A/N: Sometime I really do have to poke my brain quite hard until I can write some decent angst. This is one of those times...


Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are mine. No touchy-touchy. Transformers are the property of TakaraTomy and Hasbro. Pillage away.

Warnings: This ain't exactly what you'd call a light fluffy-bunny of a fic; bit of angst, there is some imaginative but mostly twisted science, and Shockwave's equally twisted logic. Oh, and a small smattering of gore in later parts.


Crossfire: Part 2


Cybertron, City State of Polyhex, Darkmount Fortress...


Solar light was little more than a corrupted memory file in the CPUs of most of the Cybertronian warriors. To the Last Generation, those created after the end of the Golden Age, after Cybertron had torn itself from its orbit and began its aimless voyage through the galaxies, it was a myth; something designed to enchant, to aspire to, something to fight for. The day when their homeworld was bathed in light and life once again, that would be the day when All would became One.

Until then, they saw only the dark silence of space, punctuated with glimmers of silver and gold from the distant stars, and lit only by passing comets and meteorites burning against what remained of the metallic planets atmosphere.

The Decepticon Military Operations officer and the guardian of Cybertron, however, was not cursed by such...Autobot-like sentiment.

He saw only light waves created by superheated gases burning billions of miles away; chunks of ice and rock falling through space to strike on the already heavily scarred ground.

No matter.

The essential military structures of Cybertron were still intact. Energon was being strictly rationed out of the last processing plants in Kaon and Altihex. The Decepticon forces controlled the majority of the planet, the only pockets of resistance being those remaining Autobots too foolish to see the rejuvenation and security that Lord Megatron had brought to their world, and the few pathetic camps of Neutrals who still believed in one planet, one race.

Shockwave sat back in his chair and called up the long-range scans out of desperate habit.

The sub-computer and scanner booted up, though not without a considerable delay. A mild annoyance. Chief Engineer Dreadnought would clearly need to work one of his engineering miracles on the mainframe sometime soon.

"Define parameters of scan cycle."

"Standard trans-orbital scan, distance 10,000 megamiles."

"Define object of search."

"Decepticon battle cruiser, flagship Nemesis."

"Scanning..."

The purple gun-former sat back, joints creaking from neglect, and cast his optic over the scanner.

He chose to ignore the hiss of the main door and the clicking echo of turbine heels as they travelled across the floor to stop behind his chair. There was no need to make any assumptions as to the identity of the mech.

Or femme, in this case.


"Why do you even bother with this anymore?"

Decepticon Femme CMO Nightraider sighed deeply and leaned against the side of the chair, her faceplates now constantly pulled into a downcast expression and pain ever-present in her dulled optics.

"It's been over 24,000 vorns, and you still haven't found any sign of the Nemesis. Even the wreckage would've turned up by now."

Shockwave half-turned so that he could stare up at the black and red tetra-jet. "Would the discovery of wreckage be preferable to you, rather than the crew's survival?"

She scowled at the purple mech. "That's not what I meant and you know it. I just want...something, anything that says categorically that they're all alive or dead."

"And if there was wreckage, rather than the ship simply being MIA?"

The femme's voice was soft, with too much hurt in it for his liking. "At least then I could grieve."

Shockwave, unwisely, opted for a rare attempt at sarcasm. "Yes, of course. Because that would be so different than to what you are doing right now."

Nightraider directed her retort by way of a slap to her comrade's left antenna.

"Well, it beats the frag out of just sitting here like you, waiting for your precious Lord Megatron's return!"

Rare irritation bloomed in the gun-former's processor. "Insolence will not be tolerated, least of all by you, Femme CMO. I have vowed to Lord Megatron that he would return to find Cybertron exactly as he left it, and that is precisely what he shall return to."

"Uh-huh. A planet torn out of its solar orbit, ruined by war with no natural resources left, no financial or civilian structures or inter-species communications still standing, and two military factions who want nothing more than to blow each other and their sainted leaders in absentia out of existence? Yeah, I can see how that's going to be a nice welcome home present."

Shockwave eased himself out of his chair, and loomed over the spitting tetra-jet. "I have my orders. If you no longer feel that our cause is a worthwhile one, I believe that you will find the door to your right."

Nightraider snorted and span around. "And I think you forget I'm only here because no-one else would have me after the Academy sent me packing. The oh-so-sainted Autobots would no doubt have a few issues with accepting a medic-cum-insurrectionist into their ranks."

She stalked off towards the door in the direction of the med bay. Never one to resist clarifying a few facts, the Guardian of Cybertron watched her quietly for a few moments, and then called after her.

"I believe you left out the Neutrals?"

"...You really think I'm stupid enough to volunteer for target practice?"

"Not as such."


Since the black and red tetra-jet had vented her cyber-spleen at him, that meant she would deliberately stay out of his way for at least the next three groons.

Almost entertainingly predictable, and remarkably useful for him.

Keeping the scans running in the background, Shockwave activated a set of early warning alarms before opening a set of files hidden in the depths of his private mainframe. If the femme CMO ever discovered that he had not only failed to completely destroy these particular records, but had also retained a set for himself, having his head sliced off and served on a platter to Unicron while his chassis was thrown into the Pit would be the least of his concerns.

But the knowledge contained therein...

Files decoded: 49 percent.

It was just too tempting. Nightraider had placed Omega-level security on these particular documents when they had been created, with the security access codes known only to herself, and later by Lord Megatron. While her paranoia over the use of these files was commendable, it was infuriating, not to mention somewhat insulting to him.

She had summoned him to aid in the surgery on Soundwave and his surprisingly resilient sparkling, had she not? She could have chosen anyone to help her in the treatment, but when it came to anything involving a matter of the spark, her spark, had he not been the only one she had trusted then? She had trusted him to represent her at the farce of a hearing before the Academy council, and to remove all traces of her research from the mainframe, had she not?

And yet she refused point-blank to recreate her research, or to let him within a mega-mile of her preliminary notes on the symbiosis process.

In effect, he had reasoned to himself, she had forced him to take these measures. The safety and security of the Decepticon Empire could well be guaranteed by the information contained within those files.

Shockwave launched his personal decoding software, and sat back in his chair, carefully tenting his fingers together and resting the base of his cranium against his knuckles.

A race of sentient weapons systems, all symbiotically bonded to parent-partner units, each mutually ensuring the other's survival. Should the symbiote weapon be permanently damaged or offlined, it would be a simple process to initiate spark parthenogenesis and online a new symbiote.

Soundwave and his creations had proved that the process was feasible, and the theory workable, but for some reason he had chosen not to employ his symbiote-creations as weapons, but instead treated them as his family, and trained them as espionage agents. Even more illogical were Nightraider's actions - willingly supporting the family unit, running herself into financial ruin and near-stasis to help them and protect them from the Autobot security forces.

This was war. Families were a liability. Weapons were not. It was simple logic, and the Decepticon Communications officer had chosen to disregard it completely.


An all-nighter on the security systems probably wasn't the best way to complete his extended shift, but then, it wasn't like he'd had a choice in the matter. Alpha-level engineers were hard to come by at the best of times, but alpha-level engineers who also held the necessary creativity to rewire the security grid with a lack of parts and a lot of hope...

Dreadnought sat back on his massive haunches and yawned, stretching his bulky grey arms over his head and flexing the tired fingers backwards.

POP

-Fzzz-

The battle-cruiser blinked, and worriedly glanced at his left shoulder.

Oh Primus, not again.

He let his right arm fall to his side, and waited patiently for his left to drop down likewise.

It didn't.

He gnawed silently on his lower lip while he ran through his options. Repairs on his own structure were nearly impossible without medical support, and Nightraider was likely to kill him when she saw he'd blown yet another output sensory relay...

He offered a quiet prayer to Primus that Glit was on duty at the moment. At least the feline medic was somewhat less snarky than his larger colleagues.

"Dreadnought to med-bay."

A few short bursts of static, then the soothing tones of Secondary Medical Officer Glit purred through his comm. link. "Report your status, Chief Engineer."

"Um...it happened again."

He could almost hear the feline slapping a paw over his optics. "You were stretching your arm above your cranium."

"...Yeeeeah."

"After Nightraider specifically told you not to, and that we're low on parts as it is?"

"Spare me the guilt trip Glit, 'Raider'll do enough of that if she sees me like this."

In the med-bay, the SMO let out a put-upon sigh and closed his optics. "...Report to the med-bay. But if Nightraider should find you there, you are very much on your own."


Three breems later...

"Hey, watch where you're digging the claws!"

Glit didn't bother to glare at his patient. Dreadnought had long since become immune to most forms of implicitly suggested behaviour, unless it was Nightraider doing the glaring. At that point, he was then as silent and biddable as a new-spawned sparkling.

The silver feline crawled up the battle cruiser's frozen arm and wedged himself against the elbow plating as he activated the surgical lasers fitted to his hips. One quick level two shot should undo the jammed servos...

"YOW!"

"Oh, do kindly shut up. Now, how does that feel?"

Dreadnought wiggled his shoulder joint and sighed with relief as his arm responded and dropped to rest by his side, the SMO quickly scrambling down the plating and perching on his shoulder.

"Primus, that's better. I owe you one."

Glit elegantly bounded down from the grey mech's shoulder. "I think we're long past the point where you can ever repay me for the various rage-induced repairs I've saved you from."

The battlecruiser sighed and flexed his fingers. "Better than a guilt trip off 'Raider. She's getting worse."

"I fear there is little we can do. All of the Decepticon forces are suffering, and she is no different."

Footsteps echoed briefly in the corridors outside the repair bay before the double doors swung open, admitting the black and red tetra-jet under discussion. Barely glancing at the two occupants of the bay, she turned and strode towards her office, grabbing a stack of datapads from atop the supply cabinets.

"Your first appointment is waiting in your office."

Nightraider shot a look at the silver feline. "Would it have killed you to ask her to wait outside?"

Glit returned her look in kind. "The head of the Cobalt Sentries versus a Secondary Medical Officer? I'd rather not take those odds."

"Wimp."

She pushed the door button with her elbow and marched in, sparing a quick nod of deference to the petite blue and black frame curled up in the patients chair.


"Howlback. Is it me, or are these meetings getting just a little too regular?"

The feline enforcer gave her one of her trademark icy stares. "You were hardly my first choice for a representative of the upper echelons of the officers."

The black and red tetra-jet placed a hand theatrically over her cockpit. "And here I thought the bonds of femme solidarity would override the whole issue of me not being Soundwave or Flamewar."

She managed to stop herself wincing at the thought of the Communications officer, but her spark still twisted painfully back on itself.

Howlback sniffed. "Hardly. Now, if you please?"

Nightraider sighed as she dropped into her chair, pulled the top-most datapad off of the stack and shoved it in the other femme's general direction.

"Latest reports as requested. There are a few mentions of a disturbance outside Maccadam's two orns ago. Maccadam himself doesn't want to press charges, but I don't think it'd hurt to run surveillance."

The blue and black feline growled softly. "Kindly refrain from telling me how to do my job, CMO."

To her credit, Nightraider refused to rise to the bait. "The energon stockpile in Iacon has noticeably decreased; no theories as to why or how."

Howlback pulled the datapad closer with a paw and briefly scanned it. "Shockwave has no theories? His drones didn't pick up on the disappearances?"

"Nothing's been spotted."

The femme thought quietly for a few moments. "Consider this investigation active, and inform the Military Operations officer that I will consult my sources in Iacon. Is there anything else of note?"

Nightraider shrugged and leaned back in her chair, joints creaking. "Low on spare parts, suicidal troops, and a couple of bombing raids on the Neutral settlements. Same old, same old."

An awkward silence fell over the room as Howlback first studied the datapad before her, then the desk, and finally Nightraider's battered sedative guns. The femme CMO didn't say anything to speed the process along. She knew full well what was coming, and would have been only too happy to delay it in every briefing for the rest of her existence.

Howlback finally opened her mouth, golden optics now simultaneously fearful and hopeful.

"...The Nemesis?"

The tetra-jet shook her head.

"Nothing."

Howlback slumped slightly. "I had...hoped..."

"I know. Believe me, I do."

"...He cannot be dead."

Nightraider leaned forward slightly. "We have no way of knowing that for certain."

The feline femme's disappointment was slowly being replaced with her default ice-cold demeanour. "He would not break his word to me. You know him. You were present at his onlining. You have been a part of his entire life, right from the start."

"You're right. I was. And I know what Ravage felt for you. But unless Shockwave detects something..."

"...Then we both remain alone."

The silence descended once again, both femmes alone with their thoughts, and a shared pain that neither was brave enough to voice. Eventually, one would leave to root out the traitors, moles and new recruits; the other would repair, report and take inventories until the need for an energon-based distraction large enough to blot out the monotony finally overtook all rational thought.


Files decoded: 49.001 percent.

A most profitable decryption run today. Hopefully the joors before planetary curfew would reveal a little more of his femme colleague's intriguing scientific talents.

Glancing around at the control panels and the assorted security cameras, Shockwave opted to take a calculated risk and activated the stasis chamber controls, watching silently as three of the floor panels retracted, allowing a mini-con sized stasis pod to emerge from beneath the control room floor. Fitted to his desired specifications, the pod's cover was engineered from transparent aluminium, the tiny silver and lavender form lying peacefully under the metal.

A medical computer attached to the pod displayed the protoform's vital statistics and a record of the design blueprint. Or, as much of his design blueprints as Shockwave had been able to find. Every search throughout the Cybertronian DataNet had resulted in a few rough outlines of his form, power analyses courtesy of the Autobots, and, more intriguingly, a number of restricted access messages. All attempts to break into the system had failed, even with his most powerful software. All that he could theorise was that someone or something did not wish for anyone, even himself, to be able to access his blueprints.

Picking up a laser scalpel, the purple gunformer removed the tiny frame from its chamber, settled down in his chair, and set to work on the left shoulder joint. The energon flow to the secondary pulse charger still had a tendency to block around the humeral relays, much as his own left arm had originally done. Access to upgrades and exploratory surgery by the Constructicons had eased the blockages, but the parts needed to maintain the repairs, like everything else in the stores, were in extremely short supply. The medical team had taken to requesting parts scavenged from the battlefield to ease the situation, and it was not uncommon to see shock troopers and Seekers returning to the med-bay covered in their own fluids, but proudly clutching a number of dismembered limbs from enemy troops and their own alike.

As the joors passed, he wondered idly if his own creator or creators had worked on his frame as he was doing now. Steadily, since there was no spark yet resident in the tiny chamber, but delicately, not wishing to subject the little frame to any stress whilst any imperfections were removed.

And then, what to name the tiny being, once the spark was inserted?

He knew from observation, and some of Nightraider's less drunken narratives, that most sparklings could identify themselves from the moment they were onlined, with at least a rough notion of their function. Much had been said about Soundwave's creations within the Decepticons, a great deal of it uncomplimentary, but few could deny how accurately they had named themselves.

Shockwave however bore no recollection of his naming or of his creators, and no references to them had ever been found in the archives.

A flicker on the monitor caught his attention. Hastily tucking the tiny frame back into its pod and activating the camouflage mechanism, the Military Operations officer studied the image, and felt his spark sink slightly.

The monochromatic image of Nightraider was staggering down the main corridor towards the med bay, following something approaching a straight line and clutching a bottle of Maccadam's Finest. The emergency lighting provided just enough radiance to show the tear skids on her faceplates.

Shockwave would have sighed if he could remember how. Instead, he straightened up, rotated his shoulders and strode out of the control room towards the med bay.


"...C'mon c'mon, where'sh the fraggin' blue when it'sh needed...?"

Pausing only to take a swig out of her bottle of high-grade, Nightraider drunkenly scanned the myriad of bottles and boxes in the store-room, her optics rolling as she tried to find the telltale flash of neon blue that would sober her up enough for her next shift.

She didn't recall the exact time when she had first turned to the high-grade to forget her pain, but it had been sometime around the first 10,000 vorns after the Nemesis had had disappeared. She had wanted to obliterate that nagging little voice in her processor, the one saying she should have gone with them, she should've updated their tracking systems more frequently, she should've insisted that the youngest of Soundwave's creations had stayed with her, she should've told the Communications officer how she felt...

That last self-recrimination had sent her almost diving into a serving of high-grade in Maccadam's, empty cubes piling around her as the kindly old mech kept the flow of energon steady, eventually cutting her off after she had exceeded even a medic's tolerance for booze and picked a fight with one of the off-duty Autobot sentries. It had been enough for him to warrant summoning Dreadnought to escort her back to Darkmount.

The tetra-jet had woken up in Dreadnought's berth cuddled against the giant battlecruiser, her joints aching and a hangover doing its best to melt her CPU. She couldn't remember that night, not even if anything untoward had happened, and Dreadnought had been too polite to mention the event.

At the end of her next shift, she had returned to the bar, and tried to drink enough to either remember or to forget, she hadn't been entirely certain which.

To rid herself of the hangovers plaguing her system, and to sober up enough for work, she had taken to dosing herself with a minimal amount of copper sulphate, one of the stronger anti-emetics in the medical stores. A one cc dose was enough to have her on her knees retching the contents of her tanks into whatever was available, but she would be sober within a joor.

Now if she could only find the Primus-damned bottle, she'd be just dandy...

"I believe this is what you are seeking?"

A chunky purple hand suddenly speared in front of her optics, the fingers loosely holding a vial of the neon blue drug.

"Gimme!"

Nightraider took a swipe at the dangling tube, and wasn't entirely surprised when the mauve fingers swiftly moved out of reach.

Turning around, she squinted at the imposing bulk of her superior officer, faceplates now contorted into a drunken snarl.

"I shaid, gimme!"

Shockwave's golden optic scanned her frame with no hint of apology. "I am sure you are aware that this drug, when used constantly, causes system blackouts and significant destruction of onboard RAM?"

"Don' fraggin' preach t'me Shhhockwaf. Now GIMME!"

"Not to mention affecting your fine motor functions and synaptic pathways. I am somewhat amazed that none of your patients have suffered due to your intoxication."

Nightraider was already swaying. "Be fine inna joor. Now gimme th' blue already."

"Will you return to Maccadam's at the end of your next shift?"

"Whassit t'you?"

"There are other, more productive, ways of spending your off-duty time which do not involve emptying a dozen cubes of matured high-grade into your systems."

She rearranged her expression into a look of self-hatred. "Y'think I wanna be like thish? 'S'not bein' productive, it'sh called copin'. An' I'm no bettr'n no worse'n you fer that."

The expression in her optics had no obvious effect on him, but the gun-former couldn't help but see her point.

Purple fingers unwillingly relinquished their treasure.

Grabbing at the vial, Nightraider expertly transferred the required dose of copper sulphate into her sedative gun with a surprisingly steady hand.

Shockwave watched the procedure with something akin to disgust.

"Do you wish me to fetch Dreadnought or Glit?"

With an effort, the black and red tetra-jet shook her head. "Naaah. 'M just gonna shtay in t'med-bay after 'm done."

"...Contact me should you require any form of aid."

With that, he left the med-bay and returned to the control room, the sound of a small grunt of pain and then the unmistakable sound of retching echoing up the hallway.

Perhaps tomorrow would be a more profitable orn. But there was still time for one last scan...


"Define parameters of scan cycle."

"Standard trans-orbital scan, distance 10,000 megamiles."

"Define object of search."

"Decepticon battle cruiser, flagship Nemesis."

"Scanning..."


TBC