Yay! Two updates in the same month! :D
Alright, so not a lot to say up here, other than the fact that I have started my original novel. Don't have a lot of material on it yet, but I am going to be working on it a lot more once this story ark is complete.
Also, I totally forgot to acknowledge the fact that Fate Calls is over 200 reviews! I feel so stupid! Haha. So to all who have been reading this story, thank you so much, and here's a cookie! *Gives cookies to fans*
And thank you for reviewing, favoriting, or adding this story to the ones you follow. I really can't put it into words how much it means to see people actually interested enough in Fate Calls to leave feedback and keep coming back. :)
Guest - Thank you. Hope you enjoy what else I have planned. :)
Thanks go to Crystal Prime for beta reading.
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro. I only take credit for this story and my OCs.
June 2, 2013 11:27 P.M
Prisoner ship Hammer, interrogation cell
I was kneeling on the floor of a cell, with my servos still cuffed, while four guards surrounded me, with six others held back near the walls, their rifles held casually yet also at the ready.
I had been taken to another shuttle after basically telling Extremis to go frag himself, and we had traveled for more than two breems before we reached a massive, dark red gas giant further out into the system. It had to have been as large as Cybertron, though maybe slightly smaller. The Paraions were using the gas giant for collecting Hydrogen and Helium, and converting it into fuel, judging by the fueling stations I had seen, along with scores of vessels docked with them. Another use the Paraions had for the giant was production of antimatter, if the particle accelerator that I saw encircling the entire planet like a great ring was being used like I suspected.
The Paraions were also using the gas giant as a prison, or at least using some of the ships in orbit as prisons, like the ship I had been transported to.
The Hammer, as Extremis had called it, was a large ship, three point seven kilometers long, from what I overheard from a guard. It once belonged to an organic race called the Na'tier, but had changed owners when the Paraions caught it scouting the outskirts of their territory, and captured and retrofitted it for their uses. It also was lightly armed, according to the standards of the Paraions. It had only one main cannon, a moderate number of anti-fighter and missile defense batteries for a vessel of its size, and only a total of sixty broadside cannons. Of course, all of its weapons were made by the Paraions, so even though it was lightly armed for its size, it could more than likely go up against a pair of Autobot ships twice its size and come out on top. Didn't bode well for us.
But fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whether you wanted to think about the massive fleet surrounding Ventqura Munitum, the Hammer was used primarily as a prison ship, so the chances of it seeing battle against my comrades was slim to none. Hundreds if not thousands of bots were imprisoned here. And I had seen members of both factions when I arrived, all held in cells just like the one I was in. At least I wasn't alone.
My thoughts were broken by the sound of the door of my cell opening, and I looked up at who was entering the room.
It was a white mech. His armor was not pure white like Extremis', though. It was dirty, scratched, and had patches of crystallized energon covering it, leading me to believe he was no stranger to... Unpleasant interrogations. He was about Prowl's height, but very, very thin. If my servos were free, I might have been able to snap him in half. That was how thin he was. His optics were dull orange in color, and carried an intelligent, uncaring look, as well as something else that didn't quite seem right. Not what you wanted to see in the optics of an interrogator.
The mech looked me up and down once, then focused on my optics. "So, you are ze Xel'Tor," he said with a smile, voice carrying a slight accent I had never heard from someone speaking the language of Cybertron. It almost sounded German. "I was expecting you to be... Taller."
That was an ironic statement, coming from someone shorter than I was, but I didn't comment on it and stayed silent.
"Not one for jokes? That is fine. I am not overly fond of them myself. I only use them to lighten the mood!" The mech said in an overly chipper voice, as if he was a comedian laughing off a bad joke. He walked over to a wall while he pressed a button on his servo, causing a holographic terminal to appear at the wall. He then started typing at the terminal. "I like to know ze names of my patients, Xel'Tor, so what is yours?"
I said nothing in response. This was my interrogator, Scalpel, going by the last thing Extremis said, pleasantries didn't apply here. I had to say, this Scalpel reminded me a lot of the annoying little spider from Revenge of the Fallen, except not a spider, and possibly a bit insane, as well. Maybe this mech was this reality's version of him.
The mech glanced at me from his terminal. "Ah. You are trying to be ze silent type. Those are always ze most stubborn." He went back to looking at his terminal. "No matter. I do not need you to talk to... Well, talk. Allow me to introduce myself, Xel'Tor. My name is Scalpel, and I will be your interrogator for ze time being, and we're going to have so much fun! Do you have any questions?"
I just stared at Scalpel in response.
"Good! Because I wasn't going to answer any questions in ze first place!" My interrogator said when I didn't reply. "Let's begin!" He finished typing on his terminal, and a metal table floated down from the ceiling, its surface covered in a number of tools that looked like they were designed for... Less than pleasant uses.
Scalpel browsed through them, smiling happily as he went through the tools. "Neural inhibitor? No, that's not it. Moleculon knife? Not it, but maybe save that for later. Plasma torch? Nope, not ze right one, either. Ah-ha!" He picked up a grey and purple cable from the table, and looked at me. "This is a Cortical psychic patch. Technology ze Decepticon scientist Shockwave developed during ze war. We stole its blueprints and developed our own version. And it's so much better! We don't even have to hook up another Cybertronian to ze other end of the cable, we can just hook one end to your CPU, and attach ze other to a computer, and ta-da! Instant source of information on a device that stores and displays it in a very clear and ordered manner! Isn't that exciting?!"
I kept my mouth shut. He was talking about going through my memories, my life, like he was a sparkling who just got a new toy. He wasn't a bit insane, he was totally insane. Fantastic.
Scalpel pouted, literally pouted, when I didn't say anything. "Aww! You're no fun. Oh, well. At least I get to have fun!" He walked over to me and put one end of the cable against my helm, and I soon felt scores of tiny little wires gripping my armor, constantly zapping me as they attached. It felt like someone was stabbing me with hot needles over and over again.
"And now to connect ze other end!" Scalpel cheered, then walked back to the table and grabbed the other end of the cable, then connected it to a port in the wall next to the terminal. He looked at me again, optics shining with giddiness while his digit hovered over button on his holographic terminal. "Ready? No? Good!" He pressed the button with that.
Pain. Pain was the only thing I felt. Having my memories forcibly copied and removed from my helm, then displayed in front of me was an indescribable feeling, and more painful and violating than anything I had ever experienced. Those were my memories, my experiences, and they were not for the taking.
But it wasn't just my memories that flashed in my vision. Green light, and images similar to the ones I saw on the station were there as well, mixed and intertwined with my memories of time I spent with Arcee, or my fellow Autobots.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain ended, and I had to put my cuffed servos out in front of me to prevent myself from falling on my faceplate.
'Well, that was... Fragging awful, and also still going,' I thought, blinking as images and green light continued flashing across my vision, less intense than when the patch was active, but still able to make it hard to see. What was I seeing, anyway? Blueprints? Still images? Memories?
I glared up at Scalpel, who was looking at the images and light I had just seen, and was still seeing, with excitement and giddiness. He was having fun doing this. Fun, like this was a game. He was a sick bastard, like Clancy had been. For a moment, I wondered what it could take to wipe that twisted grin off his faceplate.
My interrogator suddenly frowned, interrupting my thought. He glanced at me, then back to the screen of his terminal. "This cannot be it... It's not where it should be," he said, mostly to himself.
"What? Didn't find what you were looking for? How tragic," I said sarcastically, unable to keep a small smile from forming on my faceplate. They wanted something from me so badly, and after sucking memories and files from my helm, what they were looking for wasn't there. I found that to be humorous.
"Quiet, you," Scalpel said, lacking the giddy tone from earlier as he looked at the screen.
"Nah, I don't feel like it. I mean, you did just make copies of my memories, so I really don't have a reason to care about what you want," I said, taunting Scalpel by sounding like I was making pleasant conversation with one of my fellow Autobots, even though I hated him. "Now, if you were to give me a washrack, some high-grade, and maybe a gun or tw-"
Electricity abruptly started coursing through my frame, causing me to shut up in an instant as I focused on dealing with the new wave of pain.
As quickly as it appeared, the electricity vanished, and I saw Scalpel glaring at me from his terminal, one servo holding a device that looked like a switch. "I said, quiet," the interrogator commanded with an angry tone, annoyance clear on his faceplate.
"Why? Do I annoy you? Good," I said, enjoying taunting Scalpel by using part of one of his lines on him. Probably not the most intelligent thing to do with your interrogator, but I didn't care at the moment. I still didn't know Arcee's condition, and that was all that was important to me.
Scalpel huffed at me, then flipped the switch in his servo, sending another wave of electricity coursing through my frame.
After a few micro-klicks, the electricity stopped, and Scalpel handed the switch off to a guard. "I must speak with Extremis and Praxis, use this whenever ze Xel'Tor acts up," he instructed, then walked out of the door of the cell, leaving me alone with the guards, and the lingering flashes of images and green light.
I get the feeling this was going to happen a lot.
"His processor is a mess," Scalpel said to the holograms of Extremis and Praxis, who were using QECs from different locations, one in Extremis' sanctuary, and the other onboard the Omnipotence, the capital ship of the fleet.
"Explain, Doctor," Extremis' hologram instructed blankly, his holographic pedes crossed over one another.
"It is a mess! Whatever ze ship of ze Thirteen, or ze other object, gave him has scrambled his CPU like an earthquake shakes the ground," Scalpel replied. "His memory banks are filled with information and data, but it has been thrown into ze same place. And too much data in one place creates messes, and ze Xel'Tor's CPU is messier than my best interrogations!"
Extremis' hologram sipped from the cube of energon in his servo. "Can you sort through the data in his processor?"
Scalpel scoffed, his less than sane CPU overriding the logical decision of not insulting or being sarcastic to Extremis. "Do you know how much information there is to sort thought? Ze average Cybertronian CPU contains centi-vorns of totally meaningless and random video files, and it would take just as long to analyze all of them," he said in a slightly condescending tone, typical of many scientists, though not typically a way a member of the Paraions spoke to their leader. "But that's not all! Because of ze information ze Xel'Tor was given, his memories are completely and totally indistinguishable from ze data, meaning we have to analyze both his memories, and ze data he was given! Not only that, but ze data is not even complete! There are breaks, gaps in ze information, which I cannot find a cause for. So you tell me, Extremis, can we sort through ze data? Can we? CAN WE?!"
The hologram of the Paraions' leader regarded Scalpel flatly. "Doctor, I will say this once. Do not assume you are smarter, and more entitled to respect, than I am. Remember that you are not the first chief interrogator in the ranks of my followers, and I can easily find another to take your place," he said, voice like ice despite the fact his tone was unchanged. "Keep your pride locked away with your insanity when you are speaking to me. Am I understood?"
Scalpel's haughty attitude vanished in an instant, and he had to suppress a shudder at his leader's words. "Yes, sir," he said, no trace of his earlier tone, or his slight break in coherent speech. He would have to see a medic about getting a larger dose of medication.
"A wise decision, Doctor," Extremis said. "Now, explain what you mean by the information inside the Xel'Tor's processor being incomplete."
The interrogator gave the smallest of shrugs, not trying to inadvertently get himself on Extremis' almost infinitely patient nerves. Almost infinitely patient. "I honestly do not know what to think of it. Along with ze fact ze Xel'Tor's processor is a mess, ze data he received is fragmented like I previously stated. One portion of an image is clear, and the next is not. One blueprint is as it should be, but ze following one is so distorted it cannot be read. And from what I can tell, all ze information I recovered from ze Xel'Tor's CPU is like this. It is as if we, or he, are missing key pieces of ze puzzle, and without them, ze puzzle cannot be understood."
"If you are correct, Doctor, then how many pieces of this puzzle is the Xel'Tor missing?" Extremis asked, not at all reacting to the news that the Xel'Tor may not be as useful as he expected.
A mech completely separated from emotion, that one. "Without knowing how much information came from ze ship of ze Thirteen, and how much came from ze other object, it is impossible to know for certain. Two would be my best guess, but with information like this, that number could increase or decrease."
Extremis' hologram kept its gaze on Scalpel for a moment, then looked at Praxis' hologram. "You have analyzed the Doctor's report more thoroughly than I have, do your own findings support Chief Scalpel's?"
"They do, sir," Praxis replied simply.
With Scalpel's report backed by his SIC, Extremis' hologram looked back at his chief interrogator. "Then there is no alternative. Doctor, continue analyzing the contents of the Xel'Tor's processor, and update the data with repeated Cortical psychic patch sessions. There is a chance the Xel'Tor may be able to organize the information by himself."
Scalpel's optics lit up, and the dark part of his CPU was immediately interested. "How often should I perform ze procedure, sir?" He asked, excitement obvious in his voice.
"As many times as you deem necessary," Extremis answered blankly, then deactivated his end of the QEC, his SIC following his example shortly after.
After his commander's cut their ends of the QEC, Scalpel smiled in giddiness and walked out of the communications room, almost bouncing in excitement.
He was going to have fun!
I looked up at the sound of the door opening again, and Scalpel stepped inside the cell, a sickening grin plastered on his faceplate, and a look of... Wrong in his optics. This couldn't be good.
My interrogator picked the cable of the Cortical psychic patch off the floor, having been removed from the terminal by one of the guards after Scalpel had left the cell, and smiled at me. "Who's up for round two? And maybe a round three and four after?!"
Well, this was going to suck...
June 24, 2013 4:19 P.M
Autobot base, outside Jasper, Nevada
Since she onlined, Arcee had done everything she could to recover from her injury as quickly as possible. Sneak out of the med-bay to slowly get her strength back, mix medicine in with her cubes of energon, both low-grade and high-grade, ask Moonracer or Ratchet to give her regular doses of nanite-enhancing gel. She had done it all.
And she succeeded, too. She was officially released from the med-bay more than a jour sooner than expected. Fully fit for duty.
Just in time for Shadow's memorial.
Rain fell in heavy, constant sheets. But no thunder cracked the air, or lightning flash in the clouds. It was just a steady downpour. It was as if the sky itself was mourning, weeping at the scene beneath it.
Arcee stood in a perfect 'at attention' stance. Servos flat against her sides, pedes together, not at their usual distance from one another, shoulder-joints in, chestplates out, optics forward-facing and blank, and faceplate devoid of emotion. Although, she didn't have to even try to achieve those last two.
Her fellow Autobots stood in the exact same stance Arcee was, standing at a precise distance from one another, totally motionless.
The back rank was made up, from left to right, by Smokescreen, the twins, Springer, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Flareup, Ironhide, and Moonracer.
The front rank was made up, from right to left, by Ratchet, Jetfire, Chromia, Jazz, Elita, Prowl, Optimus, and Arcee herself, with an empty space next to her, symbolizing the one they lost, Shadow'.
The children, Agent Fowler, and June were there, too, dressed in more formal clothes than they normally wore, at least in the case of June and the children, Fowler already wore a suit wherever he went. They all had umbrellas out, and were doing what they could to keep their formal wear out of the rain.
Across from Arcee and her fellow Autobots, stood the entirety of Shadow Company, along with one soldier who was not a part of the elite unit. All were dressed in the Service Dress Uniforms of their respective branches and militaries, not paying any attention to the pouring rain. They were all standing at ease, feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind their backs, eyes forward. The S.T.F 141 soldiers stood in seven ranks of twenty, and had seven members standing in a line off to their left, rifles with stocks made of dark wood planted at their sides, while Master Sergeant Epps stood behind them. The two commanding officers, Colonel Lennox and Captain MacTavish, stood at ease on the opposite side.
General Shepherd himself was there as well, standing at the side of Lennox and MacTavish, wearing his own Service Dress Uniform, the Service Ribbons, Military Badges, and Metals strapped to his uniform almost making it seem like a piece of armor was attached to his breast.
When the news of Shadow's offlining had reached the rest of the S.T.F through Lennox, MacTavish, and Epps, General Shepherd had contacted base, asked what happened, gone silent for one moment when his question was answered, then offered to give Shadowstreaker full military honors, whenever his memorial took place. It was, officially, for the service he rendered for not just the S.T.F on occasion, but for how he helped to keep Earth safe from the Decepticons while with Team Prime. But unofficially, it was to let several of his men say goodbye to a friend they had made within the Autobots, and to let Optimus know that while many within his government only saw them as tools or machines, Shepherd held them all in the highest honor, and treated one of their losses as one of his own.
The human general suddenly stepped out from beside Lennox and MacTavish in precise, ordered steps, each one arrow straight and the exact same distance between them, and turned on his heel in a practiced motion that let him face Shadow's memorial, a simple pile of smooth rocks like Cliffjumper's, which was located right next to it, while at the same time letting the general be able to see all of Shadow Company out of his peripheral vision.
"Atten-TION!" Shepherd bellowed, and the soldiers of Shadow Company instantly stood at attention, in almost the exact same stance that Arcee and her fellow Autobots stood in. "Present, ARMS!" The S.T.F soldiers followed the command of their leader by snapping a crisp, synchronized salute, and the other soldiers in a line outside the main rank picked the stocks of their rifles off the ground and held them in an odd grip that had them holding their weapons in front of them, with the barrels pointed at the sky.
All was silent, save the water falling from the sky, until Sergeant Epps directed the seven men in front of him, "Atten-tion. Standby, ready," he said, voice softer than General Shepherd's bellows, and the men in front of him shifted position again, now standing with their legs at a forty-five degree angle, their rifles across their chests.
Sergeant Epps went on, "Ready." The soldiers flipped the safeties of their rifles off. "Aim." They readied their weapons by aiming them at an angle that would take their shots over the memorial of Shadow'. "Fire." Seven gunshots rang out, cutting through the relative silence and echoing off the walls of the mountains around the base.
The Master Sergeant repeated those three words twice more, then he repeated an earlier order, "Atten-tion."
The seven armed soldiers returned to their previous position, standing with their rifles held in front of them, barrels pointed at the sky.
The one soldier who was not part of Shadow Company put some type of brass horn to his lips after the seven other men finished their volleys, and started to play a tune from it.
It was a simple tune, yet powerful and moving, haunting and solem, which was only amplified by the downpour. To Arcee, it was as if the simple tune spoke for the fallen, both in human battle, and the war for Cybertron. It spoke of all the lives that had been lost in this war. Of the countless friends she had to say farewell to far too early. Of the partners she had failed, Tailgate, Cliffjumper... And Shadow', her Shadow'. It made her want to strengthen her walls even more than they already were, but three nudges from the bonds she shared with her sisters and Ironhide kept her from doing so.
In just over one klick, the soldier finished his tune. In one smooth motion, he tucked his horn against his side, and saluted Shadow's memorial. He stayed in that position for several micro-klicks, then slowly let his hand lower to his side.
General Shepherd turned on his heel, causing him to face the Autobots. "Forward, MARCH!" He ordered, and as one, every human soldier present began marching toward the Autobots, completely in sync with each other.
After they had taken seven steps forward, Shepherd bellowed again, "Left, FACE!" And every soldier turned on their heels, now facing the general direction of the elevator, and continued marching on. And continued to do so until they were near the elevator, and Shepherd ordered them to turn right and into it. Then they vanished, their respects having been payed.
After the S.T.F soldiers left, Jack looked down at his girlfriend, who had her arm looped through his. "Come on, Miko, let's go pay our respects," he said in a calm voice, having already grieved for his friend, and now taking up his unofficial role as the leader of the three teens, and appearing strong.
The Japanese girl nodded her head mutely and began walking forward with her boyfriend. She had taken her hair out of her signature braid and twin pigtails, letting her hair out to its full length, which was almost down to her hips. She also was uncharacteristically serious. Perhaps hearing Shadow' had been offlined had popped the bubble in her own little world that said the Autobots were invincible.
The young human couple approached Shadow's memorial, and they both placed a white pinkish flower on the lower stones, then walked toward the elevator arm in arm, speaking in quiet voices that Arcee could hear, but tuned out.
Raf was next, and he placed another flower on the memorial, before walking in the direction of Jack and Miko with his head lowered slightly. Arcee knew Shadow' had been the first friend he'd lost, and it was still affecting him.
June placed a pure white flower on the memorial. Arcee had heard that to some humans, certain flowers held different meanings at funerals, but she didn't understand what each flower meant.
Jack's mother whispered something that sounded like, 'Thank you' to Shadow's memorial, but Arcee was still tuning out the world around her, and didn't know for certain if that was what she said. She went to follow the children to the elevator.
Agent Fowler was the last human to pay his respects, and he kept it simple. He saluted, crispy and with the best posture he could manage while holding an umbrella with one hand. "Find peace, wherever you are, son," he said, loud enough to be heard, but not enough to be disrespectful. He turned and walked in the footsteps of the other humans, leaving the Autobots alone.
Now, it was the Autobots' turn.
In the time before the war, the old Cybertronian military had many traditions and ceremonies related to the passing of a soldier, both on and off the battlefield, with many bearing similarities to the traditions of human funerals, it seemed. Most of those traditions and customs had been taken by the war, or by the necessity of focusing on the living, instead of giving every offlined a lengthy funeral.
But, the Autobots refused to give up one tradition, unlike the Decepticons, who scrapped their offlined for parts. And that was the Final Parting, an ancient tradition that dated back to the Golden Age, or perhaps longer, records from before didn't exist. It involved every bot in the unit of the offlined Autobot going up to their memorial, saluting, reciting the Final Parting, and walking away. The order in which each femme or mech went up to the memorial started with the lowest-ranking bot, and then ascended ranks until it came to the CO. The offlined bot's partner, however, always went last out of tradition, to allow them an extended goodbye, if they wished.
'As if that made losing a partner easier to go through,' Arcee thought.
Smokescreen, being the lowest-ranking Autobot present, stepped back walked behind his rank and toward Shadow's memorial, using the training drilled into him at Basic. Each step straight and exacted, turning on his heel whenever he needed to change direction, door-wings twitching as little as possible.
The white and blue mech reached Shadow's memorial in a few short micro-klicks, looked down a little at the memorial, and brought his right fist against his chestplates, just above his spark, the formal salute of both the Autobots and Decepticons. "I am sorry, war-brother, for you left this life before we could rebuild Cybertron together. I am sorry, war-brother, for I failed in protecting you as your war-brother, while you succeeded in protecting me, for I stand here now. I am sorry, war-brother, for we will remain apart until the cycle Primus deems my time to join Him. Farewell, war-brother, may your time among the Sparks of All be peaceful, and may this be the final time we part. 'Till All Are One," he said in the language of Cybertron, reciting the Final Parting, modified by the Autobots to suit the fallen in the war for their home world.
With his part said, Smokescreen turned on his heel and walked away from Shadow's memorial, and into the elevator, still keeping his steps precise, and turning on his heel when necessary.
One by one, the other Autobots walked to Shadowstreaker's memorial, saluted, and recited the Final Parting, and then left. The twins had gone after Smokescreen, then Springer, Bulkhead, Bumblebee, Flareup, Ironhide, Moonracer, Ratchet, Jetfire, Chromia, Jazz, Elita, Prowl, and then Optimus, making Arcee the only one remaining on top of the base.
The blue and pink femme stood there for more than a klick, before finally bringing herself to step toward her partner's memorial, Shadow's Ion Displacer clanging against her backplates and flattened wings. She had been given a lot of free time recently, and had taken great care in repairing both Shadow's Nucleon and his Ion Displacer, picking the replacement parts carefully, and making sure the repairs were seamless. It was what he would have done, and she wanted to make sure his favorite weapons were exactly the way he had last used them.
Of, course, she couldn't use them herself, they were too bulky for her to use them effectively in the field, and they weighed her down. It had only been a kind of therapy for her, repairing the weapons of her partner, though it did little to heal the void in her spark. She just hoped that in the next life, Shadow' appreciated the sentiment behind her repairs.
Arcee reached Shadow's memorial, and crouched down next to it, foregoing protocol and tradition for the time being. This was different than the other memorials Arcee had been present for. For Tailgate's, she had followed protocol like a machine, still recovering from how she watched him be executed. For Cliff's, she had gone through the motions numbly during his memorial the night he was offlined.
But this... This was different. She didn't want to follow protocol with this one, didn't want to part with such a generic farewell. It just didn't... Feel right in her spark, and now, she was going to push her training aside so her spark would drive her actions.
"Hey, Shadow'," she said to the memorial, voice coming out as a blank whisper. She didn't know why she started talking, but that was part of letting her spark drive her. "Been a long time since we talked, for... Obvious reasons."
She received no response from her partner's memorial, just silence.
Arcee sighed quietly. This was already feeling awkward. She was tempted to just go with tradition, but she pushed her thoughts aside, and continued letting her spark direct her. "I would have been up here sooner, but I was still in the med-bay," she said. "Almost getting shot through the spark slows recovery times, but I worked hard to get out as quickly as I could. Ratchet's a nightmare whenever you try to walk after being seriously injured. You know, I don't know how you managed to keep your sanity with all the time you spent in there." The blue and pink femme chuckled lightly at her joke, faintly thinking that it was sad that the first time she had laughed since onlining in the med-bay was during a fake conversation with her deceased partner. "And come to think of it, I don't know how you managed to get injured so much. After all, you were strong, had constant access to two heavy weapons, and had the strongest armor out of all of us. That would have prevented injuries, right?"
Her partner's memorial, obviously, remained silent, though Arcee imagined Shadow', her Shadow', saying something about how his size, armor, and arsenal of weapons only made him a priority target in the optics of the Decepticons, and joke that it was that or he had a targeted painted on his chestplates since he became a Cybertronian and wasn't aware of it.
Arcee smiled and chuckled again, then let her smile falter. "Guess you don't need to worry about injuries anymore, huh?"
The sound of the rain hitting the ground and impacting her frame was the only response she received.
"You and I, we had some good times, didn't we? Made some great memories together," the blue and pink femme went on. "Like when we were taking care of Wildwing, or how we inadvertently started Jack and Miko's relationship." She chuckled lightly, hollowly. "Not going to have anymore of those, will we?"
No reply came from the memorial.
Arcee reached behind her and pulled Shadow's Ion Displacer from her backplates. "Here, partner, thought you'd like to have this back. It's in better shape than you left it, but I've had a lot of time on my servos, so I figured I'd repair it for you... Seeing as you can't do it." She placed the rotary cannon on the ground, leaning it against the memorial. "I hope you find a use for it in the afterlife."
With her farewells said, Arcee should have wanted to stand, to get on with tradition, but she found that she didn't. She was unable, and unwilling, to move. It was if something inside her was screaming at her to stay, to not leave Shadow's memorial. Maybe it was because she had yet to say goodbye... Or maybe it was because she hadn't gotten everything off her chestplates.
Arcee leaned forward slowly, until her forehelm touched the cool, wet stones of the memorial. "And wherever you are, partner... Know that I loved you, with everything that I was. And that my feelings will never change, until I, too, am called Home."
She stayed in that position for a long time, until she finally stood to her full height, saluted, and recited the Final Parting. When she finished the ancient farewell, she added, "Goodbye... My Shadow'." She turned on her heel and walked toward the elevator with that, reinforcing her walls so her emotions had no chance of getting the better of her.
Getting in the elevator and the ride down was mostly a blur to Arcee, but when the lift reached ground level, she turned left, heading directly for her quarters. She needed seclusion.
After a short walk, she reached her quarters. But, when she went to enter her password, she paused, and felt the impulse to look across the hall, to her partner's old quarters. She had the password to get inside, given to her by Optimus that morning, who, as Prime, had a backup of every password in case an Autobot was felled in battle. Like Shadow'.
She debated about whether or not to go into Shadow's old quarters for a moment, CPU arguing that going into her deceased partner's quarters would only hurt her, while her spark urged her to enter his former living quarters.
Her spark quickly won the debate.
Arcee turned around, typed her partner's password into the control panel, and stepped inside and closed the door behind her. And for the first time, Arcee realized, she was standing on her partner's quarters.
They were larger than hers, though not by much. There were shelves on either side of the room, holding a few data pads, but mostly items that were clearly souvenirs from missions.
The collection was far smaller than Arcee's, but there were still a considerable number of objects, many of which she had seen Shadow' sub-space in the field.
Shadow' had his desk in the same area Arcee had place her own, though his berth was straight ahead unlike her own, and his workbench was cleaner, more ordered. The entire room was like that, in fact. Everything had its appointed place, and it always returned there when it was not in use. It suited her partner's personality.
Arcee went to the desk and sat down, noting how it was built for a bot much larger than her, but not caring. She looked at everything in the room, silently wondering why her spark directed her here in the first place.
There wasn't anything in here that the Autobots needed, since Optimus had removed the Energon Harvester while Arcee was still in the med-bay, just in case it was needed and they required quick access to it. Nothing in the room was valuable per-se, it was mostly junk Shadow' took as reminders of missions, with some weapons or mods thrown in the mix. So why did her spark urge her to come in here?
Could it just be because she hadn't seen her partner's quarters before this, and her spark wanted to see what it looked like before she cleaned it out? No, that made no logical sense. She wasn't planning on cleaning it out for a few solar-cycles at least, and she would see a lot of this room while doing that. Perhaps her spark just wanted her to sit down for a while. But, again, that made no sense. She could have sat down in her own quarters if that was the case. Her spark must have brought guided her to this room for a reason. But what?
She looked around, trying to find an answer in the souvenirs on the shelves. But after several micro-klicks of searching, she found none. They did, however, remind her of many missions the two of them had been on together. The Antarctic, the Amazon, Colorado to recover the Delphic, countless skirmishes and energon recovery missions, and when they had been Wildwing's temporary care-taker-
The thought of their shared responsibility as the temporary care-taker of Wildwing brought up her memory files of when the sparking had crashed to Earth, and how Shadow' had acted after the sparkling's pod had almost crushed them.
He had risen from the ground rather quickly, and looked slightly alarmed, even embarrassed, at the position they had fallen into, with both of them lying on the ground, looking at the crashed escape pod while one of his servos was wrapped around her tank.
Arcee had understood why he had been alarmed, since the position they had been in was an intimate one, and all he had done was push the two of them out of the way of the crashing pod. But now she wondered why he had been embarrassed at the time. He had, after all, been distracted by Wildwing's arrival, and hadn't realized his servo had been around her tank until after the dust settled down a bit. Why had that been embarrassing to him?
Another memory file came forward, one of when her partner accidentally saw her in the washrack before they constructed a washrack for the femmes and the mechs. He had been very awkward at that time, which was perfectly understandable, given the situation, and the unspoken threat Arcee had given him. Now she was noticing that he had been affected for longer than he should have. It had clearly been an accident, and one he had been respectful of after the initial… Sighting. Why did an accident affect him so much?
A new memory file replaced the one of the… Incident. It was when Shadow' had come into her quarters to check up on her after her first encounter with Airachind in centi-vorns, and had ended up comforting her when she explained what happened to Tailgate. They had come close to kissing at that time, having both chosen to look at the other at the exact same time. Both of them had become frozen, unable to move for a moment, before Shadow' had practically jumped off the berth, uttered a few stuttered words, stood there in silence for a micro-klick, then said an awkward farewell and left. Part of Arcee had understood why he had been so awkward at the time, considering the position they had been in, but another part of her had been curious as to why he had been that awkward. Pulling back his helm and apologizing for the near-contact would have sufficed. Now, that curious part of Arcee was back to thinking about why he had reacted in the manner he had.
Yet another memory file appeared, this one of when her partner gave his Revolutionary war musket to her as her creation day present. It had taken him a mega-cycle to clean, polish, and restore the old human weapon. He put a lot of work into it, and he had given it to her without a second thought, just handed it to her with a smile. Her spark pulsed once, sadly, at the thought of how she never had the chance to give him the old Hoplite Armor she had found buried in the dirt on an energon scouting mission to Greece, something she was hoping he would have liked as much as she had liked the musket. But, that thought was quickly replaced, and she pondered why he had bothered to give her a gift like that, instead of trying to find something else she would have liked which wouldn't have taken so much work.
Another memory file appeared, this one had occurred on the cycle Shadow' had first onlined after Megatron shot him, after the others had left the med-bay. They had talked seriously for a short time, with Arcee informing her partner' of how she didn't know how losing a third partner would affect her, how right she had been at the time. Shadow' had helped reassure her then, and also given a really cliche speech, which they both took note of. But what she was just now noticing, was that while they had been talking about less serious matters, their servos had gripped each other without either of them trying or noticing, and neither of them tried to break the contact, or even thought anything of it when they parted a few breems later. Why hadn't either of them addressed that?
A final memory file appeared, this last one occurring just before they left on the mission that led to Shadow's offlining. He had walked up to her with a purpose in his steps, greeted her formally, something he never did, then fallen silent for a long time, looking like he was trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he had addressed her again, and tried to say something else, but was cut off by the forged message arriving. What had he tried to say? It started with an 'L,' she knew that much, then it sounded like an 'O' followed it, but wha-
The sudden realization hit Arcee hard enough that she didn't react, or feel, an electric shock course through her frame, starting from her spark, felt like it was being pulled by an invisible force. She didn't notice, and only focused on what she just figured out.
Shadow' had loved her, like she loved him.
Had Arcee not already been virtually numb to the world, she would have gone numb. Her partner had loved her, and she had been too dense to realize it until after he was gone, after they had their chance for happiness.
The signs had been there all along. How he became very awkward or embarrassed when around her, when he never became that way when he wasn't near her. How he stood up for her when she wasn't present, like when Springer was insulting her behind her backplates back before he changed, which she still was getting used to. How he went out of his way to make sure she was safe. How he reacted to seeing her captured by MECH in one of his visions, and had rushed to where she was without backup and without hesitating. All the signs had been there all along.
Had she noticed just a few jours before, they could have been together, could have courted, unashamedly kissed each other in the middle of the ops center if they had so choose, and not surprised anyone else on base, except perhaps Bulkhead. They could have been an actual couple, had Arcee just pushed her fears aside and told him. But now, they would never be together in this life.
The blue and pink femme slammed down on the rush of emotions that wanted to break down her walls so firmly and suddenly, that Ironhide and her sisters sent comm requests to her, since she had turned her comm-link off. They also were sending worried emotions through their ends of the bonds.
Arcee turned her comm-link back on and accepted the requests from her family. But even during the conversations that followed, her processor was still thinking on what she had learned, and how different things might have been if she had seen it earlier.
One thing was certain. Shadow' had better still be single when she was finally called Home.
June 24, 2013 1:01 P.M
Tropical island in the Pacific
I laid down on the white sand of the beach, optics closed, wings folded against my backplates to prevent any possible discomfort. Now this… This I could get used to.
The sand was soft, loose. But it also wasn't so loose that it was getting into my armor.
Waves crashed against the shore of the small island I was on, providing an unending supply of relaxing music. The water came far enough up the beach to lap against my pedes, but not so far that they disrupted the sand under most of my frame.
The sky was perfectly clear, a steady breeze was blowing from the South, and the Sun was beating down on me at about eighty-five degrees. Not too hot or cold, according to my personal preferences.
Everything was just right. Although, it felt like something important was missing…
A slender servo suddenly rested on my chestplates, and I felt a feminine frame move up against my side.
I smiled. Now everything was just right.
I placed one of my servos on top of the one on my chestplates, opened my optics, and looked to my side.
Arcee smiled back at me, azure optics shining in happiness. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," I said back as I wrapped my other servo around her. "Enjoying the time off?"
"Yes. Among other things," the blue and pink femme replied, taking advantage of the extra room I gave her by moving my servo and moving closer to me. "You?"
"Same," I answered. "It's nice to just relax for a while, and spend time with you."
The femme of my dreams smiled slightly and raised an optic ridge. "You realize I'm not real, right?"
The smile that had been on my faceplate since I started to relax fell. "Yes, I know," I said, turning away from Arcee and looking up at the clear blue sky. "It's just… Nice, to have some motivation."
"I'm a fragment of your imagination, I can't give you any motivation," the fake Arcee said. "Not the type of motivation you desire."
"No, but right now you're as close to the real Arcee as I can get," I said, unwrapping my servo from my imagined Arcee and standing up so I could start walking along the beach. As close to the real thing, but so far from it, that is.
"Something you create in your CPU, is not an effective substitute for the real-life counterpart," my imagination of Arcee said, disappearing from where she was lying on the sand and reappearing beside me, walking with me with her servos folded behind her backplates.
I looked out over the sea, not looking at my imagined version of the femme who captured my spark. "I am well aware of this fact."
"Then why do you keep creating an image of me?" My imagination of Arcee asked.
"Because a memory isn't the same as being with someone in person," I answered with a small frown as I continued looking out at the sea. This happened every time. I had a few moments of blissful ignorance, then my imagination turned on me. My imagination was supposed to obey me, not question why I imagined things.
My imagined Arcee appeared in the water, walking through it like there was a glass floor only a few feet below the surface. "Your imagination does obey you. And right now, you are imagining this conversation, including each and every one of my responses and explanations."
I huffed. "Then why bother even manipulating my dreams?"
"You already know the answer to that. You are merely visualizing your thoughts in this manner," my imagination of Arcee replied.
I looked away from my imagination of Arcee, and turned my gaze straight ahead. My visualization of Arcee was right, of course. I kept making this my dream was because I had nothing else to grab onto, to look at for any measure of hope.
The last mega-cycle, jour, orbital-cycle, I honestly didn't know anymore, was far from… Comfortable. Every cycle was the same. Online in a cell, Cortical psychic patch session with an insane interrogator in his endless search for something in my helm, beatings and torture with an insane interrogator to satisfy his anger at not finding what he was looking for, processor games with an insane interrogator for no apparent reason than his enjoyment, actual games with an insane interrogator because he had no friends, or was simply bored. Repeat the following cycle.
My imagination of Arcee represented the only thing keeping me together right now. The thought, and hope, that she was still on Earth, alive and well. And that some cycle, I could find a place like this island and take her there when I returned… If I returned.
"Creating a visual image of your hope does not further your resolve, it weakens it. For if you find that the shape of the person or idea you put your hope in does not fit with the image you have created, it shatters," my imagined Arcee stated as she appeared in front of me, lounging under a Coconut Tree just beyond the beach.
I sighed. This again. "I know, but memories and images are all I have."
My imagination of Arcee looked at me, seriousness filling her fake optics. "The chances of her having passed on to the next life, far exceed the odds of her survival," she said, emotionlessly and blankly.
Ah, so there's my logical side. Was wondering when it would show up. Time for a debate. "Love has nothing to do with logic," I said, used to the sudden mood changes of my imagined Arcee, since every side of my processor was involved in imagining her.
"And your hope most likely does not love you back," my imagined Arcee countered.
"She won't need to. All she has to do is be there, and I will be alright," I said.
"And if she is gone? What happens to your hope?" The fake Arcee asked, disappearing from under the tree and reappearing in front of me, fake optics staring into my own.
"If she's gone, what else is there for me to hope for?" I asked in kind, tone hollow. If she was offline… I really don't know what I would do. I was well aware that her injury had been… Grievous. She lost a lot of energon in a very short time, that coupled with the fact the wound was so close to her spark made it worse. The odds of her having survived it were very slim, even with Optimus running to get her back to base in time. But I couldn't, wouldn't, give up the hope she was still online. It was all that was keeping me going.
"And that is why you must find something else to look to for hope. You will break if she is offline," my imagined Arcee stated factually, crossing her servos over her chestplates and beginning to pace in front of me.
I gave the fragment of my imagination a blank look. "There's nothing else I can find hope in."
"You must. There are others close to you besides her. Your fellow Autobots, your creators, many members of the S.T.F 141, your human friends at base. Allowing yourself to break would be letting them all down," the fake Arcee pointed out.
I looked away from my imagination of Arcee, and back out at the ocean. "None of them are her," I whispered. I knew my logical side was right, I wouldn't have imagined the fake Arcee saying it otherwise, but it didn't change the fact that I would never be the same mech if she was gone. Nothing would make me better if that was the case. My logic would completely take over. I would be emotionless, almost uncaring, like the robot many humans would see me as.
My imagination of Arcee reappeared in front of me, fake azure optics meeting my own. "Did you not tell her to never lose the fear of losing friends? To not become numb? For if she did, that she would become the machine many humans will see Cybertronians as? If you do not listen to your own words, what does that make you?"
I blinked once, slowly, without turning away from the fake Arcee's gaze. "A hypocrite."
"And how would she react to that? To you not following your own advice and abandoning those close to you?" My imagination of Arcee asked, tone still emotionless.
"Badly," I answered as I turned my helm to the right, lost in thought. "Very badly."
"Then if you cannot find something else to find hope in, prepare yourself for the worst, and to follow your own advice," my imagined Arcee said.
I closed my optics and let out a breath. I didn't want to prepare myself for the worst. It would feel like I was giving up on her, surrendering my hope to the cold logic of the chances of her having survived her injury were far less than her having surccumbed to it. I couldn't do it.
But at the same time, if I didn't prepare myself for the worst, I would most certainly break, and what I would do in the immediate aftermath of finding out she was gone was impossible to predict. It wasn't something I wanted to think about, yet at the same time had to if I was to prepare myself for the worst.
I hated conflicted thoughts.
My imagined Arcee reached up and turned my helm to look at her again, a serious look set on her faceplate. "The easiest course of action is never the best," she said quietly, voicing the thoughts I had created subconsciously.
We stood there for a micro-klick, then she leaned forward, almost as if to kiss me, but she stopped well before my lips. "Time to get up," she whispered so quietly that it was barely audible to my audio receptors, despite our close proximity.
And then I onlined.
June 24, 2013 4:29 P.M
Prisoner ship Hammer, interrogation cell
My optics snapped open, the pain of my numerous injuries hitting me in full force as I onlined. Various cuts, shallow stab wounds, and burn marks from a plasma torch were all across my frame, all from Scalpel's interrogations. Though my most painful injury technically wasn't an injury. It was my wings, or rather, the restraint on my wings. It kept them bent and out of place, together and not apart like they should have been.
It was something Scalpel had done to make it harder to concentrate. It was working, for the most part. At times, it was hard to focus on things other than pain, or what he was saying. But I was starting to get used to it. Not sure if that was bad or not.
I turned my helm from side to side, breaking off the usual build up of ice that formed there. That was another tactic Scalpel was using to make it harder for me to concentrate, or in this case even think. The temperature had been turned down to well below zero, almost to the point where my systems would be damaged by the cold, but not quite. My interrogator had then made the air humid, creating ice on every surface, including me.
My guards, or at least each shift of them, never had such problems, since they were equipped with heat packs that kept their armor too warm for ice to form. Lucky bastards.
I started to stretched my neck cables, breaking the tiny icicles that had formed between my cables and gears. After I had done that, I moved my backplates to break the slabs of ice that had formed there while I recharged. Then I stood up, breaking the ice that joined my pedes to the floor, and removed as much of the frozen water from my pedes as I could by hitting them against each other, or just by bending them until the ice was deformed and fell off my armor.
It only took a few micro-klicks for me to clear my pedes of ice. I had gotten a lot of chances to perfect a routine that was as efficient as possible, which really wasn't anything to be proud of.
I remained standing after I finished clearing off ice, my usual habit after the first cycle of staying in this cell. It was to show Scalpel that he hadn't broken me. A small victory to shoot for, but it never failed to make my interrogator pause in the doorway when he entered the cell for the first time of the cycle.
And he would be arriving in a few klicks, if he kept to his schedule. My internal clock read that it was late in the afternoon, but it was severely off, since this system was running on a different cycle of time than Earth. That always left me clueless as to the time of the solar-cycle, but I was now used to the seemingly odd breems.
I brought myself out of my thoughts and checked my internal clock again. Now, unless Scalpel was busy with another prisoner, he should be walking through the door right about… Now.
Right as I predicted, the door to my cell opened, and Scalpel stepped inside, pausing briefly with a small frown when he saw I was standing up.
"I see you are still refusing to accept ze inevitable," my interrogator said as he walked toward me with his servo behind his backplates, having to look up at me since I was more than ten feet taller than him. "I will break you completely and utterly at some point, don't you worry! And trying to achieve that goal has been so much fun!"
I didn't react to his statement. I had learned to lock down any and all emotion while he was present, and even while he wasn't, since I suspected my cell had hidden cameras. If I reacted to something he said, it would be a sign of weakness, and he would exploit it.
"Nothing to say this morning?" He asked, odd voice almost friendly. "You are a murderer of fun! Oh, well. Hook him up."
A nearby guard attached one end of the Cortical psychic patch to the port in the wall, and the other to my helm, but I didn't react to the pain it brought. I had been through it enough that it didn't register to me now.
Scalpel walked over to where his holographic terminal was located and activated it, then hovered his servo over the button that would activate the patch. "Let round one, begin!" He pressed the button.
The pain of the Cortical psychic patch had lessened greatly since he first went through my CPU, and it still hurt like few things I had ever experienced, but I remained standing throughout the entire process. I had been through this too many times for me to count, so it was losing its effectiveness. That and it was nothing compared to some of the torture Scalpel had put me through. Sick fragger.
As was the usual, images and green light mixed in with my memories flashed before me as they were copied and transferred to Scalpel's terminal. They were the same every single time, from what I could tell, though there was so many of them that it was difficult to know for certain. I hadn't been able to understand a single one, either, and since Scalpel was never happy after this process, neither had my interrogator. It was like I was in almost constant suffering because fuzzy images of… Something, were in my helm.
Seemed like a stupid reason to be tortured. At least, right now it did. Maybe when I actually knew what what was flashing before me meant, I would understand. Who knew, maybe this time I would see something I understood… Hopefully.
The Cortical psychic patch session came to an end, leaving my vision filled with images and green light as always. Still had no clue what anything meant. Damn.
My interrogator, as was usual, was a bit more upset about not making progress than I was.
"Every time! Every time ze same thing!" Scalpel yelled, his normal tone of maddened happiness replaced by anger. He glared at his terminal. "Bad terminal! Bad! You aren't getting ze information I want! No upgrade for you!"
"Maybe the terminal's not at fault, maybe you're just incompetent," I suggested. I knew from experience that Scalpel's fury was painful when directed at me, but this was the one and only point in the entire cycle where he lost himself in his frustration, and was vulnerable to insults and taunts. He got to torture and beat me all solar-cycle, both physically and mentally, I had to take every chance to get back at him.
Electricity coursed through my frame for my comment, originating from the cuffs around my servos, I had learned in my time here.
"Oh, so now you want to talk? Too bad. Be. Quiet," my interrogator said. He was attempting to have it come out as a growl, but his voice was too high to be successful.
"How about I don't stay quiet and say that I am?" I asked, mockingly.
Another electric shock was Scalpel's only response, not even turning his gaze away from the jumble of information being displayed on his terminal.
I shrugged off the stunning device. "Aww. Did I hurt your feelings with the incompetent quote? Or did I just get it wrong? Do you really just don't know what you're do-"
Scalpel shocked me again with his little remote, and stormed over to me. "I SAID QUIET!" He yelled, doing his best to get in my faceplate, even though I still towered over him.
'The temptation to hit him, is almost overwhelming,' I thought. He was standing directly in front of me, out of immediate reach of his guards. And it wasn't like hitting him would get me in bigger trouble. I would still be tortured after this, no matter what I did. But, for all I knew, he had been going easy on me this last… Jour? Two? Hell if I knew anymore. And if he had been going easy on me, I didn't want to ask for his entire anger to fall down on me… Oh, forget it.
I reared my helm back and slammed it into Scalpel's, instantly creating a dent in the helm of the smaller mech, while sending him onto his backplates heavily. And for a nano-klick, I had the satisfaction of towering over Scalpel's prone frame, staring down at him as he cried out in pain.
Then the stock of a guard's rifle hit me in the jaw, knocking me down to my knee-joints and causing me to leak energon from the corner of my mouth. Ah. Small price to pay.
Two other guards started to help Scalpel up, but he shrugged them off and got himself back on his pedes, then walked back over to me and glared down at me. "That… Was not a good idea…"
My only response was to meet his glare, and spit energon in his optic, making my interrogator cover his optic and wipe at it in an effort to get the liquid out of his optic. It got me another rifle stock to the faceplate, but I found it to be worth it. Rarely did I get a chance to get on Scalpel's nerves twice in a solar-cycle, let alone in the space of one klick.
While still covering his optic, Scalpel electrocuted me again, but I barely felt it. He then glared at me with his one remaining open optic, before turning and leaving the cell, likely to clean out the energon I spit in his faceplate.
I chuckled lowly. Yeah, go pout. I win round one.
Scalpel wiped the last of the energon from his optic with a gel towel, silently fuming while he did.
The nerve of the Xel'Tor. He spit in his optic! His OPTIC! That was against the rules of interrogation! The interrogator was supposed to have all the fun, and just the interrogator! The prisoner was not supposed to provoke, injure, or spit at his capture! And yet, the Xel'Tor had done all three. At once!
The interrogator threw the towel against the wall of his office in frustration. The Xel'Tor should have been broken by now! He had been through everything Scalpel had thrown at him! Torture, cold, CPU games, rapid energon loss, and yet he was always the same every cycle! Every single one!
He hadn't been able to find something the Xel'Tor feared, or even recover any information he actually understood! It was MADDENING!
Scalpel started pacing in his office, insane CPU focused entirely on coming up with ways to break the Xel'Tor, since the information in his helm was still useless at the moment. CPU washing? No, might erase the data contained within his helm, and as useless as it was right now, they needed it. Mental torture? Nope, Xel'Tor's already proven resistant to that method. Heighten his pain receptors? That won't work, either. Already tried it without success. Amputation of wings? Turn him into just a ground-based Cybertronian? No, unwanted reformatting might cause insanity… At least Scalpel would have a friend!
The insane interrogator switched to coming up with other methods of breaking the Xel'Tor. It was clear to him that the Xel'Tor was drawing strength from something. Hope, was what mechs and femmes that still had sanity called it. He found it to be a useless concept. However, he could not deny its effectiveness. But, if the Xel'Tor's hope was destroyed, then perhaps he would finally be broken.
Scalpel smiled. Oh, good, he was making progress! So, what was it that the Xel'Tor drew hope from? And how could he destroy something he could not physically touch?
Extremis' chief interrogator looked at where the terminal on his desk would appear, which contained the summaries of psych evaluations for all his patients, all of which were written by a doctor who observed each of Scalpel's interrogations. He hadn't read the Xel'Tor's psych evalulation. Perhaps it was time that he did.
Scalpel sat down in his chair and powered up the terminal, its holographic form coming to life as soon as he sat down. He quickly started shifting through the hundreds of files of patients, until he came to the Xel'Tor's, one of the few unopened folders on his terminal.
The insane interrogator opened the file and began to read.
Subject Xel'Tor.
Gender: Mech.
Name: Unknown.
Age: Unknown.
Mental state: Unknown, but believed to be perfectly stable.
Fears: Unknown.
Despite extensive interrogation by Chief Interrogator Scalpel, the Xel'Tor has not displayed fear of any interrogation technique. He has revealed little of himself other than the fact he is aware the chief interrogator is frustrated by his lack of progress in breaking him, and uses this fact to taunt Scalpel during his interrogations.
Overall, subject is not forthcoming with any form of information regarding himself or the Autobots. His exact standing with them is unknown, but he is believed to be an honorary member at the very least.
There is, however, one piece of information that may be noteworthy. During his capture, the Xel'Tor arrived in the ambush zone with two Autobots, one of which was Field Commander Arcee. Judging by how the Field Commander and the Xel'Tor reacted to each other's presence, it is possible that there was a mutual attraction between the two. Field Commander Arcee was gravely injured in the ambush that captured the Xel'Tor, but Optimus Prime, the other Autobot that accompanied the subject, carried her from the battle, and her fate is unknown to us.
But, her fate is, likely, also unknown to the Xel'Tor. And if there was an attraction between them, and he is seeking information on her condition, she might be weakness in his psyche. This information, however, is theory until it is used during one of Chief Interrogator Scalpel's sessions with the subject.
Scalpel reread the summary once more, then smiled with giddiness. The information may not be confirmed, but it was something he was not aware of until he read through the psych evaluation. And that in itself was something that made him happy.
The insane interrogator got up from his desk and walked to the door, almost skipping as he went.
Yay! He knew what to do to break the Xel'Tor! No more being taunted! He could go back to having fun!
I stayed down on my knee-joints after Scalpel left. Whenever he got back, he wouldn't be happy. Torture would be his next order of business. It always was what he fell back to after my first Cortical psychic patch session of the cycle. Better get myself prepared while he was gone, and I had some time before he began.
I took in a breath and let it out slowly. Just focus on Arcee, and everything will be fine. Focus on Arcee and you'll be fine.
'For now,' I thought cynically.
I blocked that thought out. I needed to focus on the one thing keeping me going, not think about how I still didn't know her condition. No matter how much not knowing was eating away at me.
The door to the cell opened, and I looked up to see Scalpel returning, his not-quite-right smile plastered on his faceplate, while the off look in his optics sparkled.
"Hello again, Xel'Tor, did you miss me?" My interrogator asked happily, not stomping around the cell like I was expecting. Was he starting the CPU games early?
I didn't respond. Whenever he did something I wasn't certain about, that was the safest course of action.
Scalpel gave me an amused look when I didn't say anything. "Why ze silence? Are you expecting torture for what you did earlier?" He waved a servo dismissively. "That is in ze past. All is forgiven."
I didn't buy his nice act. He'd done it before, when he was trying to get in my processor, mess with my thoughts. But this was the first time he'd skipped over torture and beatings, and gone straight to CPU games. Why the change?
"Still nothing to say? I'm hurt! How can we be friends when ze only thing you give me is silence?" My interrogator asked. He looked like he was offended, but his optics were still filled with that off look. He was up to something.
"We are not friends," I said.
"But you replied to me! That makes us friends, right?" Scalpel asked cheerily.
I made it a point to not respond to his second question.
My interrogator sighed in disappointment and looked off to his left, shoulder-joints drooping slightly in what appeared to be sadness, but his optics still had that off look in them. "Why can I not have a single friend? Is that too much to ask? Oh, ze woes of being alone." He shook his helm and looked back me. "But enough about my sadness! Tell me about your friends among ze Autobots, Xel'Tor. Are there many?"
I stayed silent. He had never asked about my fellow Autobots before. He always stuck to topics related to me, not my comrades. It was beyond suspicious, and the fact he bypassed torture to ask about my comrades sent alarms off in my helm. He was taking this somewhere, and I wasn't going to play along.
"Nothing? You must have made friends among ze Autobots," Scalpel said, feigning shock as he went over near the terminal and leaned against the wall. "They are a very social group of bots. They come together and train ze weakest member of their units, so that they learn from more than one source. They are always checking up on each other, too, making sure everyone is at their best. It is quite common, even expected, for groups of Autobots to grow close, form strong friendships." His optics shifted to me, a calculating look appearing along with his usual insane one. "It is also common for some of these friendships to form into something more."
I didn't react, at least not visually. What he getting at? Did he know something? Did he know I cared about Arcee?
"Yes, I know, it's shocking. But as crazy as it sounds for a military group to have widespread fraternization among its ranks, ze Autobots commonly have bonded Cybertronians working together," Scalpel continued as I had expressed disbelief. "They even encourage it! Can you believe that? They encourage fraternization! Foolish, I say! We have done extensive research, gone through records, accessed their databases, and found that on average, one in every ten Autobots are spark-bound to another Autobot. I do not agree entirely with ze Decepticon cause, but at least Megatron has locked down on distractions such as that… Although, that might be because only one in a million femmes sided with him in ze war… Hmm." He shrugged. "Maybe I am a little too judgmental of ze Autobots. After all, we Paraions have similar philosophies regarding relationships among our ranks. Granted, bonded pairs are usually transferred to other divisions if possible, to cut down on… Distractions." His optics darted to me again. "But still, we and ze Autobots agree that it is far better to offline bonded than be alone, without a love to bring happiness and joy."
I kept my faceplate impassive. He definitely knew something, and I couldn't show any weakness, he would exploit it.
"I cannot imagine what you are going through right now, being away from your beloved courted," my interrogator said, then looked at me fully. "You are Field Commander Arcee's courted, aren't you?"
I did everything I could to not react, I really did, but I couldn't stop the faint twitch of my left optic. He had figured out that I had feelings for her, stumbled upon the one source of hope I could see. And with him, that could only mean bad things for me.
Scalpel smiled in amusement, but from him, it came out as twisted and wrong. "I knew it! Onlooker owes me five cubes!" He cried, seemingly to no one. He calmed himself down. "So, how long have you been together? Got any plans to get bonded? I bet you two are just so happy with each other!"
My left optic twitched again without me being able to stop it. He was using my feelings for Arcee to get inside my helm, I knew that. And at the same time, I couldn't stop him from doing so. But I needed to focus on Arcee herself, not what Scalpel was saying. It's all I could do.
The insane mech suddenly grimaced. "Oh, that's right. I should replace that 'are' with 'were.' You were happy with each other, until she… Well, you know."
My optic twitched again, and I looked fully at Scalpel without thinking. And despite the voice in the back of my helm telling me he was getting in my helm, I couldn't help but wonder what he meant.
Scalpel raised his optic ridges in surprise, though his optics held the same off look as they had since he came back to the cell. "You don't know? I thought you were told." He sighed sadly, as if preparing himself for an unpleasant task. "Well, Field Commander Arcee is… Hmm, how do I put this? Ah, yes. She's offline."
His statement made me go numb, despite the voice in the back of my helm screaming that he was playing CPU games with me. No, no, she wasn't gone. She couldn't be. I treated her injury, I stabilized her. Optimus had been running at full speed to get her back to base. She had to be online.
… But, even though she had been stabilized and Optimus had left the battle to get her to Moonracer and Ratchet, her chances had been very, very low. But she had to be online… Right?
"Yes, I'm afraid she went offline," my interrogator continued, appearing to take note of how I was reacting. "Your leader, Optimus Prime, ran into another group of our soldiers. There was a brief battle, but ultimately your leader and your courted were offlined. Quite unfortunate, I would say. But at least they did not offline alone." His optics focused on me, a twisted smile on his faceplate. "Like you will."
I didn't even react to his words, didn't feel any pain from my wounds anymore. I didn't even feel the electric shock that went through my frame, my spark reaching out for Arcee's snuffed one. Optimus was offline, she was offline. My spark, my everything, was gone. I had nothing left to hope for. I never even got to tell her. And I was alone… Completely alone.
"It could be worse, you realize," Scalpel said. "They could have encountered a group of Decepticons, who are far less civilized than we are." He walked toward me, not even trying to hide the joy he was feeling at my pain. "They would have kept Optimus Prime online for as long as possible, making sure he felt as much pain as they could inflict. As for your courted, she probably would have offlined from her injury by the time they got to her, but she would have had to watch, slowly offlining from energon loss, as they beat your leader until he offlined. Terrible last image of this life. But lucky for them, they were merely given a painless execution by our troops." He paused, and leaned down toward me. "It was painless for them, but for you? Oh, for you its excruciating, because you're only just now finding out that your hope has been useless this entire time. Because it was never there in the first place. How perfectly depressing!"
My optic twitched and I let my helm fall. I had lost everything that mattered to me, the one thing that had given me hope. The one person I loved beyond family. I had nothing left, nothing worth fighting for.
I had nothing, because it had been taken from me. It all had been taken from me. And I was surrounded by bots that were part of the same organization that had taken my spark, my everything, from me, bots who might have even been a part of the battle that took her from me. None of them deserved to be alive.
My vision started to go red at that moment, and I didn't need my Quriomus Protocol to get rid of my rational thoughts, because I got rid of them myself, and embraced the white-hot rage that came with the Protocol.
Scalpel smiled in giddiness when the Xel'Tor lowered his helm in defeat. Yay! He finally broke the Xel'Tor! Happy cycles! Now he could do whatever he wanted!
The interrogator tisked in fake pity. "Aww, what's wrong, Xel'Tor? Are you sad about your courted? Well, I have ze perfect cure for that, crying in pain in misery! So, do you want to have a little crying session?!
"No," the Xel'Tor said in a voice so deep that it seemed to shake the walls of the cell, despite the fact that it wasn't any louder than it normally was. "But you will."
Just one thing to say regarding the ending. Crap's going down next chapter. That is all.
This chapter's credit song is "Audiomachine - Kill 'Em All (Death Mix)" Listen to this, and you will know why it is the credit song.
Please leave a review that tells me what you think, and thank you all for reading. I will see you soon.