Window Swipers
AN: THANK YOU GIRAFFECHAN and RAP BEAR for your continued feedback and support!
AN2: We've had several funny chapters, so let's change it up a bit and get a tad morbid. hehe
-o-
o-o
o-o
It was late in the capitol city of Iacon.
The base was darkened as to not alert the enemy to the comings and goings of the Autobot forces. Decepticon spies were everywhere. One had to remain vigilant. Only those on guard duty were allowed outside the compound and in the corridors. Lights had to be low, most bots relying on infrared to navigate the base.
For the most part, the population charged, their dreams of an end to the war and a return to a golden, prosperous age. The bustle and brightness of bots mingling and having fun. Of buying and selling. Of trading goods and wares. Despite haggled prices and inflated egos, there was always a sense of happiness and brightness about a market place.
But no longer.
What market places remained was scarce, the bots always camouflaged to hide identity, least they be seen by friend or ally and their secret exposed.
As the war raged on, supplies dwindled. Quickly, the shelves were emptied and merchants out of business. With no suppliers, and most lacking credits to spend, those who wanted certain items were free to overpower the merchant and take whatever they wanted by force.
The enforcers were no more. Many still clung the to the ideology of serving and protecting, only now, they did so with an Autobot sigil.
Unfortunately, they couldn't be every where at once.
With limited resources and a world at war, the supply and demand market took a drastic swing into the underbelly of black market dealers. Those who had illegal and ruthless ways to obtain items for those able to pay the price.
There remained a few from the higher powers, the tower dwellers, in their tall spires of platinum and margaric sheens. Shining as pillars above a dark and dingy populace, putting the smaller, duller buildings to shame.
The tower dwellers and members of the old senate, (those who hadn't been slaughtered by Megatron's initial campaign,) were studiously neutral. Their remaining source of power and income lay in the colonies, where refugees hid from war until the smoke and ash settled.
Though the Tower bots and old senate assemblage feared Megatron, especially after witnessing his cruelty and barely escaping with their aft plates from his many purges, they also feared the Prime, though for totally different reasons.
Optimus was not meant to be. Against all odds, he was entrusted with the Matrix and became the first Prime in many eons.
When the ruling class was entrusted with overseeing the population, to rule and govern them justly, the Matrix had remained dormant. Locked away in the inner vaults under the senate, deep within the planet.
But as the seed of corruption grew, the wise and powerful using their position for personal gains and shameful influences, destroying the foundations of their world, allowing themselves to become corrupted. Dissention grew. Spread as an invisible plague over the planet.
As the population suffered at the hands of their powerful elites, a lone gladiator rose to rebuke their rule and demand equality. Many fell under his spell, seeking his favor and offering their support. They were ignorant to Metatron's true intentions.
With the help of a powerful telepath, Megatron's campaign turned violent. The ruling class of Kaon were overthrown, their city lost, taken as a capitol by Megatron who vowed to conquer their world and turn it to his own despotic vision with himself as sole ruler.
War was upon Cybertron. It wouldn't be avoided any longer. A purge was happening.
But the unexpected happened.
The Matrix awakened.
Though hidden within the bowels of the senate's secret vaults, it called out, seeking the one to bear and champion the good and positive things in the universe. A bearer to see a troubled, broken, and bleeding people into the dawn of a new golden age. Someone to give hope. Someone to shine, providing light in the darkest nights.
And no one knew how such a thing was able to happen, as Optimus had scant recollection of the event, but a lowly dock worker was called. Lured by some strange, unknown voice, he abandoned his work and obeyed, miraculously bypassing every security measure to gain access to the hallowed inner sanctum.
One minute a lowly dock worker was performing his mundane job, and next thing he remembered, he was knelt before the Matrix, giving his permission for the ancient artifact to take refuge within his chest.
Once the pact was sealed, Optimus Prime was born.
As Iacon was thrown into chaos, fearing the threatening army of Decepticon forces now marching unchecked across their borders, the newly minted Prime stepped out of the senate halls.
Instantly, there was hope. The will of Primus now walked among them. One to protect the weak and return balance. To bring peace and equality.
Primus heard the suffering of his children and sent an emissary. One who bore the mark of Primus. The mark shared by every single Autobot battling for freedom and justice.
Optimus attempted several diplomatic talks, but the Decepticons were fierce. Resolute. Destructive. Megatron would settle for nothing less than total control of the people.
Optimus loathed to give the order to terminate the enemy, but he knew, deep down, with Megatron's tyrannical, bloodthirsty nature, there was no other choice.
Hence why many bots would find the Prime in quiet contemplation after battles. Some conjectured it was the need to be alone after being in the heat of battle and his helm was ringing with commands and he needed time to unwind and collect himself to launch the next counteroffensive.
The scant few who knew him, knew the Prime needed the quite times, the isolation, to think on the lives lost. To seek the wisdom of the Matrix in the decision to end a threat.
It was a burden that weighed heavily on the newly minted Prime.
Even if he didn't terminate a bot himself, if one was terminated under his orders or by indirect result, he felt the loss of each spark as heavy as the last.
The Prime bore such burdens with the grace and compassion of a leader.
Many of his troops shared his feelings.
Others… not so much.
Sideswipe was of the latter mindset. He enjoyed the thrill of the fight and the termination of evil bots. Growing up in the illegal gladiatorial rings, he had developed quite the bloodlust. A common trait between him and his twin, though Sideswipe learned to better control his rage than Sunstreaker. Sideswipe had the ability to turn off his anger. To stop the fight. Stop terminating.
Not Sunstreaker. He kept going until he was so exhausted he literally knocked himself offline out of sheer spite.
Though he was currently a guest of medbay.
A couple cycles prior the Decepticons attempted another push at Iacon. The Autobots had held their own, but there were casualties.
Sunstreaker's paint job chief among them.
His left leg had been slagged by a triple changer and had to be totally reconstructed. He was now a guest of medbay until his neural transmitters finished growing and ingraining into his systems. He also suffered nasty burns which meant his paint was blistered and scorched.
Meaning his temper was most foul.
Sunstreaker hated to be ugly.
So Ratchet had ensured some peace of mind in the medbay by sedating the golden menace until he was healed and able to go buff himself.
But Sunstreaker was not Sideswipe's intended target this particular dark evening.
The medbay was finally calm. Ratchet worked his aft plates off to save as many as he could. His success rate was the highest amongst the Autobot ranks.
However he often worked himself into a fragmented lethargy, barely ingesting fuel, optics dull and partially closed, he was often times found sitting by his patients bedside or flittering between berths.
No one was currently critical so Ratchet was spared many hours of surgery and observation.
Sideswipe found Ratchet in his office, a small miracle in of itself. Ratchet hated paperwork and documenting everything was worse than a crotch rust epidemic.
Sideswipe didn't bother knocking. He knew Ratchet sensed him as soon as his EM field came within range. Ratchet was highly attuned to his surroundings. He had to be. One never knew when a patient would flatline or go nuts.
Sideswipe didn't speak, merely stood by the door, a silent, carmine colored sentry. He waited patiently in the shadows, watching Ratchet finish up his reports.
Without acknowledging his visitor, Ratchet rose and exited his office. Sideswipe detached from the shadows and followed Ratchet to an adjacent room, shutting the door. Shelves upon shelves surrounded them, several rows high. The medical supply closet. Where medics stored parts and fluids for use on their patients.
At one time the shelves would have been full, with stores of surplus stacked in crates.
Now? The shelves were sparse.
The recent battle had drastically dwindled supplies.
With the factories closed and lack of skilled laborers generating new and useable parts, it was difficult to keep up with the demand.
Thankfully, Sideswipe had an alternative. One Ratchet utilized and Prime did NOT approve.
Sideswipe began opening subspace pockets. He emptied one side while Ratchet concentrated on the other, none too gentle shoving his hand into the pockets and causing Sideswipe to scowl at the rough treatment.
Gears, tubes, wires, all manner of parts began to appear and find residence on the shelves.
"Good haul," Ratchet praised, finishing one subspace pocket and shoving his hand into the other.
Sideswipe grinned.
"Sunny missed out on some great fights," he said, placing energon converters and spark chambers on the shelves. "He'll kick himself for it later."
"Yeah, well, he tends to slag up the parts and make them scrap, which doesn't do me much good."
"I always help out my favorite mech," Sideswipe said cheekily.
"You know, if Prime knew what we were doing, he'd have us brought up on charges," Ratchet said, placing the last empty spark chamber on the shelf next to a dozen others. They would come in hand repairing damaged chambers. Sideswipe was always careful in his executions, ensuring most parts were salvageable to be used in aiding his own teammates. "He doesn't approve of scavenging."
"Not like we have a surplus supply or store to place an order," Sideswipe scoffed. He knew the Prime's feelings on picking corpses apart for useable pieces. Only, the Prime didn't seem to realize there was a drastic shortage, and if Ratchet didn't utilize the cadaver parts, over half the Autobot forces would no longer be functioning.
Most took issue with the desecration of the dead, but not Sideswipe. He saw them as parts. Parts needed to help his comrades. Parts to keep himself and his twin alive. Parts to ensure they stayed strong in the fight and endured until they won the war.
"What do you say we go on a little humanitarian run tomorrow?" Sideswipe suggested.
"Now that I'm caught up on repairs and there's nothing life threatening, I think it's wise to extend the hand of aid," Ratchet added, optics gleaming. "Suggestion of locations to search for possible bots in need of assistance?"
"Let's see," Sideswipe said, counting off on his digits. "Four at Gamma section level two, three at level five, and there's approximately eight in the Zeta sector level three. And it's possible there are a few random mechs in need of attention between locations."
Ratchet's optics alighted with glee.
"Well then, I'll need a volunteer to help me offer aid and watch my back while I attend to the injured," Ratchet said happily. Larger parts were too big to fit into Sideswipe's subspace pockets and required to be moved as a whole, hence why he knew how to hide his victims and keep them safe until Ratchet could properly strip them.
"I'll be sure to rile up Prowl to get assigned into providing you assistance in such a boring, and total waste of my time," Sideswipe grinned, bumping shoulders with Ratchet. "We'll help the injured."
"Yes, help. Don't want the poor things to suffer."
"Definitely not," Sideswipe agreed. "And it's none of Prime's business to know how your shelves will become mysteriously restocked after your humanitarian efforts."
Ratchet observed his partially restocked shelves.
"Why, Sideswipe, whatever do you mean?" Ratchet said innocently.
o-o
o-o
-o-
I bet Ratchet loves to go 'shopping' with Sideswipe.
Yes, I have a twisted sense of humor.
