--One stellar cycle ago: Six hundred thirty-three days After Escape--
They're getting too close. I like things close, but I also like escaping with my life. I planned this one to be tight on purpose, but that stupid accident on my original escape route messed things up. They know who did it this time, and they know exactly who they're looking for. Well, maybe I'll get on the news tonight.
For now, I need somewhere to hide. This area is residential, which means there aren't going to be empty warehouses or storage areas I can just duck into. Going into a home has its own problems, not the least of which is possible witnesses. I don't want to have to deal with that. I just want to get done and get out of here. Even if I wasn't being chased, I might find this place creepy. Everything looks the same, with each small, separate, box-like home almost exactly like its neighbour except for hints of vandalism here and there. For properties, they sure are tightly packed. Not a rich place.
Too close, now. They're local, so they obviously know this area better than I do. I know that there are more out there than indicated by the sirens. They're going all out for this, trying to bring down the infamous Risk. I can't help but snort at that. No plain cops are going to catch me. Except that I can see the flashing lights about to turn onto this street. A place to hide would be good right about now…
There.
My tires squeal a little as I turn back around, having almost passed the home with the small shed just barely visible behind it. That should be perfect. I transform and sneak around the side of the two-storey house, ducking under the windows, and slip into the shed, closing the door quietly behind me. They'd better just pass by, because I don't feel like getting into a messy firefight tonight.
I hurry up to the shed, checking around it first, then quickly slip inside, closing the door behind me. I crouch down, my gun ready, and switch my targeting eye mode so that I can see through the shed wall towards the street. I don't think anyone saw me duck in here.
A sudden sound makes me startle, whirling and pointing my gun at its source. Wide eyes are staring back at me from behind a crate at the back of the shed. "Slag," I mutter. A kid. What's a kid doing in here? It only takes a quick glance around to see the pictures stuck to the walls and the toys in the corner. This isn't a storage shed—it's a slaggin' playhouse. I knew I should've scanned it first, but it was just supposed to be a shed! This isn't good.
The kid whimpers again, and I realize that I still have my gun pointed in his direction. I abruptly put it up, kicking myself. Aside from the sound, the kid hasn't moved. He looks freaked. Great…what with the spikes on my shoulders and my targeting eye, not to mention my gun, I'm probably going to give him nightmares. I take another look outside, but don't see or hear anyone approaching yet, so I holster my gun. If I need it, I can get to it. I'm a quick draw.
"Hey." Gotta keep him calm. The last thing I need is for him to start screaming or something. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? I'm just gonna sit in here for a little bit." I gesture towards the toys. "I'm not even gonna touch your stuff. No worries, all right? I just need you to stay in here, and not call out."
The kid nods, the first movement I've seen from him. He's small, probably only about eight, and a Predacon. Even if he's living in one of the more comfortable Predacon areas, a couple of steps up from the streets, that's one thing we have in common, I guess. I notice that he's kneeling behind the crate, probably using it as a sort of desk or table. In front of him is a comic. There's something else we have in common.
He shrinks back a bit when I lean closer to have a look at the title. I don't like that—I don't want him to be so afraid of me. Primus, I wouldn't hurt a kid.
I point at the comic. "Hey, Delta Breaker. I used to read that." Okay, not so long ago—I have it up until last stellar cycle. I know it's geared more towards kids, but it's hard to give up on a title that I've been reading for so long.
"Really?" the kid blurts. "You read comics?"
"Yeah, why not? I collect all kinds."
His optics flash in a slow blink. "I dunno, I thought 'cause…'cause maybe you were hiding in here from the police, that you were…you know…'cause that's what you're doing, right? Hiding?"
I give a small sigh. "Yeah, kid, I'm hiding. Maximals. You know how it is."
"My dad says someday it'll be different."
I snort. "Yeah, sure it will. Anyway, just because I've annoyed some Maxies doesn't mean that I don't know good comics. In fact," I reach into a compartment and pull out one of my latest acquisitions, "here. Syntron X number 239. You read that one?"
"Wow!" His eyes are even wider now, and he reaches out, then quickly takes his hand back. "Um, can—can I see it?"
Something in me wants to keep it, saying no way, it's mine, but that's just…left over from the past. It doesn't matter. I can buy all the comics I want now. "Yeah, here." I hand it to him, then turn to keep watch through the door again. I can hear the sirens on the street, and see two police vehicles pass by slowly. I keep very still as they do, and the kid, absorbed in the comic now, also isn't moving. This is perfect. And if I stay crouched, even if they do give this place a full sweep, I'll hopefully come off looking smaller, like just another kid in this playhouse.
"Hey!" The kid's voice suddenly breaks the silence, startling me. "It says there's going to be a double-sized issue soon, a crossover with Delta Breaker! No way!"
My gun is already out of its holster and pointing in his direction before I can stop myself, and the kid's jaw drops as he stares down its barrel. Part of me is wanting to take out the possible threat, kid or no, he's going to tell on you, do something about it, and I have to struggle to rein that in. The moment seems to last forever, but actually only a millicycle has passed before I quickly put up my gun.
"Relax, kid. I wasn't gonna shoot you." Kicking myself inside, I put the gun away. That was just great. I hope I won't have to start all over with him.
His mouth finally closes as he gives a small nod. "Oh." It's barely a whisper, and he still looks scared.
That was not good at all. I'm gonna have to work at this even harder now. Slag, what can I—oh, yeah. The comics. "And yeah, that crossover." Just keep going as if nothing had just happened. "I've got it on pre-order."
There, I can see him starting to relax again. "Wow, lucky…"
That's better. It's all good again. I can't help a half-smile at his reaction. "Yeah, I guess so." I haven't talked comics in a long time. This kind of reminds me of the old days, with…
"Mister? Why do you have those spikes? Is it part of your alt mode?"
His voice is still quiet, and I break out of that small reverie without visibly startling. "Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah, they are. They're defensive." And they do look pretty good as part of my motorcycle mode.
"They look really dangerous."
"That's the point."
He giggles. "The point."
I snort and shake my head slowly. Kids find the weirdest things funny. Outside, another police vehicle goes slowly by, its spotlight shining in this direction. I can even hear the cops' voices, although I can't hear what they're saying unless I increase my auditory range.
I guess the kid can hear them too, because his voice is much lower when he speaks up again. "Those are the police, aren't they? What did you do?"
I glance back at him before returning my attention to my view through the wall. "Nothing you need to know about, kid."
"I won't tell anybody…"
"No." I almost want to tell him. I almost want to teach him, to make sure he knows that there are bots out there who do the kinds of things I do, and other bots who pay them to do it. Maximal or Predacon, civilian or military, rich or poor, it doesn't matter. They're out there. I'm out there. He should be warned.
Sure, and just end up scaring him. I wonder if knowing about these kinds of things would have made any difference to me when I decided to run away. I learned real quickly once I was out there, though. Still, he lives in a pretty nice place, for a Pred. Maybe he'll never have to know.
Things are quieting down out there, and I look back at the kid. He looks disappointed and is just staring glumly at the comic. This is no good. If he gets upset, he just might decide to tell on me as soon as I leave. "You got a name, kid?"
He shrugs. "No. Not a real one, anyway. Dad said I can choose a name when I turn ten next stellar cycle. My little brother just makes fun when he calls me Wink." The kid looks up again. "What's your name?"
I just shake my head. "That's a secret too."
"Oh." He flips to the next image in the comic, disappointed again. Slag. Can't have that. Um…
"You can call me One."
"One? Like in One Underground?" He almost smiles.
"Yeah, just like that. You actually read that one?"
It's his turn to snort. "No, I'm not allowed. Dad says it's too violent."
"Kind of is." The killing in it is more violent than what I do, and the fights can get pretty gruesome. "Should wait 'til you're older for that one." And have learned how much of it is truth.
"I guess. I like this one, though." He points to the comic in front of him.
It's been quiet out there for long enough. Time to get going. "Yeah? Good." I stand, and try one last idea to ensure that he keeps quiet. "Keep it, then."
His jaw drops. "Really?"
"Yeah. I can pick up another. On one condition, though: Don't tell anyone that I was here, all right? It would just be a lot of trouble for everyone if Maximals found out that I'd been here."
The kid shakes his head, grinning. "I won't. I won't even tell my dad about this comic. I'll hide it in here."
I fight off a smirk. "Good idea. It's all yours." After one last scan outside, I tentatively open the door. Everything looks quiet. "See you around, kid."
"See you around," I can hear him trying to copy the way I said it, "One!"
As I transform and take to the street, still cautiously watching as far as my sensors will allow, I can't help but chuckle inside at that. That kid wasn't so bad. Nothing like most of them back at LostBot, anyway. Guess that's the difference between having a real family and having headmasters and bunkmates.
I go to robot mode to open a grating, then slip down into the tunnels below the streets to make my way back to more familiar territory. If they're still looking for me, they're looking somewhere else, and I don't run into any more trouble. Another mission completed.
I never needed a family to be successful.
- - -
The familiar voice sent a wave of panic through him, and Risk barely managed to keep himself from visibly shuddering. While the world was teetering on the brink of the Inferno, Risk's scans finally picked up data that had not been there before. The bot behind him was reading as Maximal. That information filtered through as his mind began to unfreeze, pushing back the paralyzing sense of dread with great effort. When he could think clearly again, Risk realized that that reading was useless in this particular bot's case. Once he had control of his body again, he muttered a couple of choice curses, and his hand tightened on his gun as he hurriedly tried to figure out how he could use it without getting shot first.
"Ah-ah!" The gun was shoved even harder against him, pushing his head forward. "Drop it. And unload yourself, mate. I wanna see every single one of your pretty weapons on the floor."
Risk growled as he dropped the gun, then slowly reached for his others in his holsters. As he dropped those weapons, he felt one sword slide out of its sheath on his back. Risk tensed, the sound of metal slipping past metal more ominous than it had ever seemed before. The other sword followed a moment later. Anger rose. He had had his guns taken before, but something about the feel of the swords being removed made him want to strike out, and hard. It was too close, too personal. "Get slagged, Crash," he finally snarled. "What are you even doing here?"
The insane bot behind him giggled. "The question is, what took you so long to get here?"
"What in the Pit is that supposed to mean?" Risk dropped his last gun on the ground, managing to stay still even as he felt his own sword blade trace lightly down the plating on his back. Somehow just this light touch of the blade felt worse than being impaled. Another enemy might have killed him by now, and as brutal as that sounded, it made more sense to him. Crash, however, was frightening in his unpredictability, and Risk had to fight hard to keep from shuddering as he felt the sword tip move across the back of his neck, still unnervingly gentle.
"I've been waiting for so long, for my little brother to come home!" The voice somehow managed to sound gleeful and deadly serious at the same time.
"What the slag? I'm not your 'brother', scraphead." Risk clenched his fists, disgusted at the thought.
His sword blade appeared from behind him, and laid itself along the side of his face, just under his eye. Risk glanced at the gleaming point. Ugly memories swelled, and he wanted to scream, he wanted to bolt, he wanted to do something, anything but just stand here while this maniac threatened him with his own sword. But he remained motionless, while the tip of it shone next to his eye as that needle had so long ago.
"You don't remember. That's sad. So very sad." Crash's tone dipped into melancholy, then rose again into a giggle. "Well, I'll fix that! Would you like the tour? I've been practicing it just for you, just waiting for you to come." Still pressing his gun to the back of Risk's head, Crash used the sword to reach Risk's guns and pull them back towards himself. "But before we start, let's see you empty your subspace pocket, eh?"
Risk swore quietly, his first set of plans derailed, and slowly reached behind himself to access his pocket.
Crash snorted at that. "Did you think I was stupid? I think you've got this bad habit of underestimating your enemies. A real bad habit. But I can fix that too, mate. I can teach you why it's very bad to not give me the props I deserve."
"I can think of plenty of things that you deserve," Risk muttered, pulling his missile launcher from subspace. As soon as it was free it was snatched from his hand and hurled back against the wall with enough force to dent it in.
"Oh, me too, me too!" Crash took the extra gun from Risk's hand. "I've been thinking of the rewards I could get for handing you in. So much money! And then I thought to meself, what would I do with all that money? I already have this lovely home here, plenty of energon, lots of fancy weapons, and I never get sick or need repairs. So I asked meself, what do I want the most?" He leaned in closer, his helmet brushing Risk's. "And the answer was that I wanted my little brother to come home, because I have so many stories to tell him."
Risk turned his head away, unnerved by the contact. "Stop calling me that. You don't know me. I've got nothing in common with a glitched piece of junk like you."
Crash let out a crazed laugh at that, grabbing Risk by the back of the neck and jerking him towards the table before slamming his head down onto it. Risk gave a cry of surprise and struggled to lift his head, but he had no leverage. The gun was right next to his eye again, but it wasn't the only thing that sent a shock of fear through him. He already hadn't wanted to be anywhere near the table, and although his focus was on the gun, he could still see the closest wrist restraint beyond it. Memories surged again, of his time at the Guild, yet at the same time coloured by something else that he couldn't quite identify. That old paralyzing terror threatened to take over, and Risk forced himself to feel anger instead.
"Now, see, this is what you're here for, mate. To get a bit of education. Eh, LostBot Predacon one-one-nine-seven-two? They took it all back once they were done with us, but I remember."
Risk growled in frustration as he tried to move. "So you've seen that file. So what? Looks like a few bots have by now."
Crash leaned his head down to grin into Risk's face. "I've seen all the files, little brother." With that, he abruptly stood, yanking Risk up and throwing him against the nearest wall. The Predacon bounced off and fell to his knees with a groan. Crash waited for him to look up again before continuing, always keeping his gun aimed. "So I learned all the stories. Including yours." He grinned again, whispering conspiratorially. "Oh, the things I could tell you, my target. Your story is the best."
Risk gave no response, simply glaring at the mad bot in stony silence.
"Don't you want to hear it? It's a good story. It's their favourite story, really." The bounty hunter frowned. "I like mine better, though," he continued, brightening. "See, ours are the only stories that really matter anymore. I've written endings to all the others. I could tell you some of them. We could make a night of it! A little party, to celebrate your homecoming."
Risk slowly got to his feet. "I don't give a flying slag what you think you know about me." He was already looking around, assessing. It didn't look good, but he had been trapped before. He always got out somehow.
Crash smirked. "Don't think I don't see you looking around. No, this time you're going to stay, and we're going to talk about old times! And I think you'll care." He snorted. "Look at you. You think you're so big now. All grown up, not a little bot anymore. You don't care about nothin', do you, mate?"
"That's right." Risk scowled, trying to keep his concentration on escape plans rather than the insane Maximal.
"I know you cared before. Twists you up inside, don't it?" Crash raised a fist and clenched it. "So you gotta crush it." He brightened, grinning. "Then you can crush everyone else!"
Risk narrowed his eyes, but kept silent.
"Now, me," a blade suddenly popped out from the back of Crash's wrist, "I never had a problem with caring. Aside from caring about how much they wiggled when I skewered 'em, of course." He smirked, watching the blade as he turned his arm back and forth. "But you did. Had a soft spot for the little ones, eh? I'll bet you still do." Crash's tone changed to one dripping with disgust. "You let 'em control you that way. That's why you'll never be as good as me."
With that, he suddenly lunged at Risk, his blade headed right for the Predacon's head.
- - -
--One stellar cycle ago: Seven hundred fifty-one days After Escape--
I'm not happy with this new job I'm supposed to do. I've had the details for a couple of days now, and I'm in no real hurry to get it done. I've got the third issue of the Syntron X/Delta Breaker crossover, and I'd rather just sit down and read it, but this job really should get done today. I have the time and setup for it ready, and I don't expect there to be too much trouble during the escape, so I really need to just get it done or risk having to wait until next decacycle.
It's got special instructions. I prefer to do the job my own way, but the contractors are insisting that this one be public. Lots of witnesses to the death, send out a message, that kind of thing. The target's a Pred, some small-town politician who's getting a bit too popular. I figure the contractors have to be Maximal. Have to keep those Preds in their place, of course. I don't care—it's all work to me. I just don't like public jobs. They're harder, but that's not the problem. I like the challenge. I just don't like watching everyone else—hearing the screams, seeing the people panic, stuff like that. I think some others really like that kind of thing, but I don't.
The only good part is that it's close to that kid's neighbourhood, so I know I'll have a hiding place for my escape if I need it. I saw him again a few decacycles ago when I had another job in that area, actually. Sure, it was a little off my route, but it helped to throw the cops off the trail. I spent longer there than I really needed to, but that was just to make sure that my trail had gone cold. He was a lot more talkative that time, and I didn't care as much about keeping him quiet. At that point he'd already read the first issue of the crossover, and he was all excited to talk about it with someone else who really knew the series.
It came up at one point that he lived with his younger brother and his dad after his mother had died in an accident. I don't know why, but I asked him if he liked having a family. Like, wouldn't he have preferred to be on his own, especially if his father made rules and his little brother bothered him? He gave me this blank look, as if that was the weirdest question ever.
Whatever. I don't care. Maybe someday his family will really get in the way of something, and then he'll get it. He just doesn't know what it's like to be free, like I am.
So after learning this target's schedule for the past few days, I've found out that he visits a shrine to Primus every week. Lots of other bots will be there at the same time—some kind of worship session, I guess—so they can be the witnesses I need. I know some bots would balk at killing in a place like that, but it doesn't make a difference to me. In fact, if I have to send a message with this kill, I may as well make it a good one. Primus isn't going to protect them.
Besides, they're probably all stories anyway. Even if Primus really is the core of Cybertron, who says that he gives a flying slag about us? He's not going to save anyone. Believing didn't save any of my targets. Praying didn't stop the Guild from taking my eye. And I'm not interested in dying to save someone else just because fate might say so.
Primus can rust down there for all I care.
So I don't have a problem with fulfilling a mission in a shrine to Primus. I bet it'll increase my reputation, because then everyone will know that I won't stop at anything. Besides, I scouted the place and I found a perfect spot to take my shot from, and escaping, even with witnesses, shouldn't be too difficult, especially since that that kid's shed is nearby.
I pack up the weapons I need and head out. It's not too long a drive, especially at the speeds I like to use. I know that I'm more inconspicuous in cycle mode, but I still take all the precautions I can on my way there. No sense running into trouble before I even get to the job.
I get there early enough that people are still milling around outside. This is the kind of place that has no security at all, so if I wanted to I could walk right in the front door. I won't, though. I may be recognized, and the spikes on my shoulders tend to draw funny looks. There's a back way in, so I use that. Only the preacher is back there, and I have no problem getting around him. He's just a regular Pred with no fancy upgrades to let him know that someone is sneaking around nearby. This is almost too easy.
There's a balcony looking down onto the seats from the back of the shrine. From what I can tell, nobody ever goes up there, and it's high enough up that I probably won't be noticed. Getting up there by the back way is simple enough, although I know that I'm going to be using the one window up there to leave. It's fancy, covered in designs, and I don't think it opens. I'll probably have to break it.
As I get set up, the place starts filling up. The target will be close enough that I don't need a sniper rifle, so I'm just using one of my smaller high-powered guns. It isn't long before I spot the guy. He's got a few others around him, and he's shaking their hands as they all head towards their seats. Looks like a politician, all right. I let more people come in and sit down—may as well get as many witnesses as possible if that's what the contractor wants.
The preacher is getting ready to speak now, and the last people are trickling in. The service is due to start in a couple of cycles, but I don't think I'm going to wait until it does to get this job done. I don't want to have to listen to that stuff, and the place is full enough already. I take aim at the back of his head, but just as I do, he turns around to look towards the main door, which is underneath where I am, then gets up and motions to someone out of my sight. There couldn't possibly be a more clear shot with him standing in the middle of the aisle like that, and my finger squeezes on the trigger.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two small bots rush up the aisle towards him. There's a small voice, calling "Dad!", and in that instant, I recognize one of them. Oh—
It's too late. My finger is already squeezing the trigger and I can't stop it in time. The shot is as visible and dead-on as I intended it to be, and the guy falls just before the kids reach him.
—Slag. Slag. I didn't just…
The smaller kid screams, and so do a bunch of the other bots in the shrine as some get up to see while others duck down. That's all background, though. All I can see is that one kid. He's shaking his father's shoulder, but his father isn't going to wake up. He's dead. My shot was perfect, as always.
Why can't I move? He's starting to look around, and I can't let him see me. Don't turn around, don't look up here, please…
Primus isn't answering any prayers today.
He looks up, straight at me, and our eyes meet. Slag, the look, the look on his face. He knows it was me, that I'm the one who did it, and slaggit, my gun's even still aimed. I put it up quickly, not that that helps anything. It's too late. Too late. I couldn't stop myself in time. I was already pulling the trigger! I didn't know, I didn't mean to…
The littler bot wails, and suddenly somebody is snatching both kids out of the aisle, and people are screaming for help and to call the police. What in the Inferno am I still doing here? I should have already been gone! The mission's been accomplished, and I have to get out of here. I holster my gun and run to the window, looking back down at the chaos below. I can't see the kid anymore. Somebody must have taken him to safety.
I wouldn't have shot him, though…he knows that, doesn't he?
Come on, focus! Don't think about it. Just don't. Getting away is what's important now.
I break the window and fire a line to the nearest building before jumping out. Everyone is pouring out of the shrine like it's on fire, and I can already hear sirens. I'm behind schedule. Have to get to a safe point, and—slag, I can't exactly use that kid's playhouse this time, can I? Or ever again. I mean, technically I could, since obviously nobody is going to be there now, but…
I speed off on my alternate escape route, going underground as soon as I can. The cops around here aren't too swift, but I'm not taking chances. Of course, the escape is too easy. It should be harder. Make me work for it, slaggit! This job shouldn't be so simple. It shouldn't have been so easy. Still, I just don't feel like leading cops on a chase. Not this time. I just…I just want to go home.
There's no relief when I get there, though. There was no thrill, no rush, and I only go through the motions of checking the security, entering the base and unloading my weapons. I don't feel good at all. The job went off perfectly, with lots of witnesses, just the way they wanted it, but…Primus, witnesses. I killed that kid's father right in front of him, and he knows it was me. I can't get the look on his face out of my head—the disbelief, the accusation, the…betrayal.
I check my messages, and there's a new one from that contact, congratulating me on a job well done and informing me that the credits have been transferred to my drop-off account. Yeah. Great.
I take the extra comic out of my compartment and toss it onto the console in front of me. I'd been planning to give it to the kid. I'd bought it for him as even more incentive for him to keep the secret, because I thought that I was going to end up seeing him today. Well, he definitely saw me. He saw me kill his father. And now…Primus, I've just killed their only parent. I've made that kid and his brother orphans.
Like me.
I groan and slump down in the chair, burying my face in my hands. Those kids are Preds. Who's gonna want them? They'll be just like me, and end up in some orphanage like LostBot. Rotten life. Why couldn't I have just held back a little longer? One millicycle would have made all the difference.
And then what? I would have not done the job? Failed the mission? I've never failed before, and I don't want to start now. I could have waited, though, waited for a time when the kid wasn't there, when he wasn't going to see me do it. Yeah, right. And I still would have left him an orphan in the end. Not like I could have found him again later like nothing had happened. Maybe it would have come up in conversation: Oh, was that your father I killed?
But maybe…maybe they won't have to end up in some piece of scrap orphanage. If they weren't just poor Predacons…
"Computer, locate bank account. Rafe, Predacon." I give the computer every detail on this guy that I have, including his home address, which I find that I know by memory.
"Account located, Bank of Cybertron, account number 1525581." The computer rattles off more information on the account, along with the guy's passcode that it has just hacked. He didn't put extra protection on the account to stop a computer as powerful as mine—but then again, who would bother going after a regular Pred's account? From what my computer has found, there's not all that much in there. And he was pretty well off, for a Pred.
"Command?"
I look up. "Create auxiliary account, and label it for his inheritors. Transfer—" Am I really doing this? Why? This kid shouldn't mean anything to me. I mean, I'd only talked to him twice. So why can't I get his face out of my mind?
"Transfer amount?"
"Transfer all funds presently in 'Drop-off' account to new Inheritors account. Random path, five-megacycle delay, and make sure that it's completely untraceable."
"Acknowledged."
There. That's it. With that amount of money, they hopefully won't end up in some low-end orphanage, having to share a bunkroom with a dozen other kids. Money talks. It'll be different for them than it was for me, I'm sure of it.
This feeling should be gone by now. I fixed things, didn't I? What's my problem?
No. No more. I don't want to feel like this, so I'm just going to stop it. I know what happened here. Look where being friendly got me. Why would anyone want to bother caring about anyone else, if this is what always happens? Well, no more talking to anyone, not even kids. I'm alone, and I'm staying that way.
I get up and stow the extra comic in the box with the rest of them. Not like I need anyone to discuss comics with, anyway.
- - -
With the blade plunging straight for his forehead, Risk found himself almost frozen. There was no time to move, no time to do anything except squeeze his eyes shut. There was a sudden pain, then the sound of impact, and the world seemed to stop.
It took Risk a moment to realize that he wasn't dead. When he opened his eyes again, it was to see Crash's face scant centimeters from his, grinning at him. The mad bot's blade was partly buried in the wall beside Risk's head, having slashed his helmet on the way by.
"Made you flinch!" Crash cackled, his other hand swiftly grasping Risk's throat and pinning him to the wall, pressing harder as he braced himself to jerk his blade from the wall with an ominous scraping sound. "Oh, come on, now, mate. Wasn't I just telling you that I had much better things to do with you than kill you? Don't you ever listen?" His blade free, he roughly threw Risk to the floor. "No, of course you don't. You ran when things were just getting good."
Risk grunted as he landed. "Yeah, well, why wouldn't anybody want to get away from you?"
Crash threw back his head with a great guffaw. "Oh, this ain't about me, little brother! Don't you remember? You didn't even know what you were runnin' from." Risk began to get to his feet, but Crash was already upon him, pulling him the rest of the way up, his large eyes wide with delight as he grinned at the Predacon's confusion. "Think about it. I know you can figure it out." Wrapping an arm around Risk's neck, Crash dragged him back to the table.
"What are you talking about!" Risk cried, his attempt to pry himself loose an exercise in futility. "You don't know anything about that!"
Crash snarled, losing his grin as he flung Risk up onto the table. "You're not listening again! You're a brat, just like you always were. But you can't fight back forever. You gave in, just like the rest of us." He snapped one of the restraints around Risk's wrist.
Panic shot through Risk, and he began to struggle wildly. "You're slaggin' crazy! I don't know what you're talking about!"
Crash snorted as he leaped up on the table, pinning Risk down and forcing him still with a blade held over his chest. "Does this feel familiar? Eh?" He leaned in closer, his smile returning. "The Guild weren't the first ones to do this to you, mate. Now come on, tell me. Why'd you run?"
"Get off me! Let me up!" Terror seized Risk, that familiar fear of being held down and unable to strike back. The feeling grew until he could no longer contain it, and there was a moment of sudden clarity, of understanding. "I had to!" he yelled out. "I had to be in control!"
His insane captor pulled back a little, his grin widening until it seemed to take over his whole face. "Now we're getting somewhere. Now the party can start!" With that, he hauled back and struck Risk hard, snapping the Predacon's head to the side. For a brief moment, Risk saw static, and then nothing.
When consciousness returned, Risk found himself alone. With a small groan, he raised his hand to his dented face, and slowly sat up. His gyros still felt off from the blow, causing some dizziness as he looked around, trying to figure out where he was. Thankfully, he was no longer held down on a table, but on a floor in the middle of a corridor. Staggering up, he found that he was still weaponless. The hallway was dark, but not completely so, due to the presence of a dim light at one far end.
"Welcome to the tour!" The sudden voice made Risk startle badly, and he whirled, but Crash was nowhere in sight. The intercom crackled a little as the hunter giggled, and Risk narrowed his eyes at it. "I'll be your guide. Sort of. The rest is up to you."
Risk groaned. "What in the Inferno do you want, Crash?"
"Enlightenment. I've found it, you see, and I've decided to share it with you, my little brother." He sounded almost sulky. "I've gone to all the trouble of setting this up just for you. I've even made it fun and interactive. You oughta appreciate it."
"I'd appreciate getting out of here. Where am I?"
"I told you, you're home! Home again. The beginning, and soon, the ending. Now, see, the fun part is that you have to find your way around. If you go the right way, you get a prize. Shouldn't be too hard for you, mate. I know the place is big, but you're bigger now, too."
"I've never been here before!"
The cackle was so loud that the intercom shrieked with feedback, then it abruptly switched off, leaving Risk in absolute silence. Risk swore quietly as he looked both ways down the corridor. One led to a dead end a few meters away, and the only door there was locked. This wasn't the place where he had entered, but maybe he could get out without having to follow Crash's idea of a maze. There was no power to the door, and he connected his targeting eye to it, hoping to feed it some power and hack it open at the same time.
A sudden pain made him cry out, and he jerked the wire free of the door. The surge that he had received seemed to crackle around in his head, causing his optical system to flicker wildly before finally stabilizing. The pain in his sensors lingered, though, and he gave a frustrated moan as he brought a hand up to cover his eye.
"Ah-ah!" The intercom came to life again. "Oh, I guess I should have told you that you're not allowed to cheat."
A wordless roar suddenly erupted from within Risk, and he punched out the intercom, crushing it and sending the corridor once more into merciful silence. As the pain behind his eye began to fade, he gathered his wits about him and finally began walking towards the other end of the corridor. Any other door that he checked along the way was locked and powered down, and he didn't make any more attempts to open them.
Upon reaching the end of the corridor, Risk found himself with the choice of going left or right. Neither direction was lit at all, each disappearing into blackness. Risk switched to night vision, but nothing stood out to him either way. With no way to know which way was correct, he chose to go left, figuring that if it turned out to be wrong he would simply turn back. He still checked each door along the way. "Got to be a slaggin' point to this," he murmured to himself, simply to put voice to his uncertainties.
There was one last door on the right, and when he tried it he was surprised to find that it was unlocked. It was also powered down, but not difficult to slide open. Risk did so, and peered into the room, his night vision easily piercing the gloomy darkness. It seemed to be an old office, containing a desk and a couple of chairs. On the desk was a monitor and, as Risk approached, it suddenly lit up and began playing a video file. Risk startled, but quickly recovered enough to switch off his night vision in order to see what this was, expecting some kind of maddening message from Crash.
Risk stared at the screen, stunned. Crash was nowhere to be found in this video, but it was disturbing nonetheless.
- - -
--Subject LB-Pr11972: Session 1. Twelve Duon, 529 ADU--
"This one looks promising." The Maximal turns away from the table to face the camera. The black and silver child behind him on the table is motionless. "LostBot Predacon 11972 is a little over five stellar cycles old. Programming has not yet solidified into permanency. It's still malleable. This is the perfect time to begin."
He walks around the table, pointing to various readouts coming from the monitors that are hooked up to the child's simply body. "A strong Spark, sturdy body, decent motor skills. No defects."
"Personality?" This from someone off-screen.
"Stable, as far as we can tell. Normal levels of aggression for a Predacon, some resistance to conventional authority. He is the object of bullying, as many of the younger ones are. Further observation is warranted, naturally."
"Observers are being assigned as we speak. Background?"
"Uncertain if this is a case of abandonment or if he has truly been orphaned. He was simply found wandering. After nearly two stellar cycles at LostBot, no one has attempted to claim him. Of course, such an occurrence would certainly be rare for small Predacons found alone."
The child on the table stirs slightly, his face pinching, and the small sound that he makes is picked up on the file.
"What's that? He shouldn't be waking up yet."
The Maximal quickly turns to a console, adjusting something, and the child's body relaxes, his flickering blue optics dulling to their previous darkened state. "Hm, that was the usual dose for a child of his age and size. This one seems to be quite the fighter."
"All the better." There is a measure of satisfaction in the tone. "Excellent, we'll take him." His voice became quieter, speaking to someone else off-screen. "Inform the head of LostBot that we'll be using this one, and that we'll be requiring a private, secondary file on him to be created. He should know the procedure."
The Maximal checks on the child again. "Shall I begin his preparation?"
"Yes. Keep us apprised of your progress, especially if there are any problems with his receptiveness to the changes."
"Understood." The Maximal turned back to the child, whose head had fallen to the side after his struggles to awaken, leaving the cable that connected under his helmet to the nearest console exposed, and carefully turned his head straight again.
- - -
The file ended there as the monitor switched off, plunging the room into darkness once more. Risk made no move, simply staring in mute shock at the screen that he could no longer see.
"Did you like your prize?" Crash's voice burst cheerily from the room's intercom.
There was a long silence before Risk finally spoke. "What the slag kind of sick game is this?"
"It's a story, I've already told you that. That was the beginning. I don't have to tell you whose story it is, do I, little brother?"
"That's not me!" Risk exclaimed, his words edged with desperation. "That's some other kid! I don't remember that!"
Crash giggled. "Denial's funny."
"Smelt you!" Risk's voice was rising. "That kid isn't me! It's not me!"
"Of course it is! Why so upset? Didn't you hear them? They thought you were perfect. A good little test subject." His tone darkened. "Why, they loved you."
There was a pause. "No! You're slaggin' lying, and I'm through here!" Re-engaging his night vision, Risk stalked out of the room, his fists clenched. Crash's merry hummed tune followed him until he was down the hall and out of auditory range of that particular intercom panel.
Risk slammed a fist against the wall as he followed the corridor. Crash was silent for now, but that did nothing to dull the Predacon's anger. He strode down the hall, eventually entering another section. A single door along the wall suggested a very large room behind it. Risk ignored it as he passed. When he reached the end, there was another door, but it was locked. Growling, Risk stepped back and kicked it, but it didn't budge. He hadn't really expected it to, but he swore all the same, and from somewhere nearby, a small giggle sounded through an intercom. Frustrated and with no other choice, Risk turned back to check the other door.
As suspected, it was unlocked and allowed him to enter. What he saw gave him pause. It was indeed a big room. There was what appeared to be a virtual targeting range along one wall, and obstacles set up around most of the rest. A large window, its glass tinted dark to camouflage it, was along one of the side walls, obviously for observation. The whole thing looked like a training center.
"Welcome to your old playroom." Crash's sudden voice never failed to make Risk jump. "Would you like to have some fun here? Maybe show off like you used to?"
"I don't know this place!" Risk knew it was useless.
Crash ignored him. "Let's see if you've still got the old touch."
"I'm not gonna play your stupid games!"
A giggle. "We'll see." At that, the room began to power up, partitions in the walls raising to reveal the muzzles of weapons set at various heights all around the room. "Ready? You'd better start moving."
"Forget it, I don't have to do anything! This is only a simulation room!" Risk stood his ground even as the weapons lit up.
"Is it?"
One of the guns suddenly fired, and Risk cried out in shocked pain as the laser tore through his left shoulder, the force of it spinning him halfway around and making him stumble backwards.
"Oh, did I mention that I've upgraded this room? After all, how can you get any real practice done without live ammo? Come on, you're a pro now. No more kid stuff."
Grimacing, Risk clutched at the blackened and sparking wound. "You slaggin'…" He trailed off, his eyes widening as the other weapons in the room targeted him. With no more time to think, Risk reflexively dodged backwards, then ran back to the door and tried to open it, only to find it locked. As he reached for the keypad, another laser struck right beside his head, forcing him to dodge away as more shots left scorch marks on the door.
With his night vision beginning to get overwhelmed by all the weapons fire, Risk switched back to regular vision as he raced towards the obstacles in the room, hoping for cover. As he dove for the closest one, the wall that served as the background for the virtual targeting range lit up. Instead of projected targets, it was showing a video that took up the entire wall. Risk saw more laser fire on it, and something small darting around the beams of light. There was no time for him to spend very long looking at it, though. The weapons shifted position, rendering that piece of cover useless as they nearly hit his foot, and Risk was forced to keep moving. Although he could only catch pieces of the video visually as he raced from cover to cover, he saw that it was actually once again the little black and silver bot, looking a few stellar cycles older now.
Driven from each hiding spot in turn, Risk leapt, dodged, rolled and weaved his way around the room. The only possible safe point that he could see was where two small walls blocked off the far corner of the room. He had to get there. However, it was not as easy as it seemed. Not only did he have to contend with the weapons, but also with the obstacles moving around, springing up from the floor where there had been none before, or sinking away or changing direction in a place where he thought he had been safe.
Something in the back of his mind noted that the pattern of the weapons resembled a simulation of pursuit. The way they moved, the angles, the heights—he could easily imagine a group of possibly twenty pursuers chasing and firing at him. On the screen, when he was able to look, Risk noted that the kid was also on the defensive, although he had a practice gun and was using it. Still, he used the covers just as Risk did. From what little Risk could see, the kid had a couple of pro moves that he himself was still using.
Risk worked his way through the room, flattening himself to the ground to avoid a near wall of laser fire that swept above him and flipping and leaping over other beams of light that cut swaths through the obstacles that he had only moments ago used as cover. His shoulder complained whenever he used it, but he drove that pain to the back of his mind. The video continued to play, and Risk caught sporadic snippets of commentary on how the "subject" was performing, but those barely registered as he concentrated on his own moves. Each time Risk reached cover, he looked up at the large screen, slowly understanding that the kid was running the same course that he was, even if the feed was showing it a bit behind. The insight disturbed his concentration, and a laser scorched the plating on his side as it grazed him.
He kept moving, adapting, and found himself automatically calculating the patterns now, matching them to simulated pursuers until he was able to have some measure of prediction of where they would strike from next. The trial got a little easier, and he finally dove behind the cover of the blocked-off corner. As he did, he heard all the weapons power down, the partitions once again closing them off from the rest of the room. His cover shrank away as well, and Risk caught the last of the simulation on the video, watching as the kid made one last shot to the exact spot that Risk had predicted was the location of the closest pursuer, then dashed from the last obstacle to the corner, diving for it just as he had.
The bits of the video that he had seen suddenly all came together in his mind, and Risk could only stare in silence as realization struck him. The little bot on the screen had matched his moves, down to the last twitch.
- - -
--Subject LB-Pr11972: Training Session 42. Thirty-one Unon, 533 ADU--
The practice gun in his hand is immediately returned to the rack on the wall beside him, and the small bot waits expectantly as a Maximal enters the room and strides over to him. The adult towers over him, and the child looks up hopefully, his body slumping a little in exhaustion.
The Maximal gazes down at him. "That was well-done."
The kid's face brightens, and he straightens his shoulders in pride as a smirk creeps onto his face.
"However, I'm afraid that you'll have to do it again."
His face falls in an instant. "Why? You just said it was—"
"You missed one of the targets."
"But there were twenty of them! And they were all moving! It was really hard!"
"No excuses. You're going to do it again until you get it right." He takes the gun off of the rack and hands it back to the child.
The kid takes it, but his face crumples. "But I don't want to! I'm tired!"
"No excuses. Do as you're told."
Frustrated anger bursts out of his small frame as the child throws the gun to the ground. "No! I don't want to! I'm tired and I wanna go home! I wanna go home now!"
The tone is stern and threatening. "Disobeying again?"
He stamps his foot, his temper building into a tantrum. "I wanna go home! I worked really hard today! I only missed one!"
The Maximal seizes the child's arm. "That's quite enough. I think that you're going to stay in the Bad Room for a while."
The kid gasps, the anger changing to fear. "No! Nonono, I'll be good! I'll do it again!"
"Too late. You've been bad again, and you're going to learn that bad behaviour is never acceptable here." He drags the struggling child towards a door on the same wall as the observation window.
"I don't want to go in there!" His voice is rising to a shriek as he tries and fails to pull away from the adult's strong grip. "I wasn't bad! I wasn't! I did really good! I only missed one! I can do it again and get all of them! I can!"
There is no more response from the Maximal as he opens the door, revealing only darkness beyond. He has to wrench the child's free hand from the doorframe before managing to push him all the way inside and close the door.
The sound of muted pounding and muffled screaming is picked up on the video. "Lemme out! Please! I wasn't bad! I tried really hard, I really, really did! I'm not bad!"
The Maximal ignores the noise as he turns to speak towards the observation window. "He'll say it sooner or later. These tantrums do get tiresome, though. Perhaps more work on his programming will help." He glances towards the closed door. "Still, he has only just turned nine. He may grow out of them. His skills certainly are encouraging, and he's far beyond his peers. He may be our best operative yet."
Behind the door, the screaming has turned to sobbing.
- - -
There was a chuckle from the intercom as the video shut off. "You haven't changed a bit."
Risk stood slowly, all but ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "No. That—"
"… 'Wasn't me'. Oh, no, of course not. Your body, your voice, your skills, but oh, no, it can't be you!" Crash snorted. "You're really good at foolin' yourself. No wonder it worked so well on you."
"What worked! What is all this? What does it mean? I don't remember any of it!"
"Oh, the mighty Risk doesn't remember it, therefore it never happened, is that it? Come on, didn't you ever wonder why you were so good? Found you were quite the 'natural' with a gun when you first picked one up, didn't ya?"
Risk began to back away in the direction of the door, his expression dazed. "No, no, I was good because I worked at it! I trained myself!"
"No, mate." Crash almost sounded sane. "T-Minus trained you."
"T-Minus…" Risk's memory searched itself, strained, and came up empty, yet something made him order it to run the search again and again as he inched back towards the door.
"That's right, little brother. You have a good long think about that. Oh, and that door's still locked." There was a low chuckle. "There's only one way out of this room now."
Risk froze where he was, his gaze sliding over to the other door, the one near the window. "No. Slag that."
"Now, now, haven't you learned yet that you're not allowed to say 'no' in this room? Bad things happen to bots who say 'no' here. Like me leavin' the lasers on 'til you can't run from them anymore."
Torn, Risk stared at the door, remembering the darkness behind it and the child's reaction to it. "What's in there?" His voice was a lot less steady than he had intended.
"You're just gonna have to find that out for yourself, aren't you, mate. What's to be afraid of? You're a big bot now."
"I'm not afraid!" Risk's tone sounded more petulant than angry. He lingered, still watching the door, then slowly started towards it, his apprehension building. Once he reached it, he paused once again, trying to steel himself even though he knew that there was no reason to have to do so. "It's just dark," he murmured. Switching to night vision, he opened the door.
There was nothing inside. The room was small and bare, almost a closet. Risk stepped inside, looking around in bemusement. Just a room.
"Take your time, mate." Laughter was about to burst through Crash's voice again. "You'll be in there for a while."
The door suddenly closed behind him. Risk whirled, and as he did, his night vision abruptly went to static. "What the slag…!" he blurted, quickly switching his vision to another scan mode, then another, until he had run through them all. None of them worked. All of his sensors, all of their frequencies, had been jammed. His regular vision gave him nothing. The darkness was absolute.
Reaching out blindly, Risk's fists found the door and began to pound on it, the movement straining his damaged shoulder. "Let me out of here! Hey! Open the slaggin' door!" There was no answer. He felt around, but there was no keypad or other locking mechanism on that side of the door. He was trapped.
Holding back his panic over being completely blind, Risk ran his hands over the walls, searching for anything that might help. The room felt even smaller than it was, as if the darkness was closing in on him, but he forced himself to concentrate, checking every centimeter of the walls. Having been over the side wall, he reached to the back one.
It wasn't there. Surprised and confused, Risk took a step forward and reached out again, but still encountered only empty air. Before, he had almost been able to touch the back wall while keeping his hand on the front one. He tried that again. The distance was most certainly not the same. Risk was just about to take another step, his hand still reaching for the wall, when a low, growling sound came from somewhere in front of him, where the back wall should have been.
Risk went still, tensing. Realizing a moment later that his hand was still outstretched, he quickly pulled it back. The growl came again, somehow sounding machinelike and yet not, accompanied by clanking. "Who's there?" Risk's voice wavered a little. "Crash?" His only answer was more noise, far too much noise to be made by one bot. Trying to judge the distance of the sound was almost impossible, as it seemed to echo through a space that Risk could only guess was far larger than the small room that he had entered. In an attempt to force back the fear, Risk stepped forward again, reaching out, searching for the wall, but it still wasn't there. He wanted to keep going, to prove to himself that there was probably nothing there, at least nothing to be afraid of, but for some reason he dared not move any closer nor leave his arm outstretched for long.
The noise came again, a little closer, as if something had been unleashed in the room and was advancing. Risk backed up, automatically reaching for weapons that weren't there, an irrational fear quickly growing inside him. "What's in here? Crash! Slaggin' answer me!"
Still, there was no response, and Risk stepped back again until he had pressed himself up against the door. Something was coming, and he was blind and weaponless, helpless. "Get back!" he shouted into the darkness. The noise was getting louder and closer, with ominous crackling and banging now added to the rest. Whatever it was, it sounded big, and dangerous. And it was coming for him. Risk's fluid pump hammered in his chest. "Stay away from me!"
It didn't matter that he was no longer a child. Afraid to turn away from whatever it was completely, Risk looked back through the darkness over his shoulder as he pounded on the door with both fists. "Crash! Let me out! You can't leave me in here!" His voice rose in pitch until he was screaming above the approaching terrifying sounds, every bit of logic and concentration in his mind having been taken over by pure fear. "Crash!"
- - -