Different Sides of Battle
AN:
HUGE THANK YOU to AlexLuke for being an AWESOME supporter!
Thank you to all my fans! You're messages and reviews are loved and cherished!
Sorry for the delay this week. Struggling with health issues related to car accident in March, but I was able to get a little ditty done.
Hope everyone likes it.
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"Delta five," Sunstreaker said.
"Scratch," Dead End muttered. "I despise scratches. You know how despise them."
"Yes, I am aware," Sunstreaker said offhandedly. "Quad Trion."
"Deflection," Dead End retorted, waving his arm. "The Trion maneuver won't work on me. You should know that by now."
"I have been able to dupe you with it," Sunstreaker retorted, glaring at his opponent. Why had never realized how ugly the Con was? Why couldn't he have chosen a paint scheme more vibrant? More alive?
Sunstreaker was a pure golden deity.
Dead End? An expired chunk of rotten flesh creature.
And he smelled nearly as bad. Poor Con. Must not have access to proper cleaning facilities.
"You go after Trion all the time. So, I'm going to try it on you." Dead End glared, turning the proverbial screws, to rankle his enemy. "Alpha Trion."
"Not a bad mech from what I hear," Sunstreaker said, waving his hand dismissively. "But as for your ploy, it didn't work."
"Scrap," Dead End cursed, searching for signs of vulnerability in his foe.
"Shall we go higher?" Sunstreaker asked sweetly. On him, the expression was sinisterly devious. Evil almost. "Zeta quadratic."
"And yet you failed to find my weak spots," Dead End snickered, riling Sunstreaker up even more. Which was exactly what he wanted. "Theta Trax."
Sunstreaker moaned pitifully. "A scratch!"
Encouraged by his meager success at damage, Dead End continued. "Beta Pax."
"Evade," Sunstreaker growled, optics glowing brightly and setting his handsome face into scary relief.
Dead End shifted uncomfortably.
"Nitrix quad," Sunstreaker sneered.
"Scratch!" Dead End wailed, shaking his head.
"Beta binary," Sunstreaker said, watching his enemy's expressions.
"Scratch! Slag it all to the pit!" Dead End thundered. His optics darted nervously, hoping no one noticed his blemishes.
Sunstreaker studied the Stunticon's face, studiously searching for what Smokescreen called 'tells.' To his delight, and he'd never admit it out loud, but the times Sunstreaker played or observed the human pastime of 'poker night' had helped him gauge his enemy and adjust his attack patterns.
"Zeta scorpi," Sunstreaker said, noticing the Con's optics drifting to the called quadrant.
"Scratch!" Dead End blurted, slamming his fist into a boulder and reducing it to powder.
"Crypto septi," Sunstreaker pushed onward.
"Evade!" Dead End crowed with relief. He leered at his opponent. "Ether triad."
"Scratch," Sunstreaker growled, accepting the strike.
"Alpha triad," Dead End pressed.
"Scratch," Sunstreaker said, rolling his shoulders in agitation.
"Omega zox," Dead End said, excited over his success. But it was short lived.
"Deflect," Sunstreaker said, dismissing the flimsy strike. "Gamma helix."
Dead End gasped, his optics slowing lowering to his chest. "Spark."
"I win," Sunstreaker glared, just as his comms opened and a frantic Sideswipe filled his senses.
"Bro, where are you?" Sideswipe asked over comms and through their bond. "Con's are retreating and you're feeling… happy. What the slag, bro?"
Sunstreaker sighed, folding up the makeshift game board that resembled the human game 'Battleship.'
"My brother's calling," he informed Dead End. "Said your loser friends are in retreat."
Dead End offered a long suffering sigh. "Yes, Motormaster has been pinging for my location for the past few breems."
"We finished in the nick of time," Sunstreaker said, tucking the game away into his subspace. He pulled out a book and scribbled his win.
Dead End was performing the same kind of record in his own book. When they were finished, they swapped books and scanned the log the other had written.
Sunstreaker scowled at the Con's untidy print, his lip curling in distaste. "I know you are young, but surely you have downloaded the correct forms of letters and numbers."
"What's the point?" Dead End shrugged. "When one of us terminates, the other will no longer have reason to maintain the log. In fact, I'm not sure why we keep such a thing, other than it gives you the opportunity to show off your art." Dead End tilted his head, observing Sunstreaker's doodles. "I must admit, your talent is quite extraordinary."
Sunstreaker tucked the book Dead End gave him into his subspace next to their game consol. Next time they met on the battlefield, and were able to distance themselves from their comrades, they would settle down to their game and battle it out over strategy and wits. It was a game they had started playing nearly a year before.
Tired of being beaten, broken, scratched, and appearing less than their immaculate selves, at least as far as Dead End could achieve given his lack of quality features, in the midst of the heated chaos, Dead End mentioned the ability to fight without incurring physical damage.
Strangely enough, the idea of not being scratched, dented, or blistered appealed to Sunstreaker.
Thus their ritual began.
At the end of every 'battle' they would log the winner in a ledger in their own book, and swap the book back and forth to make sure the other stayed honest. At least, as honest as a Decepticon and a former Pit fighter could be. In Sunstreaker's case, the ledger also served as a sketchpad when he had an inkling and no other medium in which to exorcise his artistic demons.
"Was once one of the highest paid artists on Cybertron," Sunstreaker imparted proudly. He may have lost his recognition, prestige, and hefty credit accounts, but his pride was still as inflated as ever. Time had not diminished his hubris.
"I can see why," Dead End mused, then tucked the ledger into his own subspace pocket. "Too bad it was all destroyed."
Sunstreaker deflated. Marginally. It was in Dead End's nature to be so atrabilious, but sometimes the mech inadvertently touched upon a painful reality.
"Sunny?!" Sideswipe called over the bond and through comms. "Where are you, bro?"
Sunstreaker huffed at the hideous nickname.
"I should go. My idiot's calling for me. If I don't answer, he'll tear the world apart to find me."
"My gestalt is searching for me as well," Dead End sighed morosely. He stared past Sunstreaker's shoulder, as if seeing something in the far distance. "Don't you ever wish all this could end and we can simply enjoy being in the moment, however fleeting it may be?"
"Yeah, but without the war, I'd be unemployed,' Sunstreaker joked.
Dead End laughed. "I as well. It's what I have been built for."
"Sucks," Sunstreaker grunted.
"We all terminate," Dead End said, his usual morbid expression entrenched on his face. "Whether by war or by erosion of time, Autobot or Deception, we all end up as memories and rust."
"Charming," Sunstreaker muttered, sending a thrum of annoyance over the bond with his twin to allay the slagger from his frantic search. "Next time, rusty aft."
Dead End perked up, giving Sunstreaker a rude gesture as they parted for their respective sides. He joined his gestalt, wheezing through his vents and spinning the tale of chasing Sunstreaker and missing the yellow Lamborghini in his endeavors. As always, his team bought the explanation of his disappearance.
Sunstreaker didn't bother with an explanation. As soon as Sideswipe was in punching distance, the ruby mech was clutching his face, howling about his busted olfactory sensor, while Sunstreaker stomped to his team mates, radiating hatred and frustration.
Wisely, everyone gave him space.
Little did they know, the reason for Sunstreaker's foul mood was due to the fact Dead End was now two games away from equaling Sunstreaker's score. Sunstreaker's pride dictated he have a much further lead over the dismal Decepticon.
Well, he'd just have to remedy the situation. He'd have to win at least six more games to get a comfortable lead.
He could do it.
He was smart. Calculating. Determined.
And he wouldn't even ruin his finish!
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