Yes, yes. I know I left you guys hanging in the last chapter...but cliffhangers are so tempting... despite how much frustration they cause. Ah, well. Here is Chapter Eleven!
Additional Notes:
a.) I am always open to suggestions and requests! I recently posted a story called Demon Spawn (Transformers: Prime) for jack prime, in which Jack is a half demon and struggles to hide his secret! Feel free to check it out! :)
b.) There is a poll on my profile asking if I should make a horror story centered around Deathstrike and the Autobots or Deathstrike and the Decepticons, exceptions meaning any suggestions that you guys would have should they arise. Please vote! (Note: This does not include BLU or Captured.)
Optimus glared, his mood approaching livid despite the fact that he was overwhelmed with disbelief.
Deathstrike grinned, a vicious action, with his fangs extended and his optics blazing. "Oh, come now, Prime. You do not want your little pets coming into the way of such sadistic harm, do you not?" His accent became more pronounced as his clawed servo twitched, as if anxious to crush the insignificant and fleshy pests he was holding.
The massive red and blue mech shifted his refined armor, his weapon whirring as if in angered distress. "What do you want, Deathstrike?"
"I believe you know." The matte black Decepticon narrowed his optics, his grin vanishing and replaced with a venomous scowl.
"What would be the point of giving you the Harvester if you were merely going to use it on me?" the leader of the Autobots demanded, narrowing his optics.
The Decepticon snarled viciously, his optics flashing. "I was not going to." He moved suddenly, unnervingly close to his enemy as he circled him like a dangerous predator stalking its prey; the close range the two were in was enough to allow Optimus to feel the chilling aura of black rage and hunger that radiated from the mech.
Deathstrike's engine rumbled deeply and he flared his wings as he spoke in a low murmur, his optics blazing bright. "But now you have gone and given me an idea." The words were hissing and venomous, filled with malicious intent and desire.
The Prime narrowed his intense and blazing cobalt gaze, deep in thought over what he should do. Deep down, he knew that the two, mainly Deathstrike, were extremely unpredictable and could change their supposedly sound tactics at the moment where it was least expected. Nevertheless, he continued to speak in a calm and rumbling voice. "You still have not answered my question. Why would I benefit from such an exchange?"
The assassin narrowed his hellish optics as his sleek armor flared and resettled over his powerful body in a sudden motion. "Oh, come now, Prime. Do you really not care for your team that much?"
Behind the massive mech, Bumblebee whirred and clicked, fixing his large baby blue gaze on his leader. Optimus, that isn't true.
Such innocence was dwindling in the everlasting war between the factions; the Prime considered his youngest almost lucky to possess such a trait. The large mech flared his electromagnetic field ever so slightly, comforting the small mech with a warm thrum of reassurance.
The Prime looked down at the small mech. Do you trust me, Bumblebee?
The scout flared his wings, shifting with the dead weight of the unconscious Arcee in his servos. Of course I do.
Then be silent and let me figure this out myself. Optimus turned his attention back on Deathstrike and Breakdown. The assassin was staring at him with a ravenous and spark-twisting glare, while his companion only seemed annoyed with the way the current events were playing out.
"You will promise me this: once I give you the Harvester, you will leave and will never set pede near my team's charges again." Optimus Prime's voice was a threatening rumble, similar to the warning the roar of thunder gave before a storm.
"Promise?" Breakdown spoke, smirking maliciously. He shifted, his armor resettling over his frame as joints and seams realigned themselves with an audible crack and whir. "Who do you think we are?"
The Autobot merely narrowed his optics and remained silent.
"That is enough, Breakdown," Deathstrike hissed. "We shall grant the Autobot his wish."
"Really?" The blue mech fixed his shocked yellow gaze on his partner. "Deathstrike, you are certain?"
The matte black assassin snarled, his fangs seeming to lengthen as his burning crimson stare focused on the other. "Do I look like I am not?" One of his wings twitched as his sleek armor shifted.
Breakdown was silent for a brief moment before something flashed in his unnerving optics. "No." His tawny stare turned back on the Autobot leader as his engine rumbled. "The Harvester."
There was a moment of tense silence, and Deathstrike narrowed his optics to slits. The warning flare of his armor did not settle as Optimus nodded once at Bumblebee. The scout chirred as he set down the unconscious Arcee and unlatched his subspace, taking out the weapon and standing to hand it to his leader, his doorwings turned to take in any and all data coming from the two enigmatic Decepticons.
The Prime hesitated, long enough to make the assassin snarl in vicious irritation, as he ran the calculations of the possible outcomes. The Autobot's intense gaze only became stronger as he slowly approached Deathstrike. Noting the way the armor of his left leg was cracked and how the actual appendage was somewhat twisted, Optimus placed the weapon capable of mass destruction in the outstretched clawed servos.
It was only when Deathstrike's optics flared bright and he grinned eerily did the Prime realize his mistake in judgment.
With a hiss, Deathstrike lashed out, his talons connecting with the larger mech's chassis and ripping out a substantial amount of plating. Grunting in pain, Optimus dodged another strike and retaliated with his own punches, ones that the assassin easily dodged despite their accuracy and brutal strength.
"This is pathetic, Prime," the matte black assassin snarled, his fangs extending even more as he bared them in a feral snarl. "You must certainly have more strength within you."
The Prime noticed, with a slight shudder as his systems scrambled to assess and repair the Energon-gushing wound, the insane hunger and wildness that blazed within the hellish depths of the Decepticon, and now knew to tread lightly.
Meanwhile, Bumblebee was preoccupied with Breakdown. Using his smaller size and his speed to his advantage, the yellow and black scout dodged most of the larger mech's attacks, which only enraged the Decepticon and made him put more furious strength into his assault.
"What's the matter, bug?" Breakdown growled. "Can't take a hit?"
Bumblebee whirred in fury, his optics spinning as he ducked between the navy blue mech's legs and ended up behind him. Transforming his servos, he charge his stingers and shot the Decepticon repeatedly in the back. Breakdown roared in pure and unadulterated fury as he turned and stormed at the youngling, intent on incapacitating him. Optics narrowing, Bumblebee leaped into the air and landed on Breakdown's back, punching him repeatedly in the side of the helm to ensure that he remained as unfocused as possible to make the task of taking him down easier.
Deathstrike snarled as he ducked beneath the punch Optimus threw, optics flashing wildly. Flaring his wings he moved back a few steps, claws extending further as the scowl on his faceplate morphed into a disturbing grin.
"Prime," the assassin hissed, his voice holding the slightest bit of enraged insanity. His wings were raised high and spread wide, twitching as if they could not decide which direction they wanted to move in.
Sensing the brief moment of opportunity, Optimus cocked his weapon and aimed. Deathstrike growled, readying himself for the incoming attack. He narrowed his optics as the Prime raised his gun and fired, nowhere near the Decepticon assassin.
Deathstrike tilted his helm, optics boiling with varying emotions, anger and confusion being the most dominant. "Your aim is poor, Prime."
"One only believes something is poor if they do not understand it," the Autobot Commander retorted, moving back a few pedesteps.
Breakdown glanced away from his current situation, noticing the cracks webbing on the wall behind his partner and ignoring Bumblebee as he scampered back over to the welcoming strength of his leader. "Deathstrike, move!"
The assassin hissed, furious optics locking onto the massive red and blue mech before him. Moving away in a flash, the last thing the Prime saw was the collapsing frame of Deathstrike.
... ... ... ...
Breakdown stared in shock as the assassin was pinned down beneath the descending cement and metal, knowing that he was unable to do a thing or risk getting crushed as well, and that would not help either of them in any way. His attention was torn from his now unconscious partner as a flash of red, blue, and yellow moved in his peripheral vision.
Optimus Prime and his youngest stood there, watching him warily. The navy blue 'Con felt rage stir in his spark, and it was not from his hate of Bulkhead. With a growl, his servo transformed into his signature hammer and he advanced on the two, yellow optics glaring dangerously bright.
"Bumblebee," Optimus rumbled, placing the smaller mech behind him. "Contact Ratchet to assist you in taking the others and bridging out of here. No matter what happens, do not come to my aid."
The scout whirred, seeming to hesitate before pressing a digit to his comm-link and turning away, dragging his teammates through the open portal with a lowly cursing Ratchet.
Breakdown could care less about the medic and the youngling. Unlike what the other Decepticons believed, he was not an emotionless pile of scrap metal, and he actually cared for his partner.
And he was going to terminate the Prime for injuring him.
"Breakdown, I hold no ill intentions to you or your partner," Optimus rumbled gravely.
The navy blue mech narrowed his optics. "Then why did you just crush him beneath six tons of cement and steel?"
"You understand as well as I the matter of self-defense." Optimus transformed his servo back into default, holding his palms out in a non-threatening position.
Breakdown glared at the larger mech, eerily silent. His hammer rose slowly, and the Prime felt himself tense. He could not help but widen his optics in surprise as the Decepticon vented heavily and transformed his hammer back into his servo. His golden glare was hazed and unfocused.
"Go." He spoke one word, rumbling and hoarse. When Optimus did not move, his tawny glare sharpened and he bared his dentia in a scowl that was nearly as threatening as his partner's. "Do not make me regret this, Prime, and do not try me. I can come over there and tear out your spark before your very optics, so take this chance while it is still available and before I change my mind. Leave."
Optimus merely shook his helm and left, believing it best to not anger the Decepticon even more than he already was.
... ... ... ...
Watching the Prime exit through his ground bridge, Breakdown waited until the portal had closed before turning to help his partner, forcing himself not to run and throw every piece of cement or metal away in his soon to be frenzied search..
"Deathstrike?" He knew that if the assassin was seriously injured, he would not respond at all, or if he managed to collect the slightest bit of strength to use his telepathy.
A soft snarl, frighteningly weak and hoarse, sounded close to him. Breakdown carefully moved aside the slab of cement near him. Deathstrike lay there, optics flickering and ventilation mechanisms rattling, a sound that troubled the massive Decepticon. It sounded as if there was something other than dust clogged in his vents.
"Deathstrike..." The navy blue Decepticon hesitated as the other vented hoarsely, his frame rattling.
Help me up. The assassin's mental voice sounded within his helm, unnervingly quiet and weak. Breakdown carefully placed his servos beneath the other, pressing his mouthplates together as he felt the hot Energon coming from a wound on the Seeker's backstrut. He slowly straightened, watching Deathstrike for any signs of pain or discomfort.
He flinched as the assassin snarled in warning, his core temperature rising suddenly as his chassis trembled with violent shudders. It was then that Breakdown noticed the way the medic's left leg was twisted in a very painful way and how it sparked occasionally. He felt the slightest bit of worry and rage plague him, twisting around in his spark like an untamed storm. He would hurt the Prime later, that he would, and make him feel every bit of pain he knew his partner was feeling. It was all too painstakingly obvious that he could not move Deathstrike while his leg was injured in such a way.
Slowing his steps, he tried to ignore the warning rumble of the assassin's engines. He knew from past experience that whenever Deathstrike was ill or injured, his mood became increasingly erratic; he also knew that the assassin would lash out with a fury that only showed that the beast was barely restrained, and that sometimes (most of the time, actually) brute force and authority was needed in matters such as this. "Deathstrike, I have to reset your leg. I can't move you while it's like that."
Deathstrike drew in a ragged vent, his armor flaring ever so slightly. I...know. Set me...down.
The Decepticon nodded, gently leaning the other against a slab of smoother concrete able to support his weight. He continued to watch the other's faceplate closely for any sign that would show him that he was using more force than necessary. When he was sure he was not harming his partner any more than he would, he set to soldering the frayed wires so Deathstrike would feel only the required amount of pain.
Above him, the assassin shuddered, shuttering his optics as his helm fell back against the cold cement. Breakdown felt his worry begin to strengthen. He had to move quickly and restore the assassin's low Energon fuel storage.
"Deathstrike, stay with me. I need you online." He spoke in a soft and gentle voice, placing a light yet massive servo against the clawed one.
Deathstrike coughed violently, his vents expelling a large amount of dust, as he grimaced and dug his extended claws into the decimated ground beneath him. Get it over with. His voice was weaker than before.
Breakdown vented deeply, muttering an apology as the hot air blew over the trembling frame beneath him. He could feel Deathstrike's core temperature rising steadily. It was not a good sign and only contributed to the fact that Deathstrike's health was rapidly deteriorating. The assassin was normally ice cold, as cold as a long deactivated corpse. He was never as burning hot as this.
"Brace yourself." Using both servos, Breakdown placed them against the twisted leg before him, and with a firm push and a crack of straightening hydraulic lines, muscle cables, and Energon fuel lines, he snapped the assassin's leg back into place.
Deathstrike intaked sharply, fangs bared in a grimace. His optics flickered, becoming darker with each flash. The heat building in his core roared to voice its fury, and his black plating only circulated the aching fire even more.
"No, Deathstrike." Breakdown gently shook the other awake, growing more concerned as he felt the burning heat radiating off of the other. "I have one more wound I need to fix, and you still need refuel."
Then do it...already. Deathstrike snarled at him, only the slightest bit of his usual annoyance resurfacing; the only reason his full anger was not currently displayed was a result of his weakening health. I cannot stay online much longer. My systems are...shutting down rapidly.
After Breakdown had welded the wound on the assassin's backstrut, as well as any other bleeding wounds, he pulled back, watching Deathstrike intently.
What? His optics narrowed as he shifted to a more comfortable position, wings flicking weakly.
"You need refuel." Breakdown kept his voice even, though he knew the other could sense his anxiety.
Yes. Deathstrike stared at his companion with hazed and darkened optics as his processor analyzed the given information. Snarling suddenly -though weak, it still was as vicious as ever- he glared at Breakdown with unsettling and renewed fury. I will not take from you.
"You have no choice." Breakdown pulled the other closer, almost in an embrace, and tilted his helm. "I know you can smell me, Deathstrike. You need refuel, and I have no more cubes stored with me. Drink."
I... Deathstrike's optics flickered momentarily, and he hissed softly, shaking his helm even as his olfactories flared and allowed him to smell that hot, delicious Energon flowing...oh so good. He could taste it already...feel his fangs sink into that marvelously offered neck, feel the splash of hot, delicious Energon against his fangs and the slick path of it sliding down his throat, en route to his tanks...
Shaking his helm, the assassin trembled hard enough to make his companion's worry resurface. Deathstrike looked up at the other, vents rasping as his weakened internal systems struggled to release the foreign debris before any life-threatening or serious injury could make itself known. Breakdown urged the suddenly unresponsive assassin to speak with a gentle push with his mind, watching and moving back slightly as Deathstrike's talons raked through his makeshift cement berth.
I will not be able to stop myself.
"Yes, you will. Drink, Deathstrike."
Growling softly, the assassin vented out deeply. If I take too much, warn me by any means necessary.
Breakdown growled, and it was enough motivation for the other. The navy blue Decepticon remained motionless as he felt the razor fangs slice through his neck cabling easily, and the slight exhaustion as he was drained slightly. Deathstrike flinched against him suddenly, pulling back as he stared with dim black and crimson optics. Noticing the other's confusion, he coughed harshly once more, forcefully expelling more dust and cement, and spoke in a telepathic voice that was still too weak for Breakdown's liking.
We are leaving.
"You took enough?" Breakdown helped the other stand.
Yes. Leave, now. Without another word, he turned and contacted Soundwave, leaving a slightly stunned Breakdown to stare.
Sorry for the crap ending! Hope you liked! I'll add more in a bit.