirage and Smokescreen's arrival, not to mention the arrivals of the Decepticons, the Allspark has increased in mass by exactly .5 cubic millimetres."
A wild thrill zinged through the Autobot Commander, his faceplate open with shock. "Do you mean to tell me that the Allspark is… regenerating?"
"Yes."
Maggie fidgeted nervously once more in her seat, her tapered fingers absently tracing over the loaded gun in her lap. It was heavy and cold, too threatening to ever feel comfortable in her hands. She stared out the window at the bleak, foggy coastal region they were now driving through, staring out over the craggy rocks and powerful grey surf as it passed by. She didn't remember what this section of the coast was called. All she knew was that it was deserted and that there wasn't another human around for miles. Not far ahead, a rust-coloured aberration on the green and grey landscape jutted up from the tree line. There was nothing about that that was even remotely human, which meant that it was exactly the thing she and her to cohorts had been tracking down for the past few days.
A manicured nail caught on the trigger of the gun and Maggie's heart beat a little faster. She didn't like guns. She didn't want to have to use the one that had been thrust into her hands. To be honest, she was more terrified than anything. She'd never let on to anyone, but all of the Cybertronians scared her, the Decepticons more than the Autobots, but they were both big, and so alien, and even if there was no reason to fear the Autobots, the simple thought of what could happen if they ceased to be allies…
Even the sabot rounds scared her. That was just too much power to be held in such a tiny weapon.
Her shudder did not go unnoticed by her other human team mate. Reaching out a large, warm hand, he took one of hers from her lap and squeezed it. A gentle gasp slipped passed her lips, her eyes darting to his before looking away.
"Hey, it's okay," Epps murmured.
A light snort drifted through her nose. "We're about to face down three Decepticons from a crew we've been told are extremely dangerous in the middle of nowhere with basically zero back-up." Her eyes were scared when they met Epps' gaze. "It's not okay."
"You've got nothing to worry about," Epps assured, his voice soft. Sure, if Maggie had been any one of his rough-and-tumble comrades, his voice wouldn't be as soft as it was right now, and he wouldn't be holding their hand trying to reassure them, but there was something about this girl…
Maggie tugged her hand away, shaking her head gently as she did. "That doesn't stop me from being scared," she replied, woman enough to admit when she was scared. "It's Ironhide against three of them, if something goes wrong, we're done for."
A frown tugged at the tech sergeant's lips, his brow furrowing. He completely dropped the façade of driving. "Ironhide won't let anything happen to you, and neither will I."
"Bobby-,"
"No, I mean it, Maggie. I'll do my best to make sure nothing happens to you." He unbuckled himself and slid across to drape an arm around the woman's thin shoulders. "I've seen the biggest, baddest robot the 'Cons have and I watched him go down. These three are going to be a piece of cake."
"Epps is right," Ironhide interjected.
Her lips pursed tighter, her eyes rolling. "You two really shouldn't underestimate the enemy," she warned, shrugging out from underneath Epps' arm. "They may surprise you."
"I doubt that," Ironhide replied flatly, slowing down as he approached the end of the road that would lead him into the woods where the Invader sat.
"Looks like we're going to have to rough it on foot," Epps announced, sliding from the cab. He hefted his own gun comfortably against his shoulder. "Let's go kick some robot ass."
Maggie trotted along side the sergeant as Ironhide transformed. She glanced back to the black-armored giant as he took his first steps into the thick pine woods, parting the trees to the point of snapping them in half.
"What did you say their names were?" she enquired lightly, distracting herself for as long as possible.
Ironhide sighed, indulging the human. "Their leader's designation is Virus, while the cohorts' designations are Trojan Horse and Worm." It had been interesting to discover that while so few things could be directly translated from Cybertronian to English, the names of the three rogue mercenaries actually held rough equivalents on Earth.
"It's kind of weird that they're all named after computer viruses," Maggie replied, having to double her pace to keep up with Ironhide as he ploughed himself a path.
"If you knew what they could do, you would understand," he rumbled darkly. Two large spruce trees shuddered before cracking in half, opening into a small clearing that had been forcefully expanded with the landing of a spacecraft. Ironhide growled as two thick, shuffling shapes appeared around the hull and started towards them. His cannons rolled out of his arms, charging. The two shapes that approached revealed as Worm and Trojan, moving slowly and favouring certain limbs as they moved. They appeared to have been beaten pretty badly but patched back together in recent days. Their approach instantly halted when Ironhide's cannons rose to their chests.
"Where is Virus?"
The two mechs, easily Ironhide's match in bulk but shorter in height, glanced to each other and sagged. One of them gestured to the far side of the clearing where a craggy rock cliff face opened up over the choppy Atlantic Ocean. Ironhide continued to glare while the pair of mechs silently slouched off, making absolutely no move towards hostility.
"That was… easy," Epps commented, unusually unsettled.
"Something is off," Ironhide growled darkly, stalking forward. He was the first to round the hull of the small, rusted ship, his companions following at length behind him, Maggie creeping along just behind Epps' shoulder. The fog off the water clung heavily to the clearing and the cliff face, smearing a dark outline into a vague black hump on the edge of the rock. A hollow, grinding sigh rustled the air, but otherwise, it was silent.
A hateful growl vibrated through the weapons specialist's entire frame as his gaze fell on the still pile of metal. The whirr of his charging cannons broke the heavy silence, the heat of the super-charged plasma evaporating the mist in the near vicinity. "Virus."
Another sigh heaved through the creature.
"Turn and face me, Virus," the black mech demanded.
A head moved, angling up, red optics glinting in the grey light before shuttering once and turning away, laying back down on the rock.
Incensed by the lack of response, Ironhide stepped closer, plasma just barely keep in the barrel of his weapons. "I said turn and face me, Decepticon, or I'll blow this fragging cliff to dust along with you on it."
A distant snort huffed from the beast. "Go ahead, do it. I don't care," she dared without any heat in her voice. She sounded depressed, dead. Not at all what Ironhide was expecting. Instead of letting his guard down, his suspicions grew.
"What's the matter with it?" Maggie asked in a small voice.
Ironhide huffed, warm air wafting down through his vents to breeze against the humans. "I do not know."
The sound of Maggie's voice caught Virus's attention long enough for her to raise her head, glance their way, and manage a weak growl before falling back to continue to stare out at the ocean. "He's gone." She sighed.
Ironhide knew instantly who she was speaking of. "Yes, Megatron is dead. He was destroyed in battle." A long, low keening noise rattled from Virus. "You have no business being here, Decepticon, so I suggest you leave. If you don't, I will use deadly force to remove you." The way he said it made it sound like he was hoping for a chance to use deadly force.
Virus was unaffected by the threat. She gave off a sound that could have been a pained whine, lost in her own depression. "Megatron."
"I have orders to ensure your removal from the area and I will carry them out with whatever force deemed necessary," Ironhide pressed, unmoved by the quadruped's displays.
Finally, the beast moved, heaving herself up onto her four legs so that she stood at her full height, easily a head taller than Bumblebee. Maggie gasped, backing away, while Epps tensed and moved to protect the woman. To them, she looked like a mechanical bear, albeit one larger than any other bear on the planet. Her faceplate was grotesque, it was almost flattened with high crests rising from her forehead in great spikes, while deep set red optics smouldered in the far-too-spaced-apart structure of her faceplate; the 'muzzle' section was too short, but very wide, lined with several rows of pin-like metal teeth. She moved in the same hunkering, heavy fashion as a bear, swaying a little as she stepped forward, crusts formed on the thick layers of rusted black armor scrapping together noisily.
"She's covered in salt," Maggie murmured into Epps' ear, though Ironhide heard her regardless.
Eyeing the dried deposits along the beast's armor, Ironhide was struck with a very ludicrous thought. Could Virus have possibly attempted diving into the ocean to drag her precious Megatron back up? It was utterly ridiculous to think someone would actually do that- Cybertronians were made of metal: water, especially large quantities of it containing salt, did not mix well with them. But as Virus took another step forward, a dusting of scraped off sea salt fluttered from her.
"Remove me then, Autobot," she challenged. "Use whatever force you want, just kill me."
A disgusted snort rattled from the mech, finding the invitation hard to resist. His conscience, which sounded a little too much like Optimus at the moment, was urging him to get information first before opening fire. "Why are you here?"
"They dragged me here after they took me away from him," she replied dully, swinging her head towards the two mechs that lingered nearby, watching silently.
"You were at the Laurentian Abyss?"
"Yes."
"You tried to retrieve Megatron's corpse?'
"No." Her head dropped, shaking slowly from side to side. "I tried to die with him. I wanted to lie with him in his grave." A brief glare was aimed at Trojan and Worm. "They wouldn't let me."
"Is that so?" he replied dryly.
"Yes."
"I would have thought revenge would be more in order, not this. This doesn't seem very "Decepticon" at all," he mused darkly.
A grating, choking noise fell from between clenched metal teeth. "Megatron's gone. There are no Decepticons anymore!"
"Then I guess it won't matter if I remove some of the remnants from the universe."
"Do it already. I'm not going anywhere."
"My pleasure," he made a move to shoot, but tiny hands tapping quickly on his foot made him look down.
"What are you doing?! You're not supposed to attack without cause! It hasn't done anything yet for you to shoot!" Maggie reprimanded. She ignored the fact that she was defending a Decepticon; from what she'd seen so far, the four-legged robot didn't exactly look like it was trying to provoke anyone. It was slow and slumped. If it was human, Maggie would almost call it depressed.
"She's there- that's reason enough."
"No, it's not! Optimus wouldn't want us to start something that would level this place and draw so much attention!" the woman argued. Briefly, she picked up the use of the "she" pronoun but hardly spared enough thought to ponder it.
Epps attempted to draw Maggie away. He had absolutely no trouble with Ironhide blowing the robo-bear's head off. One less Decepticon in the world. She shook away from him quickly.
"No, Bobby, don't! I hate Decepticons as much as the next person, but killing something just for the sake of killing something is sinking to their level!"
A harsh snort ripped from Ironhide, thoroughly insulted with the accusation. "You do not understand what this creature has done."
"Maybe if you told us what you've been talking about!"
The mech paused, and then shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me even if I translated."
Virus watched the exchange through dull, distant optics, hardly curious of the organic life forms squeaking and squawking away at the Autobot. The creatures were similar to the ones that had been gathering in the mountains; the herd there had gotten too close and were eradicated. These two were closer still. She made a move to stretch out a foreleg and bat them away, but found a cannon in her faceplate before she could get close.
"Try it, I dare you. That's all the reason I need."
"So now you need a reason to kill me?" Virus growled. "That doesn't sound like what I've heard of the great and terrible Autobot weapons specialist. I know I've done you wrong on more than one occasion. Go on, kill me for it."
The temptation was almost too great, but Maggie's words were too clear in his processor, as was the Optimus-Prime-voice-of-his-conscience. It irritated him to no end to know he needed due cause to shoot. He was no ambassador, nor a diplomat. He didn't play nice with Decepticons. Not killing was probably one of the hardest things he's ever had to do.
"Trust me, Decepticon, if I didn't hold more loyalty for Prime than hatred for you, you'd be nothing more than a smear on the landscape by now. As it stands, all I need is a reason, any tiny fragging thing, and I swear I'll give you death in the worse ways possible."
Menacing light glinted in the quadruped's optics, new fire suddenly simmering. Megatron waited for her on the other side of oblivion and all she needed was to frag this trigger-happy gun turret off to go there. "Fine, you need a reason, I'll give you a reason." She leapt forward, charging her Autobot executioner.
In a flash, the two previously watching mechs dove into the fray, Trojan grabbing Virus around the neck to haul her back while Worm shoved Ironhide's cannons upwards so the twin blasts shot off into the atmosphere. A snarled ripped from the Autobot, tearing one arm free to punch the attacking Decepticon in the faceplate. Injured as he was, Worm went down hard, flailing hands clawing at his caved in faceplate.
Epps was instantly at the ready, gun out and ready to fire. Maggie attempted the same but fumbled and dropped her weapon. Upon hitting the hard ground, it discharged, striking Virus's shoulder in a shower of hot sparks.
"Oh damn!" she hissed, scrambling to grab her gun.
"Maggie, get back!" Epps ordered, pushing her back towards the relative safety of the Invader's hull. "See! This is why you shoot first and ask questions later!"
Virus's roar shattered the air, rearing back from the strike. Trojan took the opportunity to shove his master back further, careful of her injury and his own. Worm, his faceplate oozing energon from the deep cracks Ironhide rendered, dragged himself from the ground to help Trojan fend Virus off.
"I don't care! I don't care!" the beast snarled over and over, as if the two mechs were saying something to her. "Let me go! You don't need me! Just let me go!"
Watching the display with barely veiled disgust, Ironhide moved to take aim once more, but paused at he listened to Virus voice her one-sided argument. It was truly one of the most pathetic things he's ever witnessed. Offering a brief distraction from the distraught bot, a communication request suddenly scrawled across Ironhide's peripherals. Noting that it was from Optimus, he weighed his options and figured that the call was probably worth more than the 'Cons. Obviously Virus and her cohorts weren't going anywhere; he could shoot them later.
"Stay where you are," he commanded sternly as he backed away to the other side of the clearing, keeping his targeting sensors locked on them regardless. Braver than he gave him credit for, Epps remained stationed in front of Maggie, protecting her from the perceived threat as well as guarding against them as Ironhide backed off.
"What's going on, 'Hide? Give me some feedback here," Epps demanded.
"Optimus Prime is requesting contact. I'm accepting."
"Is this really the time?" Maggie asked, clearly incredulous.
Ironhide flicked a flat glance Virus's way. The fire that had reignited in her dull optics was dying again, her protests getting weaker. He stared her down for a good long breem before her optics faded to a near black and all the life drained from her again. Her pitiful whine of "Megatron," was nearly lost in the thunderous sound of her legs giving out and her frame crashing back to the ground, careless about the amount off rocks she was collecting in her abdominal plating. He growled, "They're not going anywhere," before opening the channel to Prime and speaking, "There better be a good explanation for calling, Prime."
"Don't worry, there is," the mech replied, his warm voice flooding the channel.
"Then let's have it," the mech demanded curtly.
"As you'll probably be horrified to know, I have just had the most interesting conversations with several of the mercenaries from the Darksyde-."
"You what?!"
"-Most interesting of them all was the private conversation Soundwave initiated with me shortly after they were released-."
"You released them?!"
"Yes, well, it's too long of a story to relate right now, but sufficed to say, we have ourselves tentative allies, one of which who has offered to take Virus off our hands in exchange for an extended hand of Neutrality towards her. Since Soundwave seemed to be under the impression that Virus would not be in her right processor once she found Megatron's corpse, he is more than willing to take command of the crew of the Darksyde in her stead, meaning that he will be coming to collect her."
"And you believed him? Have you finally lost it?"
"I assure you, I am in my right processor-."
"Can I get a medical confirmation on that from Ratchet?"
"Ironhide-."
"Alright, I trust you, but don't expect me to trust that 'Con, or any other you might be chatting up with down there." No, there was no way in the pit he was trusting any 'Con. Least of all these 'Cons. "And since you seem to be on such good terms with your new friends tell him to hurry if he wants to see the rust bucket alive."
"Ironhide, don't you dare-." The warning tone in Optimus voice was clear.
"Not me! She'll be offing herself any moment now with or without my help."
A sigh echoed over the line loud and clear. "Simply back off for the time being until Soundwave can get there to take her into his custody," Optimus ordered. "I know it's difficult for you to understand at the moment, but once you're back, I'll explain fully."
"You better. You owe me that much." Being ordered not to shoot a 'Con was a high price in his books. Lest the conversation turn into a spat, Ironhide bid his Commander goodbye and closed the channel, turning back to Virus with narrowed optics. She was now aimlessly drawing patterns in the dirt with her claws. Worm and Trojan had disappeared somewhere, though Maggie and Epps remained exactly where he'd left them. "We're leaving," he grunted, turning to tromp back into the woods.
"Are you serious? Just like that?" Epps demanded, trotting after the mech. "We're just going to leave that thing there?"
"Does it look like I'm happy about it?" Ironhide groused, glaring straight ahead. "Someone's on their way to collect her."
"Optimus is coming?" Maggie enquired.
Ironhide's gaze narrowed. "No."
Her lips pursed as her brow furrowed. "Don't tell me they're sending up more ex-S7 goons. That's just a slaughter waiting to happen."
"Worse," the mech grunted acidly.
"Simmons himself is coming up?" Epps asked, clearly horrified.
"I would almost prefer that amoeba to the mech coming," Ironhide growled contemptuously, bursting out from the tree line like a bull and almost violently transforming back into truck mode. "Soundwave is coming," he spat.
"Who?" the two humans coursed in unison as they scrambled inside the cab.
"A Decepticon," the Topkick rumbled blackly. "Someone you would do best never to be acquainted with."
Virus lolled onto her side, allowing the dirt to fill her intakes as she dragged in musty air, and then blew it out her vents in a rush of leaves and dust. She hardly noticed the Autobot's exit. There wasn't a whole lot she was taking notice of at the moment, actually. The all-consuming blanket of black depression was wrapped too firmly around her to allow anything beyond a shallow acknowledgement that her spark still pulsed while Megatron's didn't.
A pained whine drifted from her. Megatron. Her precious, strong, impossible-to-be-beaten Megatron, laying at the bottom of a Primus forsaken alien ocean, rusting like a piece of thrown away scrap metal. Every molecule of her being felt infused with lead, like she was heavy and sinking into the depths of the cold, unforgiving rock. She wished she was dead. More than anything, she wished she'd put her maw around that Autobot's cannon and let him fire off a round.
This felt worse than when she'd lost her lover all those vorns ago. Back then, she'd had rage to fall back on. The thirst for vengeance. She had Megatron there, whispering in her audio that the Autobots had raided the Kaon gladiatorial ring and her lover had been lost in the explosion that had ensued. It had been him that had stared at her with those wonderful, cold, malignant optics and told her that she could serve him loyally and take out as many Autobots as she wanted in order to satiate her insane need for revenge.
Losing Megatron was worse than losing her lover, because now she had no one.
It was much, much worse. The programming she'd been brought online with as a pre-program, the lines of code Bludgeon had written for her that told her processor unequivocally that she was to worship Megatron above all else, screamed that his death was beyond any given tragedy the universe would ever bare witness to. The agony of her mourning felt like a constricted fire in her frame.
She wished for death. More than anything, she wished for death. And she hated her cohorts more than anything for caring for her too much to simply let her die. Instead of finding her rightful death in the watery grave of her beloved master, she was now stuck in the land of the living with the most silently annoying watchdogs ever, both peeking their optics out from where they were hiding in the ship to make sure she didn't fling herself off the ship.
"Frag the both of you," she muttered darkly.
The dirt near her head shifted, announcing the approach of one of the banes of her existence. Worm dropped to the ground and laid a hand to her head.
"Go away unless you want your hand bitten off," she growled flatly. The hand jerked away but the mech did not leave. Worm and Trojan had been with her too long her not to be able to read the silence that radiated from the mech. "No, I will not get over this, and you're a slag-head for thinking that."
A small sigh of air drifted from the mech.
"I don't care if you two are trying to help- I would have preferred you help me die. Now spit out what you're really out here for and then get lost." She paused, rumbling sourly as Worm shifted, his hands moving as if he really were in the middle of speaking. When he was finished, Virus hissed and rolled over so that she could stare at the thickset mech. "What do you mean Nightshade is trying to bridge a channel between the Double-cross and the Invader? How the pit is she doing that? Where the pit is the Double-cross?"
Trojan peered out a grimy window and waved down to them. Virus snorted dispassionately. "Are you kidding me? She hacked into the ship's mainframe and forced a connection? That little fragging glitch." Trojan waved a little more quickly. "I'm not hurrying for any damn bot, you half-bit. I don't care if Swindle is waiting."
At her own damn pace, slower than usual, she made her way up the crooked, rust-ridden ramp into the small ship and shuffled to the already active view-screen. It was an ancient, monochromatic, static-choked, screen that Swindle could barely be seen through. The quadruped sat down hard on her haunches and glared dully, failing to summon any of her usual fire.
"What do you want, Swindle?"
"Can't a friend call upon another friend for a favour?"
"Yeah, they can. Too bad we're not friends." She flopped to the floor, making the entire ship rattle dangerously on its landing struts. "I don't feel like fragging around with you right now, or ever, so get to the point quick."
"I was hoping to cut a deal with you," Swindle proposed.
"With me and the rest of the universe," the quadruped growled, not even bothering to look at the screen anymore. Her head simply flopped to the side and stared at the wires peeking out from the hole-filled wall.
"That's generally the idea," Swindle shrugged. "But, for now, I was just hoping to settle for you."
Heaving a pained sigh, Virus shrugged. "Well, you got me."
"I was hoping that you'd put your… 'special talents' to use for me?"
At this, Virus perked up, but only marginally. "Mastermind contacted you, didn't he?"
"Yes, and he's requested an Autobot, but, as we both well know, you're one of the experts at gathering that kind of material, not me. You'll be privy to part of the pay in return for the favour."
"Fifty percent," she demanded disinterestedly.
"Not that privy," Swindle replied tightly. "I was thinking ten percent."
"Not on your life. Thirty percent."
"Twenty."
"Twenty-five or I walk away and you can tell Mastermind why you don't have his requested material."
"Fine. Twenty-five, but no more."
A sigh fell from her vents and she glanced at the view screen, squinting a little in order to see Swindle through the static. "Very well, twenty-five percent. We will be in touch once I've acquired the appropriate information for you."
"Thank you."
"Just frag off, Swindle." The channel closed and Virus rolled onto her feet again, heaving back onto her haunches so her dirt-caked underside was exposed. Her rusted interface panel popped open and her unnaturally dextrous claws tugged out the tangle cable. "Trojan, come here." The mech approached without an ounce of disgust for the state of Virus's internals. He simply dropped to the floor before and opened his own interface panel.
She knew she could do this without him, easily in fact, connecting to that one precious source of information she could connect to ephemerally and access how she pleased, but Trojan Horse's talents helped her get in and out unnoticed. The most important thing was leaving no trace.
With practised ease, Trojan's cable inserted into her port, shadowing her processes while Virus inserted her cable into the main transceiver port of the console of the ship. They sat unmoving for countless breems, almost a joor, drifting through space. Searching. Finding that little beacon of blackness that somehow called out to them. A brief shudder suddenly wracked Virus.
She connected.