On the Side of the Spirits

AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued feedback and support!

AN2: DANGER! Do not tread here

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"Sideswipe, where is your brother?"

Sideswipe looked up from his datapad, brow furrowed. "Art show or something, I think. Why?"

Prowl narrowed his optics, trying to detect any falsehoods from the red Lambo, but Sideswipe looked genuinely curious as to Prowl's inquiry.

"Why do you want Sunstreaker?" Sideswipe placed his datapad on the table and gave the Praxian a hard stare. It was unnatural on his normally playful and boyish features.

"I need someone to access cargo bay three," Prowl started, but Sideswipe sputtered and yelled.

"You can't!"

Prowl paused, staring blandly at the red mech.

"Why not?"

"That area is haunted!" Sideswipe said, earning the attention of the minibots seated across the rec room. They paused their conversation and watched apprehensively.

"Nonsense." Prowl waved his hand dismissively. "There is no such thing as a haunting. Mere human tales used to spook young children."

"I don't know, Prowl," Bumblebee said from the table with the minibots. He looked a little frightened. "There's a lot of unexplained phenomena out there. You have to admit, not everything can be explained."

"Nonsense." Prowl repeated.

"But, why Sunny?" Sideswipe asked, suddenly getting a cold feeling in his tank.

"His studio shares a wall with that cargo bay and I was hoping to gain access to it via a maintenance hatch in Sunstreaker's studio."

Sideswipe frowned. The corridor to Cargo bay three had been blocked due to a cave in when the mountain had the hiccups a few months prior. Sunstreaker's studio now had lava rock decorating the far corner. Thankfully, his art had remained unblemished by the shifting rock.

"That's in section… G," Sideswipe said, voice tinged with... fear?

Prowl arched a brow ridge. What could have Sideswipe so fearful? He was as mechly as they come. Something must surely spook the front liner if he balks at something so simple as mentioning an area of the ship.

"The lights keep going out in that section," Brawn interjected, shuddering. "And it's always cold there. Don't know why."

"The climate control is probably malfunctioning," Prowl provided, noting that the minibots shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the ship's notorious 'bad spot.'

Prowl had heard the rumors. They all had.

When the ARK was under construction, an errant blast had terminated workers, the fanciful retellings added there were spark shadows imprinted along the hull in that area.

But that was mere superstitious nonsense. Logic dictated there was a rational explanation for everything. One merely had to ask the right questions and discern correct information out of the wild speculations of a superstitious storytelling.

"Did you know that's the section where the bots were terminated?" Windcharger asked in a shushed tone.

Brawn nodded an affirmative but apparently Bumblebee and Cliffjumper were in the dark.

"No," Bumblebee said softly. "What happened?"

"It was the early construction of the ARK,' he started. "They were putting in the main hull plating when it collapsed. Eight bots were terminated, right where they stood."

"Nine," Sideswipe corrected, gaze downcast. He remembered the story all to well.

The minibots collectively shivered. Nine was an unlucky number in Cybertronian culture.

"The hull fell, wiring sparked, and they were pinned while the area ignited," Sideswipe supplied the more gorier details.

"There is no such structural damage to the hull or any other part of the ARK nor such an accident recorded," Prowl said, wondering where the stories originated.

"Then there's the electrical shorts," Sideswipe added.

The minibots crowded a little closer together, obviously distressed by the talk of dead bots haunting the ship.

"Sometimes the hallway goes dark," Bumblebee said, visibly shrinking back as if to avoid something unpleasant. "And it gets colder. Like someone walked over your grave."

"Nonsense," Prowl explained, wondering what was so scary about flickering lights. "Merely electrical shortages."

"Thought you said there wasn't any damage to that part of the ship?" Brawn countered.

"Before launch, the ship was inspected and given the green light," Prowl said, waving his arm around the entire room. "And in case you missed it, we're partially buried in the side of a volcano for the past four millions years. There's bound to be residual failures from sustained damage."

"Reason for everything, huh?" Brawn asked skeptically.

"Precisely." Prowl confirmed.

"Then how do you explain the sounds?" Brawn asked.

The room went deathly quiet. Even Sideswipe's optics were wide in fear.

"I've heard it," Windcharger admitted. He stared into his half finished cube, unable to look anyone in the optic. "It's like a…moan."

"I've heard it, too," Brawn added, sharing the information that had niggled away at his processor for some time. It was nice knowing he wasn't alone. That he wasn't imagining things. That he wasn't going crazy. "Like something… some one, is in pain. Suffering. Dying."

"I think it sounds…human," Bumblebee said. When the other bots stared at him incredulously, he added, "When they're in pain. How they moan and groan."

"All of you have heard this… noise… in corridor G?" Prowl asked, not believing a word of what he was hearing. There was a simple explanation for the noises and cold. There was no logical reason for everyone to be on edge and fearful of a corridor.

"It's low, barely audible," Cliffjumper said. "You have to turn your audios up to hear it, but it's there. A low, long moan of pain."

"I've heard... sparkbeats," Sideswipe added quietly.

All optics fell on the red Lambo and for once, he wasn't in joyous spirits. He kept his optics dimmed and downward cast, shoulders slouched in total defeat. It was unusual seeing the normally overly excitable mech being so milquetoast.

"Pure foolishness, and I won't allow superstitious nonsense to prevent me from doing my job," Prowl said forcefully. He pointed to Sideswipe. "You're coming with me!"

"What?" Sideswipe barked, optics now wide and full of fear. His ventilation hitched and sputtering. "Go where?"

"To Corridor G," Prowl said. He jerked his thumb toward the door. "Get a move on."

"But, but.. I'm off duty!" Sideswipe protested scrambling to pick up his datapad that had fallen from the table. He fumbled, shaking hands unable to hold onto its slimline design. "Get someone else."

"I know for a fact that you did not do the Munitions inventory last week." Prowl's optics narrowed, his doorwings fanning out in a display of dominance.

His orders were barked with enough vehemence to make a bot jump to attention and obey. Not the twins. They sometimes needed physical reminders of who was in charge.

Most didn't realize Prowl performed this particular dominance display. It seemed a common occurrence when the twins were involved in mischief and Prowl's patience had reached its end.

Most thought it was merely his way of riling up and preparing for blowing off steam… and possible laser fire.

Smokescreen and Bluestreak knew better but wisely remained mute on the subject.

"Now, are you going to come willingly or do I have to drag you by the crankshaft?" Prowl growled.

Sideswipe put away his datapad, hands visibly shaking. Prowl paused in his authoritative assessment. What could have Sideswipe so scared he looked like he was going straight to the smelters?

Sideswipe's steps were slow.

"Nice knowing you half pints," Sideswipe said to the minibots.

Prowl's optic ridge rose high, noting the sincerity in the Lambos voice made each of the minibots give him solemn nods. They didn't take offence or slander to Sideswipe's words. In fact, they appeared aggrieved to see him go.

No further words were spoken.

"Oh for Primus' sake!" Prowl snapped, uncharacteristically frustrated with the illogical nature of his comrades. "Stop acting like you're going to your execution. It's just a cargo hold that has to be checked for possible supplies."

"Right,' Sideswipe muttered.

Usually when Sideswipe walked down a hall he was bright, cheery, happy go lucky, carefree mech with his head held high and mischief twinkling in his blue optics. Now, he walked with head downcast, shoulders slumped in defeat, and shallow ventilation associated with trepidation.

When the two got to the designated corridor it was to find the lights dimmed to a third of their power setting. Usually when an area wasn't in use, the power was cut to converse what little energy they had.

This section remained steadfastly operational, despite the fact that there was no reason for it to remain so.

Prowl led the way down the corridor, Sideswipe keeping a couple steps behind. The hall appeared to cut sharply into a new hall, but it was an illusion. The niche was specifically designed to throw off potential saboteurs. Jazz helped in the design of the ship. His twisted perceptions were everywhere, if one knew how to look properly.

The door to the cargo hold was smashed in, sealed shut with a giant stalactite lock. The only way to gain access into the small cargo area beyond was to enter Sunstreaker's studio on the right.

Sideswipe showed no ambition in typing in the code to unlock the door, so Prowl took initiative. The door opened with his command override. He stepped over the threshold, eyeing the spacious room carefully. It wasn't beneath Sunstreaker to boobytrap his studio in case someone got the stupid idea to break in for mischief.

As Sideswipe discovered time and time again.

He never learned.

Finding the area clear, save for various chunks of metal, easels, tubs of paint, brushes, canvases, and all manner of strange things the hoarding artist collected for his mixed medium projects, Prowl walked the long length to the end, where the wall was buckled slightly from the impact millions of years ago. As he surmised, there was an access door that opened into the cargo hold.

The door was darker than the rest of the wall, but for the most part, it appeared to be as bland as any other part of the ship.

Though it was cold.

Prowl's doorwings gave a flutter, noting there was a ten degree drop in temperature. Course, that could be explained by Sunstreaker's studio. He had several pieces drying or being cured and such a thing required constant air circulation.

That's what it was.

Nothing more.

Though Prowl did notice something else.

Sideswipe remained several paces away. As in, far enough distance to be able to bolt and not get caught if there was a problem. He reluctantly inched closer, but his frame was practically vibrating with tension.

"What?" Prowl asked, unsure what could possibly cause the most vicious front line warrior to be such a scaredy-bot.

"This… this is where they… terminated," Sideswipe said, glancing along the walls and floor as if seeing the stain of nine mechs who had perished.

Prowl was unimpressed.

"Nonsense. I read the manuals and construction reports," he said dismissively. "There was no such accident."

The lights flickered.

Sideswipe's breathing function hitched. His engine revved into a hysterical whine.

"We're dead mechs!" Sideswipe whimpered.

"Merely a short." Prowl said with a dismissive sigh.

The lights went out completely. Sideswipe's voice came through the pitch.

"Explain that then, if you have all the logical answers, smarty-bolts."

"A power surge or damage to the electrical system," Prowl explained flatly.

As if in omen, the lights flickered back on though they remained powered down to a minimal setting.

"Surrre….." Sideswipe's tone was skeptical. "Next thing you'll say is there's no such thing as spirits. That a mech's spirit can't linger in our world."

"Exactly," Prowl said, not catching the optic roll Sideswipe performed. "Once a spark extinguishes, it returns to the Well of All Sparks. Everyone knows that."

"Actually, that's conjecture on part of the elders, transcribed during the time of the thirteen primes." Sideswipe's voice gained some strength, even if he was a little shaky. "A covenant that was created for the children of Primus to know they are never forgotten and will return to the well that granted them existence."

"How would you know?" Prowl quipped. "Thought history wasn't your thing?"

"One learns things over the millennia," Sideswipe said evasively.

"Its logical our sparks have to come from somewhere and that they aren't flukes…" Prowl said, now finding it outlandish he was in such a conversation. With Sideswipe no less. "It stands to reason that once the physical form can no longer sustain that life, it has to return from whence it came."

"And you believe it's the Well of All Sparks?"

"We are all children of Primus." Prowl scowled at Sideswipe. "The Well has been the source of our species since the beginning. To think otherwise is pure folly."

"Never pegged you as a religious type."

"I'm simply stating a fact." Prowl said, back to using his cool logic.

Any further discussion was cut short as the lights flickered again.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped several degrees.

"Okay, oh logical one," Sideswipe spat, feeling a chill creep over his plating and make his sensors ache. "Explain that."

"It stands to reason if there is faulty electrical wiring, then the climate control is affected as well." Prowl gave his most superior, logical expression. A look that clearly said Sideswipe was checkmated.

Then the lights went out, throwing both into total darkness.

"We are so fragged," Sideswipe whimpered.

The lights returned, offering a soft amber glow to the studio.

Sideswipe's optics darted around. He never realized how utterly creepy his brother's work space really was until he was stuck in the room with low illumination and a bot who lacked the proper fear when confronted with something obviously supernatural.

Knowing Prowl, if a monster appeared he'd give a lecture on why it's wasn't real, irrelevant, and demand to know its full corporeal perimeters.

"See! Even the dead mechs know we're slagged and are giving us permission to leave."

"Electrical shorts," Prowl corrected. "That I will have Wheeljack to work on as soon as he's able."

"And kill more bots!" Sideswipe barked.

"He won't kill anyone, you have my assurances," Prowl said.

But Sideswipe wasn't to be deterred.

"Maybe not electrocuting them to death, but if he messes around with this section, and there's a problem, like an explosion, the roof collapsing, the walls melting… and Sunstreaker's art gets destroyed?" Sideswipe paused for dramatic effect. "You realize the devastation Sunny can accomplish when he's extremely slagged off?"

It was Prowl's turn to pause. Yes, Sideswipe had a point. If Wheeljack messed around with the wiring, and however unintentional the accident, Sunstreaker's wrath may result in death and dismemberment of anyone in his path. He was singularly focused in that aspect.

"Point taken," Prowl murmured. "I'll have Ratchet and Perceptor fix what they can while limited to the corridor. I'll reiterate Sunstreaker's studio remain off limits."

"Good idea!" Sideswipe said, then released a strangled noise when the lights went off again.

The entire room was thrown into total darkness. The only light was coming from two sets of blue optics, one shining a little brighter than the other and darting about the darkness, convinced of his impending doom.

Sideswipe winced as Prowl turned on his headlights, blinding him as he was pointed directly at him.

"Man! Now I blind!"

"Sorry," Prowl muttered, lowering his beams and directing them toward the door.

The lights flickered back on, now at half power. Prowl kept his headlights on and fumbled with the locking mechanism. With damage from either the crash or possibly Sunstreaker's violent moods, the lock was partially melted and proved difficult to turn.

The lights went out. The only illumination was from Prowl's dimmed headlights.

"You realize if you open that door, we're both dead mechs, right?" Sideswipe whispered in the paleness of Prowl's lights.

As if in omen, Prowl's own headlights flickered. He frowned, glaring down at his chest and circling the glassy lamps, trying to get them to come back on. They wouldn't. Both lights remained black. The temperature remained gelid.

The overhead lights came back on to full brightness, burning into their optics and causing them to flinch. Before they could adjust to the brilliant luminescence, the lights lowered, offering a soft, amber glow.

Prowl's doorwings twitched. "I surmise the cold temperature is also having an effect upon the wiring."

Sideswipe's retort was cut short when both bots heard the long, dulcet moan.

"You hear that?" Sideswipe whispered, optic blinking so rapidly he resembled a strobe light.

"Probably machinery above or below us," Prowl reasoned, though he sounded like he didn't believe his own explanation. His headlights were still strangely dark.

"Machinery doesn't moan like that," Sideswipe said with a simpering whine.

"And that wasn't a moan. It was distinctly the sound of a machinery. The… hum." Prowl huffed in agitation.

"Machinery doesn't hum like that!" Sideswipe spat.

Frustrated by his partners illogical fear, Prowl grasped the door handle and gave a mighty wrench. The hinges creaked ominously but the door would not budge for the tactician. The humming moan became louder. It pitched in volume, sounding as a tortured creature in the depths of the pit.

"Oh slag!" The words escaped Sideswipe in a mousy gust of air. "We're slagged!"

"Machinery," Prowl stated, though there was no conviction in his tone. He withdrew his effort to open the door and motioned for Sideswipe to step forward. "To prove my point, you open the door."

"What?" Sideswipe squalled like a cat with its tail caught in a fan.

"The only way to face you fear is dead on." Prowl said, nodding to the door. "You are terrified of something you do not know nor understand. The only way to conquer such fear is to greet it head on."

"I'm not going in there." Sideswipe was adamant. If he'd have to pound Prowl with his piledrivers, he would.

"You are an adult front line warrior," Prowl reminded the trembling Lambo. "You fear no one or no thing."

Sideswipe refused to budge.

Angrily, Prowl grasped the handle and yanked. His fury over Sideswipe's illogical fears gave him added strength. With a crying of tortured hinges, he threw open the damaged, discolored door.

Sideswipe cringed, as if expecting to be struck down for such insolence.

Prowl's optic ridge arched in that damnable, smug way, but his arrogance was short lived.

Suddenly there was a loud roaring noise, like a million gallons of water rushing through a tunnel, followed by a high pitched electronic cry. Prowl froze mid-step, his optics going wide as a white ghostly figure emerged from the darkness, its arms outstretched, reaching for him.

Several things happened at once.

First, Prowl grabbed Sideswipe by the arms.

Second, he bodily threw the Lamborghini into the room toward the apparition.

Third, Sideswipe landed with an undignified thump at the foot of the ethereal phantom.

Fourth, Prowl screamed like a little girl and bolted out of the room and down the long corridor, not stopping until he reached the safety of his quarters.

Sideswipe looked up the full length of the hovering apparition, his face contorting.

"Can you believe that slagger?! Just threw me in here!"

"I admit that was an unforeseen occurrence." Sunstreaker's voice floated from under the ghostly get up. He was stunned the Praxian reached such decibels and had sacrificed his brother so readily toward a perceived danger.

Sideswipe's indignation melted away. He heard the soft hum of the illegal still operating in the corner, where it was hooked to the main power grid via a conglomeration of stripped wires and tubing.

"Think we're safe?"

"Should be. At least, for awhile," Sunstreaker said, staring at the open doorway where a terrified Praxian had taken flight despite his stubby doorwings.

Sideswipe grinned, rolling to the side and brushing his helm against his brother's golden pedes exposed under his ghostly getup.

"Sideswipe. Stop looking up my sheet."

Sideswipe snickered.

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So.. what do you think? Been done before? Honestly, the longer I go with this series, it's harder and harder to think of something unique involving the Twin Terrors. But as long as I keep bringing new stuff, and keep my readers, I'll continue writing and posting :D

Speaking of readers, I wanted to get everyone's feedback. Most know I have patrons who support my work and get sneak peeks, editorials, one on one interaction with me, reader polls to keep me focused on what patrons want, access to livestreams, and yes, even see my pre-editing mistakes when something hilarious pops up. (I'm not ashamed of my mistakes)

On the higher tiers I also offer stories (I write what you want me to), I'll edit and fix your own stories.

I was curious as to find out what my readers would like to see offered? Anything in particular you would be interested in as part of a tier? Like a weekly livestream of reading a story/chapter (for the patron members who have difficulty in reading or not enough time and would rather have me do an audio book version)?

What would YOU be interested in?