1. This chapter references the G1 episodes War Dawn and The Key to Vector Sigma. You may want to check those out on YouTube if you haven't seen them already.
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Rising Generations
Chapter 25: King for a Day
Beatback's fist collided with the wall, punching completely through the old eroded metal of the deeper Cybertronian caverns. A few Decepti-femmes stared at the demonstration of violence before skittering out of the area. Though Beatback had been with them for a very long time, it was still difficult for some of the group to trust a male, especially when he threw tantrums like this. It was best to leave him alone until he calmed down.
Ransack, who had been his partner all through their charade as Shockwave's lieutenants, was not intimidated as she watched him stalk murderously around.
"We can't leave Darkstar with those monsters. We have to go back," the mech insisted.
"I know," Ransack agreed. "But not now. We need time to calm down, to make a new plan. Then we'll get her out of there."
Beatback clenched his fists. "It will be too late then! What if they kill her right now?"
"No, they won't kill her yet. They'll try to get information from her first. And she's strong enough to withstand their interrogation tactics. We have some time."
"This is your fault," the mech said accusingly. "You let this happen."
"Hey, I didn't let anything happen," Ransack shot back, bristling at the accusation. "Don't you think that if there was anything I could have done, I would have done it?" She vented out a puff of hot air. "How do you think I feel? She was right next to me and those slagging Decepticons took her from my side. I don't know what would be worse: if there was something I could do and I didn't, or that I had done everything right and she was still taken away."
Beatback's temper receded in the wake of her hurt expression. The femme's pride had certainly taken a beating that day. There was no use making her feel worse for it.
"I'm sorry. I know you did your best," the mech said. "I'm just angry."
"So am I," she responded, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, we're still partners and I will do what I can to help you get Darkstar back." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Even if it means going against Spectre herself to do it."
Beatback watched her silently, then nodded.
Everything felt so familiar, but there was something wrong. The world was broken, disjointed.
But familiar.
Scenarios played before him like a movie on a damaged file. The timing was off; some scenes would play too quickly. The sound was garbled, and the whole tableau would jump from scene to scene as if stuck on random. Thundercracker had no control over any of it. He was a witness taken hostage, forced to watch as rooms and faces flashed before his optics in a disjointed play.
He could have sworn he had never been to these places or met these bots before, but he felt welcome there. It was like returning home.
Everything seemed so much better here. No dilapidated buildings and gray landscapes, no war-torn soldiers, just golden pillars and smiling faces. This was so much better than where he had been before. Even though the world moved on its own time, couldn't he just stay here? Thundercracker didn't want to go back.
"Hey! There you are."
The movie slowed down to normal time and Thundercracker was no longer the audience, but part of the play.
A young bot approached him, body of medium size painted blue and red. He grinned wide and confident, as if all the heavy woes of Cybertron could never touch him.
"You ready for tonight? I'm going to wipe the floor with you this time."
Thundercracker had no idea what he was talking about. He wanted to ask the young bot who he was and what was going on, but his body moved on its own. It was as if someone else had taken control of him and he was left to watch in the copilot's seat.
His mouth ticked up of its own accord. "You sure about that?" he asked. "Because every other time you and I faced off, it's been a completely different result, kzzzt."
He had addressed the bot by name, his mouth moved to form the words, but the sound fritzed out into static. It was as if someone had purposefully attempted to remove the bot's name from this recording.
The bot just laughed as if nothing were wrong with the sound. "True, but I've been practicing. You better watch out this time."
Behind him stood another bot, a femme. She was also young, pink and white in color. She smiled at Thundercracker as if the two of them shared a secret joke that went over the blue and red bot's head.
Thundercracker smiled back. He knew this couple; he cared about them. Their names had been deleted from his recollection, their history gone, but their faces had left an imprint upon him that still remained and Thundercracker was happy to be in their midst.
He was suddenly jerked forward in time. They were now outside on some kind of court. Many other bots gathered around, talking and having a good time. Thundercracker saw a large board with a list of names. They seemed to be paired off one on one, noting the winners from each match and moving them forward to face other victors. Until there were only two names left. The final match.
He stared at the names closely, but they were all blurred out. As hard as he tried to focus, he could not make them out. Everything else about his surroundings was clear as could be except those names.
The same blue and red bot approached him again, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Thundercracker noticed for the first time that they were about the same height. That didn't seem right. As a seeker, he should have towered over the other bot's medium build.
"Looks like it's just you and me this time, kzzzt."
This time, the bot had addressed Thundercracker by name, but the name still fell into harsh static.
"What? Say that again?" Thundercracker managed to say for himself.
"Kzzzt, stop trying to stall. It's not going to save you from me."
Thundercracker watched the bot's mouth carefully, trying to pick out his name from the static. But he clearly wasn't mouthing the word 'Thundercracker'. The name he said was too short. It wasn't his name... was it?
Time jerked forward again, pitching Thundercracker onto the court, and the game was on. HaloSphere was what it was called. It was played with a floating yellow orb, the goal being to gain points by shooting it through the opponent's hoop.
Thundercracker had no recollection of playing this game, yet he knew all about it. He knew the rules, he knew how to fake and break free of his opponent. And he knew how to toss the orb just so, so it went into the hoop every time. He also knew he was very good at this game, a lot better than most. He knew he could easily beat the blue and red bot.
The match flew by, faster than normal time. His body moved on fast forward, as if every single move of the entire game had already been predestined and he merely needed to go through the motions. But the other bot had also not lied when he said he had been practicing. Thundercracker found himself surprised at the bot's improvement in skills as if he had played against the younger bot several times before.
Still, Thundercracker was so much better. He purposefully held back a little to keep the game interesting. The scores stayed neck and neck until time was almost up. The score was tied, the next point won the game. The other bot had the orb and Thundercracker tensed to block his way.
"I just might beat you this time." The bot's voice was now full of excitement at this opportunity.
Thundercracker smiled. "We'll see."
The bot faked left and right, trying to get around Thundercracker, but he stayed in tight, blocking every opening. Time was running out and he heard a noise of frustration from his friend. Were they friends? Yes, Thundercracker decided, they were friends. And as the bot surged to the left, this time he didn't bother to stop him. He let the bot break free so he could get it close. He was always quite bad at the distance throws.
The bot ran up to the hoop and slammed the orb through right before the klaxon sounded, signaling the end of the game. The look of sheer disbelief and joy on the bot's face was payment in full for Thundercracker for losing the game. It was worth it.
He caught a glance of the pink and white femme in the crowd. She smiled at him thankfully, knowing full well what he had done. She ran up to the bot, hugging him as he spun her around. The kid was strutting around the place as if he had just come out with a shiny new remodel. Some bots were congratulating him while others stalked off in a huff of incredulity.
The winner hardly noticed either, still on cloud nine in his own world. He danced on over to the wall of a building and took out a welding pen. His femme quickly urged him not to deface the property, but the bot was already writing.
Thundercracker couldn't read most of it. It was blurred like an unfocused picture. The only part he could make out were the last words at the bottom.
King for a day.
Though he couldn't put it into words, Thundercracker knew exactly what it meant. Then, he was sent surging forward through space and time, leaving the city and its inhabitants behind. His optics flickered on and he found himself staring at a drab ceiling.
A familiar head popped into his view.
"Hey 'Cracker," Skywarp greeted him, grin a bit crooked as always. "You still in one piece in there?"
The blue seeker winced as he sat up; his processor ached with a mental pain he couldn't quite define. He felt confused at first, disoriented. As if he didn't know who or where he was.
"You okay?" Skywarp asked, looking a little concerned. "Your processor still intact? What's my name?"
Everything suddenly slammed into place and whatever dream had haunted him in stasis fell away from his recollection and he remembered it no more.
He shoved his fellow seeker away, not liking how much his personal space was being invaded. "Get off me, Skywarp. I'm fine."
He glanced to the other side to find Shockwave monitoring his condition.
"You were infected with the Catscratch virus," the commander said. "I treated you before it could do any permanent damage, it seems. Spark is untouched. Do you feel there's any damage in your coding? Motor functions? Memory files?"
Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something that might have been important. Maybe it wasn't. He felt like he had everything he needed to move forward.
"No," he confirmed as he stood and tested his joints. "Everything seems to be in working order. You may report to Megatron that I am fit to go back on duty."
"Just a moment, Thundercracker. Only I have the authority to pronounce you fit-"
Thundercracker ignored him as he marched for the door. Skywarp smirked at Shockwave before following behind. The blue seeker didn't even glance back as he left the lab. There was no point in dwelling on whatever had been forgotten. Thundercracker was a bot who always looked forward, never behind. Glancing back never got him anywhere.
"He gazed around, shoulders broad and strong, a smiling mouth so full of silent promises.
'Good evening, ladies. I hear someone is in the market for a large piece of equipment.'"
Firestar paused in her reading as the femmes gathered around her giggled and tittered at the scandalous text. They had been laughing themselves silly for the past hour at the bawdy stories.
"Oh Firestar, these are too much," one femme laughed. "Where did you find these? They're hilarious."
"They look old, too," another femme chimed in. "Look at that ancient data pad."
"Got it off that newbie femme," Firestar said. "You know, the one that was rescued from Decepticon reprogramming? Not sure exactly where she found them."
"Oh, her," the first femme huffed. "Rescued or not, I don't feel like we can trust her. There's something strange about that femme."
You don't know the half of if, Firestar thought to herself. Even though she now knew the truth of Blitzangel's origin, she was more than happy with keeping up the charade for the sake of the purple femme.
"Hey, cut her a break," Twilight spoke up. "She saved my life, okay? We can't judge her just because she acts different. You try being at the mercy of Decepticons for Primus knows how long and see if you don't come out the same."
That silenced the first femme. But then another femme spoke up.
"Hey, I don't know if this is true. It's just a rumor I heard about her. Now, I wasn't there, but one of the soldiers that was told me that that time Blitzangel crashed on the landing pad, 'she' was screaming and then her spark casing opened up and he picked up a male spark signature."
Firestar remained stone-faced while the other femmes gasped. Ratchet had told her the whole story about that, too. That was Prowl's spark she was housing when she crashed. Of course it gave off a male signature. There was absolutely no way she could explain that to her cohorts.
"What do you think that means?" another femme joined in. "Why would the Decepticons put a male spark into a female casing? Are they really that depraved?"
"Got tired of not having anything pretty to look at," came a titter in response.
"Their own fault. They should have thought of that before they wiped out all their females."
Many of the femmes were obviously letting their processors plunge into the gutter, but Twilight looked unconvinced.
"And exactly what were you doing to said soldier when he told you this, Stardust?"
The accused femme instantly balked, her internal temperature jumping a few degrees. The other femmes wasted no time in teasing her and prodding for details.
Firestar relaxed a little as the gossip turned from the topic of Blitzangel. There was nothing she could do to defend Ratchet's ward, but at least these gossiping femmes didn't have a long attention span.
"Hey, Angel."
The sudden voice knocked her out of her groove and caused her to hit her head on the casing above. The sound of metal on metal reverberated.
"You okay up there?"
"I'm fine," she insisted, rubbing her head in annoyance. "What do you want, Wheeljack? I'm still working on this part."
"There's someone here who wants to talk with you."
Blitzangel looked at her unfinished project with a huff before setting her tools down and poking her head out of the shuttle frame. The ground was several feet below. Her current assignment was to help get a new shuttle in working order after the Decepti-femmes had stolen the last one and rammed it into Darkmount Tower. Blitzangel was only one of many toiling to get the large ship in working order. She chose not to tell Drift what project the Autobots had assigned to her, lest his white paint instantly turn green with envy.
The purple femme pulled herself out and jumped to the ground. She saw Wheeljack rounding the hull of the ship, but before she could ask what was going on, a second figure came into view. The body had a different silhouette than what she was used to, but the black and white color scheme was still the same.
"Prowl," she called with glee as she jogged over to him. She couldn't believe his new body was already completed and he was walking around. She kept looking him over head to toe as if making sure herself that he was all in one piece and Ratchet hadn't forgotten anything.
She halted in front of him, grinning happily. Her gaze kept roaming over him, as if of its own accord. He was so angular now: chest flat with clean lines. Door panels replaced with high fins that almost looked like wings for an air mode.
"Wow, hey, look at you. You- you're taller now," she realized.
"I suppose I am, a bit," Prowl responded simply. "Alterations for an upgraded Cybertronian mode."
Blitzangel found herself wanting to run her hands over that sleek new frame. She reached out and then caught herself.
"Uh, well, I'd like to give you a hug, but I'm filthy." She glanced down at herself, covered in grease and motor oil. "And you're all white and shiny, and new." Her hands itched to touch him again. Just one quick slide over that smooth chest of his. What was wrong with her? She folded her arms to make them behave.
"I take it you approve of the new design?" Prowl asked.
Blitzangel shook herself to stop from staring. "Oh yeah, it's really nice. Ratchet does good work."
"Are you smirking?" Wheeljack asked him.
"What? Of course not," Prowl insisted, bringing his twitching mouth to task. He had been looking quite pleased with himself until he was called out. He opened his mouth to say something else to Blitzangel, but another high voice cut him off.
"Proooowlieeee!" Nightshade called, the shrill sound seemed to slice through any other sound in the massive hanger. She waved as she hurried over, Smokescreen walking behind her at a more casual pace. "Ah've been looking all over for you since I heard you were released from the infirmary. I would have visited you, but they wouldn't allow anyone in." She thrust out her full lower lip in a pout.
"Yes, the damage was quite extensive," Prowl nodded. "The medical team would not allow anyone else in while they worked so that they could finish as quickly as possible."
"I'll say it was quick," she continued with that southern belle drawl in her voice. "They gave ya'll a full upgrade in no time." She leaned in, tracing a finger over the pattern on his chest. "I do like it quite a bit."
His system thrilled at her touch, but he got himself under control. "Yes, we have a very talented team." Though Prowl was surprised to find he still valued Blitzangel's opinion of his new look. Most likely because she had been the one to save his life and she had been able to see his repairs step by step.
He turned to the purple femme, but the spot where Blitzangel had been standing was empty. For a moment, Prowl felt a strange sense of abandonment, then he recalled all the previous arguments that had been forgotten until now. She still did not like Nightshade, nor did she approve of Prowl's affections for her. So much so that she had been trying to dictate who he should and should not be friends with.
The renewed recollection of that irritated him. He also recalled her promise to stay away from him if he continued his pursuit of the green femme. That both annoyed and worried him, and his emotions couldn't decide which he felt more.
Then Nightshade pressed flush against him and all other thoughts flew out the window.
"So now that you're better n'all, do you think that sexy, new frame o'yours could look back into finding a new room for little 'ol me?" She pressed in tighter. "You know, somewhere I can really... stretch my legs?"
Prowl was lost in those sensual optics, a gaze so full of promises. He glanced up at Smokescreen, hoping to see pure jealousy in his older brother. But all Smokescreen did was roll his optics as if watching some cheesy play.
Fine, let him pretend his hold on Nightshade wasn't waning. Prowl wasn't the same stupid sparkling he was before. He was second in command of the Autobot army now, full of power and influence. All Smokescreen had was his immature mind games and they didn't work on him any more.
Feeling quite superior, Prowl put an arm around Nightshade and guided her away. "Come with me. I'm quite sure I can find you some place comfortable."
The last thing he saw was Smokescreen's frown before turning his back.
Prowl balked when he saw Smokescreen waiting for him by his personal quarters. He had been dodging his older brother's requests to meet since earlier that day, stating he was far too busy catching up from his absence. The reality was that Ratchet had ordered a light workload to make sure Prowl's new body was working properly before putting him back on full-time duty.
Of course, Smokescreen had no qualms with giving himself access to Prowl's schedule.
"If this is of a personal nature, I don't have the time," Prowl said as he typed in the pass code to his room.
"You have plenty of time," Smokescreen insisted, unswayed. "I came to talk to you and by Primus you're going to hear what your big brother has to say."
"Fine," Prowl relented as the door slid open. He always had a harder time rejecting Smokescreen when he played the big brother card. "Just make it brief. I have other more important issues to attend to."
Smokescreen did not argue the importance of his presence as he was allowed inside. As the doors closed behind them, Prowl readied himself for what he knew what coming.
"You need to give up on Nightshade, Prowl. I mean it."
The SIC's mouth ticked up just a bit in the shadow of a smirk. Smokescreen's time in Nightshade's affections was drawing to a close and they both knew it. Prowl wasn't shallow by nature, but he wouldn't be surprised if it was his new form that tipped the scales in his favor. Normally he wouldn't have noticed a single glance in his direction when going about his responsibilities, but being in a new frame made anyone hyper-aware of external reactions to their appearance. Walking around in a new skin was a very self-conscious experience. Prowl had taken note of quite a few female glances his way so far.
He drew up to his full height, now half a head taller than his older brother. "And why should I?"
"Because you don't love her," came the accusation without hesitation.
Prowl was floored at the answer. Of all the reasons he could have predicted, the question of his own feelings was never expected.
"Wh- how can- of course I love her," he stumbled, suddenly feeling like he had just lost his footing. "I have been in love with her since the moment I laid optics on her and we both know that. Don't you dare accuse me of not-"
"No, you don't, Prowl." Smokescreen stood firm. "You pursued her because she wasn't interested in you and you can't ignore a challenge. And you wanted her because she was mine and your pompous processor can't figure out why she would want me when she could have you. You don't love her; you love the idea of having her."
Prowl's mouth moved, but no sound came out. His impressively intelligent processor was failing to wrap around this turn of events. Smokescreen waited until he could form a sentence.
"You're worried I'm going to take her from you. That's why you're here," he finally managed to state.
"No, Prowl, I'm not. I don't mind sitting back and watching you try all day. I know it's not going to happen. Right now she's interested in what you can do for her, but she's not interested in you. The second you don't have anything else to offer, she'll be off again. I'm telling you to give her up because pursuing her is going to do nothing but make you bitter and miserable."
"I don't believe you," was the SIC's comeback.
"Doesn't matter what you believe, Prowl. It's the truth. I'm the only one standing back, looking at the entire picture here. You're still stuck in the past. All your emotions were put on hold due to that slagging battle computer. I know a lot of that was my fault and I'm trying to make it right. So I'm telling you to move on because I know it's something that you would have done yourself by now had you the capacity."
Prowl stood silently for a moment and Smokescreen dared to believe that he had gotten his message through.
"I still love Nightshade," Prowl insisted.
"She doesn't-" the blue Autobot snapped in frustration. He stopped himself before he said something that would really wound his brother. He tried a different approach.
"I know this isn't your fault. You've been too long without full emotional function to be able to read your feelings correctly. But I'm telling you, Nightshade isn't the one you're in love with."
Prowl just looked at him blankly.
"I'm talking about Blitzangel."
The SIC's jaw hit the floor. "What? How can you possibly say that? Of all the ridiculous accusations I've heard from you today. What makes you think-"
"You would die for her, Prowl."
"I'd die for a lot of bots here, including you. I have a responsibility to take care of her, that's all. She's not even our kind, for Primus' sake."
Smokescreen shrugged. "The spark wants what it wants."
"She doesn't have a spark."
Smokescreen threw his hands up in frustration. "Fine, you do what you want. You continue on this path to nowhere, pining for something you can't have. In the meantime, if today was any indication, that girl is going to continue to remove herself from your life if you keep doing what you're doing. She'll find another mech and leave you behind, alone."
He could see Prowl was still trying to process this new information, but Smokescreen wasn't going to give him a break this time. "What about her and Sunstreaker? He really had a thing for her before. They might be a good match. He'd be a lot more fun than you. He's had countless femmes before; he knows exactly what to do with one once he gets his hands on them.
"Or what about the neutral? I see femmes drooling after him where ever he goes. He's got optics for her. He could take her away from Cybertron and you would never see her again."
Prowl clenched his fists as sudden anger surged through him.
"Don't like that, do you?" Smokescreen continued to prod. "And do I even need to mention Jazz? Blitzangel adores him already. If that mech decided he would make her his, that would be the end of it. You would see them together, happy, finally realizing what you missed out on. But it would be too late. He will have already had her, doing things to her behind closed doors. Teaching her how to be a femme, teaching her things you're too scared-"
"Stop," Prowl cut him off icily. "Get out. That's an order. I don't want to see or hear from you for the rest of the day. Leave."
The blue Autobot hunched his shoulders in surrender. "Alright. I've said what I need to say. In the end, you're your own mech, Prowl. The rest is up to you."
The door hissed shut behind him, but Prowl still fumed after his brother was gone. Anger boiled within him, partnered with confusion, as if he wasn't sure exactly what directed his frustration. Damn Smokescreen and his mind games. He didn't have time for this.
They floated there like their own galaxy, rotating around each other in the emptiness of space. Cybertron awaited in the distance, but the three seekers had not been given permission to land just yet. Their mission was to find the metal planet, then they had to report back to their master.
Communication over vast amounts of space is not instantaneous. It takes time for information to travel such a distance: hours, days. For the three vessels of the Unmaker, time held no relevance as they hovered in a dormant state. They conveyed to their creator their path and the location of his ultimate target. He was still so very far away, but now moving forward in the right direction, eager and hungry.
Once all information had been sent, the servants waited still for further orders. Eventually, the response came back.
You have done well my children. Go, prepare Cybertron for my coming. You know what to do.
Three pairs of optics flickered back on. Sunstorm's brilliant fire-like glow returned to his body and he grinned.
"Finally." The orange seeker tipped his head toward Cybertron. "Let's go send the locals a wake-up call."
Slipstream grinned while Acid Storm merely nodded. All three transformed, igniting their thrusters on full burn toward the planet, picking up speed as they hit Cybertron's gravitational pull at full force.
Their entrance into Cybertron's airspace did not go unnoticed by either faction. The three celestial bodies lit up like shooting stars in their ever-increasing descent. Even as they neared the surface, they did not slow down.
The three flaming objects collided with the planet like meteorites, burning through the metal of the top layer and drilling deeper through the crust to the very heart of the metal world.
Blitzangel stepped into Prowl's office, seeing it for the first time. It wasn't a terribly large room, neat and utilitarian in design. A large window was crafted into one wall, offering a view of Iacon's busy streets and walkways below.
She wasn't necessarily looking forward to speaking with him when summoned. While Blitzangel was always happy to help, she hoped he hadn't called her there to give her another dirty repair job. She had just finished meticulously picking out all the junk from her finger joints and was squeaky clean. But she figured she should keep a good attitude about it. Maybe it would be something fun.
"Hey Prowl, new body still working out for you?" she greeted him.
"Yes," he responded stoically from his desk while he fiddled with some data pads. "So far so good."
"Great! I'll have to see what alt mode Ratchet cooked up for you sometime. I bet it looks cool."
Prowl didn't respond to that comment, but finished with what he was doing before looking up at her. "Will you please have a seat?"
That was instantly a bad sign. Was she in trouble? She couldn't think of what would be the cause. She hadn't done anything recently that wasn't personally approved by a superior officer.
"Why do I need to sit? Is this bad news?"
"No. I would just like to talk with you."
"Is it business related?"
"Not necessarily, no."
She smiled. "Prowl, if you want to hang out and talk we can go talk. You don't have to order me to your office like I'm in trouble."
"I would prefer it if you sat."
Blitzangel put her hands on her hips. "I don't want to sit."
"You're irritated with me."
"Yeah? And why do you think that is?"
"Earlier, when we were talking, you left when Nightshade came over."
"I sure did. I have explained to you how I feel about her and how she treats you. I also told you if you weren't interested in my opinion, then I would stay out of it. That was me staying out of it."
"I find that to be a very regrettable decision on your part."
The femme wandered over to gaze out the window, watching the bots below go about their day. "Yeah, well, you clearly hold her in higher regard than myself. The only pertinent course of action would be for me to let it go instead of getting in your way."
"I see." He paused. "You know, you... I've never had any femme express themselves to me the way you do."
"Because I'm not sneaky and manipulative," she shot back. "I do what I say I'm going to do and I mean what I say."
"I have always appreciated your being forthright."
"Except when your dream girl is involved," she challenged him, voice sarcastic. "I say one thing about her you don't like and you immediately get angry."
He stood, fins at attention and giving her that warning look that she had been receiving far too often. "I get angry when someone attacks those I care about."
"You don't even take the time to consider if what I say is true!" she snapped, voice rising. "You blindly bend to her manipulations like a puppet! She doesn't care about you and you're being an idiot!"
Prowl walked around his desk, moving closer to her. He hated that the same words were coming out of both his brother's mouth and Blitzangel's. Why did she insist on being so irritating? "Just because I am not taking your side does not mean you can act this way. Running off every time you see Nightshade is childish."
Blitzangel tried to move back to get some room, but the window blocked her. She hated being boxed in, by Prowl or anyone else. Her chest felt tight when all exits were taken away. Getting some space became forefront in her thoughts; the current argument was just a distraction.
"I said I don't want to be involved. Stop dragging me into it." She tried to get around him, but he stubbornly blocked her way.
"I will when you stop trying to make me choose between the two of you. You don't see Nightshade doing these things."
Blitzangel wasn't really paying attention anymore. She kept trying to steal glances at the door over his broad shoulders. But Prowl kept impeding her view and pushing her back.
"You need to accept the fact that I care about her, too, and nothing you say is going to change-"
"Oh my God, Prowl! I don't care!" she cried, her voice tipping into a panicked tone. "Just get out of my face! You're freaking me out!"
The SIC balked in his argument, now taking a good look at the femme's emotional state. She stood there, tense and stiff. One hand floated above her mouth, it was shaking. He had forgotten there were still a few delicate parts of her because she had been doing so well lately.
"Blitzangel, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so-"
"I cannot handle any more bullshit in my life! I am to my limit, Prowl! And you keep forcing your personal drama on me!"
"Angel," he tried to grab her arm, realization and regret in his voice.
"No!" Her whole body shook as she pulled away. Her voice cracked, on the verge of a sob. "You can't make me feel bad for wanting something better for you and you can't make me be a part of her hurting you. I'm done with this, with you. Let me out."
"No," Prowl said softly, still blocking her exit. Smokescreen was right, she was going to move right out of his life and Prowl himself was doing most of the pushing. Deep down in his spark, he knew he had been doing all the wrong things. This isn't want he wanted.
Blitzangel pushed on his chest. "Let me out, Prowl." The seed of panic was beginning to grow in her tank again. She tried to keep herself calm.
He gripped her arms at the elbows, gentle but firm. "No, I'm not letting you go."
"What-"
His mouth was on hers in an open-mouthed kiss. It was simple and short, forcing all Blitzangel's raging emotions to pause while surprise and the curiousness of his touch flooded in. Her anxiety dissipated like a deep exhale.
Prowl pulled back, watching her. Blitzangel stood blankly in the brief interlude, trying to figure out what just happened and why his usual light blue optics were now a smoldering deep ocean. It was a span of mere seconds before he kissed her again.
She squeaked as his body pressed her firmly against the wall. The noise she made seemed only to add to his hunger as he kissed her like a bot possessed. Blitzangel felt like she was drowning from too much feedback at once. Yet, through the haze, she found she was kissing him back. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, his hands on her body. It felt good. It felt very good.
Still, at the back of her processor, that pang of unease crept in. His whole body pinned her, leaving her unable to move. His kisses were starved and smothering. She needed him to calm down; she needed a moment to breathe.
"Prowl," she managed to say during the assault on her mouth. She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him away. "Prowl, please... stop."
His body tensed, not pressing so hard as he tried to gain control. But his mouth wouldn't listen. It was drunk on her taste as if it had been craving her its entire life.
"I'm sorry," he pleaded as he kissed her again and again. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."
Finally he managed to pull away, his fuel pump beating rapidly. He was no longer touching her, but Blitzangel was still trapped between the two palms pressed to the wall on either side of her. Prowl's head hung down as he vented out waves of hot air, trying to get his systems under control.
Blitzangel was still trying to find her footing in all of this. Her systems buzzed pleasantly at the contact, but her mind was completely blank. His twitching fin caught her gaze and suddenly held all her curiosity. Her hand floated up to touch it, but Prowl snatched her wrist in mid air, pinning it to the wall.
"No," he insisted. He pressed the bridge of his nose to her neck, still venting air. "Give me a moment."
She felt her systems flutter at his shaky, breathy voice. He didn't want her to touch him, afraid he would lose control again. She was doing this to him. This was so... how did it make her feel? Anxious, scared?
Excited?
There was a knock on the office door.
"Prowl, drop your paperwork," Kup's voice called. "We've got some unidentified objects in our airspace. They're requesting your tailpipe up in surveillance."
Prowl emitted a growl, something deep and frustrated within his engine. Blitzangel was a little stunned at the sound.
"What does Optimus think it is?" he called, not giving up the femme he had in his grip.
"He's not around. That's why we need you."
Another growl, this time more from Prowl's vocalizer.
Blitzangel was still trying to process the entirety of what had occurred in the last few minutes when Prowl was suddenly nowhere around her. His office door closed behind him and she was left alone trying to make sense of it all.
It was a very rare moment indeed. All stations were covered now that Prowl was fully rebuilt and back on duty. No one else needed him and Elita was too busy with her own work to have time for any personal attention.
It was one of those rare and wonderful moments where he actually had time to himself and Optimus took full advantage of it. He left the boundaries of Iacon, not stating where he was going, but leaving his radio open and plenty of high commanding officers in his stead should anything go awry. This time was his and his alone. He needed a break and his subordinates did not argue.
Just the drive out by himself was nice. The roads were in a poor state, making it a bumpy trip, but it felt good not to be rushing into battle or some other emergency. How long had it been since he had felt safe and free just to drive? Just to go out wherever the road took him and to see what he could find? There was no such luxury for that these days, not anymore.
Optimus knew his break from responsibility was brief. This drive wasn't for mere pleasure. He felt drawn to a particular spot, a place that had been calling him all day. It was a call he could no longer ignore. His wheels never strayed as his whole being made a beeline for one particular destination.
There wasn't much left of it any longer, not after Megatron got through with it. One of the first major devastations by the Decepticon army. Optimus transformed and walked around the leveled area. It used to be a transfer and storage facility. Random goods would move in and out at all times of the day, like construction materials and traded goods from other planets. But mostly, the facility dealt in the transportation of energon.
Optimus looked over the remains of the storage buildings, hands on hips. A large portion of his life had been spent here when he was a young bot. Working the storage docks wasn't the most glamorous of professions, but it paid the bills and still left him time to play and socialize. Having fun and freedom to goof around were so important to him back then. How time had changed him. How Megatron had changed him.
When the Decepticons attacked the energy storage, Optimus had been one of the very first casualties of the raid, as had his friends. He still remembered that day so clearly. The look on Megatron's face as he pulled the trigger, the heat and pain of the cannon as he felt his circuits melt.
Elita One, called Ariel back then, had also been there. But she remembered none of this, neither did she remember who she was before Alpha Trion repaired her wounds and rebuilt her. Optimus still wrestled with that as well, wondering whether it was for the best she not remember her past.
Then there was Dion. His best friend. They had been sparked at nearly the same time and Optimus couldn't remember life without him. Dion was also at ground zero during the Decepticon attack. Buildings exploded and burned, the entire place was leveled to ashes and the remains of Dion's body were never found.
It hurt for Optimus to recall this moment in his past. His first and most poignant failure. He had let Elita down, believing she had not made it and never looking into Alpha Trion's motives further. Revenge had been too forefront in his processor to find Dion and give his body the proper respect he deserved. It was his greatest and last moment of pure selfishness and Optimus vowed he would never be that self-centered again.
Since then, Optimus tried not to deal too much in the past. It was the future that consumed his thoughts most of the time. The future of his soldiers, those who looked to him for guidance. They were what mattered now and Optimus had a responsibility to keep them alive.
But ever since returning to Cybertron, this place had been calling to him. Now, stronger than ever. He couldn't shake the feeling he was meant to be here. The Matrix itself pulled him; he needed to go. Now that he was here, in the place that started it all, Optimus wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. There was nothing here any longer, just old, painful memories.
He wandered onto the old HaloSphere court. A few cracks split the smooth ground, but most of it seemed to be intact. Optimus recalled so many times after work, hours spent playing here, not a care in the world except for working on his game. It was an obsession of his to become the best HaloSphere player at the facility.
Every once in a while, all the employees would have a tournament. The winner was pronounced 'king for a day', in which they earned first place in line for energon rations, their choice of which position to work that day, and the ever-coveted bragging rights.
Optimus was good at HaloSphere, but no matter how hard he worked, there were always bots who were better. Someone always bested him in the tournaments. More often than not, that someone was Dion. The bot was nearly unbeatable at the game. Everyone told him often he should look into going pro, but Dion would just laugh it off and say he enjoyed reaping the benefits he won working right there.
As he reminisced, Optimus noticed something scribbled on a wall and one specific memory flooded back to him. It was his own handwriting. Though the date had faded out into nothing, Optimus knew exactly what date it was as he read the inscription:
Here stood Orion Pax, king for a day.
There was that one tournament, the one he had practiced so hard for. In the end, it was just himself against Dion. Optimus knew he didn't stand a chance against him, but he never let it show. Yet, by some miracle, he won. As the young Orion Pax, Optimus harbored suspicions that maybe Dion had let him win, but he never got around to asking before everything went to hell.
That was the day when he finally was first in the energon line. And, Optimus recalled with horrific clarity, the day when he got to choose his own shift. He was the one who put himself near those energon storage buildings when Megatron came. He had put himself and his friends in the line of fire, as if all of it was meant to be.
As he touched the faded writing on the wall, Optimus' hand shook slightly at the realization. Even for the bearer of the Matrix, life suddenly felt so heavy and terrifying.
A strange sound from the sky ripped Optimus from his personal crisis and he whipped his head upward. Three unidentified objects glowed in brilliant, multicolored light as they entered Cybertron's atmosphere. At first they appeared like falling stars, but quickly increased in size as they hurtled toward the surface. Optimus felt the tremors of their impact and felt this, too, was all part of the plan. He had been meant to be out here. He had been meant to see those objects, but why?
The balls of fire brilliantly lit up the atmosphere with their purple, green and yellow lights. As quickly as they appeared, they were gone as they passed through the surface of Cybertron like a hot knife through butter.
Layer after layer, the metal gave way from the searing heat, melting instantly as the three objects melted their way to Cybertron's core. Once at the very heart of the planet, the heat subsided and the lights faded away. Save one.
Sunstorm's fiery glow returned to normal. He left melted foot prints where he stood, but they had reached their desired level and he would burn his way through no more. Slipstream and Acid Storm no longer glowed with an unhealthy heat, completely undamaged from their entrance. The three walked silently forward through the abandoned caverns as if they had been there many times before and knew exactly where they were going.
They entered a large corridor, ceilings high and ornate. Old, superannuated sentries stood on either side, rusted in place and forever at attention. The three seekers glanced at them momentarily before following the walkway toward the end. Everything was pitch dark, save for Sunstorm's own yellow glow to light their way.
They stepped into a circular chamber with a pedestal in the middle. On top sat a dormant, multifaceted orb. Sunstorm grinned when he saw it.
"Ah, there it is. We'll be finished here in no time."
He stepped one foot upon the dais and a blinding light seared his optics. He winced and held an arm to his face as the orb coruscated and floated above the platform.
I am Vector Sigma, a deep, ubiquitous voice announced. It reverberated off the walls, as if coming from everywhere at once. Before Cybertron was, I was. You who approach me, you are not of the Children of Primus. You have no place here.
Sunstorm smirked at the thing. "You're right about that first thing, but our boss gave us a job to do and right here is exactly where we need to be."
I know of your puppet master, the glowing supercomputer replied. What business does he have with me?
"He sends you a message. No more new sparks. The age of Cybertron is at an end."
You dare dictate to me! I am Vector Sigma! I-
Sunstorm snatched the orb from the air. "I know who and what you are."
The heat of the orange seeker instantly cranked up, the epicenter of his power focused in his hands. Vector Sigma began to crackle and smoke.
Sunstorm grinned as the orb melted in his grip. Metal droplets fell through his fingers and hissed on the ground. "Unicron sends his regards."
Even without a mouth, the supercomputer screamed.
On the surface, Optimus still stood in uncertainty, wondering as to his next course of action. The smoke from the three melted craters had now dissipated and he continued to ask himself whether he should investigate. He knew their arrival was significant and he was meant to see it. But as to what he was supposed to do next, that remained a mystery.
Whatever influence coaxed him to this place was not pushing him toward the impact site and Optimus felt a very real chill of danger in his system from that area. So what was he expected to do now? Call for backup? Put his fellow Autobots in danger when he had no idea what they were up against? That didn't seem right.
However, he wasn't the only one who had noticed the approach of the three objects. A call from Iacon hailed on his radio. Optimus was about to answer it when an internal scream lit up his sensory relays. It wasn't his scream, neither did it come from an external source. It came from inside somehow, a complex anguish from the Matrix and from his very spark.
It overloaded all his senses, causing him to buckle over, all his pain receptors on fire. It felt like he was dying, his life being burned away from the inside out. The call from Iacon was a whisper in a violent storm as the sensation overwhelmed the Prime and he fell to the ground in stasis.