A/N: This is an honest-to-Primus update. A real chapter and everything. That said, you may want to check on the previous chapter, because it is also shiny and brand-new. Remember that sneak peek? It ain't a sneak peek no more! It's all grown up!
If you have read the previous chapter, I must reiterate. Please no stabbity-death upon original characters. I am going to need them later.
Disclaimer: The concept of Transformers, among other things, belongs to HasTak and some other people. All the characters introduced here are completely original and thus belong to me.
'Til All Are One
Chapter Twenty-Four: Clearing Skies
The mech barreled down the stairs straight at them, brandishing a sparking electro-magnetic rod over his head (that explained the electricity that Shadowstrike had been hit with) and his voice cut out twice in the middle of the ragged battle cry. It sounded more like he was scraping at his vocal processor with the tines of a rusty fork.
Solarhaze met the newcomer head on, his considerably larger bulk slamming hard into the mech. There was an ugly crunching sound and the oncoming mech stumbled sideways. Solarhaze gave him a push to help gravity along and the mech toppled down the last five stairs. He crumpled into a heap at the bottom with the EMR still in his grip.
"Murk! Get 'im!" Solarhaze yelled, whipping around and bounding back down the stairs. The mech recoiled from the yellow Valkyrie's approach, struggling to get back to his feet, but only succeeded in backing into the wall. Solarhaze thrust his rifle out.
But Shadowstrike hadn't moved yet. Now that the mech wasn't coming at her from behind and in the total darkness, she saw something that she hadn't noticed earlier. She flung a hand out and grabbed Solarhaze's elbow.
"Wait! Wait a klik!" the femme commanded, pulling him back. Solarhaze jerked his arm away.
"What?" he asked, confused. He did not see what the black-and-silver Trinity jet did.
"Don't attack him." Shadowstrike ordered.
"What?!"
"Look at him!" Shadowstrike nodded down to the mech, who was eyeing them warily. "Does he look like he's in any condition to start a fight?
"But he attacked you!" Solarhaze protested.
"I probably scared the slag outta him." Shadowstrike said, pulling on his arm. "He's in stage-two energon deprivation, Solarhaze. I don't know how long he's been here, but he's starving. He probably thought he was protecting himself and whatever supplies he has."
Solarhaze frowned and shone the beam directly onto the mech. The mech recoiled from the beam of light, turning his head away but that was the amount of his movement. The yellow Valkyrie turned back to Shadowstrike.
"How can you tell?" he wondered.
"Stage two is characterized by a white, runny fluid coming from the optics and the extremities returning to protoform gray." Shadowstrike replied. In the light, she could tell that the mech had both symptoms. The black and chrome metal around the hands and feet had already turned a flat, ugly gray and the white fluid had dried along the mech's faceplates.
Solarhaze took a second look. "How do you know that?"
"My guardians were medics. They worked here. That's how I know my way around." Shadowstrike replied. She pushed the other jet away from the ailing mech. "C'mon, give him some space."
She was acting like this mech was nothing more than a lost, scared petro-puppy. Solarhaze couldn't understand it. Part of him figured that it was just the femme mentality to protect the helpless, but really, they had a mission to do. They had come to get supplies for their medbay at the Compound. Not walk out of here with some mech who had been dug up from Primus only knows where.
Shadowstrike kneeled down in front of the grounder mech and looked him over for any other damage. He was dinged and scuffed up, but there was no sign of any major injuries. He was wearing battle-armor though; he had definitely been a fighter. But it was light, so he obviously hadn't been much of a fighter. He was black as well with traces of chrome at every joint and was rather long in the legs. His whole frame appeared designed to be swift. He was probably a fast sprinter and hard to catch. He also had a death grip on the EMR and he was eyeing the femme with an expression of strong distrust.
"We're not going to hurt you." Shadowstrike told him. "You startled us, that's all."
The mech made a coughing noise and stared pointedly at Solarhaze.
"Oh, Solarhaze is just a slag-head." Shadowstrike said with a smile. "Jumps without looking. Just ignore him."
"Hey, I'm standing right here."
"But we really don't want to hurt you." the femme assured the black mech. "We just came here to pick up some supplies. We had no idea you were here too. So maybe you could let us get on our way--"
Solarhaze shot forward and seized the black mech by the shoulders, hauling him right off the floor.
"Alright you slagger! What do you want?!" Solarhaze interrogated harshly, shaking the black mech rather needlessly. "What are you?! What's your alignment?! Autobot?! Decepticon?! Neutral?! C'mon, answer me!"
"Buttercup! Stop it! For Primus's sake, put him down!" Shadowstrike snapped angrily. "He could be way more damaged than he looks!"
"He could be the enemy!" Solarhaze protested. "If we're going to do this questioning thing, then we should do it right!"
The black mech had had just about enough of this and he kicked the yellow Valkyrie with one long leg. Solarhaze let out a surprised yelp and dropped him. The black mech tossed aside the EMR (it had been low on power anyways) and a short blade slid out of a shallow compartment on his right forearm. It extended out to its full length -- nearly as long as his arm -- and he lunged at Solarhaze again.
"See!" Solarhaze dodged the swipe. It was clumsy and sluggish. "He's trying to kill me! He's gotta be a Decepticon!"
Evidently, that was quite the wrong thing to say. The black mech's next attack was considerably faster than the last one and the titanium blade scored a hit along Solarhaze's chassis. But the hit was a glancing one and it left nothing more than a scrape on the battle armor. It certainly did not change Solarhaze's opinion any.
"Stop it!" Shadowstrike shouted. "Stop it or you'll hurt yourself even more!"
She leapt on the black mech's back and hooked her arms around his neck. The black mech let out a wordless snarl at this and shoved himself backwards into the wall. Shadowstrike took the brunt of the blow and let out a grunt of pain, but she did not let up her grip. He was just scared, she reminded herself. Scared and desperate to protect what little he had. Now if they could just get him to calm down enough to start talking...
Words were infinitely better than guns.
"Hey! Leave her alone you slagging 'Con!" Solarhaze shouted angrily.
He jumped forward again to Shadowstrike's defense, shoving the black mech's sword arm aside. But the mech still had one arm that he wasn't using. Keeping Shadowstrike pinned between himself and the wall, the mech's other arm flashed out and his graying fingers wrapped around Solarhaze's neck. The yellow Valkyrie froze as the black mech started to squeeze.
Solarhaze stayed absolutely still and with good reason. The black mech was squeezing hard enough to compress his vocal processor; an act that usually rendered the victim with minor speaking difficulties. If the black mech pressed down any harder, he could rupture the energon lines that fed into the CPU and/or damage the spinal relays.
Optics of a washed-out blue glared heatedly at the jet and Solarhaze was sure that if looks could kill, he would be dead already. The black mech opened his mouth and in a stuttering, rasping voice, he said:
"I am n-not a De-cept-ticon..."
"You're acting like one." Solarhaze retorted with narrow optics and a thin voice.
"Buttercup, shut it!" Shadowstrike hissed. She was in an uncomfortable position back here and she didn't want to be stuck in it any longer than necessary.
"Your f-friend ha-as more s-sense than you do-o." the black mech said shakily. "Ma-aybe you sh-should li-listen to h-her."
"Yes, please." Shadowstrike put in instantly. "Solarhaze, put your slagging gun down so we can all talk about this like civilized mechs. Please." she added for good measure.
Slowly, never taking his optics off the black mech, Solarhaze leaned down as much as he could and placed his pulse rifle on the floor. Then he straightened up and pushed it away with one foot. The black mech released his grip on the jet's neck and slowly came away from the wall. Shadowstrike unhooked her arms and dropped back to the floor. She moved to the side, picking up her dropped bo-staff. She didn't put it away, but kept it out on the off-chance that the black mech was going to try something stupid again.
"Okay, we'll keep this simple." the femme said. She touched a hand to her chassis. "My name is Shadowstrike and my comrade over there is Solarhaze. You can call him 'Buttercup', if you want."
The mech in question scowled.
"We're from the Neutral faction; a team that's still stationed here in Iacon." Shadowstrike went on. "We're on a run for medical supplies and we're expected to report in to our commanding officer in another joor. And you are?..." she added promptingly.
"I'm-- m-malfunctioni-ing." the black mech said. "My f-files are c-corrupt-ted. Old m-memory files are ina-acessab-ble. Desi-ignation-- f-faction, a-and funct-tion unkn-nown."
"Your vocalizer's all fritzy too." Solarhaze muttered. It was difficult to say whether or not he meant to be heard.
"Buttercup." Shadowstrike shot him a warning glare and then she turned back to the black mech. "That complicates things. What can you remember?"
The black mech's brow furrowed in thought.
"S-Stasis-pod." he replied at length.
"You woke up in a stasis-pod." Shadowstrike elaborated. She knew all about stasis-pods from her guardians. They were meant to sustain mechs who experienced so much damage that they went into full-system shut-down. Essentially, life-support that would keep the mech in stasis-lock for an indefinite period of time until repairs had been completed. Assuming that there was no one else hiding out in the med-center, this mech must have woken up on his own after his self-regenerative system had finished repairing whatever damage he had taken. That at least explained why he didn't appear to be damaged.
But it didn't explain why he couldn't access his old memory files.
"Okay, I'm going to contact our commander and we're going to get you out of here." Shadowstrike explained.
Solarhaze shot her a bewildered look. "We are?"
"Yes, we are." Shadowstrike said to him. She glanced back to the black mech. "Is that alright with you?"
"Why?" he asked.
"Well, for starters. We have a medic back at the base." Shadowstrike replied. "He can take a look at you and figure out what's wrong. He may not be qualified to fix it, but at least you'll know. Secondly, you need proper energon. I think you've been living off rations of stale wafers, because I know the staff kept those things around, but they can get pretty nasty after they've been sitting for a vorn or two."
The disgusted expression that appeared confirmed Shadowstrike's suspicion. A generally haggard overall appearance often accompanied second-stage energon deprivation, so the black mech looked worse than he probably felt at the moment. Rust was starting to eat into bits of his frame and there were stress fractures all up his arms and chassis; signs of metal fatigue. He wasn't getting anywhere near enough energon in his system. Stale wafers didn't have a long shelf-life either.
"So... Do you agree to the idea?" Shadowstrike asked, a bit tentative.
The black mech didn't seem to like the idea very much. He frowned, even though it seemed to take a great deal of concentration to pull it off. His brows pinched together and the washed-out optics narrowed, either in suspicion or thought. He knew nothing of the world since his awakening; roughly six months prior, by his count. The med-center had been abandoned long before then, if the dust and cobwebs and the disturbingly high population anticmos spiders in the basement were any indication. He didn't know why the sky looked so foul or why the city was so empty. He didn't know why he kept expecting to hear screams and the rapid discharge of energy weapons echoing in the empty streets.
Frankly, he didn't know anything. Not even his own name.
That had stopped bothering him a while ago and he wasn't sure if that was a very good thing.
"I d-don't thi-ink I have much of a choi-oice." the black mech said at last. The titanium blade retracted back to its storage length and was returned to the shallow compartment on the forearm.
"Great!" Shadowstrike grinned. "Just let me-- Hey!"
Solarhaze had pulled her aside.
"Can we talk a moment?" he asked, turning his back towards the black mech. "Just for a moment?"
"What is it?" Shadowstrike inquired resignedly.
"What are you doing? We don't even know if he's a Neutral, never mind the other two factions." Solarhaze hissed, trying to cut the other mech out of the conversation as much as possible. "Didn't you hear him? He's a walking malfunction!"
"So he can't access his memory banks, whatever. I don't think he's a Decepticon at all. He said he wasn't." Shadowstrike pointed out. "Secondly, this is Iacon. Former Autobot base. What would a Decepticon be doing in an Autobot medical center?"
"Maybe he's a prisoner!"
"A prisoner they forgot about and left to rust in a stasis-pod?"
"It could happen."
"You're being ridiculous."
"No, I'm being careful." Solarhaze corrected. "Cybertron isn't safe anymore and we don't know what kind of glitched-up slaggers are out there. For all we know, this is actually a brilliant plan laid out by another Neutral team in order to infiltrate the Compound and steal all our supplies and the frequency to the one satellite we were able to hack into."
Shadowstrike blinked.
"You really think that?"
"Yes. I do."
"I'm not really sure they would have the resources to pull it off. And anyways, no other team has been near the Compound in months, so we're not bugged." the black-silver jet argued. "And if we're not bugged, then how did they know that we were planning to raid the med-center?"
"Maybe they bugged us months ago!" Solarhaze argued back. "My point is, I don't like the fact that this guy comes barreling out of nowhere with no clue who he is, where he is, or what's going on and then he conveniently decides to surrender to us just because we have a medic who could fix him! I smell a retro-rat!"
"I think you're overreacting." Shadowstrike stated.
"I think you're under-reacting." Solarhaze shot back. "This can't be what it looks like."
"Hey, maybe this is exactly what it looks like." Shadowstrike suggested, shrugging vaguely. "I admit we don't know what side he's on, but if you really think about it, we're just one team and we're strapped for supplies as it is. And I don't think the other teams are doing much better."
"Get to the point." Solarhaze snapped.
"The point. I sincerely doubt that any of the other teams would really be willing to spare a good fighter like him for the three months it takes just to reach the second stage just so the disguise can be convincing." Shadowstrike explained. "They would not sacrifice one of their own when the daemons and the Sweeps are everywhere!"
Solarhaze still looked mighty skeptical.
Shadowstrike sighed. "If it makes you feel better, we'll talk to Nebula and we'll talk to Crosswind and we'll go through all the proper channels, okay?"
"Okay..." Solarhaze conceded. "But -- I still don't like it."
"'The skies begin to clears/And bright light takes to wing/Out of the darkness deep/A spark begins to sing''" Nebula mumbled, absently picking at some scum and other things that had gotten caught between his finger joints. "'But the horizon still is bleak/The sky like fragile glass/'Ware, for the true danger--'"
"'Has not yet come to pass.'" cut in another voice; a familiar voice that wasn't entirely unwelcome.
Nebula turned in time to see a familiar burnished red Deltoid jet half-slithered over the railing of the overpass with a sack slung over the shoulder. The contents of the sack clinked gently as the jet dropped down to the road in a crouch.
"That's The Calm Before the Storm, right?" Crosswind asked with a faint grin.
"Dates as far back as the Quintession war." Nebula replied, flicking splinter of metal away. "You want something?"
"No, I just heard you being gloomy and decided to have a look." Crosswind said, sitting down beside his old friend. "That is a very depressing bit of poetry."
"I like it. Fits the mood." Nebula said grumpily.
Crosswind leaned over and snatched the binoviewers away. He adjusted the focus and aimed it at the med-center.
"I take it they're still in there?" he asked.
"Yep. Haven't heard anything yet, so I guess there's no problem." Nebula replied. "They argued a bit, but I got them back in line no problem. Still, dealing with those two is like trying to herd cyber-cats."
"It takes patience and practice." Crosswind said, nodding in agreement. "Did you know the Sweeps are off their regular patrol routes again?"
"Yeah, had a battalion of them pass this way earlier." Nebula said. He crossed his arms. "I really don't like it. There isn't a lot that can knock those slaggers off their routine."
"It could just be a collapsed building. Something that's blocking off their normal route." Crosswind pointed out. He looked thoughtful. "But in the past, they have gone right over the rubble. This isn't their normal behavior..."
"See, everything's falling apart!" Nebula groaned. The Tetra-jet let out a gusty sigh. "What happened to us 'Wind?"
"That sounds like a rhetorical question." Crosswind commented. He was pawing through the sack, looking for something.
"Look at us. We both fought in the Second War and got to help with the heavy-duty clean-up afterwards." Nebula went on. "The Senate liked us so much that we got shiny medals of commendation, honorary military ranks -- I mean, we're both First Lieutenants -- and then they shunted us sideways to the Flight Academy so we could teach the next generation of fliers for the future of the Cybertron Aerial Combat Force. And then, some five hundred vorns later... BAM!"
When Nebula punched his hand into his fist, Crosswind flinched despite himself.
"War comes crashing down on us again. Things slag up, rest of our team goes the way of the mecha-dodo and we're reduced to lurkin' in the shadows and scrounging for every drop of energon, hoping we don't meet a messy end." Nebula let out another sigh, just as heavy as the first. "I liked life better when I chasing the rusty little glitches back into their dorms before curfew."
"Strictly speaking, you're still chasing some rusty little glitches around." Crosswind said patiently. "I would like to refer you back to Buttercup. I believe that he still makes it fun."
"Buttercup's growing a spine." Nebula spat. "He's more fun to tease when he's being all uppity and snitty. Now he's just trying to throw around weight that he doesn't have."
"So... Is there anything else wrong?" the Deltoid jet asked carefully.
"Oh no, nothing's wrong. Not a thing." Nebula said airily, waving a hand. "It's just that we're stuck in Iacon, we're low on energon and I haven't had a good drink in ages. Our transport-skid lost all its stabilizers from running the Yirui Pass -- which I said was a bad idea!-- and we get daemons on our afts every orn. No one has a clue how the war's progressing, we can't fly unless we want to end up like Counterglow, and the slagging Sweeps can't even stick to their normal schedules! Everything is just fine, Crosswind! Where the frag didja get the idea that something was wrong?!"
"You've been talking in your recharge again." Crosswind answered dully.
"Never ask me that question again. You know what the answer will be." Nebula said, scowling. "There will be nothing wrong when I finally see every last single stinkin' 'Con fall over dead. I'll be happier then."
"However, I might be able to help you out on the part about a good drink." Crosswind went on. He reached into the sack that he had been toting all this way and fished out a bottle of high-grade, which he promptly offered to Nebula. The multi-hued Tetrahedron jet just snorted at it.
"Don't think you can bribe me with that!" he said, laughing. "You're making me laugh 'Wind! High-grade does not-- Is that...?" Nebula examined the bottle's label very closely and after a moment, there was a look of awe on his face. "This is vintage stuff... Holy Primus, this came from the Crystal City... Where did you find it?"
"Do you want it or not?" Crosswind asked, sloshing the liquid back and forth.
Nebula whimpered a little. He had been fully sober since the AllSpark had been launched over a vorn ago, but fine high-grade would forever remain his biggest weakness. Crosswind knew that it wasn't nice to exploit this weakness, but the high-grade would do wonders in mellowing out the Tetra-jet.
"C'mon Nebula, you'll feel better." the burnished red Deltoid jet taunted. "We'll share the bottle and you can rant to me about the five little buggers we tried to turn into decent soldiers."
"And failed." Nebula said with a shrug, grabbing the bottle without a klik's more hesitation. "Ah well. Only live once and we're too close to dying."
He twisted the cap off and deeply inhaled the scent of vintage, well-aged high-grade. He nearly melted into a puddle of slag right then and there and then he proceeded to take a long pull from the bottle.
"Ooh, that's good stuff." he breathed, wiping a little bit of fluid from his optics. He hadn't had any high-grade -- cheap or excellent -- in far too long. He took another pull before he remembered to offer the bottle to his friend. The Deltoid only took a small sip before he handed it back.
"Actually, I'm glad I caught up with you. I've had an idea that I've wanted to run by your processor." Crosswind said quietly.
"Your ideas haven't been turning out very well lately, you know." Nebula pointed out.
"I'm aware of that." Crosswind muttered.
"Well... Let's hear it." Nebula said, leaning back a bit. "I'll decide whether it a good idea that'll keep the fires off our afts or one that's just gonna slag us over."
"Your faith in my tactical abilities is astounding." Crosswind stated flatly. "Alright, my idea. For the last couple of orns, I've been toying with the thought of leaving Cybertron."
Most surprisingly to Crosswind, Nebula did not spew vintage high-grade five feet from his body and buckle over laughing at the red jet; as was the reaction Crosswind often got after naming his more incredulous suggestions. Instead, he held the mouthful for a moment and then swallowed it down, looking pensive and maybe slightly disturbed.
"Why?" he asked at length.
"You're questioning me 'why'?" Crosswind asked incredulously. "Primus, Nebula. I thought it would have been obvious. Look around us." He made a wide, sweeping gesture with one hand. "The planet is dying and the longer we stay here, the more chance we have of dying with it. The energon plants no longer function, the whole of Iacon has been overrun by Sweeps and daemons and every breem we spend outside is another breem we choke up our intakes. The atmosphere alone is capable of killing us; we've seen that."
"Don't remind me." Nebula snapped, not about to call up old memories of an old wing-mate.
"But are you seeing my point?" Crosswind asked impatiently. "Places like Dnaleri and Sasnak were have literally fallen into the core; none of us have never seen sinkholes so large before. Sooner or later, Iacon is going to follow. Without the AllSpark, Cybertron can't sustain itself. We have got to get off of here before the entire planet collapses in on itself."
"Do you really think that could happen?" Nebula asked flatly. He sounded vaguely annoyed, but it was hard to tell. The high-grade was mellowing him out, which was exactly what Crosswind had intended.
"It's happening now. The planet is dying even as we sit here. It's even starting to give way to metal fatigue." the red Deltoid said grimly.
Nebula raised an extremely skeptical browridge. In demonstration, Crosswind dug two fingers into a small crack on the road beside him and pulled hard. There was an awful screeching noise and he raised his hand, bringing with it a piece of sheet metal about four inches long. He waved it in front of the wide optics of the multi-hued Tetra-jet, letting him look at it for a few kliks before he tossed it aside.
"I have no intention of dying with it." Crosswind finished.
Nebula was silent for a long moment, staring at the distant horizon. Crosswind held his breath, so to speak. It wasn't that he couldn't make his plan work without Nebula. The kids would listen to either one of them, since Solarhaze, Overcast, Counterglow and Breakstream had all been students of theirs before the war had erupted. Not Shadowstrike, though. She had been much too young back then.
They had all been responsible for Shadowstrike's welfare ever since Counterglow had found her wandering the fringe of the campus a few weeks removed from the official beginning of the war. Her guardians had been presumably lost in the Iacon Blitz like many others or shortly thereafter. She had found her way down to the Flight Academy in search of her older brother. Unfortunately, by the time she had arrived, a large majority of the students had already left; whether to seek out their own families or in the company of the Lord High Protector. Those latter mechs had been drafted into military service -- Crosswind still wondered if those students had ever known what they had been getting themselves into.
To top it off, Shadowstrike had never spoken the name of her brother, leaving them to take wild guesses that probably fell far short of the mark. She had only been seven vorns old back then and rather short on common sense. But since they had not about to let that young, fragile-looking femme go back out into a now-dangerous world on her own, they had taken her in and kept an optic on her ever since.
But the task of leaving Cybertron would be a lot easier if Crosswind had Nebula's cooperation on the matter.
However, before Nebula could formulate a proper response to the insanity Crosswind was suggesting, his comlink buzzed.
"What?" he asked brusquely. "This had better be an emergency."
Crosswind surreptitiously tapped into the frequency.
"Hello to you too, Nebula." Shadowstrike said in an annoyed tone.
"Shadow, I told you only to contact me if it's an emergency." Nebula said, sighing and pinching the metal between his optics.
"I'm not sure if it qualifies as an emergency, but we decided to ask you anyways."Shadowstrike replied. She sounded like she was straining to be patient."When I got inside the med-center -- so I could open up the blast doors and let Buttercup inside." she added quickly. "I got jumped by another mech."
She had barely finished when Nebula went: "WHAT?!!"
"Describe this mech for me." Crosswind jumped in swiftly. There was a datapad in his subspace and he pulled it out, along with a stylus.
"Wha-- Crosswind? When did you--"
"What's his faction?"
"Oh-- He doesn't know."
Crosswind and Nebula exchanged looks.
"How could he not know?" the red Deltoid inquired.
"He's been locked in a stasis-pod for a while now and he only got out maybe four months ago, because he's already in second-stage energon deprivation. He says he's malfunctioning and can't access his old memory files." Shadowstrike explained. "But we think--"There was the faint sound of Solarhaze in the background. "Okay, I think he might be an Autobot. I mean, this is an Autobot med-center and I just don't think they would leave a Decepticon in here without some kind of guard."
"Unless that mech is the guard and the Decepticon is running loose somewhere." Crosswind reasoned grimly. On the datapad, he pulled up a list of Autobot personnel that he had quietly downloaded ages ago without the faction's knowledge.
"Crosswind, please don't creep me out like that." Shadowstrike said in a strangely high-pitched voice.
"It's a reasonable suggestion; keep your guard up." Crosswind recommended. "What do you think his function is?"
"I'd say Special Ops, because he's wearing light battle armor and he's got really long legs. Best guess, he's a scout." Shadowstrike answered thoughtfully. "But he definitely knows how to fight. I mean, the guy can barely stand up as it is, but he brought Solarhaze to a halt with just one hand. Around his neck, mind you."
"That would do it." Crosswind agreed. He isolated a list of Special Ops officers, past and present as he had last known it.
"The skies over Iacon are clearing." Nebula commented, almost absently.
"Nebula, not now." Crosswind murmured, not interested in hearing his old friend recite depressing poetry. "Alright Shadow, tell me--"
"Crosswind, look." Nebula interrupted bluntly. He put his hand on Crosswind's head and pulled it back, forcing the red jet to look up. What he saw automatically made him feel worse.
The sky was normally disgusting just to look at. It was usually an ugly yellowish, dark gray and it smelled like sulfur; the result of vorns of pollution. It was hazardous to fly in and the only reason they remained grounded. If in the rare event the skies were clear, they could usually see the unfamiliar stars of whatever part of space Cybertron had drifted in to and it reminded them that the planet was still somewhere, at least. That they hadn't dropped off the edge of the universe yet. But usually, the moment of clear skies never lasted long and the pollution would quickly rush back into place and they would be cut off once more.
This time, the polluted clouds were being blown away in the same manner that a vacuum cleaner sucks up dirt and dust. It happened quickly, revealing strange, alien constellations etched up in the blackness.
"Shadowstrike, all three of you need to get out of there and return to the Compound." Crosswind instructed, unable to take his optics off the clearing sky.
"What? Why? What's going on?" Shadowstrike asked, worried by his tone.
"The skies are clearing."
"That's bad?"
"Yes. It means we're getting close to something with a powerful gravitational pull. Something strong enough to pull the pollution away with very little effort. A red super-giant or perhaps a black hole." Crosswind replied. "Tell Solarhaze that I understand if he has any reservations about the strange mech, but we are not Decepticons and we are not going to leave him behind when he obviously needs help. Take him back to the Compound with you."
"But the supplies--" Shadowstrike started.
"Slag the supplies! Just get out!" Crosswind shouted. Shadowstrike's comlink went off abruptly with a click. Nebula stared at his old friend with an expression of surprise. Then he thrust the high-grade towards the red jet.
"I think you need this more than I do." he said. Crosswind swiped the bottle and downed the rest of the contents without pause.
"We need to double-time it back. We have to send the signal out." the Deltoid said.
Nebula frowned. "What signal?"
"A few months ago, some of the other Neutral team leaders and I came to an agreement. If we encountered something that could pose a serious threat to Cybertron's existence, we would broadcast a signal to each other that carried a simple instruction." Crosswind explained.
"And what is this simple instruction?" Nebula asked. Even as he did, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.
Crosswind gave a ghastly smile and Nebula's fears were confirmed.
"To abandon ship."