Montana watched Pulse repair the former Decepticon through the Med-Bay window curiously. He seemed very laid back and sweet natured by the way his optics grinned when he entered the base, despite his severe injuries.
He seemed completely relaxed lying in front of Pulse, despite not knowing who he was. Pulse stepped back as he finished up, allowing the tall mech to sit up.
His optics grinned again in obvious thanks. Montana decided to take this chance to enter. Carefully she opened the door with a quick password, and stepped in. Stormstrike swung his head to look at the young girl, his head slightly cocked.
"You must be Montana." Stormstrike's voice was warm and smooth, and surprisingly gentle sounding, the complete opposite of Stealthblade's.
Montana just nodded. Pulse didn't appear wary of the new mech at all, so Montana took a couple steps closer.
"So you're Stealthblade's little brother?" Montana dipped her head to the side.
"His one and only." The blue and yellow transformer answered.
"What's he like now? He was so…different…on the battlefield." Montana murmured lowly.
Stormstrike sighed, his shoulder's sagging slightly.
"I'm afraid that's not my brother in there anymore. The virus has complete control over both his thoughts and his actions. I can't even communicate with him mentally anymore."
Montana dropped her gaze sadly. The loss of hope in her eyes was clear to the two bots in the room.
"Wait, did you say you lost mental connection with him?" Pulse questioned, sounding surprised.
"Well yeah, just as the virus took over, he sorta, blipped out."
"That's interesting. A processor link would not have been affected by mere virus. Which would mean, you're mental link with one another isn't processor based." Pulse looked up, appearing to be surprised himself.
"Wait, then what type of link exactly do we have?" Stormstrike asked confused.
Pulse scratched his chin in thought for a moment, and his optics glanced down at Montana, when suddenly revelation lit up in them.
"Stealthblade said when he was transferred into his new body, his former one was wired up into his new one's spark chamber, correct?" Pulse asked.
"Yeah, we were sorta, turned into sparks, I guess you could say." Stormstrike shrugged lightly; it wasn't an experience he liked to remember.
"I can't believe I didn't see it before!" Pulse's jaw gaped open for a moment before sealing it shut again. "You, and Stealthblade's spark, must be completely independent of thinking without actually tapping into your processors."
"Huh?" The youngsters asked in unison.
Pulse slapped his face plate in exasperation. "What I mean is not only do you use your processors to think, but your spark as well. It is actually playing an active role in your frame besides just keeping it running. Like two entities within one body, but at the same time sharing one mind."
"Whoa." Stormstrike commented.
"Whoa is right, and if I'm not mistaken, that virus simply took over Stealthblade's processor and body, but not his spark. No bot would think that a spark needs to be controlled as well. And if that's true, than the real Stealthblade has simply been locked away within his spark chamber, a prisoner of his own body." Pulse continued.
"So Stealthblade's still in there? Trapped!" Montana exclaimed.
"I'm afraid so. Though I'm not sure whether or not he's conscious enough to realize what's happening around him." Pulse's optics grew troubled again.
"If he can, he must be feeling pretty damn bad." Stormstrike sighed.
"Well, erm, how about we get you properly introduced to the rest of the Autobots?" Pulse suggested, attempting to distract the pair's morbid thoughts.
To his great relief it did, and Montana offered Stormstrike a light grin.
"If you could put me on your shoulder, I can keep Clawfist from decking you for being another 'Decepticon spy'." She held up hers arms for emphasis.
Carefully Stormstrike lifted the girl from the ground, and found her a suitable spot to perch on. He was wary though, uncertain about how much jarring the girl could take before she fell off. Her grin was reassuring though.
"All right, I'll guide you to Headquarters, where everyone's waiting." Montana pointed towards the door.
Following the girl's directions, Stormstrike swiftly found himself in the Autobot's Headquarters, where everyone excluding Pulse was waiting. The room grew silent upon his entrance, and he shied away as he met Clawfist's gaze. That mech really knew how to stare someone down, even when they were taller than him.
Mustering up a bit of courage, he dared to speak to the 'bot. "Okay, I realize I'm a former Decepticon or whatever, but glaring can only take a mech so far."
Much to his amusement Clawfist's face dropped, and the once intimidating second in command was forced to look away, slightly disgusted. A slight snicker rose up from Breakshift, but a look from Aero Prime silenced him.
"Stormstrike, I thank you on behalf of our team for helping us out back there." Aero Prime extended a large hand.
Stormstrike carefully shook it, feeling far more intimidated by the Autobot leader than his second in command. Montana had a pleased smile on her face, but Stormstrike got the impression it wasn't as full as it could be.
"Wow, you guys are way friendlier than those Decepticons." Stormstrike's optics smiled in amusement, getting a giggle out of the girl on his shoulder.
"Well that's a relief!" Breakshift smirked.
Stormstrike looked at him, surprised to see the relaxed smile plastered to his face plate. This mech was either very open and trusting, or he just really believed in Stealthblade's trust for him.
Aero Prime then introduced him to all the Autobots more formally. The only two that remained less pleased looking was Chain and Clawfist. Chain though had more of a wizened wary look than absolute distrust, while Clawfist just plain didn't like him. He hoped the mech would eventually warm up, but Stormstrike was doubtful. Stealthblade after all had complained of him often.
Aero Prime then assigned Breakshift to give him a tour of the base, despite a warning glance from Clawfist. Following the rookie out, he jabbered constantly with his companion, both finding out they had very similar interests. They came back to the lounge, and a challenging look suddenly overtook Breakshift's optics.
"You want to play a game?" He indicated to the game consoles in front of the multiple plasma screen TVs.
"I've never played before." Stormstrike cocked his head.
"Then we'll teach you, just like we taught your brother!" Montana offered.
"You taught Stealth how to play video games?" Stormstrike remarked slightly surprised.
"Yeah, but he's not very good at them." She snickered slightly, but a longing look was still present in her eyes.
"Maybe I'll be better?" Stormstrike smiled with his optics again, and made both of his companions burst out into laughter.
"That's highly unlikely." Breakshift teased.
They started up the game, and as soon as Stormstrike had the controls straight, he never lost. Even when Montana and Breakshift both teamed up against him, he beat them, with life points to spare.
"How can you be this good!?! Stealthblade sucked!" Montana grumbled.
"I am a quick draw melee fighter, and Stealthblade is a distance fighting stealth soldier. Our programming is slightly different, not to mention I've always been better at technology things. He sort of took the sports route when we were human." Stormstrike shrugged lightly, his tone amused.
"If you guys were street orphans, when did you get time to do that type of stuff?" Montana asked confused.
"I doubt he told you this, but Stealthblade used to challenge local street players for money. He always won to." Stormstrike boasted proudly.
"He challenged random guys on the streets to games? And never lost once!?!" Montana's jaw went slack in shock.
"Well…" Stormstrike had a remind himself to use he, "hhHHEEee was very quick, and the guys didn't always like it when they lost so…it's helpful to be able to snatch things out of people's pockets and then run away."
"He pick-pocketed?" Montana raised a stern eyebrow.
"Only what was rightfully his." Stormstrike swiftly defended.
There was a long pause, when Plasmagrade walked in. Accompanying him was Spincycle. The mechs and girl all turned to stare in unison.
"What? Is there something on me?" Plasmagrade scanned over himself nervously.
"No, no. You're good." Breakshift smirked, rolling his optics.
"That's Plasmagrade for you, always concerned about his looks." Montana snickered.
"You do realize I can here you." Plasmagrade strode over to hover over them.
Spincycle let out an amused chuckle, which made a wicked grin cross Montana's face.
"And don't get me started on you Mr. Ah-A-Scratch-I'm-Going-To-Die!!!" She laughed.
Spincycle went tight lipped, and then turned, snuffing his nose up. He wasn't going to deny it. Stormstrike let out a light laugh of amusement.
These guys are great! He thought joyously.
"You any good at foosball?" Plasmagrade cocked his head.
"No, sorry can't say I am." Stormstrike shrugged, wincing slightly.
Stealthblade was probably a pro at that game, and it saddened him. He had to get his brother back, and soon, before that virus destroyed his circuitry beyond repair. He realized Montana had caught his somber look.
"Erm, any of you think you can beat me?" Stormstrike swiftly challenged both to distract the girl, and get his mind elsewhere.
A smug grin lit up on Spincycle's face plate, and he nodded his head swiftly. If he thought he stood a chance against Stormstrike, he was way wrong!
Later that night as Stormstrike was entering his temporary room; that also once housed Stealthblade; a low knock rang out on the door. He opened it hesitantly, having being cautious making up a major part of his programming. Much to his surprise it was Pulse at his door.
"You forgot about your checkup." He scolded and swiftly entered before even being invited in.
"Whoops, must have slipped my mind." Stormstrike bashfully rubbed the back of his helm.
Pulse raised an optic ridge at the mech's remark, but did not question it, having already guessed it was some human term he had yet to become familiar with.
"Lie down, it'll be easier." Pulse indicated to his berth.
A low grumble of incoherent words issued from his vocalizer, but nothing the medic could distinguish. Reluctantly he laid out.
"Did I ever mention I hate checkups?" Stormstrike groaned as Pulse carefully began scanning over his abdominal plates.
"No, it would seem you failed to do so." Pulse snapped back, but did not pause in his work.
"Stealth was always super strict about making sure I was healthy when we were human. Got kinda annoying at times." Stormstrike rambled off, becoming slightly engrossed over his memories of sibling when he was still a she.
"I'd just call that well placed concern." Pulse retorted with a smile.
"Yeah well, fixing up a machine is a lot different than fixing up a little human body. There aren't any plates that lift open and closed for easy access to our insides. It's get injected with a needle," Stormstrike nearly shuddered at the word needle, "or shove medicine through whatever hole works best."
Pulse paused for the first time in his work. He turned his calming blue optics to the young mech, his expression a strange cross between amusement and annoyance.
"Stealthblade was always very appreciative of patch jobs. You however, are whining like a sparkling."
"Technically I'm only eleven years old. I just got stuck with the processor of an inexperience soldier." Stormstrike waved an arm, which Pulse caught and placed back down at his side, looking more annoyed now than amused.
"It appears there's an amazing difference in maturity levels for humans after just a few more years." Pulse shook his head, and finished his checkup.
Not to mention big older sisters force themselves to grow up. Stormstrike thought, but dared not say it aloud. The medic might have been quick enough to put together Stealthblade's former gender before the transformation, and Stormstrike didn't want to risk it, or at least not without his brother's consent.
Is he even planning on telling anyone he used to be a fifteen year old girl? Stormstrike couldn't help but wonder. It was blatantly obvious none of the Autobots knew, including Montana.
He realized Pulse was staring at him, waiting for some sort of defense or comeback.
"You're absolutely right." Stormstrike's optics smiled.
"Not very defensive, are you?" Pulse seemed a bit taken aback.
"No, can't say I am. Unless you're bad talking my bro, then I get a little more than just defensive." Stormstrike realized his voice had unintentionally gotten icier, so he quickly cleared his vocal processor.
"Then it appears I was correct." Pulse allowed himself a rare smug grin.
"Correct about what?" Stormstrike asked suddenly self-conscious.
"That you two have an extremely strong bond. You don't see too many bots now days that are more concerned over their partner's welfare then their own hide."
"You Autobot's seem pretty concerned about one another." The blue, gray, and yellow elite stated.
"That's probably due to our close living quarters with one another. We sort of become more like a family than a squadron. Other than us I should say." Pulse's expression held a smile, but his optics were saddened, despite the calm glow they emitted.
"Perhaps when this whole war is over, bots will start caring more for one another." Stormstrike shrugged optimistically.
"Ah, good old optimism. You know, that's the second thing to go in a war; right after innocence."
And just like that Pulse left. Stormstrike cocked his head curiously. That couldn't have been true for all transformers, could it? Then again his last thoughts with Stealthblade had been rather morbid and defeated sounding, not to mention none of the Autobot's seemed to know of a way to seize his brother back without killing him in the process.
Well then, I'll just have to have enough optimism for this whole damn base! Stormstrike thought firmly, and then slipped into recharge.