A/N: Hey guys! Hope you are enjoying the story! I thought about splitting this chapter up, but ultimately we have been building to this moment for a while, so...I didn't want to draw it out. Quick Fact: the "Deadman's Hand" is a real poker hand and originates in American West (cowboy) history. Now for anyone who has followed me or read my material, I like to try and address situations of moral and ethical dilemma. I hope this chapter meets that goal. Please enjoy and drop me a review.
I literally have a .01% review rate. And I see your visits! Please push de button! Lol.
"Optimus! We have incoming!" Red Alert cried as proximity klaxons blared their warning.
Things had been quiet, too quiet since Maria's departure and subsequent re-capture by the Decepticons. The occupants of the Ark had fallen into hushed routines and subdued voices. Not one Autobot believed the assurances that had been given via Morse Code from the Decepticon Air Commander. Well, none except perhaps one.
Inferno had not stopped thinking about the plucky teenager since her departure. Echoes of memory from her harrowing phone call still haunted his processor. He cursed himself for not having done more, for not being the one to have intervened to begin with. It made his fuel tanks roll knowing that she was with the Decepticons now. He did not doubt Starscream's assurance. He hated the Air Commander truth be told. Never had there been a more arrogant, self-assured, egotistical, ill-tuned mech to have graduated from the Cybertron War Academy. Inferno had graduated in a class well-behind the Elite Seeker; rest assured, the praises sung of the jet's academic prowess had cultivated a healthy dislike for Starscream well before battle lines had been drawn. No, he knew Starscream would keep his promise due in part to his ties with Skywarp and Thundercracker. Signet vows were a serious affair, particularly among specialty military units. The Aerial Commander would not cross a trine member in this regard. Slag, Starscream had all but signed off on it according to the memories on the data disc. He may have been an arrogant prick, but even Inferno could not recall the Air Commander ever reneging on his word. But no other Autobots save Prime and Carly knew just how deep the unusual camaraderie between Decepticon Elite jet and American United States Air Force pilot went. The fire engine could understand the doubt at least.
But Inferno feared that not even the Trine would be enough to stand against Megatron if the Decepticon overlord discovered his Elite soldiers were harboring a human. Vows be damned. Since this infernal war started, it seemed nothing truly held sanctity anymore.
So when Red Alert announced they had unexpected visitors of the aerial kind, fast-movers flying wickedly low and hugging the nap of the earth, his spark skipped a beat. Grabbing his ion blaster, Inferno made a dash for outside.
"Inferno! Wait! We don't know their intent-" Red Alert called.
But the fire engine was already down the corridor and out of sight. Once outside, his optics scanned the horizon, searching and hoping against hope.
Before long, a whisper on the wind turned to a murmur, which in turn became a roar. By now almost a dozen of his fellow Autobots had joined him outside, all taking up defensive positions on and around the Ark. Pulling his eyes from the sky for just a nanoclick, Inferno realized he was the only Autobot standing in the open. And that was just as fine as peach fuzz. Perhaps it was quite foolish, but he had a feeling down in his spark that the jets weren't here to pick a fight.
He turned and addressed the group. "Don't fire unless fired upon!" he commanded. His optics scanned each mech in turn.
"But it's Starsc-" Brawn started to argue and then clamped his mouth shut, the look Inferno gave him enough to melt iron ore.
"They may have Maria with them. We can't take that risk," Inferno reasoned.
"Or they could be leading a frontal assault after all the information she gave them," the smaller mech grumbled in retort, but Inferno ignored his scathing statement choosing instead to scan the skies in the direction the radar indicated. Soon enough they appeared.
The roar of turbine engines became near-audio shattering. The brilliant blue paint scheme of Thundercracker followed by the bright silver, red, and blue of Starscream caught the sunlight as they approached fast and unbelievably low. Both jets nosed up and then transformed with an ease that bespoke polished perfection. They both landed easily on their thrusters, knees bent to absorb the impact. A cloud of fine dust that had trailed behind the two Seekers caught up and then passed over the gathered Autobot force. It sent several mechs into a choking fit and coated the remaining 'Bots in moondust.
Starscream smirked as the gathered assembly gagged on the fine grit. The irony of the Autobots inhaling his dust cloud was not lost on him and he reveled in it. The Seekers stood a reputable distance away, still within long rifle range, but not so close that their landing could be construed as a direct threat.
He stepped up next to his wingmate and gave the blue Eagle a nod. Thundercracker returned the gesture then opened his cockpit to withdraw a very pale and very clammy teenage human.
Maria remained on her hands and knees while in Thundercracker's palm. She inhaled massive gulps of dry desert air in an attempt to settle her highly perturbed stomach. TC watched over her patiently, one optic ridge cocked in mild amusement. No sooner had the girl gained a halfway decent command of her equilibrium between the high g turns and Warp's teleportation fluxes, than he and Starscream had added aerial transformation acrobatics into the mix. He smiled inwardly and idly wondered if other offspring of human fighter pilots were taught at her age to cope with aerial tomfoolery. Probably not.
The blue Seeker looked up when Starscream started forward, his chin high in disdain. The sounds of humming weapons filled the air and TC turned his attention back to the task at hand, their negotiation for a truce.
"Get it together, kid," he urged under his breath, optics zeroing in on the lone Autobot that stood before the Ark's entrance. His weapon's systems were already thrumming with guarded anticipation.
"Working on it," Maria wheezed. She threw the blue Seeker an irritated scowl before sitting up on her knees, the green pallor on her face slowly disappearing as she regained her poise.
"Autobot!"
Starscream's high and commanding voice shattered the tense silence between the two groups. He stood slightly in front of Thundercracker, hands on his torso. His silver cannons glinted menacingly under the sun's light. Despite them not being pointed at anything in particular, Starscream couldn't help but notice the dozen or so pulse rifles aimed at his helm. The sight would have given him immense satisfaction had he not had more pressing matters to attend to.
"Starscream," the Autobot replied. The figure took a step forward as the dust cloud settled. The ion rifle was held across his chest, but his fingers brushed the trigger with an almost casual air. He was cautious, but not threatening, unlike his cohorts.
Before Starscream could say anything further a human voice rang out from behind his wingtips.
"Inferno!"
"Maria!?"
The fire engine's optics darted to the blue Seeker where he could just spy her blonde head peeking out above Thundercracker's gray fingertips. The Decepticon held her in a cup-like grip, allowing the human to maneuver into a position from which she could see him better.
"Yes! Yes! It's me! Don't shoot! Please!" Inferno heard her shout. At the sound of her voice, his fellow Autobots wavered. Some rifle tips dipped down in cautious confusion. Others maintained their target, but all of them were intensely curious to see what happened next.
Thundercracker took two steps to draw even with his Commander. He held Maria loosely in front of his cockpit, so all present could see she was well and unharmed.
"Let her go, Starscream," Inferno spoke lowly, his voice carrying to just the three of them.
"Not hardly, Autobot. We have business to discuss. Preferably with your leader."
Inferno's optics darted to Maria, indecision and hesitancy clearly visible. She appeared unharmed, just as he suspected, but he had not been expecting this.
"She is fine. This discussion is between you and I," Starscream's voice cut across his thoughts.
Inferno brought his stare back to the Decepticon. His finger tightened ever so marginally against the trigger mechanism.
The Seeker's optics glowed warningly. The minute gesture was not missed. "Forgive me if I and my wingmate here are a little hesitant to just give her over to you like a name day gift basket," he drawled softly. "Who's to say that we comply with your request only for you to deny me audience with Optimus Prime and then your soldiers shoot us in the back? The girl stays with us." The last sentence was a statement, not a suggestion. There was no mistaking Starscream's gently sewn hostility in his words.
"Just like you Decpticeeps! Using an innocent life as a shield!" Brawn snapped from the boulder he crouched behind.
Maria chose the next moment to speak up, her voice carrying across the tense proceedings. "I am NOT a hostage!" she declared loudly. "I can't expect everyone here to understand," she turned pleading grey eyes back to Inferno, "but what Starscream and Thundercracker have to say is of the utmost importance. Inferno, he found my father! Starscream found the people behind his and my kidnapping! Please, let Optimus know we are here. We must speak to him."
Murmurs erupted among the Autobots after her brief outburst. Inferno gawked, floored by her words. Starscream had found her father?
Before Inferno could muster a reply, the commanding voice of Optimus Prime cut through the teeming and tense atmosphere.
"Starscream! I am here." The Autobot leader stepped beside his soldier. He gave Inferno a gentle pat on the shoulder plate and nodded his helm. Inferno recognized the subtle dismissal and returned the nod, stepping back to allow Optimus control of the meeting.
Starscream raised his chin and narrowed his optics. He slowly crossed his arms over his cockpit. "Optimus."
"Why are you here, if not to return the girl to us?" Prime queried. His gaze remained neutral as he studied the red and silver Seeker before him. His optics flitted briefly to Maria, who was standing in Thundercracker's palm now, two hands braced against the tips of his middle and ring fingers. She was leaning forward eagerly, now that the Autobot leader had appeared.
"The human speaks truth," Starscream began slowly, "I wish to...consult with you about impending world developments. Things that will drastically and unequivocally change the course of our futures." Starscream spared Maria a fleeting glance over his right intake. "The human is under my protection now, in the absence of Skywarp. She will remain with us as one condition of understanding during the course of this parley. If at the conclusion of our proceedings she chooses to remain with you, that will be her choice and not an astrosecond sooner."
"I see," Optimus replied. "What other conditions are you proposing?"
"That you allow Skywarp to return here, unmolested in order to rejoin us. It would be...imprudent...of me to not recall him once his mission is complete."
"And what mission is that?" Optimus asked, his voice mildly curious.
Starscream smirked knowingly. Even Thundercracker's lips lifted in the hint of a grin. "Why Search and Rescue, of course." Starscream's smirk grew wider as Optimus mulled over his words.
"And what of Megatron, Starscream? Is he aware of your activities at the moment?"
The Seeker's smirk fell and his faceplates became an unreadable mask. "No. But that is why I am here. And we must not waste anymore time. Do you agree to a parley with me, Prime?"
The silence became thick and heavy. The only sound to be heard was the gentle rustle of the desert wind as it picked up granules of sand and brushed the armor of the gathered mechs. Even Maria stood stock still, waiting on bated breath for Prime's decision. Optimus met Starscream's stare, weighing the Air Commander's words and all that he knew concerning the Trine's involvement with the human Maria and her father.
Their presence here was puzzling. Starscream's protectiveness over the girl even more so. Perhaps he was just using her as a means to coordinate this meeting, but coming here, to the Autobot base, was a brazen and risque move. If Starscream wanted to parley it would have been much more sensible to choose a location of neutral ground or one with a decidedly Decepticon advantage. Instead he had come here directly, knowingly out-numbered and out-gunned. Perhaps Maria was a shield, but she did not appear distressed or coerced. On the contrary, the spunky teen seemed quite at ease in Thundercracker's hand, her attention more focused on the decision at hand than her immediate safety in the hands of a Decepticon.
No, what Starscream wanted was atypical to his programming. Something had happened. Something that had forced Starscream to turn to the Autobots without Megatron's knowledge. The Air Commander would have never left himself this open and exposed, not to Megatron and certainly not to him. Optimus needed to know why.
"Very well, Starscream. We have a parley."
The smirk Starscream gave the Autobot leader, told him that the Air Commander expected nothing less.
Far below, a green jewel of an island lay surrounded by turquoise waters. Clouds appeared to stripe and spot its surface. All in all it made quite the picturesque image. However, Skywarp wasn't here to sight-see. In fact, things looked a little too peaceful for his taste.
The Guantanamo Bay Detention facility laid on the southeastern end of the island of Cuba. It abutted the Caribbean Sea and was surrounded by miles of isolated beaches and forests. It wasn't located near any large populace and there were no large thoroughfares to deal with. It seemed simple enough, but oh, things were far from simple for the black and purple Eagle.
Skywarp had been circling the island for the better part of the solar cycle, trying to decide the best avenue of attack. Planning attacks was absolutely not his forte. He much rather preferred executing said attacks. Be that as it may, he recognized that Starscream had given him a very unique opportunity-the chance to wreak absolute havoc, mayhem and destruction on those who had crossed one whom he considered a friend. And the teleport planned to take full advantage.
The crux of the problem being he had no idea where in the facility Stinger was being held. If he flew down guns blazing, he would lose the element of surprise and the perpetrators could possibly escape with Stinger in tow. Or they could kill him outright. Or threaten to kill him...the laundry list of things that could go haywire only increased. The same rationale applied with attacking the buildings. No, this operation would require a modicum of planning, finesse, and subtlety-basically every skill set that he, Skywarp, lacked!
The Seeker growled in frustration. For slag's sake, even Stinger planned better than him! He had been the one doing the plotting in Latveria!
Well, flying around in the upper atmosphere burning holes in the clouds wasn't going to help Stinger any faster. Slowly the formulation of a plan began to stitch together in his processor. It probably wasn't the best idea, but it was better than flapping his ailerons up here.
Besides, the only thing worse than an ill-thought action was inaction or some slag like that. It sounded good at least! His decision made, Skywarp banked sharply to the left and dove towards the green isle of Cuba, his heading a large inlet just to the east of the facility.
The small spit was deserted and perfectly isolated from prying eyes. The waters of the inlet opened out into a cove, its entrance small and nearly closed. The beaches on either side of the cove were narrow and inaccessible. Given the remaining geographical features that were in relative close proximity to the detention facility, this finger of land appeared to be his best option for cover and concealment.
Checking his proximity scanners one more time for good measure, Skywarp activated his camouflage cloak and rechecked his holomatter projection. Lieutenant Ray Prawsky needed to look the part! At the last moment, Skywarp decided it would be best to change his uniform, so he traded his Air Force service dress for the army combat uniform. It appeared nearly identical to the uniform of the US Army soldiers he'd observed on the installation, but Skywarp opted to retain his Air Force/Decepticon mash-up patching.
On the left sleeve he wore Stinger's squadron patch. It consisted of four playing cards, two eights and two Aces, also known among humans as the "Dead Man's hand." A banner embroidered with the words 213th Fighting Falcons wrapped around the base of the cards. The squadron's namesake animal, a peregrine falcon perched on top of the poker hand, its talons piercing through the cards, sharp wings framing the image, and its beak open in a voiceless cry.
On the right shoulder sleeve, just below the US flag, sat a very subdued Decepticon emblem on a circular patch. And just for shits and giggles, Skywarp decided to use his actual rank in lieu of the humans'. It was a modified Decepticon emblem with two stripes meeting the face at forty-five degree angles. This emblem sat dead center of his jacket where the normal human rank would be sewn. Anyone with a sharp eye would see it, but frankly, Skywarp didn't give a flying frag. These meatsacks would know exactly who he was once he located Stinger. The final touches set, he activated the generator and shimmered from sight only to reappear a few miles away inside the compound.
Night had fallen; however, the bright halogen lights of generators and primary lighting sources illuminated the facility as if it were day. But if he were careful and cautious, the lighting structures could only illuminate so much and the occasional dark shadow would linger close to a structure. Skywarp reappeared in one such shadow. He slipped through the meager darkness, literally shadow-hopping closer and closer to the main holding facility. It paid to be a teleport. His processor could calculate space/time continuum equations as easily as a calculus professor doing elementary math; holomatter projection jumps were child's play, not to mention it minimized the chance of someone seeing him inadvertently.
Once he was close enough to the main doors, he faced an entirely different problem-how to get in. Armed guards kept a close watch on entrants. Security cameras and a badge scanner completed the conundrum.
Fragging humans. Why did they have to make things so difficult?
He paused for a moment contemplating. What would Screamer do? Or TC? Attacking now would be premature. He had a feeling that neither one of his wingmates would attack all out. No, Screamer would snoop. He'd probably hack their computers...Primus! Planning was so slagging difficult. Well there was nothing to do for it. He'd have to take out the guards and hack their computers. Maybe in doing so, it would give him a lead on where Stinger was being held.
Skywarp waited until the guards had finished clearing their last visitor and had settled back inside the vestibule that shielded the entrance. One guard was already on the computer, the other, watching his surroundings with an air of increasing boredom.
Lt. Ray Prawsky approached the facility confidently. He watched as the one guard stood up to meet him; the other at the computer station didn't even glance in his direction. This was gonna be child's play.
"Badge please, Sir," the first guard requested as he met Skywarp at the door. "Sir?"
"Oh yeah, one moment. It's in my pocket," Prawsky said distractedly as he made the motion to look for said access badge. The guard continued to approach until he was standing directly in front of Skywarp. First and last mistake.
Prawsky merely grinned at the unsuspecting human before he head-butted him directly in the forehead, the sharp plane of his skull connecting with the tender tissue that bridged the nose and the eye sockets. Prawsky felt the bone snap like a toothpick and watched as the guard dropped like a rock, out cold. In the next second he holo-jumped into position behind the second guard, reached around with his hands and snapped the oblivious guard's neck. Humans. Predictably weak and unsuspecting. Shoving the body out of the seat, Skywarp began the tedious process of hacking the system. Once again he found himself out of his element.
Maybe Starscream wanted him to get caught. It sure as slag felt like it what with all these obstacles he was encountering. If he made it back intact, he felt sure Screamer would give him some lecture about how this mission helped "broadened his skill sets" or how since Stinger was his pet it was his responsibility to rescue him or some other scrappy excuse.
Fortunately for him, hacking the high security terminal at Guantanamo Bay wasn't on the same level as hacking Teletraan I or the Nemesis's Command and Control console, but it wasn't exactly easy either. First things first, he needed to access the security systems and bypass the camera footage that may have captured him disabling the guards. Utilizing a simple but effective trick he learned from Frenzy, he quickly cut and snipped footage from several minutes earlier and installed it as a loop on the primary system. It wouldn't fool the humans for long, but then again he didn't need long; he needed just long enough. Once that was established, he knew his next step would have to be locating Stinger. Drawing on his rudimentary knowledge of programs, the Seeker created then downloaded a worm into the human's network system. Within moments the invasive malware began scanning and searching the facility's database of known inhabitants, both incarcerated and permanent party military.
A search bar appeared on the screen showing his progress. It registered at 18%...
While he waited, Skywarp frisked the dead guard's uniform pockets. Withdrawing the wallet, he found and pocketed the key access card. That would be needed shortly in order to gain access to the facility. He glanced back up at the screen.
30%...
Come on! Come! I don't have all fraggin' night!
23%...
Ah! For Primus' sake!
45%...
Skywarp snarled in frustration as the program seemed to take its dear sweet time. He glanced around nervously, his circuits already on edge from having to stay in one spot for what felt like eternity. Remaining in one location for too long, despite the promise of valuable intel, was just asking for more trouble than he felt he was already entitled to.
99%...
Arrrrrgggg! Just finish already!
Finally, the worm finished its results, but it revealed so much more than he bargained for. Instead of one prisoner manifested under the name of Kesinger, there were two-one Carla Petrova-Kesinger and one Don Isaac Kesinger, alias "Stinger."
Skywarp gawked dumbstruck. Carla was here too. He quickly investigated. Come to find out, Carla's holding cell was closer and more accessible than Stinger's. Figures. He knew that Stinger would never forgive him if he didn't at least attempt to break her out too.
Irritated at these new results, Skywarp quickly downloaded each of the Kesingers' locations in the facility and prepared to leave the guard's room. As he stepped towards the entrance a sudden thought entered his processor. He paused only for a moment before turning around and taking the downed guard's weaponry. Each human had an old Beretta 9mm pistol and several mags. He stuffed one pistol into the waistband of his trousers and pocketed all the spare mags. The other pistol he kept in hand. Another cursory glance around the room revealed a Mossberg 500 Mag-Pul tactical shotgun.
A small grin pulled at his lips when he saw the weapon. Humans may not have developed weapons that could compare to a Cybertronian's personal loadout, but Skywarp could appreciate a fine weapons platform when he saw one. This particular weapon wasn't designed for distance. It was built to be up close and personal and for this mission, stuck running through corridors teaming with armed humans, he was perfectly all right with that.
Having armed up, he felt a little better about tackling the next step in this circuit-frying escapade. If two's company then three was a crowd and he'd make damn sure this was a party crowd. And he was gonna bring the fireworks.
Stinger lay on the cot staring up at the darkness. Another day had passed or at least, what he thought was another day. Time was so much harder to keep track of when your circadian rhythm didn't have a light source to adapt to. He shifted painfully, the bruises he'd sustained from his last beating blushing a dark and vivid purple. His eye was still swollen shut and dried blood crusted his face, but at least he was still alive.
He closed his eyelids and tried to think of happier times. Sometimes if he concentrated and fell into the right frame of mind, he could almost feel the pull of a high g turn, hear the roar of the afterburners engaging as he throttled up the power. Other times he could feel the brush of Carla's lips over his own, or smell the scent of lilacs in her hair. And still again, he'd catch the flash of honey-blonde hair, bright grey eyes so like his own, and if he were lucky, a small, shy smile.
He'd felt like the luckiest man in the world only to have tripped and fallen into the depths of Hell. So many memories burdened and overshadowed by an unequivocal amount of regrets. A tear slid from the corner of his eye.
Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of pistol fire shattered his deep thoughts.
Tat-tat-tat. Tat-tat!
The sharp burst of sound aroused old, but deeply ingrained instincts. The pilot bolted upright and swung his feet to the floor. A wicked jab of intense pain nearly took his breath away, his broken ribs protesting the movement with vehemence. He grimaced and forcefully ignored the injury. Not long after the initial burst of weapons fire, klaxons began blaring obnoxiously. A red light began flashing in his cell and it was at that point, Stinger knew things were about to get serious.
The sound of gunfire punctuated the night once more, this time closer, much closer. He stood to his feet. Dare he even hope? But who'd be crazy enough to break into this place!?
A voice called above the din, soft, sweet and familiar. "Stinger!?"
"Carla!? Holy shit!"
"Stinger! We're here! Step away from the door!"
Not needing any encouragement, the pilot flattened himself against the same wall as the door, but as close to the corner as possible and yelled, "Clear!"
An explosion rocked the door, followed by a second blast. On the third, the door hung loosely only to be kicked violently inside his cell, the force of the blow so powerful, the heavy metal door careened into the far side of the cell. The unmistakable sound of a pump action shotgun drew his attention back to the entrance. Stepping through the frame was none other than his beautiful Latverian wife, Carla.
She hefted the shotgun with one hand, barrel up and gave her husband a wide, relieved smile. "Vacation is over, darling. Time to leave!" She scrutinized his body, green eyes narrowing as she took in every visible bruise, scratch, and laceration.
"You look like shit," she commented dryly. "Not the best room service, I take it?" She gave him a grin as he stepped forward. They embraced passionately.
"Oh! Ah! Damn ribs," Stinger groaned, reluctant to break away from his wife. They stepped back to arm's length. "Probably fractured a few, but I'll make do."
She nodded in understanding. "You'll have to. Here. Take this," she said, passing him a Baretta.
"All right! All right! Save the chit-chat for when we actually escape this scrap pile you call a base! Dude. You'd think they were actually keeping someone of importance in here!" an irritated yet familiar voice rang out over the smoke and flashing lights.
Stinger blinked stupidly as the humanized form of Skywarp stepped into the cell, a cynical grin splitting his lips.
"Holy fucking shit! You came! You came for me!"
"Of course I came for you! Who'd you think was gonna break you outta here? The Easter Rodent?"
Stinger laughed despite himself. "It still is and always has been the Easter Bunny, you oversized dipstick!" He returned Skywarp's grin despite himself. "For fuck's sake, you sure are a sight for sore eyes!"
Skywarp flashed Carla his best devil-may-care smile. "Look out, femme! I think Stinger may have missed me more than he missed you!"
Carla responded by playfully punching the humanized Seeker in the arm. "Come on! Let's move!" She threw her head in the direction of the cell's exit.
"Right," Stinger agreed. He racked a round into the Beretta and moved towards the door. He spared an appreciative glance at the door frame and then the crinkled, bent metal door that rested at the back of his cell. He raised an eyebrow at Prawsky.
"What?" Skywarp said innocently, pushing past the pilot to take point.
"Remind me to never get in a fist fight with you."
Prawsky cast a sly grin back over his shoulder. "Stinger, we both know you'd lose a fight to me no matter which form I was in."
Stinger grunted in response, neither confirming nor denying Skywarp's claim, instead he changed the subject. "So what's the plan?"
Prawsky paused briefly, but otherwise gave no other indication as to how uncomfortable the direct question made him feel. "Uh...to be honest. I didn't really get much farther than the 'find and locate' stage of this process," he answered truthfully.
Stinger laughed, which turned into a grimace of pain. "Figures. You always did jump thrusters first into a dogfight without looking. What about Starscream or Thundercracker? Did they come with you?"
"No. Screamer sent me solo. He and TC have their servos full with that spitfire offspring of yours and the Autobots about now, I'd imagine." The trio paused at the juncture of a hallway. Warp scanned ahead and caught two MPs entering the corridor. He fired off several shots, catching one guard in the thigh and the other in the chest. The guard whom he shot in the chest kept coming.
"Frag!" he cursed, while hastily reloading. Human weapons and their Pit-spawned limited ammo system! A fresh magazine reloaded, Skywarp quickly popped off two more shots and downed their opponent. Honestly, he hated utilizing human percussion weapons. At least as a human anyway. But this was the most efficient way of getting Stinger and Carla out. His holoform could take some damage, but repeated abuse would cause it to overload and short-out. The best course of action was to neutralize any and all threats before they hit him. So for the time being if he had to masquerade as a human, he might as well use human weapons.
"She's safe?" Stinger cut in, his own pistol up and ready, but something in his voice sounded pained. Skywarp never noticed.
"Oh. yeah. She's safe. So, escape plan...uh…" the teleport repeated distractedly. He checked his internal map that he stole from the computer downloads. "Do you two think you could hold the guards off long enough for me to retrieve my actual body?"
"Possibly," Carla answered under strain. Skywarp glanced over his shoulder to see that Stinger's pace had slowed considerably and his face was a sweaty, ghostly white. Carla was supporting one arm over her shoulder and was all but dragging her husband. It seemed Stinger's injuries were worse than he thought. Skywarp conducted a hasty scan and cursed internally. His scanners weren't as advanced as Hook's or other field medics but his rudimentary equipment told him enough that his friend needed help, medical help.
All right. Carla, take point. Anyone steps in front of you, don't hesitate. I'll take deadweight here. When you get to the end of this hallway, turn left," Prawsky directed. He hefted, Stinger's now limp form over his shoulder. A feeble protest burbled on the pilot's lips, but its coherence was lost to the air.
"Save it, fleshy," Skywarp replied curtly. "If I get you outta here in one piece, then and only then we'll talk about payback." Getting out of the facility was now out of the question. Stinger's injuries would slow them down and become a hindrance. Despite his above-average human strength and reflexes, coupled with Carla's own combat experience, they were still out-numbered. He needed to get them to a safe place, retrieve his mech body, and level the playing field-literally.
The trio hurried down another corridor, before Skywarp directed them to the left and into a large, open room. Long tables were splayed out in neat rows and a buffet-style serving counter dominated the far end. Skywarp had brought them to the cafeteria. Carla didn't question it though; she kept pace with the Seeker as they maneuvered down an aisle and into the kitchens. Once inside he sat Stinger against an empty spot on the wall and then proceeded to shove a large deep freezer against the door. He looked up at the female human and nodded behind her. She turned and saw a large single entry point room-the kitchen pantry.
"You want us to hide in there?" she asked skeptically, raising a fine reddish eyebrow.
"Would you rather continue running around playing the real life version of WarZone?" the Seeker fired back irritably.
"Touche, Decepticon. Touche," the female relented. She began dragging Stinger inside the large pantry. When she was finished, Skywarp handed her the shotgun, two pistols and the remaining mags.
"With any luck, I won't be long. Whatever you do, whatever happens, don't move from this spot!" Skywarp warned. "I have your location tagged in my processor. There's gonna be hell to pay before I leave this joint and I don't want you two caught up in the collateral damage." An evil glint darkened his brown eyes. "I just didn't want to kick off the festivities before knowing your location."
Carla glanced up from her kneeled position next to Stinger. She looked him directly in the eye and said, "Castlehoff was here just before you broke us out. I know my husband is duty-bound to not retaliate against his leaders no matter how heinous their treatment of him. He believes fully in the American justice system and that Castlehoff will get his due. I do not share his sentiments, nor his patience."
Skywarp's human grin became almost feral. He knew exactly what Carla was implying. "Well then, it's a good thing I'm not beholden to the American government or any of their leaders, now, isn't it? I'm a fragging Decepticon! And if it so happens that I see this guy Castlehoff over the next few breems, he'll understand beyond any doubt what happens to those who fuck with a Seeker."
"But...Warp," Stinger's voice spoke with a haggardness, "they fucked with me, not you," he wheezed painfully. He attempted to inhale a deep breath, but doubled over in pain.
A look, perhaps the closest the black and purple Seeker had ever come to compassion, flitted across his comely features before disappearing. This human had suffered so much just by their association. Latveria seven years ago had ended his flying career. His own country had incarcerated him, tortured him, and hijacked what remained of a promising military future-all because he had decided to help a Decepticon Elite Seeker escape a hostile territory seven years ago. How very different life would have been had he not decided to scavenge Stinger's crash site for parts, or had he killed the pilot on the spot. Truth be told, Skywarp knew he wouldn't still be functioning or at the very least, he'd have been a mindless automaton under Doom's influence.
He owed Stinger his spark. A human. A human had done more for him than most of the Decepticons he'd served with for millennia. Only TC had ever truly stuck with him as doggedly as the human had and that meant something to the black Seeker. Loyalty, true loyalty was earned and often at the expense of broken parts and spilled energon. In Stinger's case, broken bones and human blood. It was a blood debt, but oddly enough, not one the Seeker minded owing.
Skywarp had never experienced loyalty outside of his trine. TC had been the closest equivalent to a friend he'd ever had; Starscream more by default than choice; it had only made sense that the top three best Seekers be trined together. But eons of battles, skirmishes, and dangerous missions had forged an integral if reluctant bond found only among those who had been beside each other in the direst of circumstances, the grittiest of pitched battles, and had faced the slimmest of odds for survival. It was a bond in and of itself, just as deep as their trine link, forged in singed plating and spilled energon.
His friendship with the human before him had been forged the same way. Granted it had not taken millennia, but the actions that had cemented their fates together were of the same caliber and purity of essence such that he could not discount it, would not discount it. Now that he thought about it, he had given Megatron millennia of faithful service, only to have it tossed in his face on the first indiscretion. That more than anything, left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wouldn't make the same mistake as his leader, human or not. After all, it had been Stinger that saved his spark that day, not Megatron.
Reigning in his thoughts, Skywarp replied. "Yeah, I know. Remember that coin I gave you?" He stared pointedly at his friend.
The pilot nodded feebly.
"Good. Your pit-spawn of an offspring has it now. She's clung to that coin ever since you disappeared. That coin was more than just a pretty paper weight. It's a Seeker's Signet, a symbol of my military unit from my planet. And when we decide to give a Signet, it isn't just another token of appreciation; it's a declaration to anyone who challenges you that you are deemed worthy to fly with us, fight with us, and even drink with us-you are a part of us. The decision to give one to any being, Cybertronian or not, is not made lightly, human.
Your government made a huge mistake when they decided to try and strong-arm you for an event you had received pardon for previously and I don't give a retro-rat's aft who they are. No one, absolutely no one, fucks with an ally of the Command Trine. Looking at you," he paused, pinning Stinger with a look of such serious intensity that it shocked the pilot, "I'm going to ensure they pay dearly for it," the humanized Seeker snarled softly. He gave them a brief nod of departure before disappearing all together.
When Skywarp re-energized his systems, a righteous fury exploded throughout his circuitry causing small arcs to jump from plating to wiring. Quite literally he was fired up for a fight. Seeing the state of injury dealt to Stinger enraged him. Perhaps it was because he knew the pilot's leadership had willfully and blatantly abused him, perhaps he still felt some residual anger at Megatron's judgement on himself and his trine, perhaps it was a mixture of both, but ultimately perhaps it was because Skywarp realized that both he and the pilot had been used and abused by a leadership they each had implicitly trusted as a result of their propensity towards good order and discipline-the desire to be a good soldier.
Regardless of the reason, the black Seeker could not definitively pinpoint the origin of his rage. One thing and only one thing remained blatantly clear in his processor: Stinger and company had been successfully located and pinpointed. He was now clear to unleash several cycles of pain, anguish, frustration and unbridled anger.
Transforming into his robot mode, he grinned wickedly as he leaped into the blackened night sky. There was no moon and there were no stars. It was a pitch black night and not a more perfect time. Activating his warp drive, he disappeared in a shimmering cascade of purple light and reappeared several decameters above the detention facility.
Instantly several flood lights illuminated him in garish white light, but rather than highlight a target, the lighting only served to spotlight the origin of their death, a macabre ringleader for the spectacle of their grand destruction.
Skywarp unleashed a volley of cluster bombs that instantly damaged every building within a one-thousand meter radius. Screams filled the air while smoke and flame cast the black Seeker in an even more hellish silhouette. His callous laugh rang out high and clear over the sounds of machine gun fire and frenetic screams.
Bullets pinged harmlessly off his armor, as he landed with an earth-trembling thud. Now on the ground, he fired his arm cannons indiscriminately. Several trucks made a mad dash for the gate in an attempt to escape his onslaught; all of them exploded in a flash of pink laser fire.
The fact of the matter was Guantanamo Bay was a military detention facility. Its best defense had been its secrecy, its ability to remain under the radar and not draw attention to the practices and techniques that perpetuated its shrouded corridors and dark holding cells. It was not designed for fortification nor for repulsing enemy forces. It was built to keep detainees in, not enemy forces out, much less giant, extra-terrestrial machines with a vendetta to unleash chaos and destruction.
The tiny military installation truly had no defense against Skywarp's fury. The Seeker walked among the rubble and ruined buildings. If anything or anyone moved, they were obliterated by laser fire or ground under heel with viciousness. In a matter of minutes, most of the humans' paltry resistance had ceased. A few hopeful sniper shots erupted from the one tower still left standing. The base of the tower was in flames, which probably explained why the occupants had not vacated, but instead chose to foolishly fight.
The Decepticon smirked as two more shots ricocheted off his plating, his approach slow and deliberate. Drawing a purple fist back, he punched through the guard tower as if the cinderblock, concrete and mortar were nothing but paper film. The tower collapsed into a pile of brick chunks and detritus.
Every single building on the installation was damaged or flattened. Thick, acrid clouds of black smoke filled the even darker night. Flames leaped heavenward, a flickering tribute to the gods of death and chaos. Black shadows danced on Skywarp's frame like translucent devils. The defenseless installation had been transformed into hell. It had been quick. Too quick, he thought sadly. Not entirely satisfied with his handiwork but realizing there was nothing left to destroy, the black Seeker turned his attention back to the main detention building-what was left of it. Only the northeast quarter remained which sheltered the only two humans he cared to see leave the place alive.
He had just taken his first step in that direction when he heard the gunshots, their origin freezing his spark in its casing.
As soon as the security alarms erupted, Secretary of Defense Castlehoff sensed he had been ousted. Certain types of rats of the lowest order generally had a sixth sense for self-preservation and Castlehoff's was honed to perfection. A quick dash to the main security room that housed the closed circuit security system confirmed his suspicions. He had only a glimpse of the intruder before the unknown person accessed a computer terminal and fried the system.
"Initiate Emergency Lockdown procedures now!" he barked angrily. I want every man here armed and ready. "Find that guy and eliminate him. Oh. And I want extra guards at Kesinger's cell."
"But Sir, don't you think those measures are a bit extreme for one guy? He won't get far," the MP replied, his confident smirk falling when Castlehoff didn't agree.
"Maybe...but that isn't no ordinary man," the Secretary ground out before retreating to his office. Once inside, he dialed a private number and made arrangements to have his private jet ready for take-off in 20 minutes.
Not even half that time had passed, when the maximum alert system erupted and the klaxons began wailing. It meant that prisoners were escaping and the MPs would be mobilizing for the most dire of threats. Things were going downhill quickly. He swiped his laptop off the desk and hustled out into the corridor, red lights flashing blindingly. His security detail, three armed officers, took their stations beside and behind him. Gunshots could be heard deep within the complex. They proceeded onward oblivious to the mayhem erupting all around. Time seemed to slow and then crawl at a snail's pace.
Nearly ten more minutes had passed when they stepped out the doors to the waiting convoy. It was also the exact same moment explosions rocked the building and obliterated the waiting vehicles. One security guard died from the shrapnel as he used his body to block the Secretary from the blast. Castlehoff didn't spare the man a second glance. Retreating back inside, he and his entourage proceeded to disappear back into the shattered remains of the main holding facility.
The one sector of the building not entirely demolished had been the mess and the kitchens. Explosions still rocked the outside. Castlehoff had caught a glimpse of an enormous humanoid figure, nearly as black as the night itself, with flaming red eyes and massive cannons the size of a 155mm Howitzer on its arms-a Decepticon. And not just any Decepticon. He recognized it as being one of the three jets that had been detailed in the Kesinger's classified file, a Seeker it was called. Identified as being one of the most dangerous extra-terrestrial invaders known to the United States government. And it was annihilating Guantanamo.
They retreated back into the inner rooms of the last wing standing, the northeast corner. It came as an extremely fortuitous stroke of luck. Rick Giger, his lead security officer, found them huddled in the pantry.
Two shots rang out in the close quarters, followed by a cry of intense pain, the cry of a woman. Castlehoff motioned to his other guard that he wished to investigate. The two men came upon Giger with his pistol trained on Carla. She was clutching her right shoulder tightly with her left hand. Blood pulsed from the bullet wound. But bless her heart if the Latverian wasn't crouched protectively over the prone form of her husband, who looked to be one leg in the grave already. She glared vehemently at Castlehoff's appearance.
"You," she whispered poisonously, "You won't live long enough to see the dawn."
"Shut your trap!" Giger snarled. "Before I do it for you."
"Well, well, well, Mrs. Kesinger. I must admit I did not anticipate seeing you here. Cowering in a food closet no less," the Secretary said oily.
Rather than be cowed by her position, Carla merely grinned."I will not be the one cowering tonight," she said as a faint tremor began, only to increase in magnitude and intensity. The ground went from stable to violently shaking in seconds. A roar not unlike a freight train deafened all of their ears. The three men stumbled. Time seemed to slow once more as several things happened almost simultaneously. First, Giger pitched into the sidewall and it was all the opportunity Carla needed in order to rush him. Ignoring the searing pain of her shoulder, she latched onto Giger's wrist and broke it with a quick twist of her blood-covered hands. The man screamed in agony, but his cries were silenced by the loud rapport of four consecutive gunshots. Giger slumped against the wall, his head a bloody mess from the two bullets Carla put between his ears.
The other guard, also caught by surprise by the sudden shaking of the floor screamed in terror, but not from being shot...at least not yet. A violent force ripped the roof and part of the wall away. Drywall, particle board, concrete, and wood chunks rained from above as the humans' cover became viciously exposed. The other guard died gazing into the hellfire optics of one royally pissed Decepticon; he never even knew that Carla had shot him dead too.
As the dust settled, Carla never allowed her stolen pistol to deviate from the prone form of Castlehoff. The small man had been caught in the fallout, a large chunk of the exterior wall pinning him down. He bled profusely from a small cut above his left brow. A pathetic groan escaped his lips as he tried to dislodge the debris.
Abruptly, a reddish glow illuminated the scene and Carla glanced up into the furious depths of Skywarp's optics. "Greetings, Skywarp. Your return is most fortuitous," she called up to the metal giant.
Skywarp kept his optics locked on Castlehoff; they narrowed menacingly.
"Yeah, seems that way," he replied nonchalantly. "Who's your friend?" he asked with deceptive casualness. He had a pretty good idea who it was, but it was fun toying with the squishy's emotions. The absolute terror in the man's eyes gave him a delectable satisfaction.
An equally malignant hardness turned Carla's normally soft, green eyes into jade-colored stones. "Oh, pardon my horrible manners! Mr. Secretary," she began, turning to address the now quaking figure, "I don't believe you have met mine and Stinger's friend, Skywarp, have you? I assume you must at least know of him...given your vaunted status in the American government." She looked back up at the towering Seeker. "Skywarp, this is Secretary of Defense Castlehoff. You know...the one who has treated us with such hospitality here in Guantanamo Bay."
Her words, so softly and politely spoken, held an air of fatality. Despite the crackling flames and the roiling smoke surrounding them, it seemed as if the atmosphere had turned unnervingly quiet-the calm before the storm.
Castlehoff looked up into Skywarp's optics with terror-filled eyes. This. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! He was to have never been seen, Never been witnessed. Everything had been planned so meticulously. He'd made sure he was so far removed from the processes that nothing could be traced back to him directly. How? How had they known the pilot was here? Unfortunately for Castlehoff he would never find out.
Skywarp leered down at the pinned human. The stoic set of his faceplates was quickly replaced by a dark and malicious grin. Castlehoff could have sworn he was gazing into the face of the Devil himself.
"Oh really?" mock surprise dripping off each word. "I was hoping to meet you, human. Word of your impeccable hospitality has spread far and wide! Why, it even reached us Decepticons!" Skywarp paused for just a moment while lowering his face to within inches of Castlehoff's own. "I just had to come see it for myself," he purred menacingly.
A barely audible shuffle drew his optics up and past Carla. She had turned at the noise too, gasping in soft surprise at seeing Stinger's hunched form, standing but barely. The pilot gingerly limped past his wife, his eyes falling on her injury for just a moment, before coming to bare on the SecDef. Stinger looked absolutely wretched. The collapsed roof had covered him in a fine gray dust, making his skin appear even more pallid than it already was. The bruises were still dark and ominous, several shallow lacerations seeped blood which mixed with the filthy dust, creating a spider-webbing effect of black and red lines across the white flesh. He gripped a pistol firmly in his right hand, barrel pointed down. But Stinger's eyes...it was his eyes that made even Skywarp internally flinch. Gray eyes that were normally full of humor and mirth, held a granite coldness rarely seen.
He stopped just shy of the prone, shivering mess that had been his superior.
"Words cannot express the amount of betrayal that I feel after all that you have done to me, to my wife...to my family," he said hoarsely, his voice rough from the abuse, lingering smoke and dust.
"You? You feel betrayed!?" the Defense Secretary spat. "You should feel ashamed. You disgrace the uniform and trample on the flag of your country! You should have been incarcerated years ago, the moment your feet touched American soil! Working with them! That was treason, Kesinger! Treason of the highest order! You disgust me!" Castlehoff roared, his fear temporarily forgotten as the subject of his hate stared him down. "But no! You were pardoned...glorified even! And then promoted! Do you even know how many lives, human lives, this metal monster has slaughtered?! Do you!? And yet, you fucking saved it! You should have died in Latveria! Doing so would have saved your honor, but instead you worked with this alien devil and allowed it to keep functioning! Victor Von Doom would have put a stop to their terrorism then and there had you not interfered!"
"I've about had enough of you!" Skywarp snarled angrily, his energon boiling at the vitriol spewing from the flesh sack's lips. He raised his fist as if to crush the man then and there.
But Stinger held up a hand, staying the Decepticon's temper if only for a few moments longer.
"You have no idea what Doom was capable of," Stinger hissed. "Nor the lengths he was willing to go to achieve his ends." He slowly raised the pistol, the barrel pointed between the SecDef's eyes.
"You mean the lengths he is still willing to go," Castlehoff retorted. "You didn't kill him you fool, you only pissed him off more! And he will have his vengeance on you and your so-called friend here! Tell me, Kesinger. How do you sleep at night knowing you are so buddy-buddy with a creature that has killed thousands of innocent lives, of his own species and ours, an alien being whose race is hell-bent on our destruction? How do you reconcile yourself?"
For the first time during this exchange the gray eyes wavered ever so slightly. The barrel began to shake. His finger tightened on the trigger. Castlehoff was getting to him.
"You! An American Airmen, who was sworn to protect your country from enemies both foreign and domestic! Well, nothing gets more foreign than a fucking invading alien race! How many children have died? How many innocent civilians' blood stain this monster's hands? And yet here you stand a complete contradiction to the oath you swore, the people you swore to protect! You cannot associate with this filth and still call yourself a human being! You are scum! A traitor! A hypocrite! Doom will be the salvation this planet needs! He has humanity's best interest at heart and he will eradicate all enemies of the human race! You inclu-Hrrggghh!"
The single gunshot reverberated across the decimation. Castlehoff's face remained frozen in a grimace of anger and hate, his eyes lifeless. His head slumped against the rubble as blood pooled below his skull. But it wasn't Stinger's barrel that smoked from the discharge.
It was Carla's.
Skywarp stared in incredulity at the human femme. For once he was completely and utterly shell-shocked. He remained frozen in place, kneeling over the two remaining humans. The shadows of flames dancing and flickering across his great wings.
Slowly, she lowered her firearm and met the Decepticon's stare unflinchingly. There was no remorse, no sadness, no indication of regret in her green eyes. Her mouth was pulled into a thin, grim line and suddenly she looked so much older than she truly was. In that moment, Skywarp knew. He wasn't so certain that he understood, but the gravity of what she had just done rattled his processor. The femme slowly stood to her feet, the wound in her shoulder still seeping. She made her way slowly to her husband's side, her eyes now focused on the still form of the Secretary of Defense.
Stinger continued to stare at his former leader as if the events of the past few minutes had never occurred. He was lost in his own thoughts. His gray eyes, once hardened flecks of granite, were now empty and hollow. The pistol he had been holding slipped from his hand and clattered loudly to the ground. His knees buckled and the pilot slumped. He sat among the ashes, smoke, and flames and wept.