Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to hide.
Chopper's coming… for YOU!
Chopper slipped silently through the tunnels beneath Cybertron's surface, polished armor a gleam of liquid silver in the night.
Down here lurked the monsters of legend… the Drillers, the Insecticons, and, worst of all… Chopper.
Light flashed just ahead. A dimly-lit passageway opened in the side of one tunnel, perhaps created by some ancient creature from Cybertron's darkest myths.
Thousands of voices echoed through from a distant arena, creating a thunderous roar.
"Blueservo! Blueservo!"
The audience's elated cheers for their champion unknowingly drew Chopper's attention towards the direction of the chant. He swiftly disconnected one rotor-blade, activating elite stealth protocols. The already near-undetectable flare of his energy field vanished completely.
His prey was near.
The red mech clutched at his right arm harder, hastily deactivating the surrounding sensors as he speed-walked down seemingly endless corridors. Now that his battle computer was offline, he felt the full extent of the damage to his frame. The unfortunate combination of recently repaired sensor grids and Terrorstrike's proficiency in choosing energon blades resulted in an exceedingly painful injury.
He finally arrived at the repair bay. The dark green medic was tapping at a datapad, but he looked up when the red mech entered.
"Blueservo!" The medic quickly led the red mech to a table and grabbed a welder. "What happened out there? I almost thought Terrorstrike was going to win!"
"Heh, no." The red mech said, looking faintly amused. Granted, Terrorstrike had some skill, but he was too arrogant for his own good. "Wait, you watched the match? I thought you didn't like violence."
"I don't, but… I had to know," the medic mumbled. He finished off the weld and grabbed a sander. "How'd you beat him?"
"Battle computer," the red mech said. "With those useless medical limits deleted, it works just like a normal warbuild's."
"Useless?"
The mech shrugged. "Useless in a fight."
"Interesting. I guess you can take the medic out of the combat, but you can't take the combat out of the…" The dark green flier trailed off after noticing the red mech's glare. "Er… never mind."
He performed another scan of the red mech's arm and servo, looking for tiny flaws in the repairs that could start rusting over time. Suddenly remembering an earlier visitor, the medic unsubspaced two small energon cubes.
"Greyspring left these for you. He said to check the scoreboards, too. Apparently you're quite popular with the noblemechs." The medic went back to scanning the red mech's arm and servo. "What the…?"
"What is it?" The red mech started his own scan on his servo. Everything seemed normal. "What are you looking at?"
"This… this isn't possible. Your servo isn't even damaged!"
"Are you sure? That's- oh. I see." The red mech's scans confirmed the medic's observation. "Strange. I scanned Terrorstrike before the match, and his arm had normal integrity."
"You crushed his forearm with your servo, there has to be at least some damage. My sensors must be malfunctioning bec-"
"Medic," a slightly strained voice called out from the console. "Report to Arena Six immediately."
"Looks like I have to go," the medic explained apologetically, giving the red mech a servoful of tools. "I trust you know what to do with these?"
"Of course," the red mech replied, sounding faintly offended.
The medic scurried out of the room as the red mech turned his attention to repairing other small dents and nicks on his frame. Now that he had a steady supply of energon and quite a bit of free time, he could afford to fix the smaller, less immediately threatening wounds.
The red mech dug in a nearby crate, finding a small pile of metal sheets, and turned his attention to his recently repaired arm. Though his original servo's claws were dull and the metal was dented, every bit of blue-coated metal on his right servo gleamed as brightly as the orn he had found it.
Evidently frame designers had been planning to give combat medics even sturdier armor - an essential advantage when said mechs were programmed to both protect patients and avoid harming others - before the model had been decommissioned.
Just above the weld lines connecting the mech's blue servo and red forearm plating, the damaged laser cutter he had relied upon for so many megavorns glinted dimly. The red mech knew it could still be quite useful if repaired. However, damaged as it was, its unnecessary presence would only serve to hinder his movement in matches.
The mech set his optics to a higher magnification to inspect the heavy-duty welds holding the laser to his arm's weapon mounts. After shutting off the surrounding sensors, he cut them with a precise beam from his functional laser and waited for tiny clamps to disengage.
He then subspaced the damaged cutter, trading it for the larger, more powerful form of his recently acquired laser pulse rifle.
He had previously used the laser pulse rifle like any other servo-held weapon, but attaching it meant better maneuverability. His arm was free now; he could only benefit from having a new, more powerful attached weapon.
Small clamps on the underside of the rifle socketed into matching gaps in his arm plating, holding the weapon in place as he carefully spliced energon lines that had once fueled his old laser into the new rifle's power supply. Finally, he used a welder and a few small strips of sheet metal to seal the connection points.
A few experimental shots later, the red mech was satisfied with the durability of the welds. Now, he just had to think of a good explanation for the blackened spots on the wall…
The door slid open behind him.
The sound of the medic's soft pedesteps drifted to the mech's audio receptors as he returned the welder to its shelf.
"Back so soon," the red mech stated, turning towards the medic. "How'd it g-"
Chopper stood in front of the door, a small but unmistakably triumphant smile playing across his features as his silver plating gleamed impossibly bright under the harsh lighting.
The medic was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh." The red mech suppressed the urge to cower or flee, instead activating his battle computer and assessing the rotary.
The results were far from optimistic. Chopper's frame showed signs of multiple upgrades; any inherent weaknesses his model might once have possessed had long since been accounted for.
Chopper said nothing. There was no need for him to speak; both mechs could predict the result of any fight.
The mech was cornered. Chopper had the advantages of elite coding and extensive training.
Chopper would win. His knowing smile said as much.
The mech would offline… but not without a fight.
The mech frantically tried to think of an escape plan, but every scenario he ran led to the same result: his own termination.
As Chopper stepped forward, swinging his rotor sword in a glittering arc, the red mech dodged and activated his newly attached laser pulse rifle. If Chopper would terminate him anyway, he could at least try to inflict as much damage as possible before he offlined.
Chopper shifted his pede slightly, and the laser pulse aimed for his knee joint barely grazed his silver paint. An angry flash of the rotary's optics was the mech's only warning before Chopper closed the distance between them with uncanny speed.
The red mech jumped into the air, but the low ceiling eliminated any chance of avoiding Chopper's blade. His battle computer automatically deactivated both thrusters to avoid triggering an explosion as he dropped painfully to the ground, energon trickling from a deep gash on one leg.
The next instant, the mech rolled sideways and lashed out with both servos. His claws bounced harmlessly off the rotary's armor, while his vibroblade was easily deflected by Chopper's sword.
Agony lanced through one wing as the rotor blade tore through the sensitive flight surface too quickly for the mech's battle computer to compensate. He hissed, involuntarily jerking limbs causing his next shot to hit the ceiling instead of the silver rotary. His good leg kicked outwards, aiming to burn silver pedes with an active thruster, but the rotary was too fast.
The mech scuttled sideways and fired a series of low-intensity pulses at Chopper, hoping to hit something vital, but he had no such luck. The rotary's amused expression made it abundantly clear that the mech's attempts at fighting back were doing little more than prolonging his own suffering.
Chopper quickly tired of the mech's defiance when a laser pulse glanced off his silver helm, neutralizing one optical feed. He lunged forward, knocking aside the mech's rifle, and stabbed between red arm and torso plates.
The door slid open, unnoticed by the fighting mechs.
"I'm back," the medic announced.
The mech cried out as Chopper's sharp blade easily pierced through the tiny gap in his otherwise tough armor, severing the secondary energon lines that powered his rifle. His arm dropped to the side, sonic blade deactivating as motor relays in his shoulder were severed.
"Did you fi-" The green medic's question cut off sharply the instant he heard the mech's scream.
He hurriedly transformed into a jet and fled the scene.
"Coward," the red mech snarled, wishing he could reach the door just behind the rotary.
He swung his left servo at Chopper's pede again, leaving four thin lines in the shiny paint. Unfortunately, the hardened alloy beneath remained undamaged, and the rotary was careful to stay away from the mech's kicking pedes.
"I've offlined over twenty thousand mechs. You never stood a chance," Chopper gloated, smiling wickedly as he twisted his sword in the mech's shoulder.
The mech flopped across the ground, servo clawing uselessly at the blade in his shoulder. Now that he had two open wounds, his energon levels were dropping even more quickly than before.
The mech thrashed helplessly, crimson optics furious as Chopper slowly drew the sword out.
The rotary flicked the gleaming blade once, sending a splatter of glowing fuel across the floor. He raised the blade dramatically, holding it in the air above the mech before stabbing towards the spark-
Chopper was suddenly knocked forward by an explosion. The sword in his servos carved a deep gash in the mech's torso plating as the rotary stumbled forwards. However, he would not be denied his revenge… especially not now, when he was so close to terminating the red mech.
He expertly regained his balance and stabbed the sword downwards.
Just before the sword hit the red mech's spark chamber, a flash of green appeared, pausing for a moment over the red mech before both fliers disappeared down the hall in a roar of engines.
Chopper spun around, a snarl distorting his faceplates, only to be met by a furious silver blur.
After carefully lowering the injured red mech to the floor, the medic transformed and landed on his pedes.
"I… I thought you had left me," the red mech gasped. Streams of glowing energon trickled from his wounds, pooling on the ground below.
"I wouldn't just leave! I knew you couldn't win, so I had to get some help," the green medic explained. He pulled a box of tools from subspace and started inspecting the deep gash in the red mech's torso. "Chopper certainly knew what he was doing."
"You don't say," the mech croaked. "He's… strong… for a mech who sits… in his office all… orn."
"I heard he was in Special Forces during the Quintesson wars," the medic mused, wiping excess energon away from the mech's wounds before the volatile fuel could ignite. "Probably one of the elite assassin models."
"Nearly… offlined me." The mech winced in pain as the medic's claws brushed against shredded armor.
"I can see that." The medic's claws nimbly twisted torn fuel lines shut as his other servo drew some spare tubes from subspace. "You should go into stasis to conserve energy. These repairs will take some time."
"Where is…?"
"Sharpspike's dealing with him. You're safe now."
"Safe…" The mech's dim red optics slowly faded to black.
Some Cybertronian units:
nanoklik - second
breem - minute
joor - hour
orn - day
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week
vorn - year
megavorn - 1,000,000 years
Thanks for reading!
~The Voids