A/N: wow, I feel so weird after having not written a new chapter for what, four days or something? XD got weighed down with the homework, but it's all good :D
To Vivienne Grainger: I'm glad you've been enjoying the story, it's been quite an experience for me, and your comments have always been so uplifting and pushed me to keep going ^_^ Indeed, we're reaching the end pretty soon, but in a way it's only the beginning for Nightbeat… :D
To SEZwho94: yeah, Nightbeat's definitely got some tabs against the 'Cons at this point, so you know he's gonna prove to be a hard fighter for the Autobots when the time comes ^_^ Thank you for ya comments! ^_^
Thank you to my reviewers, and to all, Please Enjoy and Review!
"She's…"
"Yeah." Roulette takes a hard swig of her small cube of high grade.
Prowl's chassis is frozen in shock—the femme has just shared with him a very significant bit of information, one that would have been nicer to have known before heading for the Emirate's home earlier. He struggles furthermore with his thoughts on whether or not his former upperclassman is trustworthy. This makes things quite difficult.
The two bots stand a few steps shy from one another, each with a cube of a questionable grade of energon; certainly not something that should be in an Enforcer Department. Who knew that Prowl of all mechs would be partaking in such an activity. The two aren't alone, however. They stand in the subsurface, bunker-like halls of the Kaonian Enforcer Department that contain the holding cells—one of which is occupied by a patched up femme lying in recharge on a berth.
Prowl himself takes a nip of his drink and speaks contemplatively, "Your sister. I suppose it's no wonder then how the Emirate knew you as well. But, Roulette… Why didn't you tell us this before? Even when we went to school together, I had no idea you had any siblings." He turns to look at her, wanting for an answer.
Roulette keeps her optics on the resting femme in the cell before her, not feeling like she could handle herself right now if she were to look into the Praxian's icy optics, "Well… Silhouette and I, we're—different. We both chose very different paths after we lost our other sister. She chose the path of the streets that Kaon offered while I chose to earn the power to fight the very thing that killed our sister. We drifted and just haven't, well, been a part of one another's life. I couldn't stand to see what she'd become. She became a component of the force that killed our sister." She takes another long drink from her cube and a bitterness crosses her faceplates; whether it's caused by the sting of the high-grade or the words she speaks, Prowl is unsure.
With the high-grade burning in her throat, Roulette's next words are spoken in a low, rough voice, "In a way you'd say I lost two sisters that cycle."
It is easy to see now where the femme Enforcer pulls her fiery passion from. As Prowl observes the brief clouds of the embittered past that passes through her optics, however, he hopes that it won't prove to be her undoing. Everybot must learn to let the past be what it is. Though one's mind may never be free of it, it must be accepted so a future can be attained.
Her intentions seem more clear now, and Prowl feels a little guilty for doubting them. However, with Nightbeat's well-being on the line, the young mech is willing to take no chances. Everybot is to be questioned in their objective.
The femme behind bars at the moment—Silhouette –has proved to be of little help. After she was patched up by a medic, she only told the two bots what they already knew: Nightbeat was taken by Megatron's mechs, presumably to Kolkular. It has also been made quite apparent that she's got a few thousand bolts loose in her processor. She's completely convinced that Nightbeat is her real creation, Wilder.
Try as he may have, Prowl was unable to dig up anything on this 'Wilder' in the Kaon Enforcer Department records. Roulette, however, verifies his existence; his birth was the only thing that had brought the two sisters together for a brief time.
Minerva, meanwhile, has been and still is recharging in Roulette's office upstairs. She's been dead silent ever since they reached the Department. Her changed demeanor has proven to cause a high level of worry in the Academy student. Perhaps Prowl ought to go check on her…
Before he makes a move for the stairwell at the end of the dimly lit hall, the Praxian is a little unnerved to realize the feeling that he's being looked upon. Turning his processor, he finds the optics of his femme comrade on him once more—particularly, his face.
"Ah, Roulette," he nervously clears his suddenly parched throat, "you're, uh, you're staring."
"You don't like being stared at?" Her tone is even and difficult if not impossible to read, although most mechs would clearly understand her intent. Prowl, of course, is a different case.
"Well, er, it's not—ah, I'm not—" the Praxian nearly trips backwards on himself when the femme takes a slow step towards him with an observing expression.
"You know, you get this certain look when you start zoning out. Your chin crinkles a little and you look like you've tasted something sour." Same tone, leaving Prowl still unable to read her.
"Oh, ah, I apologize if I've offended you, I didn't mean to ignore your company or anything, I suppose my mind tends to drift—"
"Where to?" A little smirk tugs at the corner of her lip components.
"Where-? Um, I'm not sure I—" Prowl nearly jumps out of his dermal plating when his back suddenly comes into contact with a wall. He had unknowingly been backing up as the femme had advanced towards him.
"You know…" Roulette places one of her servos against the wall by Prowl's processor and leans on it, "A part of me wished that you'd never come to Kaon, that you'd never see what I came from." Her optics take on a distant look as they absently trace the proudly-held door panels protruding from the Praxian's back.
Prowl finds himself wanting to assure her that she ought not to be ashamed of anything that she is or is a part of. He doesn't want her to lose that passionate strength for even a moment. She's truly a force to be reckoned with; she has the ability to either bring a mech to his greatest potential or to his knees in agony. In this moment, standing so close, she doesn't even seem real, but rather is like an untouchable apparition that could disappear with the lightest misstep.
He doesn't want her to disappear. He wishes he could reach out if only to confirm that she's so close in this short, eternal moment.
Bringing herself to look into his cold, optical pools of pale blue, Roulette's voice grows quiet, "But you know what, Prowl, I'm really glad you're here. And I'm glad you found me." She stands on the tips of her pedes and places her servos gently on his shoulders.
All his life, Prowl has never been sure whether or not he would know what to do in a situation like this. His processor, however, turns and dips to meet her as if he's known all along.
A surprisingly shy and chaste kiss meets his lips, but the briefness of it makes it all the more sweet and dream-like, almost like it didn't happen for real. Both bots online their optics after unconsciously having shuttered them and drink in the visage of the other's face so close to their own. Both smile simultaneously; why haven't they done this before?
Mirage cautiously follows the three mechs through the dark, rusty corridors of the subsurface portion of Kolkular. One of those mechs, the one that had been caring for Mirage, has Nightbeat, who looks like he's in some kind of hypnotic lull. He certainly isn't fighting anymore, which worries the young gentlemech.
The Towers sparkling keeps his distance from the group from fear of the blue mech sensing his presence—the mech must have some kind of strong sixth sense or something, because he had read Mirage like an open book earlier. The mech, however, had made the mistake of leaving him under the care of two of his Casseticons; it had been a breeze escaping them.
Mirage follows the mechs out of the cell halls and out to a more open hallway that has large windows on one side going down its length. These windows, however, do not look out to the sky or a city scene. An intensely bright yellow that appears to be churning penetrates the glass—it's the Smelting Pool. Mirage had studied its history in Government class.
Just to think that countless bots of all kinds—even rumors of alien organics—have met their fate in the depths of this molten substance. Mirage doesn't quite fancy being so close to it. It must be a painful way to go, as it isn't concentrated quite enough in its acidic elements to instantly melt a chassis. No, it takes time. It's a slow process. Mirage doesn't want to experience that.
He's always hoped to offline from old age. A strange wish for a Towers bot, coming from a society that relies heavily on aesthetics and glamour; most hope that they offline from an exciting accident that will be raved about for deca-cycles rather than grow weak and feeble.
Mirage supposes that it must be his love for simply being around to see things happen. He's never really cared much for what he himself looks like—although he does of course take pride in his paint and wax job, as he was raised to—but he finds that he gains a great deal of enjoyment in just… watching. Listening. It's nice to interact sometimes, but, well, that has never blown over too well. Not until he met Nightbeat, that is.
Speaking of Nightbeat, it would appear that the mechs taking him away have managed to put quite a distance between Mirage and themselves while the sparkling's mind had briefly drifted. Mirage is about to catch up with them when something emerges from one of the nearby conjoined halls—a large, black Cybertronian creature of some kind, one of the blue mech's creations.
Mirage stops in his tracks, hoping that his cloaking device is enough to keep him obscured from the black beast's attention. Wishful thinking. Mirage feels his internals twist in anxiety as he watches the mechs take Nightbeat through a set of tall double doors, leaving his line of sight. They tighten furthermore when the black creature suddenly rears its processor and looks directly at him, a low rumble emanating from its vocalizer.
Does it see him? There's no way, his cloacking device is on—isn't it? Checking himself, Mirage verifies that it is indeed activated, but apparently this creature has more to rely on than sight alone. A yelp escapes his vocal processor when the black Cybertronian suddenly bellows ferociously and leaps into the air, Mirage in its sights.
Mirage turns and transforms with deft speed and shoots down the hallway, the creature just barely missing its mark. Uncaring of giving his position away at the moment, the Towers sparkling lays on the acceleration and the loud shrills of his alt-form engine reverberates from all sides of the corridors. Unsure of where to go, Mirage follows his gut instincts and just guns it, hoping for the best.
He almost feels a sense of relief as the creature grows further and further away, until Mirage has to slam on his brakes—a dead end! Transforming into his bi-pedal form, a painful shiver shoots up his spinal column when he hears the heavy thumping of the approaching creature's pedes accompanied by a shrieking roar. Searching for options, the sparkling's optics catch sight of a stairwell in the direction he came from, further down the hall—why did he pass it?
Before he can make a dash for the stairs, the creature slides to a halt a few paces away from him. It holds still in a predatory stance, its processor held low and its shoulders held high. He's gotta think. This creature is clearly using some other way of tracking him—probably with sound and smell.
Can he somehow counter these advantages? Is it possible?
In terms of smell, Mirage is out of luck. His ruined, streaking paint and wax makes for quite a strong aroma—not a bad one, thanks to his lightly scented wax—so that's out of the table of options. What about sound?
The High Towers sparkling is brought back to full awareness when the ebony Cybertronian suddenly puts a single paw-like pede forward and bares its teeth—almost in a grin. So it's a showdown, is it? Wait till the bots back home hear about this one.
Taking all of his bravery reserves, Mirage takes initiative in the face-off and begins charging directly towards the creature. Although baffled for a moment, the creature is not slow to meet his forward hurtle in kind. Waiting until the right moment, Mirage transforms into his alt-form and blasts his roaring engine to its highest possible output, sending his RPM meter to its highest mark.
Just as he hoped, the beast is briefly disoriented by the audio-assaulting decibels and leaps off to the side out of instinct, opening a straight shot to the stairwell. Returning to his robot form, Mirage dashes to the stairs and is going up them faster than he thought he could. It isn't long, however, before he's joined by his pursuer.
The creature's shrill cries promise vengeance and pain for its hurt audio processors, giving Mirage an extra boost in his step. These stairs are going on for forever! Finally reaching a door to get out of the stairwell, Mirage is quick to be through it and on his way through what appears to be a warehouse-like section. Seeing that he has a lead on his chaser, the sparkling decides to run for shelter behind a stack of huge, metal containers that are labeled "Rheanimum".
Holding his breath, Mirage feels his optics begin to burn as he hears the creature stealthily enter to large, machine-cluttered warehouse. Then he hears nothing. That can't be good. Using the last bit of his nerve, Mirage slowly peeks around the metal container he's hiding behind. Nothing. That's really not good.
Suddenly, he hears a light clang on the top of the tall stack of containers. Looking up, he's met by the red optics of his pursuer. That's just… not good.
The creature drops from its perch as Mirage just barely gets out of the way. The sparkling ducks as the ebony menace swipes a large 'paw' at his processor—a blow that surely would have knocked it clean off. The paw-like pede follows through on its momentum, however, and breaks open one of the metal containers with its serrated digits.
A loud eruption of some kind of gas-like substance bursts from the container, engulfing the sparkling in a cloud. The creature is too quick, and leaps clear of the gaseous material. Inside the green plume, Mirage feels the strange substance cling to his chassis and it almost seems to tighten his dermal plating. Careful to hold his intakes, the sparkling flees from the spilling gas and falls to his knees as the abrupt shock of being consumed in such a manner leaves him shaken.
Remembering his dilemma, the sparkling is too slow to relocate the creature—which is currently launched into the air and headed straight for him!
Mirage tries but is unable to jump out of the way in time—this thing is fast! The beast lands on its mark and the sparkling falls flat on his back with a loud clang, and fear engulfs him when his cloaking device is deactivated by the harsh impact. The creature stands above him, looking like it is considering taking a bite out of him, keeping him in place with a large 'paw' on his chest compartment.
The sparkling wishes he were as brave as his friend, Nightbeat. What would he do in a situation like this? Bite digits? Poke optics? Kick groin plating? Even against an attacker, Mirage isn't sure he'd be able to hurt another bot. In this current position, with his weak strength, he's not even sure he's physically capable to.
Mirage shutters his optics when the black fiend is about to latch its teeth onto some part of his chassis, but is surprised when the weight is suddenly lifted from his chest compartment. Lying still for a moment just in case the creature is waiting for him to make a move, Mirage listens for any indication of the creature's presence. After a tense moment, he onlines his optics and finds—he's indeed not alone, but a very different bot meets his optics.
"Guess I spooked that thing off. You don't look like you're supposed to be here, darlin'."