Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter Three

Vampyre

Optimus Prime stared into the deep red optics of his ancient foe, and saw his death given form. Megatron had his jet black gauntlets wrapped around Prime's throat, squeezing, crushing, stopping the energon flow to his brain. The world started to turn grey, then black at the edges, forcing Prime's focus in on the burning red hell of those eyes.

"It's all your fault," Megatron hissed. "They're all dead because of you. Let me take it away. All of the pain, all of the remorse, all of the guilt... just give in to me. Give up. Die, Optimus Prime. Diiiiieeeeee..."

Prime jolted upright, panicked, his optics frantically searching his quarters for his nemesis. The room was dark and completely devoid of life. Had it really just been a dream? It had all seemed so real. It didn't seem possible; for a few moments he could still feel Megatron's hands closing around his throat. And he remembered what he had felt at the last moment, as the dreamed Megatron had finally taken his life.

Relief. Total, unparalleled relief.

The thought made him want to cry. Or to scream. Prime didn't know what he felt, he just knew that he wanted it to stop. For his entire existence, Optimus Prime had almost never suffered doubt. And now, he seemed unable to feel anything else. Was he losing his mind? Or his ability to lead? It seemed that way. There had been two deaths and two near deaths under his command in less than two months. And he had been unable to stop it from happening.

He wasn't fit to lead any more. He didn't feel fit for life. He knew, deep down, that he needed to talk to someone, anyone, to find the answers he so desperately needed. But, at the same time, another voice was screaming at the edge of his consciousness. It would be so much easier, the voice said, to just take his blaster, put it to his head and... No. He couldn't. It would be selfish and wrong; and yet so very tempting. No more fighting. No more war. No more Optimus Prime. Nothing.

For the first time in centuries of endless war, Optimus Prime broke down and cried.

O o O o O

"Wheeljack, glad you could meet me here," Jazz said, rising from his chair to greet the scientist. Jazz had picked the perfect hour for this meeting; it was early enough that most of the Autobots were either still in their berths recharging, or busy starting their shifts. As a result, the mess hall was completely empty. Most of the lights were off, leaving deep shadows in the corners of the room, like the one Jazz had chosen to sit in. The whole setting reminded Wheeljack of a badly written spy novel.

"No problem," Wheeljack replied, pulling up a chair of his own. The pair sat down before he continued. "It sounded urgent. What's up, Jazz?"

"I think there may be a problem with Optimus Prime," the saboteur said in a hushed tone, looking around the deserted mess hall to make sure no one was listening. Old habits die hard, Wheeljack noted.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"Come on, man," Jazz said, leaning forward. "You gotta have seen it. The sudden mood swings, the quietness, the withdrawal; he's got problems man. Big ones. Comes with the territory of being 'fearless leader'. But I don't think he's handling it so well."

"You think he's depressed?" the scientist asked, sounding horrified by the thought.

"Could well be," was the reply. "I've seen it before, 'Jack. I've seen mechs take on too much, overload on work, and responsibilities, and stress. They don't allow any time for themselves, and before they know it, their whole world collapses under its own weight."

"I can't say I blame him," Wheeljack replied thoughtfully. "The past few weeks have been stressful for everyone, more so for him. I can't remember the last time he even talked about taking some leave. And if Optimus is blaming himself for what's been going on..."

"Then we've got a big problem," Jazz finished.

"So, how do you want to deal with this?"

"With subtlety and tact, my friend. Subtlety and tact."

O o O o O

The intercom in Optimus Prime's quarters buzzed just as he was getting ready to leave for his shift. Prime had calmed down since his earlier episode, and had decided that facing the 'vampire' that had been terrorizing the Ark would help him lay one of his demons to rest. The sudden, intrusive noise startled Prime a little, as he had not been expecting any visitors. He walked over to the intercom, pressed a button, and asked who it was. The voice on the other end was that of Jazz.

Prime opened the door to his quarters, and came up a little short as he found that Jazz was not alone; Wheeljack was with him. The pair looked at Prime for a moment, as though unsure what to say. Prime decide to break the silence before it became any more uncomfortable.

"Gentlemen," he said, "what can I do for you?" The pair looked at one another, before Wheeljack finally spoke.

"Actually, sir," he said, "it's more about what we can do for you. We need to talk."

O o O o O

Slipstream entered the med-bay, trying as best he could to look nonchalant. He had been out of the med-bay for five hours, catching a quick recharge cycle and an energon ration, before heading back to watch Axcell. The green-armoured scout had been repaired since his capture, and the Autobots were now waiting for him to wake up. They weren't going to take any chances with him; the predator that had stalked the Ark was responsible for two deaths and at least one serious injury.

Slipstream wasn't taking any chances either. For thirty two hours, since the events in the caves, Slipstream had been watching, waiting for any sign that Axcell would wake up. While he was asleep, Axcell was giving Slipstream the perfect cover, buying him time to plan his next move. But when he woke up... Slipstream would cross that bridge when he came to it. That, or deal with the problem in a much more permanent way.

Prowl and Tracks were on guard duty, waiting for Slipstream to join them. Prowl nodded a greeting to the young mech as he arrived. Tracks was leaning against the wall of the bay, half watching Axcell, and half watching his reflection in a mirror fronted cabinet. Slipstream smiled to himself; he had never known someone as vain as the dark blue sports car. And if his plan was going to work, it was all resting on that fact. First things first, though, he thought to himself, I need to get rid of the watchdog.

"Hey, Prowl," Slipstream said, putting on his cheeriest smile. "Red Alert said he was looking for you. He said it was kinda urgent." This part, at least, was true. Red Alert's request had simply given Slipstream the opening he needed. Soon, this would all be over.

"Can it wait?" asked Prowl, stifling a yawn. "My shift isn't due to finish here for another hour and a half."

"You sound tired," Slipstream said, sitting down with a good view of the prisoner. "I'm sure you could clock off a little early, see Red Alert, then grab some recharge time. I mean, me and Tracks can handle it from here. It's not like he's, you know, gonna wake up any time soon," he finished, nodding in Axcell's direction. Prowl didn't look entirely convinced.

"Orders are orders," he said, suppressing another yawn, before giving a wry smile. "Tempting though the offer is. Jazz has been keeping me up with his damned music again."

"Listen to the kid, Prowl," Tracks chimed in, tearing himself away from his reflection for a few seconds. He gave Prowl a look of aloof amusement. "Like he said, we can look after ourselves. And besides, Ratchet will be back in about fifteen minutes. It's not like we'll be completely alone. Besides which, your yawning is driving me to distraction."

"Okay, okay," Prowl sighed, raising his hands in resignation. "Be heroes. But if the monster wakes up and hands your tailpipes back to you on a plate, don't come crying to me, okay?"

The three mechs laughed for a few moments, before Prowl finally left. Slipstream watched him go, formulating the next phase of his plan. With Prowl gone, he figured that he stood a chance of taking out Tracks and implicating Axcell; the trick was figuring out how. Then it hit him. Appeal to the guy's vanity.

O o O o O

By the time Optimus Prime had finished, the world felt like a much clearer place, almost transparent-feeling. He felt as though a great veil had been lifted from in front of his optics. His problems weren't gone; life was seldom that easy. But they seemed bearable now. Just knowing that he wasn't entirely alone, that he could share some of his deepest fears, made them seem that much smaller. Not that sharing them had been an easy process.

It had taken no small amount of prodding and cajoling from Wheeljack and Jazz to get Prime to even talk to them. In the few weeks since those fateful events at the space-bridge, Prime had become more and more insular, apportioning less and less of the Ark's command duties to his fellow officers, and taking on the responsibility himself. He had blamed himself for the near-death of Slipstream, which in turn had led him to reasoning that the many Autobot deaths he had seen in his long life were also his fault. He had felt completely alone, too ashamed to express his own feelings, and too afraid of the opinions of his comrades to ask for help. After all, he was the leader. He was supposed to be the strong one.

When the floodgates had finally opened, it had taken Wheeljack and Jazz completely by surprise. They had both known that Prime was going through a rough patch, but nothing remotely like this. In the end, they had both centred on the same point with Prime; contrary to common belief, he wasn't infallible, and had as much right to help as anyone else. Yes, a lot of responsibility fell upon his shoulders, but at the end of the day, his welfare was as much their duty as theirs were to him. Once Prime's two friends had managed to make him see this point, everything had started to fall into place.

Just as the discussion between the three friends was coming to a close, Prime's intercom buzzed with an incoming message. Prime switched on the link, only to be assailed by a torrent of noise. After a second, Sideswipe's voice came blaring through the speaker.

"Optimus Prime," the twin shouted, fighting to make himself heard over the din. Prime thought he could hear Grimlock's voice in the background, as well as what sounded like gunfire and the sounds of tearing metal. "You need to get down to the med-bay, sir. We were wrong about the monster. It's not Axcell, it's..."

The message broke into static. Prime span to face Wheeljack and Jazz. He didn't need to say a thing, as both mechs were already heading for the door. He joined them, and they began to run toward the med-bay.

O o O o O

"Hey, Tracks," Slipstream said, getting the tall mech's attention. "It looks like you've got a smudge on your faceplate."

"Where," Tracks asked, a trace of concern floating through his usually unaffected voice. He unconsciously looked for his reflection in the nearest cabinet. "I can't see anything."

"Right there," Slipstream answered, gesturing vaguely to a spot on the right side of his own face, then pointing toward Tracks, standing as he did so. "C'mon, it's right there." Tracks began to peer more closely at his reflection.

"I still don't see..." Tracks began, but was cut off. Slipstream's pointing hand spread out, impacting with the side of Tracks' head. Slipstream threw his shoulder into the motion, and before Tracks knew what had hit him, his head had been slammed into the adamantium wall of the med-bay. Unconscious, the dark blue mech dropped to the floor. Slipstream gave him a vicious kick in the side, rolling the larger 'bot onto his back. A deep dent marked Tracks' forehead.

"Like I said," Slipstream hissed, "right there."

Slipstream walked around the observation table, toward where Axcell's head rested. He prodded the scout's face, making sure that he was still asleep, before moving in closer to his audio sensors.

"I really am sorry about this, my friend," he whispered, a sinister smile creeping across his features. "You see, I'm doing this to survive. If everyone finds out that I'm the one that attacked Sunstreaker, and who killed Pitstop and Waverider, then they'll want to kill me. And I can't allow that." As he said this, Slipstream brought his pulse rifle out of subspace, and gently placed the barrel of the weapon against Axcell's chest plate, right above his spark.

"I can't afford for you to wake up, Axcell," Slipstream continued. "I have to find a way to fight what I have become, but I have to do it on my terms. And I can't do that if you tell on me, now can I? Goodbye." Slipstream pulled the trigger, the barking report of the shot muffled by its proximity to its target. Satisfied that his plan was going well so far, the vampire mech turned to his next victim.

The urge to feed was becoming harder to control, so Slipstream decided to indulge it right now. In a way, killing Tracks made a macabre kind of sense; he would say that Axcell had woken up and attacked Track's, then that he had shot Axcell, finishing the job he had started in the caves. All he would have to do then was find a cure for himself before he needed to feed again. Easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly.

Kneeling over the prostrate form of Tracks, Slipstream opened his mouth. A pair of thin, razor-sharp fangs descended from hidden recesses, and his optics changed colour from blue to red. His vision changed as well; he could see the energon coursing through his victim, see the pulsing flow of it as it moved through the neck cables and toward Tracks' brain cavity. It showed up to him as a silvery snail-trail superimposed over his sight. The view made Slipstream thrill with a mixture of pleasure and revulsion. Bracing himself, he moved in for the kill.

The sound of screeching metal grabbed Slipstream's attention, and he looked up just in time to see one of the med-bay's storage cabinets flying toward him. Behind it, he caught a brief glimpse of bright yellow armour. He tried to move out of the cabinet's path, but it was already too late. The heavy container slammed into Slipstream, before smashing him into the same wall he had knocked Tracks out with.

With a grunt, Slipstream forced the cabinet off of his chest and threw it to one side. He rose quickly into a crouch, baring his fangs and letting out a long, feline hiss. Sunstreaker, supporting himself on the partition wall that had seperated his bed from Axcell's end of the bay, grinned defiantly at him, a glint in his eye the only thing that told he wasn't joking. The bright yellow mech was some thirty metres away, but had somehow managed to summon the strength to throw the cabinet. The effort had taken its toll, however, and he was losing strength fast. Fortunately for Sunstreaker, he wasn't alone.

With incredible speed, Slipstream threw himself at his attacker, closing the distance in mere moments. Sunstreaker tried to stand, bracing himself for the impact and raising his fists. Slipstream threw himself forward, aiming to finish his first victim once and for all. He counted the distance to his target; twenty feet, ten feet, five. And then, without warning, the world tipped itself on its side.

Slipstream was aware of a sickening impact, jarring most of his internal systems, then being thrown sideways, before landing awkwardly. He was aware of voices, subdued beneath the ringing in his ears, and of ground shaking footsteps. Slipstream looked up again in time to see Grimlock, in his Tyrannosaurus form, bearing down on him, jaws open wide.

Reacting out of pure instinct, Slipstream rolled to his left. Grimlock moved past him, before righting himself and once more hitting out at Slipstream with his tail. He made contact, but not as hard as he had hoped. The glancing impact forced Slipstream back just a few metres, and he quickly got back to his feet, loosing another feral snarl at the Dinobot commander.

"You should have stayed out of this, lizard," Slipstream hissed. "You messed with the wrong mech."

"And you messed with the wrong frakkin' family," Sunstreaker countered, staggering to Grimlock's side. "And now, you're gonna pay for it. Slag him, bro!"

Three shots struck Slipstream in the back in tight formation, two of them punching straight through his frame and out of his chest. The pain was unbelievable. Gasping, staring at his wounds, Slipstream dropped to his knees, then fell to one side. His optics flickered, then went dark. Sideswipe, gun in hand, moved around his brother's attacker, anger written across his features. The younger twin moved to Sunstreaker's side, slipping a red-armoured arm around his twin's waist, supporting his brother, whilst keeping his gun trained on the abomination in the middle of the room. All three Autobots sighed with relief; they had killed the monster.

Sideswipe and Grimlock began helping Sunstreaker back to his bed, Grimlock transforming to his robot form as they did so. Just as Sunstreaker climbed back onto the recovery bed, a deep, resonant sound began to echo around the med-bay. It was laughter; cruel, mirthless laughter. Slowly, the three mechs looked over to where Slipstream should have been laying. The young mech was instead standing, glaring hatefully at them, his eyes glowing a deep red. His mouth hung open slightly, displaying his fangs, which were glinting in the artificial light of the med-bay.

"What the slag is it gonna take to put him down, Sunny?" 'Swipe asked his brother.

"I really wish I knew," came his twin's reply.

Slipstream laughed again. The darkling sound sent chills down the dorsal supports of the three warriors. Then Slipstream stopped, smiled fleetingly, threw back his head and screamed. The drawn-out, reverberating cry struck a primal chord within the Autobots, making even Grimlock want to cover his audio receptors. And then, to their collective horror, the wounds in Slipstream's chest began to heal. Blue streaks of energon arced around the blaster holes, and the metal began to close over the wounds, running like liquid, then reshaping. In seconds, the vampire showed no sign of damage at all. Slipstream lowered his gaze once more, and gave his audience another thin, humourless smile.

"I bet you're wishing you'd gone for a head shot, aren't ya?" he mocked, his voice uncharacteristically deep.

It was about that point that Sideswipe called for help.

O o O o O

By the time Optimus Prime got to the med-bay, all hell had broken loose. No less than nine Autobots had arrived at the scene, most of them several minutes before Prime, Jazz and Wheeljack. Many of them were scattered around the med-bay, sporting injuries ranging from dented plating to shattered limbs. A few of those present were missing plating altogether, their inner workings painfully apparent. For all intents and purposes, the room looked like the site of a small hurricane.

Once more, standing in the centre of the carnage, was Slipstream. He was looking at the floor, his hands behind his head, his fingers interlaced. Standing either side of him, being careful to stay out of arms reach, Grimlock and Snarl had their guns aimed squarely at the young mech's head. Prime looked at Slipstream, meeting the youngster's bright blue gaze.

"What in the Pit is going on here?" Prime asked quietly, looking around the bay.

"He's the monster," a weak voice said from the rear of the med-bay. "He did this. It was all him." Prime looked over and found the source of the voice, Sideswipe. The cherry-red mech sat propped against a wall, nursing a mangled left arm. His right shoulder rested against his twins left side; Sunstreaker was in much worse shape, with deep gouges across his chest and face. Prime nodded his acknowledgement to the twins, before looking back at Slipstream.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Slipstream looked up at Prime, and for the first time the commander saw what the others had seen. The Slipstream he had known, the Slipstream that he had been ready to call a friend, was no longer there. The innocence that had been an inherent part of the young mech's features, his very personality, had been replaced by a deep, fathomless malice. The creature he had become stared back at Prime, derision staining his expression.

"True?" Slipstream asked, dark humour colouring his voice. "Of course it's true."

"Take him away," Prime growled. "Lock him in the brig." The two Dinobots that were guarding Slipstream took up position, then nudged him with their weapons. Slipstream took a few steps toward the door, then stopped next to Prime.

"You want to know the real truth?" he asked quietly, looking up at Prime. To Prime's horror, Slipstream's optics flickered, then turned a deep crimson. "The whole, scary truth of it is, I enjoyed every last minute of it..."