Don't Upset the Assassin

Halogen

Three Terran Weeks Ago...

We suffered one of the worst defeats ever at the pipeline. We were dealing with impending fatalities, crushing depression, and the very real loss of one of our own. And perhaps, worse than that, Nightshade is dealing with losing Bluestreak. And she's not dealing well. And no one can get near her.

She's damaged. She's hurt. She looks like she's been tumbled around inside a industrial smelting drum, for Primus' sake. Wheeljack doesn't know how she's moving, much less online. I do. I know. She's running on sheer spite at this point. I've been trying to run interference for her, keeping the nosy bots away. It hasn't really been working. She wouldn't leave the bridge, pacing before Teletran's console, watching for any sigh of Bluestreak, no matter how small.

I thought that Nights was making friends in spite of herself, but seeing her like this, I knew I was wrong. Whatever she shared with Bluestreak, it was deeper than just a simple friendship. I have never seen my sister like this, at all. Not in the slightest. I've been standing in the bridge, watching her, as if I could make sure she won't do anything stupid. She's unfolded and bent sections of her armor back into gross approximations of original function. Even I can see that she's got systems jerry-rigged into fucntionality, and I'm no trained medic.

It's for his own good that I stop Optimus at the egress. For a moment, his optics are readable: an expresion of incredulity flickering behind them. But the mask of leadership falls back into place, sympathy worn like a comfortable veneer.

"I need to talk to your sister," the Prime states. His tone is modulated so it may seem soft, but I know it carries. I sense Nightshade cease her pacing, listening without looking at us.

"I really don't think that's the greatest idea right now, boss." Honesty usually works, especially with Optimus, but after a few seconds, I realize that he's not looking at me, but at Nightshade. I shrug, and step aside, realizing that he's not going to take no for an answer. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Optimus strides right up to my sister with his famed fearlessness. Me? I tag along behind him, just in case. Nights wouldn't hesitate to take her anger out on the Prime, but she'd think twice about actually hurting me. I hope. I expect the words to start, for Optimus to spin one of his rousing speeches, but instead, he heads for Teletran's console, and begins to input commands.

Eventually, he does speak.

"Our human allies have come through. One of their surveillance satellites picked up these images, less than half a cycle ago." He's got Nightshade's attention now. She limps carefully over to him. I note the favoring of her left leg, and the way the armor is cutting into her torso from there. She leans on the console, her optical shield raising only halfway, before she's forced to manually push it back into it's housing.

I need to get her some medbot care, dammit.

"Where is this?" Nightshade demands to know, pointing at the display. I tear my attention from cataloging my sister's wounds to look at what she's indicating. My systems run cold for a long moment. The aerial shot is grainy, but enough details are visible. Combaticons. Nightshade jabs her finger at the blurry object they seem to be escorting through a desert. "How did they get him?"

"Slow down, Nightshade. We're not certain that's Bluestreak. We know the Seekers have good reason to seek revenge against you, but... the Combaticons? What history do you have with them?"

Nightshade doesn't answer. Her head dropped the moment Optimus reminded her about Thrust. He may have deemed her nonviolate of our contract, but she still holds herself accountable. So I supply in lieu. "Plenty, boss. We're the reason they ended up in that containment facility on Thetis Four. The Thetians hired us, but they're a no-kill, non-violent society. I built the rigs that kept them under."

Optimus glances at me sideways, taking those few moments to process what I revealed. We've been transparent about most of our earlier jobs, but only when asked directly. As our race spread out in search of resources to rape, and planets to colonize, we created a lot of problems in our wake. Mercenary teams like ours have always been a major part of the clean-up crew.

"I'm not sure it matters how they got him," Optimus confesses, giving his attention back to Nightshade. "What matters is, if that's Bluestreak, we have to act. Which means..." The Prime reaches out and grabs Nightshade's upper arm. Her wince is telling, even once the sensory dampeners kick in, it's obvious that he's hurting her. "You need to see Ratchet. Get patched up. A few breems of CR time."

Optimus releases her, just before she makes an effort to pull away. Ruefully, Nightshade crosses her arms over her dented chest plate.

"I'll work on finding coordinates, Nights," I offer, inserting myself between her and the Prime. "You get to the medbay... you need to be on point to stand up against those brutes, Little Sister."

A look of annoyance passes over her features, before she turns silently on her heel and disappears from the bridge. Optimus releases a rattle of air, followed by a soft chuckle.

"I think she's mad at you."

"Nah, just annoyed." I shrug, and reach in front of him to start trolling for coordinates. "You'll see mad when we get there." I point at the screen.

Slowly, Optimus shakes his head. "I won't be accompanying you." My fuel pump sputters and almost quits on me as I wonder just which hardhead he's going to stick me with. Please, not Prowl Please, not Prowl. Begins to run through my head like a mantra. The Prime's heavy hand resting on my shoulder breaks me out of the loop. "I want you to pick a few others, bots you trust, but perhaps, more importantly, bots your sister trusts. I'm counting on the two of you to bring Bluestreak home."