Author notes: IT WAS ELEVATOR MUSIC. XD
Baaah.
..I like weekends. Even if my brain is dead.
ALSO. People. Poll on my profile. It regards this fic. GO VOTE PLZ. 8D
RESPOND TIME, WOO.
Peacewish: I hope this meets expectation. ;)
P.A.W.07: Pfffft, oh, god, no. I am NOT leaving this mess like I did Streamline. This thing WILL have a conclusive ending. When I finish this thing, it'll be DONE. THASSIT.
Tugera: My brain says the other seeker was Acid Storm. Tho, my brain kind of giggled at the sight of the bright neon seekers on the TF Wiki page, so that's probably why.
Not So Dark: Omnomnom! 8D Yay, brain food!
Another dream that will never come true
Just to compliment your sorrow
Another life that I've taken from you
A gift to add on to your pain and suffering
Another truth you can never believe
Has crippled you completely
All the cries you're beginning to hear
Trapped in your mind
And the sound is deafening
Let me enlighten you
This is the way I pray
Living just isn't hard enough
Burn me alive inside
Living my life's not hard enough
Take everything away
-- 'Prayer', Disturbed
Souvenir: Chapter Twenty-Nine
When the alarms had gone off, Cliffjumper knew that something very important had happened.
It hadn't been the blaring klaxons themselves that brought about this epiphany; he had known that the Decepticon flagship would eventually have some sort of problem to require the alarms to be installed in the first place. It hadn't even been the intercom shouts of an escaped prisoner that troubled him; with so many being held, someone was bound to break free of the restraints sooner or later.
What had made the moment relevant -- the single thing that stood out to a processor clouded by pain -- was that Wire Tap had stopped.
At the time, the ebony and crimson Decepticon had been on top of the minibot bound to the berth. Although the spark ravaging his own was certainly much smaller than Shockwaves', it was still very painful; not to mention demeaning and demoralizing. Their sparks had been entwined for hours; Wire Tap had kept moving the entire time, apparently intent on getting every credit he had spent out of the smaller chassis.
However, when the alarms had gone off, Wire Tap had actually stopped. Confusion crossed the Decepticons' pale gray faceplate; just as it appeared he would ignore the alarms and continue his ministrations, the intercom had let out the warning.
"Oh, fragging Pit in a hand basket!" The Decepticon hissed before he scrambled away. Hurriedly, servos dug around the mess of a personal quarters around him, searching through piles of datapads, unusable weaponry and personal mementos. After a short couple of cycles, the Decepticons' own chest plate was pulled from the debris and set back on his frame.
With that, Wire Tap fled; he ran out of his own room without a second glance.
Cliffjumper was left where he was, strapped down to the berth.
He made no motion to struggle; he had done so, the first time he had been sold, to absolutely no success and a sound lashing for his trouble. There was no point to resistance now, even if there was a chance he could free himself. After all, even if he were free of the restraints and the door was miraculously unlocked, all that stood between himself and freedom was a ship filled with Decepticons.
So, with a deep sigh, the former secretary attempted to ignore the chill of his own naked spark to wait. He shifted in the metal straps in the attempt to get comfortable. For several minutes, all he did was listen to the distant sound of blaring klaxons.
The soft shuffle of moving objects seemed very loud in the near silence; a gray and red helm turned to the source of the sudden noise in what should have been an empty room.
Small, beady optics stared back. It took a moment for Cliffjumper to recognize the tiny, wire-coated creature hiding beneath a makeshift cave of discarded datapads and empty cubes. Rows of tiny teeth gnawed on something he didn't recognize, but it let out a spark with every tiny bite.
A turbofox; either a wild one or someone's lost pet. Regardless of how the unkept creature managed to get in to a space-locked ship full of Cybertronians, it was there now and apparently tame enough to crawl about on stringy, flat appendages without visible fear.
He was locked in a room with vermin; Cliffjumper cursed his poor luck and looked away from the creature.
For nearly an hour, there were no sounds except for the alarms -- and even they quieted after a time -- and the turbofox milling about. Eventually, the small animal crawled close enough to the restrained frame to sniff and poke curiously.
Cliffjumper stared at the creature and sincerely hoped it didn't bite him; Primus only knew if the thing carried any viruses.
Just as he was considering trying to frighten the creature away, a hiss rent the air. Alarmed at the familiar noise of a door sliding open, mismatched optics looked to the now open entryway; panic flared at who stood there.
He had expected Wire Tap; instead, Shockwave stood there. Cliffjumper couldn't quite tell what his kidnapper was thinking, but that hated flat faceplate was staring directly at him.
Shockwave said nothing; he simply strode in with a casual air and glanced around. It didn't take particularly long for the cyclops to find what he was seeking. Finely tipped claws grasped at something from within the many surrounding piles; with a gentle pull, the front of the bound minibots' vehicle mode was wrenched out.
Panic faded to confusion as claws reattached his chest plate to its' proper place; he had only been with Wire Tap for less than half a day. He had expected a torment similar to the last time; several solar cycles of agony had been assumed.
Still, he didn't dare ask about the change of plans, even as the metal bands were removed and claws lifted him to his pedes. A familiar collar was latched to his throat; he didn't bother to resist. As they began to move off, Cliffjumper looked to the floor; he was simply too confused and disturbed to think about fighting.
Suddenly, Shockwave gave a slight jolt; a single optic glared downwards in distaste. Then, a cloven pede kicked at the turbofox that had bitten him; the creature scurried away.
Inwardly, Cliffjumper cheered for it.
As they walked through the halls, it was obvious that something had happened; soldiers rushed about with far more urgency than usual. From the din of noise, very little of individual conversations could be made out; it wasn't until they were near the elevator did someone yelling about 'a stolen prisoner' made itself clear.
Cliffjumper pondered the words; someone had been rescued rather than escaped? Or had there been an altercation between Decepticons?
There were no clear answers; only the chaos of confusion around him. A glance up at Shockwave revealed very little; there was no clear emotion in that single optic.
The elevator ride and subsequent exit was silent save for the annoyingly happy music crooning from the inbuilt speakers; the former secretary had never liked elevator music before being captured and it now only served as a bizarrely depressing reminder of the world he had been taken away from.
Nothing out of the ordinary happened until they entered Shockwaves' room. At first, Cliffjumper almost didn't notice that anything was amiss; then, he realized it was entirely too quiet.
No chains rattling from Blurrs' restrained ankles, no gasp, no voice, no demands on his welfare; the room was empty.
The only sound, for the moment, was the door sliding shut behind them.
Claws released the end of the leash but made no motion to unlatch the collar. Instead, heavy pedes rushed away and towards the lounge. Cliffjumper made no motion to move; instead, he followed with his optics. It didn't take long to notice what had caused the sudden hurry on the cyclops' part.
The chains ordinarily wrapped around his friends' feet were now on the floor in several pieces. Mismatched optics widened in shock.
"Impossible." Shockwave snarled; he picked up something small in his claws from the small pile of chains, growled at it, and tossed it aside.
Then -- with a suddenly darker tint to his armor --, Shockwave walked very quickly out of the apartment. The door let out the tell-tale click of a lock when it closed shut.
As soon as Shockwave was gone, Cliffjumper ran to the chains. The leash still attached to his throat held heavy without something gripping the other end; it made his mad dash slower than usual. By the time the minibot was at the fallen chain-link, his neck burned from the weight.
The pieces of chain-link on the floor were certainly Blurrs' restraints; some of the metal had been stained blue from their grindings against the speedsters' legs.
Had Blurr been the one to escape? Had he been what the alarms were about?
The object Shockwave had tossed aside still lay barely a few feet away; stunned by suspicion alone, Cliffjumper slowly picked it up.
It was Blurrs' credentials.
At first, he didn't understand why Blurr would have left his packet of credentials behind; from what he understood, it would have been safely tucked away in his subspace compartment. It would have been impossible to accidentally drop it. Mystery having presented itself, yellow hands opened the packet despite knowing what was inside.
The first thing that the captive Autobot saw inside the packet was Blurrs' ID tag. His picture -- the smirking, self-confident Elite Guard that had existed before captivity -- grinned at him from within.
Blurr had left his identification tag behind. After nearly three months of refusing to leave it in the closet with the rest of them, he had left it behind now in his apparent escape. Blurr had said that the tags represented those that had been there; he had said he refused to give up that part of himself. To do so, the speedster had claimed, would mean the very core of his spark was gone.
The only logical explanation was that Blurr knew he would no longer be there; he must have known he would make a clean escape.
Words overheard in the hall came back to the forefront of his processor; Blurr had been 'stolen'. He really had been rescued, then.
The Elite Guard must have finally arrived. Blurr had been taken back to safety.
Rescue had arrived and he hadn't been there to go with him.
Tremors overtook the minibots' frame. Yellow hands shakily closed the packet of credentials still in his grip. Then, he slowly made his way to the berth-side closet.
The pack was left stop the rest of the identification tags; it landed neatly atop his own.
Less than an hour passed before Shockwave returned. When he did, normally purple armor had darkened to a near pitch black; antlered sensory horns had extended enough to force the already towering mech to duck in order to get inside. Rage and fury were practically tangible as they emanated from the cyclops.
If there had been any doubt that Blurr was gone, it would have evaporated at that moment.
Cliffjumper huddled in the corner by the washrack door; the chain still connected to the collar lay in a coil by his side. The minibot looked warily at the frightening bot that held him captive; the last time Shockwave had held such an appearance, Cliffjumper had lost both of his arms and an optic. He hoped he wouldn't lose anything else in this new bout of anger.
If Shockwave even remembered he was there, he gave no sign. Instead, the Decepticon let out an enraged yell and rushed to -- of all places -- the shelf. One overly clawed servo whipped itself at the neatly stacked datapads; the novels and textbooks fell to the floor with the loud clatter of plastic and metal.
Cliffjumper cringed and pulled his knees up; he wrapped his arms around them and hugged himself close. If his self-proclaimed masters' rage would turn in his direction, the minibot thought, he could at least curl up in the attempt to protect himself.
A second infuriated yell evoked itself from Shockwaves' vocalizer; this time, the wall by the now empty shelf bore the brunt of his fury. New dents and craters in the metal were created as taloned fists slammed themselves against the painted sheets over and over again.
Several very long cycles later, the fists stopped; then, it was quiet for a moment. Only the sounds of the Decepticons' ragged intakes could be heard, breath harsh in fury and exertion.
After a troubling few seconds, a large, slitted optic glared at the prisoner in the corner.
At once, Cliffjumper clenched his optics shut and braced for pain; knees were held close as his entire frame stiffened.
However, nothing happened. Nothing happened for a very long time, in fact.
Slowly, Cliffjumper cracked open a frightened optic to find out why he wasn't being pummeled.
Shockwave stared back; this time, he was bare inches away. The cyclops crouched within an arms' length of the minibots' grasp.
Confusion danced with terror; he simply didn't know why he wasn't being struck. Perhaps it was a sort of psychological warfare; did Shockwave believe he could terrorize him in to submission with shows of force?
Why wasn't he doing anything?
A sudden surge of anger swelled in the minibots' spark; unwilling to allow the emotional browbeating, Cliffjumper said the first thing that came to his processor.
"You're not going to break me."
An antlered helm tilted itself to the side ever so slightly; only now did Cliffjumper notice that the black had paled again to a lesser hue of purple. The rage, it seemed, was evaporating.
"I don't need to." Somehow, there was the impression that the Decepticon was pleased.
With that, a servo adorned with more claws than usual grasped hold of a sloped red shoulder-guard; the other finally unlocked the collar from an abused throat. Then, Shockwave stood and half dragged his captive with him.
Cloven pedes stepped towards the berth.
Cliffjumper moaned in misery.
The morning seemed to be very different without Blurr there.
There was no attempts at comfort. No gentle words or distractions from the present. No gentle hand on his shoulder or arm.
Cliffjumper hadn't realized how important these things had been, before. Perhaps he had taken his friend for granted in the belief that they wouldn't be separated.
He knew better, now.
He sincerely hoped Blurr truly had escaped; he prayed Shockwave hadn't been angry because the speedster had been caught and killed.
There were no complaints or questions aimed at his tormentor; the former secretary knew better than to irk Shockwave so soon after an antagonized evening. The morning ritual in the washracks was quiet and subdued on the Autobots' end; all he could bring himself to do was glare with what was left of his damaged pride.
The insanity that the Decepticon flagship had been in the night before was now gone; at least, the mess hall appeared to be no more heated than usual. The usual scuffles and minor fist-fights broke out in small groups, but everything else was otherwise normal.
It wasn't until the group collectively known as Team Charr strode in that Cliffjumper noticed something wasn't right; Trackback wasn't with them.
Something deep in his spark clenched; was it possible that both of his only friends were gone?
The group of Decepticons didn't appear happy; scowls and disgruntled frowns marred their faceplates as they gathered their cubes and sat at their usual table.
"..Can't believe this.." Spittor croaked as he slouched in a particularly large chair. "Everybody else's slaves weren't even touched or nothing, and ours gets away!"
Suddenly, Cliffjumper felt very cold.
"I'm with you there, Spitt." Oil Slick growled. "Now who are we going to frag? I need to get something every few days or I'll go insane!"
"More then you already are?" Cyclonus quipped; he received a glare for the comment. With the roll of his optics, the purple mech smirked. "Why not go to the breeding sector? They're always open."
Oil Slick let out a seemingly embarrassed huff. "..They won't let me in there, anymore. Not since I made that one glitch miscarry."
His teammates stared at him with identical incredulity.
"..How?!" Cyclonus sputtered. "You're not even allowed to --"
"I didn't see the sign, okay?! I thought the glitch was lying!" Oil Slick rubbed the glass above his faceplate.
"But their sparks --" Blackout began.
"Who looks at the sparks?! I want to frag 'em, not look at 'em!" The chemicalist snarled.
"Bah!" Strika snorted as she swirled the energon in her own cube. "You don't need any weak-willed Autobot femme or slave!" She stared at her helmeted team mate with an expression Cliffjumper couldn't hope to identify. "You need a good, strong Decepticon femme! One who knows how to make her mech happy!"
For several seconds, silence reigned over the group. Then, Oil Slick said the only thing that was likely able to form on the various mechs' processors.
"..What?"
"I know several good Decepticon femmes. Strong, proud warriors!" Strika straightened in what appeared to be pride.
"..Joy." Oil Slick grumbled. "Matchmaking."
From that point, Cliffjumper ignored the rest of the conversation. Instead, the minibot focused on what he had learned; both Trackback and Blurr were now gone. Likely rescued in the same mission the Elite Guard had sent out. Both of his only friends -- the only bots he even had a chance to talk to -- were gone and safe.
Part of him was happy for his friends; the rest of him was incredibly jealous and depressed.
He hoped he could one day join them.
Another nightmare about to come true
Will manifest tomorrow
Another love that I've taken from you
Lost in time on the edge of suffering
Another taste of the evil I breed
Will level you completely
Bring to life everything that you fear
Live in the dark
And the world is threatening
Return to me, return to me, turn to me
Leave me no one
Turn to me, return to me turn to me
Cast aside
Living just isn't hard enough
Burn me alive inside
Living my life's not hard enough
They take everything from you
-- 'Prayer', Disturbed
