Chapter Three
The cafeteria of Autobot City was buzzing early in the morning; however, it wasn't too hard to find a single table. Flamestrike grabbed a mug of refined oil from the barista, and, plucking a copy of this morning's newsletter, pushed her way through the gabbling crowd to a remote corner of the room. Prowl had not been in residence when she dropped off her reformatting request in the evening, but there was a message waiting for her when she returned to her quarters saying that her new form had been approved and she was to report to the medbay at the end of the week, along with follow-up orders to see Solarflare.
Taking a sip of her oil, (which was very good) Flamestrike perused the sheaf of paper. Many millennia ago, when she had led the life of a civilian and had been dutifully employed as a runner for the Autobot Council, she'd received many such newsletters. This was informal, unlike the running text that constantly scrawled along the cafeteria walls: there were announcements for clubs, reading groups, sports teams – for human and Autobot alike. There was even a personals' section, which managed to elicit more than one giggle from the brown and flame-colored femme.
"Mind if I grab this chair?" a feminine voice queried across the table. Flamestrike set paper and mug down and looked up at the optic-blinding pink femme. Now, how on Cybertron did she stay low? she wondered.
"Not at all," Flamestrike replied, reaching out for the other's hand in greeting. The pink femme smiled and shook it.
"I'm Arcee. You're …?"
"Flamestrike. Infiltration."
Someone called for Arcee, but the femme shushed them, pulling the chair out and seating herself opposite Flamestrike. "You arrived yesterday, didn't you?" When she nodded, Arcee gestured over her shoulder. "Want to join us?"
Flamestrike peered over the pink femme's shoulder at the gaggle congregating at one of the larger tables. Three smiled, one waved. "I'd love to, but I have to head up to the gymnasium for training practice."
Arcee frowned. "That's too bad. Say, you could join us this evening. We're going out to Memphis – it's a human city not far from here."
Admittedly, it was a tempting offer, but one that could be taken up at another time. There was still her need to walk around the grounds and get to know the facility better. "I wish I could but I can't." Arcee parted her lip components to take the dismissal in stride when she suddenly flinched, deftly covering it up so that there was the slightest tic of her right cheek plate. With a quick goodbye, the femme took the extra chair and walked back across the way she'd come, leaving Flamestrike a little more than perplexed.
Checking her chronometer, Flamestrike decided that she should start heading up to the gym; settling her chair against the table, she recycled the newsletter and returned her mug to the barista. On her way out, she noticed Solarflare, Mirage, Hound and a red-grey Minibot sharing a tall pitcher of Energon towards the front. Glancing over her spoiler, Flamestrike's gaze settled on Arcee, then back towards the quartet. Puzzled, she shrugged and walked on.
Despite the secretive, stealthy nature of her job, Flamestrike actually liked to fight. For her, it was the connection between her cortex and her limbs, the oneness one felt when executing a difficult move, or set of motions. Her trainer was a tall, lithe mech who was painted red, purple and blue, and wore his colors with a cool sense of humor. For that week, Wreckspot drilled her in all manners of combat, from hand-to-hand, to improvisational, where they would go out onto the field that surrounded the City, and he would basically have her scramble about, snatching whatever litter was strewn on the grounds and attack him. As the week drew to a close, Wreckspot left her with instructions to return to him when she had mastered her new form. Flamestrike shook his hand and trekked off towards the medbay, walking slowly, remembering how her body felt in this shape.
The Chief Medical Officer, a stocky white mech by the name of Ratchet, ruled his bay with a fist of iron. He leveled his optics at her from under a severe grey chevron when she passed through the huge doors. "You're Flamestrike, right?" he asked, not wasting any time with frivolous greetings. "First Aid, grab the schematics. Up on the platform, girl. I want you to look over these plans and let me know if you want us to change anything."
As she settled herself, Flamestrike realized that if she had any misgivings about her new form, it wouldn't do her any good to voice them. She took the datapad from the other red and white mech, whose visored optics winked at her over his face plate. The transformation process seemed to be quite smooth, and she got to keep her original colors.
"We'll be adding a subspace pocket here," First Aid told her, leaning across to point to her right side, "for your pistol. Your tail will be detachable, as requested, with the proper flaming components."
Flamestrike smiled. There was a good reason why she renamed herself the way she had! First Aid continued: "Seeing as we don't have that many animal-based warriors, we had to borrow some of Solarflare's wing schematics – but you'll have one slight advantage over her. Instead of boosters, we'll be outfitting you with a pair of anti-grav generators. They'll be located here," and he pointed to her lower back. "Any questions?"
Flamestrike scrolled the plans once more. Things seemed fairly straightforward as to her armor protection: while she would be losing a lot on her arms and legs, her chest area would be reinforced. "Could I make one change?" Across the way, Ratchet huffed, but First Aid looked at her inquiringly. "It's just one little thing. Could my optics be green?" While she had no qualms about her war-formed body, the one thing she'd always wanted as a runner was different-colored optic-glass. Many of the Elite had had yellow, purple or green glass, rather than the uniform Autobot blue. It was something Flamestrike had promised herself that she'd get done once she saved up enough credits.
Ratchet made a sound deep in his throat, but First Aid smiled. "I don't see why not."
Flamestrike beamed, the first true smile she'd allowed herself in a long time, and stretched herself out on the table. Before they shut her down, her last conscious thought was about flying.
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Was it her imagination, or did the wind taste differently? Surely you have changed, Flamestrike, if you claim you can taste the wind! she chuckled to herself. Long talons dug into the rock upon which she perched, her quarters raised, wings half-spread, her fan-tail balancing out this long, lithe new body. When she had come out of the three-day reformatting process, Flamestrike had been amazed at how quickly she'd taken to her new form. First Aid had joked that they cheated a bit, and programmed a bit of feline and raptor into her body's central processor.
"Hopefully she doesn't go primitive on us," she'd heard Doc Ratchet murmuring in a concerned tone of voice when he thought she wasn't paying attention. "Avian alone is bad enough with Flare, but cat and bird? Primus."
Somewhat appalled, Flamestrike now wondered if that is what they had indeed done to her processor; her sense of balance was never more acute, nor was her other senses. The metallic wings she'd believed so cumbersome on Solarflare were a Primus-send: her pinions caught the breeze's changes, "scented" vibrations in the air. These so-called instincts were quickly becoming superior to her old, battle-honed talents.
The bell sounded and Flamestrike leapt off the ridge, digging her claws into the rock, spinning her hindquarters to the left in order to avoid a quick staccato burst of fake laser fire. Autobot City's obstacle course, located outside of the city proper, had been built for four-wheeled altmodes, with occasional overhangs for the aerial-minded. Four types of terrain were arranged in a manner that appeared to be haphazard, but in reality, it provided troops with the opportunity to practice sudden changes in their environment.
Automated guns followed Flamestrike as she ran, dove and rolled through the first terrain with its paved "road" with huge chunks missing to simulate a battleground highway. With the wind singing in her ventilators, she neatly dodged a saw-arm with its accompanying dull-bladed darts. Skipping onto a rock, she snagged the first flag in her beak and tucked it into subspace before bounding off to the second terrain of open plain.
Too experienced to be smug, it was hard not to quell the pride as she practically floated through the third area, with its soggy marshland and whipping wind. With that flag in subspace, she mounted the last – arctic chill, with fake wind and snow streaming at her from four powerful generators in the artificial canyon walls. The goal was to see how well she could manage to survive without relying on her robotmode; with these talons and claws, it was easier for her than those who ran on tires, and Flamestrike was soon able to see the wisdom of Solarflare and Prowl's choice.
Just as she was about to clear the last hurdle, a gust of wind slammed into her from the right – and with it, a powerful jab to her newly-minted flanks. With a keen that surprised her audios, Flamestrike yelped and rolled through the artificial snow before slamming into the ice-coated wall. Wide-optic'ed, she saw a shape amongst the snow, a figure without a true body. She had enough time to register an arm raised to strike before she leapt to her feet, transforming and catching the arm in mid-swing. She was rewarded with a mild grunt before the invisible creature rebounded; her arm was snagged and a nanoclick later, she was sailing through the air to land in a snow bank.
What? Where!?
"Cut the turbines."
Shaking snow from her helm, Flamestrike stood up as the storm cleared and saw two figures walking towards her: Prowl and Mirage; the latter held a bright red flag in his right hand.
"I must say, she made that look far too easy," the white and blue mech complemented with a smile.
Prowl nodded, extending his hand to help her up. Tiny flamelets rose from the top of Flamestrike's head in mild embarrassment, but she took the proffered hand regardless. Rising to her feet, she slapped snow and ice from her armor. "What was that?"
Mirage tipped a thumb towards his chestplate. "Me."
Flamestrike, despite herself, gawped. "You? Invisibility components are extremely rare …"
Prowl patted his hip plates reflectively. "This is probably why Mirage is the only one to have them." The other mech shrugged, winked and before Flamestrike's optics, faded from reality, leaving the red flag behind. "Now, Agent, tell me, what did you learn?"
"To expect the unexpected," she replied dutifully, filing such a talent away for future use.
To her surprise, Prowl smiled. "And to request that we test you above normal next time. Deferment to authority has its place, but if you know what your limits are, do not hesitate to try and test them next time. I wasn't going to send Mirage after you until later, but you proved too capable on the level we ran you at. Elita-1 was correct in her assumption that we needed your talents, and I concur with her reports. You are amazing."
Despite herself, she flushed, a tinge of pink highlighting her grey facial plates. There was no awe in Prowl's words, as there might be from someone of lesser rank. It was matter-of-fact – and true.
"Thank you, sir," she demurred.
"Prowl," was all he said, inclining his head and walking off.