A/N: And now it's about to go to hell.


Disclaimer: If it's in here and Hasbro, TakaraTomy, Marvel and IDW don't own it, I probably do. Sort of.

Warnings: A few fairly tame bits regarding the Cybertronian equivalent of a C-section...and everything that can go wrong with a carrying Cybertronian going wrong. There will be gore, purging, bodily fluids, threatened miscarriage, and what can only be described as Cybertronian eclampsia. It is nasty, it is scary, and if you want to turn back, then do.


Crossfire: Part 5


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


Two cycles had passed, and Shockwave was starting to grow desperate.

The tiny polyp he had worked so hard to support was now floating safely in a containment case, bathing his workstation in a silvery glow.

The protoform casing he had built by increasingly shaky hands was resting in its secure stasis pod beneath the floor panels of his laboratory.

His internal systems were on the verge of...something unpleasant.

In order to stabilise his spark and circulatory systems while he waited for the opportune moment to obtain a spark sample, he had removed the proto-spark from his chamber, and halted his doses of reagent and steroids.

This had turned out to be a serious miscalculation on his part.

Within twelve joors of coming off of the drugs boosting his system, he had been forced to relocate to the cramped waste disposal chamber beside the labs, trying and failing to stop the repeated tank purges plaguing his frame.

In agony, and with no wish to call on the services of the medbay and an extremely torqued-off Femme CMO, he had injected his spark with 50cc's of steroids purely to stabilise his tanks. The resulting calm, if not complete cessation of the nausea and tank purges, had confirmed to the gun-former that maintaining a constant low-level flood of drugs in his system would assuage the worst of his misery.

All scientists had to suffer to confirm a hypothesis.

He would be no different.

And, if nothing else, it would mean that he could proceed to the splicing and implantation of the spark within his chamber with the minimum of delays.

Now that Strika was due to bear her sparkling, his best chance to obtain the necessary goods for his investigation was quickly approaching.

Closing his spark chamber after his latest steroid infusion, Shockwave dragged himself back to his chair and called up the security programs. A few clicks, and the security cameras throughout the medbay and the corridors down to the Spark Bank were deactivated.

His left arm twinged with pain.

He clenched his hand into a fist and ignored it.

The portable hyper jammer sat next to his chair.

The feed from the spy-cam at the Spark Bank was active and clear.

On the security screens, he could see Obsidian and Strika entering the doors of the med-bay.

It was time.


Two cycles had passed without incident. Strika had made her wishes clear early on for an assisted separation and onlining, and Nightraider had agreed with her commanding officer. Due to the damage done to the tank's spark through numerous terminations, the chance of something going drastically wrong during a normal delivery was too high to risk, and it would fall to the combined surgical team of Nightraider, Dreadnought and Glit to bring the sparkling into the world.

For once, the Femme CMO was both online and comparatively sober for the start of her shift. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly as she examined a laser scalpel, testing its weight and balance before laying it on a tray full of surgical instruments.

"OK, so that's the primary equipment check done. Glit, cue surgical shield in three, two..."

The silver feline jabbed at the shield interface with a claw and watched as a silver-blue electrical field burst into existence from guidance grids in the floor and ceiling in the operating theatre. Nightraider poked her head through the doorway and scanned the inside of the field with a critical optic before nodding.

"Surgical shield prepped. Dreadnought, is the protoform frame ready?"

The Chief Engineer settled the protoform's transport case onto the nearest trolley and popped open the access hatch.

"Empty and ready to go."

"And all weapons are disengaged?"

Dreadnought pouted. "Yes. Spoilsport."

Rolling her optics, Nightraider finally gazed over at Strika's doped, prone form; Obsidian hovering over her, his slim claws clutching onto his bondmate's chunky fingers in a near deathgrip.

"Are you two ready?"

Strika's head rolled unsteadily towards the sound of the femme jet's voice. "I would assume backing out now would be impossible?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

She straightened up and gestured to Dreadnought. "Trolley-bot, wheel her through. Obsidian, if you're staying, you stay up at the top, keep her calm and do not interfere if you want to live beyond the next orn."

Dreadnought looked somewhat aggravated. "Trolley-bot, really?"

Glit rolled his optics as he set a scanner down on the lower rack of the trolley, then clambered on himself. "Accept it and move on. There is a sparkling to bring online."


The Military Ops officer was fully aware of his colleague's surgical skills, and, through consistent observation and reviews of both written reports and security footage, he was also aware that for an assisted separation and onlining, speed would be of the essence. From opening the spark casing through to the protoform onlining, there would be less than five breems.

Barely enough time to make another raid on the surgical stores, but it would have to serve.

He would then need to hide his supplies, and then ensconce himself somewhere near to the Spark Bank security doors. As the CMO, it was Nightraider's responsibility to take a sample of the new-born's spark and store it in the vaults, and as such, this would be his best chance to obtain the sample he required.

Shockwave slipped quietly through the medbay doors, trusting that the medical team would be too closely engaged in the onlining process to notice his presence.

The glow of the sterile shield was visible, even from the main medbay. He caught the flash of Nightraider's thrusters disappearing into the operating theatre as she pushed her surgical tool trolley before her.

He ducked into the stores without a second thought.

The bulb above his head fins flickered a few times, but stayed bright as he dug methodically through the racks of chemicals and sedatives, carefully plucking out the necessary containers and depositing them in a padded carrier.

A sick roiling within his tanks made him pause for a few vital astro-seconds, his fingers trembling as he leaned against the wall. The energon lines in his cranium felt like they were pulsing fit to burst.

He willed himself to hold back a tank purge.

Despite the regular steroid infusions, the instabilities within his systems had been growing more frequent as of recent orns, to the point where, almost every joor on the joor, he was forced to take himself through to the waste disposal chamber, lock himself inside, and suffer the indignity of an unfiltered waste expulsion cycle strong enough to leave him on the floor, shaking with nausea and exhaustion.

Now rifling desperately through the tiny vials, Shockwave forced himself to cycle air through his vents. He just had to last long enough to get the drugs, hide them, and steal a spark sample.

Perfectly straightforward.

His shaking fingers closed around a full vial of metoclopramide. Too desperate to bother with an injection, he opened his emergency intake valve and tipped the contents of the vial into the mouth of the valve.

His tanks contracted painfully as the anti-emetic made contact with his systems, but his latest energon ration fortunately remained where it was.

Shockwave exhaled, and dropped the last vial safely into his carrier before shoving it behind the most shadowed shelves he could see.

A squeal from the operating theatre caught his attention.

"Awwwww, purty!"

Either the spark had been extracted, or worse, it had been inserted into the protoform.

Either way, he had less than a breem to get into position.

The purple gunformer moved with a speed he didn't know he possessed as he gracelessly charged through the stores, down the stairwell to the Spark Bank, and fitted himself carefully behind a pile of surgical-grade bleach barrels.

The camera feed from the access pad was transmitting directly to an access node in his CPU, the picture clear if slightly blue-tinted.

Now, it was just a matter of time.


Dreadnought held the bright green spark between his forceps with the delicacy of an artist and cooed, "You are the shiniest thing ever, yes you are, yes you are!"

Wearing an expression of exasperation combined with fondness, Glit carefully peeled back the access hatch to the protoform's spark casing and nodded.

"As lovely as it is, it needs to go into its new home."

"And once that's done, if someone could pick Obsidian off the floor, that'd be a massive help." Nightraider gestured at the floor with her laser scalpel and went back to suturing the separation wound on Strika's spark.

The Femme Commander managed to wriggle her head over to the side of the berth just enough to stare down at her bondmate and roll her optics.

In fairness to the Aerial Commander, he had at least managed to last up until the spark separation before he decided to get a better look at the operating theatre's floor tiles.

Dreadnought gently nudged the helicopter's arms out of the way with a foot before turning his attention back to the sparkling. He settled the little green spark safely into the chamber and wrapped a mesh blanket around the frame, then watched as Glit activated the magnetic clamps and prepared the spark shield.

The protoform's muted armour was suddenly flooded with colour. Black was the predominant colour, but flashes of gold and bright turquoise covered its major joints, and the digits and chestplates were liberally covered in Decepticon purple.

Red optics lit up and blinked curiously.

Tiny limbs flailed about helplessly. A miniature tail wriggled in time with the kicking feet.

The little mouth opened.

"...mmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Every conscious mech and femme in room winced at the volume. The one unconscious mech suddenly and abruptly returned to full consciousness, his hands clamping down hard over his audials.

"Oh sweet Primus, make it stop!"

Dreadnought grinned down at Obsidian.

"Eh, bit late for that now, sir."

Nightraider checked the final suture, then sealed up Strika's spark chamber with a twist.

"Ok, pass him over."

Obsidian and Strika both looked up. The Femme Commander's vocal unit sounded somewhat staticky.

"...Him?"

The tetra-jet nodded. "A healthy little mech, judging by that vocaliser."

She made the universal 'pass it over' gesture with her hands.

Glit quickly fitted a safety seal around the sparkling's chamber to hold it open while the femme made her final checks, and Dreadnought then carefully passed the bundle of squalling sparkling over to the femme jet.

The cries died down as Nightraider cuddled the tiny saurian to her chestplates. "There, there...oh, I know sweetspark, it's too bright and cold out here, isn't it? You want to be nice and snug with your creators, don't you?"

She kept up the steady, soothing stream of chatter as she carried the sparkling over to the operating berth, pulling the trolley with Glit and the spark container on it behind her, and nodded at Strika to hold her arms out.

The cream and pink tank looked terrified.

Nightraider simply stared right back.

"He wants you and he needs you. I can do this next part on the trolley, but it's usually far easier and with a lot less trauma involved for all concerned if you hold on to him."

The Femme Commander stared at the black and turquoise bundle for almost a breem before tentatively opening her arms. Obsidian hauled himself upright with some help from Dreadnought, and stared over his bondmate's shoulder in total wonder.

The little saurian growled and nuzzled into his creator's arms. A tiny claw waved about in the air for a few moments before it was captured by two larger cream digits, and held steady for inspection.

Strika's expression was unreadable from this angle, but for now, Nightraider was more concerned with the final stage of the onlining process. She picked up a clean laser scalpel and a set of callipers, and bent over the sparkling's exposed spark.

"This won't be nice, but it will be quick."

Obsidian dragged his optics away from his creation to look at the surgical apparatus. His optics flashed with uncustomary fear.

"It...won't endanger him?"

Nightraider offered him a small smile. "Never lost a patient yet, and I don't intend to start now. Strika, hold him steady."

The Femme Commander reluctantly removed her fingers from the sparkling's tight grip, and watched closely at the tetra-jet made several measurements with the callipers, recording each of them on the instrument's database before setting it down and picking up a tiny surgical clamp and scanning the surface of the spark for a particular area.

"Right, when I say hold, pin his hands and feet."

The clamps opened, and were set at a particular area.

"Hold!"

Strika pressed down firmly around the chamber with her free hand, pinning the sparkling's limbs. The ends of the clamps sprung together, pulling a tiny polyp away from the surface of the spark.

The sparkling tensed, and screamed.

In one move, Nightraider sliced through the energy bonds between the clamps and the spark, the laser cauterising the tiny wounds, and pulled the clamp away. The polyp flashed briefly, and formed itself into a tiny green ball of energy, identical to its larger parent.

"Forcefield."

Glit activated a portable spark shield and nudged the spark container forward. Nightraider turned and dropped the spark sample into the container, slamming the chamber closed and activating the stasis locks.

"Spark sample collected and contained. How is he?"

She turned around and managed not to start giggling.

Strika's arms were outstretched, and she looked slightly stunned as she stared up at her bondmate. Obsidian had snatched his offspring away as soon as the spark sample had been collected, and was hovering back and forth with the sparkling in his arms, his complete attention focussed on trying to stop the little saurian's wails.

The jet paused in his actions only to glare at Nightraider, his arms tight around his creation. "That had better be the last test that needs performed."

The tetra-jet could feel her face-plates cramping from trying not to laugh.

"For someone who was so worried about being a creator, you've got the rabid den-mother bit down pat."

Obsidian glowered and let his creation chew on the end of one of his digits as his wails died down.

Glit let out a brief purr, with just a whisper of amusement colouring the higher notes of the soothing sound.

"All that is left is his designation. Have you had any thoughts as to a suitable name?"

The two Cybertronian generals shared a brief look, before Strika cleared her vocaliser. "His frame design is based on the plans for the new city-former, is that correct?"

Dreadnought nodded. "Yup. I've been using Trypticon as a placeholder name until I come up with something better. Nothing so far feels right."

Strika shared another look with Obsidian before staring up at her creation, now snuggled safely in her bondmate's arms.

"Then if you have already built the adult frame, his designation shall be Trypticon."

Everyone in the room stared.

Dreadnought was the first to speak. "Ummm...are you...saying that once Tiny Chomp-Chomp here is ready to grow up...you want him to be a city-former?"

"Correct. You need a new spark for the project, one that will be safe from Shockwave's grasp. He will be raised with his creators, and his guardians. As a city-former, he will be both a fighter, and a protector."

She reached up and extracted Trypticon from Obsidian's arms. "And he will serve Cybertron, for good or ill, as we have done."

"That's a lot to ask of a being that hasn't been online for even five breems." Nightraider picked up the sample container and headed towards the theatre doors.

"The Acolytes of Primus always said that The Thirteen used to laugh when Cybertronians made plans. Just keep an audial out for any snickering whilst you're brainstorming this kid's future."

With that, she headed out of the theatre and into the storage rooms towards the Spark Bank.


Shockwave cycled in a tank of air as quietly as possible, and clenched his hands into fists.

What in the names of Primus and Unicron was taking Nightraider so long? Had there been some complication? Had the sparkling fallen ill?

He listened for a moment, and shook his head.

No. No signs of wailing mechs or femmes. No alarms being sounded.

He offlined his optic as a somewhat muted wave of nausea rolled through his system.

Whatever the delay was, he could make a strong case for Nightraider being delayed by talking with the creators or fussing over the new-spark.

Footsteps in the stairwell halted his train of thought.

An eerie green glow moved steadily from the top of the staircase down to the doorway of the Spark Bank.

From his vantage point, he could just make out the form of the Femme CMO leaning over the keypad, punching her access code into the system.

The feed from the spy-cam activated.

Her fingers flew over the keys.

64448724337--18092007-1409

752462537-228825466-#072

227737737-ALPHA

768639283-KAON

342252-OMEGA

The computer beeped three times, and then let out a two-toned chime.

Access granted.

The pressurised door hissed. Pistons slowly drew the transparent panel to the side and beeped as oxygen and nitrogen flooded into the chamber.

The red accents on Nightraider's wings flashed briefly as she disappeared into the eerie glow of the sparklight within the secure chamber.

Shockwave replayed the feed through his CPU while he waited, fingers twitching as he typed through the keystroke pattern. Ancient Cybertronian, with a few keys in the old Iaconian dialect and some Autobot code for good measure. Quite an intelligent security measure.

Idly, he wondered if all medical staff had this number and length of access codes. His own were considerably shorter, but more complex. Turning his decryption software on this could have proved quite interesting.

No matter.

He squeezed himself back into the shadows and offlined his optic as Nightraider marched out of the Spark Bank, reactivated the security software, and charged back up the staircase towards the medbay.

He gave it a breem before he crawled out, his processor spinning uncomfortably. Activating the hyper-jammer, he staggered towards the control panel and keyed in the same access codes, fervently hoping that there were no additional security programs active that he had not planned for

... 342252-OMEGA

The computer beeped three times, and let out the same two-toned chime.

The door slowly slid back.

Success.

Shockwave stepped over the threshold, and drew in a steadying vent of air.

The pulse of the sparks enveloped his senses almost immediately. The pain in his own spark receded slightly as he gazed around the chamber, his optic twitching in the otherworldly light.

No.

Focus.

From what he could see as he studied the shelving system, the sparks were stored in an arrangement not dissimilar to hard drives within a tower. A set of computer controlled claws could pluck the chosen container out from the racks with ease.

He located a terminal and set to work.

The monitor flashed and ran through its start-up processes before opening on the main access screen.

_SPARK BANK ACCESS - DESIGNATION RETRIEVAL?_

He had gotten this far. Which spark to use?

Two designations flashed through his CPU.

If he could still process emotions properly, he would have been able to identify it as resignation.

_SPARK BANK ACCESS - DESIGNATION RETRIEVAL?_

_NIGHTRAIDER OF VOS_
_DREADNOUGHT OF ALTIHEX_

The claws hissed, and ascended.


Dreadnought stood with his hands on his hip plating and glared at Nightraider. "No."

"Yes."

"No, and I'll keep saying no until it actually sinks through your thick cranium."

Nightraider simply raised an eye-ridge. "Well, you'll have a fragging long wait for that to happen."

Glit decided to add in his two shanix. "You can see his point. Perhaps the tradition of wetting the sparkling's head might be slightly out of place in a military setting?"

"It was managed in peace and in war, in the Dead End and in the Platinum Towers of Iacon. The kid's getting a toast."

Now safely in the recovery ward, but forced to stay where she was for the next orn, Strika glowered at her CMO.

"And if we do not wish to take part in this ritual?"

The tetra-jet glanced over her shoulder. "Then I'll toast the kid myself. At Maccadam's. Repeatedly."

Dreadnought, Glit and Strika shared a Look.

Obsidian didn't budge from his position beside his creation's berth, but did look up at the femme jet's words.

"Then I shall join you, if no-one else wishes to."

Nightraider turned, a bottle of somewhat-illegally distilled engex in her hand, and beamed. "Sweet."

She grabbed a set of medical beakers and wiggled her hands. "Guys?"

Dreadnought held his hand out and rolled his optics. Glit and Strika followed suit.

The Femme CMO passed a beaker to each adult member of the group, before setting the last beaker down in front of Glit, and popping the cork from the bottle one-handed.

Obsidian carefully gathered Trypticon into his arms, cuddled him briefly, and settled him in Strika's lap.

Nightraider poured each of them a generous helping of engex, then filled her own beaker and made a salute to the air.

"To Trypticon of Polyhex, onlined in Darkmount, born of Strika of Kalis and Obsidian of Helex, we see you released from the All-Spark, and celebrate your orn of onlining. We salute your creators, and their success in bringing you into this world. We salute your being, and what you will become. And this is the way it shall be, until the day when all are one."

As one, everyone chorused, "Until the day when all are one."

For a moment, there was silence in the medbay as everyone drained their beakers.

Nightraider was the first to finish her drink and wiggle her beaker in the air.

"Gaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhooooothat was nice. Refill anyone?"

"NO!"


The spark samples sat on his main lab bench, both a clear blue-white colour, both pulsing in an unsettling harmony.

His soon-to-be offspring's proto-spark pulsed along with them, just barely an astro-second out of time.

For the first time in an extremely long time, Shockwave was uncertain of how to proceed.

Logic dictated that there was little if any difference between the two sparks. He merely needed to pick one, take what was needed, then return both samples to the Spark Bank.

A rare burst of...something...in the back of his processor gave him pause.

Nightraider of Vos was a self-loathing functional addict, submerged in mourning for the mech she had sacrificed her career, her social standing, and most of her emotional support structures for.

Dreadnought of Altihex was a work-obsessed and partially delusional shell, who was nowhere near capable of hiding the unrequited feelings he held for one particular mech.

Neither of them would have been his preferred choice.

But…

Nightraider of Vos was intelligent, dedicated, loyal to a fault, and protected those she cared for with the maternal instincts of a rabid cyber-wolf.

Dreadnought of Altihex had a CPU on par with the Constructicons, was creative, enterprising, and tended to demonstrate his protectiveness towards those he cared about with his fists as well as his mind.

He offlined his optic and exhaled.

Without looking, he loaded both samples into the centrifuge on opposing arms, and pressed the protective casing closed. A quick tap, and the centrifuge began a brief spin cycle, the sparks leaving sparkling silver-blue trails as they span.

It was not a logical gesture.

But he had long since given up on applying logic to his two closest companions.

The centrifuge beeped, and began to slow down.

The arms slowly dropped and sank to the bottom of the chamber.

He onlined his optic.

One spark was sitting in its chamber, directly in front of him.

He reached inside, his fingers trembling, and plucked the transparent container out of the centrifuge.

One glance at the label told him all he needed to know.

The forceps and laser scalpel lay on a tray beside his polyp protoform's chamber.

He opened the spark container, and began.


Two cycles later…


After 42,000 vorns, Nightraider felt that she was entitled to be more than slightly annoyed at her lot, and had at least some right to take her temper out on the nearest living Cybertronian in shooting distance.

Unfortunately, after the little incident with the laser targets and a sedative gun, she wasn't allowed to handle weaponry outside of the firing range. Instead, she was lying on her front, one optic shut, and her hands wrapped around her favourite rifle as she peppered a target with laser fire.

Dreadnought had simply supplied her with his latest prototype rechargeable rifle cartridges on the way to the range and gotten out of her line of sight. Howlback, having long resigned herself to sitting through her comrade's irritating displacement activities, was sitting behind the femme jet with a datapad at her feet, attempting to run the day's security briefing.

"Next point: Leviathan will be docking for a three-orn furlong in Kaon. Conduit and Flatline have requested the following list of medical supplies-"

Nightraider peeled off another shot, then glowered over her shoulder at the felinoid. "Am I physically required to be present to hand over the materials?"

"No."

"Is there anything on the list beyond the standard slap-and-patch kits or surgical supplies?"

"Nothing that is obviously out of the ordinary."

"Then leave it on my desk, tell Conduit and Flatline they can pick everything up before they leave, and leave a message for Diabla to drop the attitude for once in her life."

Howlback glared right back.

"You can communicate with Diabla yourself."

"Not if I actually want to get a message other than 'go frag yourself and the equinoid you rode in on'."

Another target bit the dust.

"Is this feud not somewhat petty and vindictive?"

"…You've met her, right? That's pretty much her MO."

The tetra-jet readjusted her rifle scope and picked at a scrape along the barrel with her finger.

"I keep reaching out, she keeps slapping me down, so I choose to maintain the high ground and keep reaching out. She'll either accept it some orn, or self-destruct in a ball of her own loathing. Either way, I'll get a break from her."

Howlback growled and rolled her optics. "…Fine."

"Glad we sorted that out. Anything else?"

"One last item. A security cam-feed picked up Shockwave leaving the medical wing two orns past." The Cobalt Sentry frowned down at her datapad.

"The feed shows him…staggering."

Nightraider sat up and turned around. "…Staggering?"

"Yes."

"And you're sure it was Shockwave?"

"The ID scan confirmed it."

The tetra jet leaned over and grabbed the pad, opening the vid feed with a gesture. A slightly grainy monochrome image filled the screen, displaying the wide corridor outside of the medical bay and supply stores. As the security camera moved, it caught the top edge of a familiar set of antennae and dropped to focus in on the subject.

Sure enough, the mech leaning against the wall of the corridor was none other than their ever-emotionless Military Ops officer. Nightraider frowned as she squinted at the screen.

Shockwave was bracing himself heavily against the wall and favouring his left-hand side. His right hand was raised and slightly in front of his frame, as if trying to keep himself steady.

The fingers of his left hand were digging grooves into the wall panels.

His knee servos were shaking as he fought to keep his balance.

As quickly as the attack seemed to have come on, it ended. The Shockwave on screen straightened up, set his blocky shoulders back, and marched off in the direction of the control room.

The feed ended abruptly as Nightraider shared a look with Howlback.

"This happened two orns ago, and this is the first time I've been made aware of it?"

The black and turquoise felinoid deliberately licked a paw and smoothed it over her brow.

"Considering that less than a joor prior to that footage being recorded, you had staggered into the medical bay several panels to the solar winds and clutching a keg of Old Corroder, then yes, it's the first time you have been made aware of this."

Nightraider's glare didn't have as much effect as anticipated. She looked back down at the pad and sucked in a vent of air though her dental plates.

"I'll get him to come to the medical bay for a check-up. He's been acting a bit cagey lately according to Dreadnought, but he pays more attention to Shockwave than I do."

Howlback delicately pressed a button on her datapad and swiped the screen clear. "See that he does. As the highest ranked member of the Decepticon High Command on Cybertron, he cannot be allowed to function at anything less than full capacity."


The tips of the digits on his left hand were grey.

He blinked wearily and rubbed them together, ignoring the pain and hoping to dislodge whatever grime had adhered itself to his plating.

The plating stayed resolutely grey.

His vents drew in a tankful of air and stuttered. He tried to ignore the sticky, bubbling sound of fluids caught in his respiratory system.

His fuels tanks roiled. The mess of energon and assorted drugs within the tanks slapped unpleasantly against the base of his intake hose.

The power line between his converter and the laser cannon in his left arm had been blocked for the last three orns, the energon within now an unhealthy greyish-purple.

His spark chamber felt as if it was contracting around itself.

His good hand clenched into a fist as he scrutinised the tiny pink and silver sphere orbiting his spark with the help of a mirror.

He could not give up now. Not when he was this close.

An audio-only comm. signal beeped at him from his console.

Femme CMO Nightraider.

Shockwave closed his chamber, set the mirror down, composed himself for a moment, and opened the line.

"Shockwave receiving."

"You. Medical bay. Now."

A sensation he identified as panic flared at the back of his CPU. Surely she could not have realised his plans? He had done everything possible to cover his tracks, hidden everything so carefully…

"Might I ask why my presence is required?"

"Because a certain femme felinoid alerted me to the existence of a rather interesting piece of security footage which shows you, our vaunted Military Ops officer, staggering down a corridor like Mixmaster on a Syk binge."

He narrowed his optic.

"A momentary lurch does not warrant you ordering me down to your office like a wayward sparkling."

"Normally it wouldn't, but it's you. And you haven't ever shown any signs of fatigue or weakness in all the vorns I've known you. So, medical bay, 10 breems, or I send Dreadnought up to haul you out."

Something twisted unpleasantly behind his spark chamber.

"Do I get any form of choice in this request?"

"Who said anything about a request? This is a medical order."

"…Understood. Shockwave out."

He tapped the comm. off and sat back, methodically running through the contents of his toolkit in his CPU and deciding if any of them might conceal his true condition long enough to evade a full medical work-up.

A spray of paint to his fingertips and another dose of anti-emetic if nothing else would mask some of his symptoms.

Shockwave moved to hoist his frame out of his seat and suddenly went rigid.

A gasp forced its way out of his vocaliser as the tightening sensation around his spark chamber reached a piercing crescendo…and physically crushed the reinforced cybertonium inside his torso with an audibly liquid crunch.

He collapsed to his knees.

He could feel something dripping inside his chest.

He quickly pressed a hand to his plates, feeling a disturbingly slimy, foul-smelling fluid already coating the purple armour.

The fluid, when he held his shaking hand up to the light, was a thick red and grey with tints of purple. Perhaps energon?

His optic flickered as he braced himself against the arm of his chair.

His tanks roiled again.

With sheer force of will, he overrode the safety catches on the emergency release taps on the sides of his chest, and tried to empty some of the contents onto the floor.

The same red-grey mixture oozed painfully out of the taps and splattered onto the floor, covering his leg plating with filth.

His spark chamber contracted again, driving him into all fours with a barely suppressed roar of pain.

Something was wrong.

He blearily tore his gaze away from the mess, his pulse pounding erratically through his cranium, and focussed on the door. Two mechanometers.

The medical bay was two floors down, next to a lift which had an access hatch three point seven mechanometers from the door of his lab.

Shockwave hauled himself off of the floor and staggered slowly towards the doorway, leaving a thin trail of red and grey fluid in his wake.


In the medbay, Nightraider chucked an electrodart at the board on her wall before glancing at the bay chronometer.

"Five…four…three…two…DREADNOUGHT!"

The chief engineer poked his head around the door, his welding mask still covering his faceplates. "You bellowed?"

"He's had 10 breems and I see no gunformer standing before me. Go fetch."

Dreadnought flipped his mask up and looked askance. "Why do I have to go fetch him?"

"Because you actually like him, for reasons known only to yourself. Now, off with you." She waved him out of her office with a flick of her fingers.

The battlecruiser let out a put-upon sigh and dumped his welding mask on a nearby trolley as he slouched towards the main doors. Before he could slap the access panel, the familiar blocky form of Shockwave loomed into view through the window.

He grinned and yelled towards the CMO's office. "Raider? Call off the search party, he's just turned up."

The doors hissed open as Dreadnought rubbed his hands together. "Shockwave, awesome, you just saved me from playing-"

All the words in his vocaliser died in an instant.

His optic band went white with horror.

"…Oh Primus…"

The Military Ops officer was visibly swaying on his pedes, one hand clutching the edge of the doorframe while the other was holding his chestplates shut. Oil-filled, rancid-smelling energon coated his legs and most of his lower body, while most of the visible energon lines in his joints were black with infection. The same red and black fluids dribbled weakly out of his emergency release valves, while the edges of his armour were turning a frightening shade of grey.

His optic was straining to focus as he stared dazedly at Dreadnought.

"…I…require…assistance…"

Shockwave's optic suddenly turned a hideous red as the polluted energon welled in his optical ducts and gushed down his plating.

Dreadnought could only scream one word.

"NIGHTRAIDER!"

The tetra-jet flew out of her office at the scream, and staggered to a halt as she stared in shock at the mech before her.

The purple gunformer's body curled in on itself and spasmed once, twice, before a retch that sounded like it had emerged from the Pit itself emerged from his vocaliser.

Energon spewed thickly down his plating as he collapsed to his knees.

"…Help…me…"

The last thing he heard was Nightraider screaming for Glit, and Dreadnought's thumping footsteps as he darted forward to catch him.

The last thing he saw before his systems crashed was Dreadnought's hands coming up to grab him, already covered in tainted energon.

His fluid-soaked optic flared once.

The fibreglass casing shattered, and died.


TBC