Five. Yep.
The door opened slowly, groaning as its hinges creaked. Breakdown entered cautiously, alert for airborne objects attempting to behead.
None came.
The room was pitch black. The temperature of the air had dropped, according to his sensors. Despite the lack of movement and life, he still knew Deathstrike was here, somewhere.
Unless…
"Deathstrike?"
He sensed the slightest of movements, the smallest sound, so quiet it was if something had barely vented.
"Deathstrike."
The movement happened again as he moved slowly around the room, sensors on high alert. A tremor ran through him as he made his second round. Static made his sensors go haywire, increasing the hard pounding ache in his processor.
"Lights on."
The computer followed the command. A growl sounded, deep and feral. Deathstrike was there, crouched in a corner, hands on the sides of his helm as if attempting to stop it from exploding. Breakdown saw the tremors shaking the assassin's chassis and knew it was worse—far worse.
"Deathstrike."
He shook his helm, claws scraping against the metal. They were extended, razor sharp points that could gouge out a warrior's spark chamber, and his wings were equally sharp.
"Deathstrike, you know I can help." He took towards the other, servos out in a reassuring, calming gesture.
"No, you cannot." The Decepticon's voice was deeper than normal, hoarse and quiet.
"Stop denying, you glitch-headed hard-helm." Breakdown's voice hardened. "I have helped you for eons, ever since this started. The others survived, so can you."
"The others knew what to do and where to go."
"You did as well. Don't beat yourself up about it."
"I am not—" The assassin cut off abruptly, venting out harshly. His claws dug into the wall near him, tearing deep jagged marks. Breakdown noticed the other scars the assassin had inflicted on the defenseless wall. Worry took its hold on him. There wasn't much time.
"Forget what I said Deathstrike. Listen to my voice." He moved even closer to the other. "You can fight this; I know you can. You have before. What's stopping you now?"
Deathstrike shook his helm again, coughing as a violent shudder ran through his body. He said something unintelligible. His wings twitched violently, scraping against the wall.
"You know I can't hear you."
"The scent." The assassin looked up. His optics were blazing, as red as the incineration chambers in the Pit. "I cannot stand it, Breakdown. It hits me every day: the drones, their life, everything. It is overpowering. I—" He coughed again, dry and hacking, as he shuttered his gaze.
"I can taste it, Breakdown." He drew in a ragged vent. "I can taste their life, their souls." He shook his helm. "How do I know I will not attack? How do you know? I can barely restrain myself." As if solidifying his statement, his wings flared violently.
"You can restrain, Deathstrike. It was my mistake for letting you convince me it was acceptable to come here when it was not."
The Decepticon opened his optics to stare at the warrior. "What do you mean?"
Breakdown's yellow gaze burned. "You know very well what I mean."
Deathstrike continued to stare. Breakdown was going to demand what was wrong when he noticed the assassin's optics: they were flickering, light to dark.
Scrap.
The assassin stood, fangs bared and claws extended. Breakdown dodged, narrowly missing a would-be-fatal attack from claws. Deathstrike snarled, fiery optics narrow and tracking his every move. Breakdown could tell by the black insanity in the other's gaze that it hadn't been let out in a long time—and it was starving.
"Deathstrike, fight this. You can, and I know you will." He kept talking as he ran an internal scan of his subspace contents. Blaster, stun-gun, manual for the ship…
No sedative.
This was going to be harder than expected.
But it would be easier if he brought in a few Vehicons and—
Something rammed into him. A razor sharp pain ran through his chest, dangerously close to his spark chamber. Deathstrike was glaring at him, optics narrow. The assassin's telepathic abilities—while nowhere near as strong as Soundwave's—were stronger than normal, enhanced only by fury,
Now was the time to panic.
He could no longer speak to Deathstrike to calm him down; he was too far gone. He didn't have time to make another batch of sedative. There was no way he could restrain Deathstrike that long, and the sedative had to be made with a special mix of enhanced Energon, one that took too long for—
"What in Primus' name is going on?!"
It was Starscream.
"What is happening to cause such a ruckus?" the Seeker demanded. "I am attempting to recover from a massive processor ache and all I hear is—"He froze when he took in the scene before him. "What is going on?"
"What are you doing here?" Breakdown growled. "Get out!"
"You do not command me!"
"I'm not—" He cut off as Deathstrike attacked again, tearing huge and deep slashes in his left servo. He gritted his dentia, trying to regain his bearings as he faced the Air Commander. "I'm not trying to order you around; I'm trying to save your life!"
"Deathstrike cannot harm me." His wings rose to their normal haughty height.
"Starscream, I do not care for your ego right now! Unless you want to be terminated, I suggest that you leave now!"
The Seeker crossed his servos. "Are you threatening me, Breakdown?"
"EVERYTHING ISN'T ALWAYS ABOUT YOU!" he roared, making the other flinch and stare in surprise. Breakdown was venting heavily, fighting to stay conscious and to control his anger. His movements only opened his wounds wider, and the amount of Energon he'd lost only made him lightheaded, while his anger only increased it.
But oh—how Starscream was a fool.
Who in their right would investigate a strange noise coming from Deathstrike's work lab? Everyone had heard of the stories and myths created by cowards—dissections, vivisections, torture, cloning? Even Deathstrike knew about them, and although he didn't do things like them, he gave the impression of doing so, just to—
Something slammed into him again, pinning him to the wall. It was Deathstrike, but physically. His claws dug into the cables of Breakdown's neck, drawing even more Energon. He gasped, shoving his servos against the assassin's chassis. The attack didn't move the other; it only made him angrier. Deathstrike snarled, his grip tightening and cutting off his opponent's ventilations as his wings fanned threateningly.
Scrap. Deathstrike was strong enough when he wasn't like this, but now he had enough strength to rip out the toughest warrior's spark chamber with a glance.
"Starscream," he hissed. "Leave. Now."
The Decepticon's wings twitched. "I—"
"I'm serious," he gasped, processor swimming. "Get out."
"You—"
"For the last time, I am not trying to order you around!"
"I know that," Starscream spat, voice shaking despite the angry look on his faceplate. "What I was going to say before I was rudely interrupted was that I have more sedative."
"What?!" Breakdown winced as the assassin's claws tore more slashed into his protoform. He, if it hadn't been evident before the attack, completely lost it. He roared at Deathstrike, servo changing into his hammer, and brought it down on the other's helm.
"Why didn't you…say something… earlier?" Now that the threat was stopped, if only for a few moments, the effect of the battle finally took its toll on him. His adrenaline was wearing down, and he felt exhaustion and the pain grip him.
Starscream noticed the warrior stumble, and he was suddenly next to him, steadying the other with the surprisingly iron grip. "I didn't wish for you to know. It was a secret I carried, and I had to leave the ship to make it." He scowled. "Soundwave sees and hears everything on this ship."
"So I've…heard." Breakdown drew in a ragged vent. "Where…?"
"Here." Starscream's subspace opened, and he took out a vial of the dark, murky substance.
"How—?"
"—did I make it?" At Breakdown's look of surprise, the Decepticon leader laughed. "You think I did not know of Deathstrike's condition? How he is alive yet not?" He vented heavily. "We were colleagues, centuries ago, before the incident. After that…everything changed."
Breakdown nodded, half-conscious. "The...syringe…"
Starscream snapped to attention. "Yes, of course. Where is it?"
Breakdown said nothing, his subspace opening. Starscream took it out, filling it with the sedative. "Which site works best?"
The warrior pointed to the main conduit on the unconscious assassin's neck. "Watch for… the…fangs and…claws."
The Seeker nodded. "I know." He approached cautiously, wings twitching. Eventually, he emptied the syringe's contents, flinching whenever Deathstrike made the slightest of movements.
Breakdown gave a grunt of approval, sinking into a nearby chair. Starscream watched, his servo changing into its blaster, should anything happen.
"Will you need anything?"
The warrior huffed out a laugh, shaking his helm. "No, Commander. I am… fine."
"What of your injuries?"
"I am a medic. I will see to… myself."
"Very well, then." He turned and left.
"Breakdown."
He stirred, systems half charged. "Yes?"
"Has Deathstrike recovered yet?"
The warrior shifted from one pede to the other, checking his freshly welded scars. "He isn't here, Commander."
"Why not? I did not give a release order."
Breakdown vented. "He had to refuel somehow."
"Mmm." There was a pause. "Call him back. You two are needed."
"Might I ask where?"
"There is something I must do. Your abilities are required.."
"Very well, Commander. I'll let him know."