Seems I spelt a character's name wrong; so I've corrected it.
Chapter Eleven:
She had seen the body from afar; it was after all, hard to ignore. The orbiting sun glistened brightly from it, attracting her optics as though it were a beacon of some kind. But if it was, then it was surely a warning.
Black Arachnia walked through the field, the technorganic flowers brushed against her legs. She noticed they were wilting; some had even dried, leaving only their husks behind. She neared the corpse. And as she did so, it suddenly became horrifically familiar. The charred remains of the transformer before her; known once as Strika.
* * *
"We must move beyond past differences," the transformer began, "in here, we are neither Maximal nor Predacon. Autobot or Decepticon. We strive to do this simply as Transformers." A grumble escalated throughout the room and the transformer known as Cyclonus raised his arms. "If we do not work together, we will not enter a new age for Cybertron." Bludgeon stood, neared the transformer and placed his hand upon his shoulder. Cyclonus nodded and moved from the podium that had been erected around the bar. Waspinator, who stood nearby observing the crowd here, knew Cyclonus only as Galvatron's general. Since his death, details of Cyclonus' whereabouts had been scarce. Some claimed he had taken refuge in the outer colonies of the Delta Hub. Others claimed he was gathering a secret army; one that would topple the Maximal Senate and its hold on Cybertron. But the transformer he saw before him was old. Cracked panelling held his body together, his optics; a subdued, fading red. This was not the transformer he had expected. Nor had he expected him to be so willing to unite the factions; to make them one so that the goal could be reached. But then again, if you were to meet a legend; would they measure up to your expectations?
Something distracted Waspinator and he turned his gaze from the podium, where Bludgeon now gave his speech; trying to calm the masses. He watched as, at the back of the room, he saw Megatron with a security droid. He began to move through the crowd, pushing past transformers bigger than he, until he stood in the doorway of the room. As he neared, he unmistakably heard the words: "Execute them."
* * *
Most of Strika was absent. Only the bulk of her torso remained. Black Arachnia covered her mouth as she stared.
"She didn't survive re-entry" the voice behind her said. She jumped; startled by the new presence. She turned quickly to see:
Obsidian looked in the same state as his former general companion. His body was black, twisted metal where his legs should be. He crawled towards her and with each inch he came closer, she took one backward. His voice crackled and was barely audible as he spoke: she guessed his vocal diodes had been damaged beyond repair. "We called for assistance yet nobody came." He looked up to her, "Are you that assistance, Maximal?" Black Arachnia shook her head, the scene before her too horrific for her to speak. Obsidian stopped crawling and attempted to sit beside the corpse of Strika. He was unsteady on the mangled wreck of his legs and it obviously frustrated him. He growled as he moved, though it wasn't menacing to her and she stepped forward. "That Cheetor's a clever fellow," he crackled, "Excellent strategy. Unseen." He glanced up at Black Arachnia as she knelt beside him. "I cannot continue in this state I need you to release my spark." She looked to him: saw the pain in his cracked, barely operating optics. "I. . . I can't" He turned his gaze to Strika. "You found it easy to fight before this. I serve no purpose. Grant me a final strategic move."
Black Arachnia positioned herself behind the dying Vehicon and placed her hands either side of his head. And with a sharp, quick twist; she could feel the connections to his cybernetic brain snap as his neck mounting broke. And with that he was dead. She sat for a moment and watched as Obsidian's spark rose to become one with the Matrix.
* * *
Rush hour had hit the airways of Cybertropolis and Waspinator found it hard keeping his momentum. His new body had come equipped with a jet mode but this was the first time he had ever used it. In the bar, there had been no need to transform; there was never an urgency to warrant it. Yet now, he found himself speeding through the traffic of downtown Cybertropolis and he liked it. But his enjoyment was short lived as he reminded himself of the task at hand. Waspinator had had no objection to the capture of the Maximals; they were after all, to be released upon the reversal of Cybertron's reformation. And that was fine with him. He had seen too many conflicts; too many deaths and suffered too many injuries to allow anymore bloodshed. He didn't know how on Cybertron he was going to pull it off, he just knew: he had to save the Maximals.
Chapter Eleven:
She had seen the body from afar; it was after all, hard to ignore. The orbiting sun glistened brightly from it, attracting her optics as though it were a beacon of some kind. But if it was, then it was surely a warning.
Black Arachnia walked through the field, the technorganic flowers brushed against her legs. She noticed they were wilting; some had even dried, leaving only their husks behind. She neared the corpse. And as she did so, it suddenly became horrifically familiar. The charred remains of the transformer before her; known once as Strika.
* * *
"We must move beyond past differences," the transformer began, "in here, we are neither Maximal nor Predacon. Autobot or Decepticon. We strive to do this simply as Transformers." A grumble escalated throughout the room and the transformer known as Cyclonus raised his arms. "If we do not work together, we will not enter a new age for Cybertron." Bludgeon stood, neared the transformer and placed his hand upon his shoulder. Cyclonus nodded and moved from the podium that had been erected around the bar. Waspinator, who stood nearby observing the crowd here, knew Cyclonus only as Galvatron's general. Since his death, details of Cyclonus' whereabouts had been scarce. Some claimed he had taken refuge in the outer colonies of the Delta Hub. Others claimed he was gathering a secret army; one that would topple the Maximal Senate and its hold on Cybertron. But the transformer he saw before him was old. Cracked panelling held his body together, his optics; a subdued, fading red. This was not the transformer he had expected. Nor had he expected him to be so willing to unite the factions; to make them one so that the goal could be reached. But then again, if you were to meet a legend; would they measure up to your expectations?
Something distracted Waspinator and he turned his gaze from the podium, where Bludgeon now gave his speech; trying to calm the masses. He watched as, at the back of the room, he saw Megatron with a security droid. He began to move through the crowd, pushing past transformers bigger than he, until he stood in the doorway of the room. As he neared, he unmistakably heard the words: "Execute them."
* * *
Most of Strika was absent. Only the bulk of her torso remained. Black Arachnia covered her mouth as she stared.
"She didn't survive re-entry" the voice behind her said. She jumped; startled by the new presence. She turned quickly to see:
Obsidian looked in the same state as his former general companion. His body was black, twisted metal where his legs should be. He crawled towards her and with each inch he came closer, she took one backward. His voice crackled and was barely audible as he spoke: she guessed his vocal diodes had been damaged beyond repair. "We called for assistance yet nobody came." He looked up to her, "Are you that assistance, Maximal?" Black Arachnia shook her head, the scene before her too horrific for her to speak. Obsidian stopped crawling and attempted to sit beside the corpse of Strika. He was unsteady on the mangled wreck of his legs and it obviously frustrated him. He growled as he moved, though it wasn't menacing to her and she stepped forward. "That Cheetor's a clever fellow," he crackled, "Excellent strategy. Unseen." He glanced up at Black Arachnia as she knelt beside him. "I cannot continue in this state I need you to release my spark." She looked to him: saw the pain in his cracked, barely operating optics. "I. . . I can't" He turned his gaze to Strika. "You found it easy to fight before this. I serve no purpose. Grant me a final strategic move."
Black Arachnia positioned herself behind the dying Vehicon and placed her hands either side of his head. And with a sharp, quick twist; she could feel the connections to his cybernetic brain snap as his neck mounting broke. And with that he was dead. She sat for a moment and watched as Obsidian's spark rose to become one with the Matrix.
* * *
Rush hour had hit the airways of Cybertropolis and Waspinator found it hard keeping his momentum. His new body had come equipped with a jet mode but this was the first time he had ever used it. In the bar, there had been no need to transform; there was never an urgency to warrant it. Yet now, he found himself speeding through the traffic of downtown Cybertropolis and he liked it. But his enjoyment was short lived as he reminded himself of the task at hand. Waspinator had had no objection to the capture of the Maximals; they were after all, to be released upon the reversal of Cybertron's reformation. And that was fine with him. He had seen too many conflicts; too many deaths and suffered too many injuries to allow anymore bloodshed. He didn't know how on Cybertron he was going to pull it off, he just knew: he had to save the Maximals.