The evening light cascaded across the wild, untamed world bathing the dense canopies and running rivers in bountiful shades of scarlet, purple and gold. The moon, at this time of the year, was a simple sliver of pale color in the sky slowly becoming visible to the naked eye. Diurnal beasts began to settle in for a long night while their counterparts slowly awoke.
The wonder and majesty of the cycle was lost on one particular inhabitant. Thick salt and pepper fur and long, wide ears were a hallmark not known to this planet, but were sported by this odd and out of place being. A Cybertronian was he, taken refuge in the form of an alien creature from another planet call Earth. His name was Crosshare. A jittery fellow by nature, Crosshare was not one to push into the wilderness at such a time balanced between the relative safety of the sunlight and the immanent danger lurking in the shadows. Not without a reason at least.
Not by order from a higher up, but of his own free will was the Maximal scout darting through the forests and jungles, taking special care to look out for any oddly moving roots. His cause was one of a deeply personal nature. A friend had confided in him his location during a time that would cause much distress if he were to be found. The far south of the Maximal Territory was the hiding spot of Streak, a Predacon defector and recently a Maximal fugitive in thanks to a loss of control of powers sudden and most incredible. It was there that Streak said he would be if Crosshare ever needed to talk. Deciding now was better then never Crosshare had slipped out of Zeta-1 at a time he would not be sorely missed, just after dinner when he would usually be sleeping it off in his bunk.
Hopping at something along the lines of twenty-nine miles per hour, Crosshare came to a sudden stop, slamming on the proverbial brakes. The scout dug his paws into the soft earth, shifting much of his weight onto his hind legs. The stop was not immediate, momentum saw to that. The ground was ripped apart, uprooting the grass-like plants sprouting from it releasing a strong stench of nitrogen from the soil exposed by four parallel tracks.
Crosshare huffed, his technological lungs demanding air to aid in cooling his systems. Bounding around at such speeds tended to do that. Slowing his desperate plea for air, Crosshare looked around. He had come to a small clearing… nothing fancy, simply a small area where trees had failed to thrive due to some unknown reason. The grass covered the clearing in uneven and random patches of green; the bare land had taken a grey color.
Streak was shaken up. Badly. This was not a hidden program. It wasn't even a rogue program or a virus. This was something much, much worse. The details of its nature still eluded him, but after what he had experience after his last encounter, he knew that the origin of his new power was not the bright gift from his creator he had thought it was. No, it was not even native to his body.
He had killed the ferret Predacon thoughtlessly, he hadn't even been aware he was doing it. He had slammed on the brakes after he had already destroyed her spark, stopping just short of carrying the fight over to the hideous alien that had stood alongside her. He hadn't even given the commandto kill her, it had simply happened, like a random thought popping into his head, she had been dead before he knew he was thinking of killing her. Then, he had taken the bodies...he had taken the bodies of two of three Predacons he'd met and...
He saw Crosshare, almost half a kilometer away through the dense foliage. His optics functioned so much better now. He flew down like a bullet, landing easily on his armored feet. He was larger now, twenty or thirty percent larger, and three or four times more dense. If his wings weren't many times more powerful than they had been, he would not be able to fly any longer. That extra density wasn't something Crosshare would be able to detect, but the added size and the bulkier frame would be, as well as the much louder beating of his much stronger wings. His armor had also grown darker, appearing now as royal blue.
The dragonfly looked to his comrade, and his face was drawn...haunted. These weeks had not been easy on him. For all of his hopes before, now he caught himself wishing that it would all go back to the way it was. In that fervent hope, he could never catch himself wishing the power would go away, only that he hadn't killed anyone. The power was intoxicating...for all he feared it, he loved it as well. How could he not? Nonetheless, he had seen things now which checked even his most jealous lust for power.
"Hello, Ears. What's shakin'?" He did his best to come across as casual, nonchalant, but he did a pretty miserable job.
With a panicked yelp, Crosshare catapulted himself into the air with all the strength his legs had to offer. Which turned out to be a whole lot of strength incidentally. Screaming all the way up, Crosshare felt himself slow and stop. He opened a single optic, thinking Streak had caught him. No such luck, the force of gravity just took a few seconds to reestablish the pecking order. Once more he was thrown into a fit of terror as he plummeted twenty feet to the ground, hitting it with a painful smack.
Choosing to lay there for a few moments, Crosshare slowly worked his way to a sitting position, moaning in pain, his head throbbing from the impact. Now Crosshare was able to get a good look at Streak, or at least, someone who resembled the mech.
"Uh, hi Streak," Crosshare said woozily. "Is it just my concussion or do you look different?"
The dragonfly jumped himself as he watched Crosshare's extreme reaction. Wow, I didn't know Ears could fly... I wonder if I should-Streak caught himself and shook his head. With his body behaving as it had been lately, catching his friend in midair would be as dangerous as letting him fall, maybe more so. He chose to let Crosshare deal with the ramifications of his own abilities...it seemed like both of them were having control issues these days. Crosshare's next question ended this musing, though, and brought recent events back to him in force.
"Um...yeah. The thing in me has been working a lot of changes, lately. I'm a little taller, I'm a lot heavier. I'm deeper blue, for some reason." He tapped his gun, forcing an unhappy smile. "But you know, it hasn't made me any more accurate, yet." He would like to lighten the mood, if he could, but in his current state he didn't have much in the way of ideas.
"How about you? Still spooking easily, seems like. 'Hunter cooled down at all?" It didn't really matter...if Moonhunter had relaxed security, he'd just step it up again at the first sign of Streak. Really, he was just hoping to ease into the conversation. Surely Crosshare had some business, since he'd come all the way out here.
Crosshare laughed bitterly. "If calling a mech hunt for you is 'cooled down' then yes, yes he has. Reason I came here actually, Moonhunter's had us sweeping the territories looking for you. This area is next on the list so you'll probably want to lay low." He looked over Streak, so altered from his previous state, feeling a sense of unease from his friend's new form. "Geez Streak, what's going on with your body? You said that your strength came from a program but I've never heard of a program altering someone's body like this."
Giving the mental command for transformation, gears and plating shifted; altering Crosshare's being into something more, something mechanical. In robot mode, Crosshare's height did not imcrease much but he was more than thankful for proper hands. Peppered tan fur quickly became complimented by metal painted drab shades of green and orange. He scratched the back of his head and screwed up his face. "Are you positive this is just some weird program?"
"Hm... that could be a real problem, Ears. I escaped him and a whole team of bots before, what makes him think he can catch me?" It was a puzzling question. He was a flier. If Moonhunter was serious about catching him, that meant he was bringing fliers of his own. That meant the Wingblades...probably the entire team of them. He hated Diomedes, and would be glad of an opportunity to flaunt his new powers taking him down...but the whole group? It wouldn't be a friendly spar, they wouldn't check their shots, and he would have to go all out. That wasn't something he wanted...for their sakes and his both.
"The Wingblades. Right." He hung his head slightly, clenching his fists. He would end up killing them, but they'd probably kill him, too. An ugly prospect, indeed. About as ugly as that of answering Crosshare's next questions.
"I don't know what it is anymore. I fought against some Predacons, and one of them called in the entire base. When he did, whatever's inside me started contemplating how to prepare for a fight against a whole base. I felt it access my knowledge concerning how many Predacons that meant, and...it didn't seem phased at all." He was having trouble looking Crosshare in the eye. Things had gone from terrible, to worse.
"Before I knew it, my body had killed two out of the three Predacons, and I was flying away. I don't know what this little thing inside of me is capable of, but...I'm beginning to think it didn't start as part of me...that maybe it isn't even Cybertronian. When I was back in neutral territory, I...I..." How did he say this next part? How could he? Did he even know how to describe what happened next?
"I felt like I was possessed. I... I sort of... ate them." Was that the best way to say it? "My body changed, and it absorbed them. It took a few hours, I was in a haze through most of it, but I saw them fusing with me, and when it was done, I looked like this." He looked at the hare Maximal, a tinge of desperation in his black optics. "What can do that, Crosshare! What kind of technology is that?"
Crosshare stared blankly at Streak. It would be easy for one to imagine the sound of a dial-up internet connection often used on Earth in by gone days emanating from the scout's cranium. In a clipped, fast voice Crosshare finally spoke. "I'm sorry Streak, I thought you just said that you did something incredibly stupid that would no doubt escalate the already dangerous situation between us and the Predacons and that your body is apparently possessed by Unicron because I know that you would never do that even given current circumstance even to test your new abilities especially considering the vast number of powerful predators that inhabit this Primus forsaken mudball that would no doubt pose a challenge in combat."
He stopped and took in a deep breath before continuing. "WHAT THE SLAG WHERE YOU THINKING? Attacking Predacons? Do you actually have anything in the head of yours or is it just for decoration? We are just barely keeping the peace in our own ranks and you could have just snapped the last string keeping us from war! Oh, and you are apparently the second coming of The Fallen! Ain't that just chromy!"
Crosshare began to pace back and forth, running his hands through the patch of fur dominating the top of his head. "Sorry Streak, it's just this is...Good Primus this is bad, bad, bad! Y-you said you 'absorbed' the P-Predacon's you k-k-killed right? This could useful. I-I mean think about it, that's something way beyond Cybertronian level tech, p-put's Gestalt technology t-to shame t-that's for sure! T-this could h-help! Y-you weren't i-in total c-control when t-this all happened! G-get your st-structure checked out, s-see what's causing this. I mean, t-this can't b-be a n-natural p-part of your programming!"
"They attacked me first, it just sort of...escalated. A lot faster than I thought it would. And I can't get it checked out...if I go in under lock and key, they'll never let me out again." Streak looked away from Crosshare. "At least not with any of this power in tact. I don't want to go back to how I was, Crosshare. I've tasted this; it's terrifying, but if I could ever control it...I've wanted this all my life. It isn't my fault I was built wrong, this is the only chance I'll ever have to be strong like this."
He looked down at his feet and gritted his teeth. He knew how this sounded. It was insane. He was frightened of these changes, badly frightened. He had caused the deaths of others, which was unforgivable, but... the Predacon in him knew how unlikely it was that he would ever get another chance at power like this. What was good in him knew it had to be stopped, but that was only half of his nature. Streak lusted after power; it was what had made him fit to be a Predacon in the first place. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was awful, but he also knew he couldn't let it go.
"Primus, Ears, I know how that sounds, but I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming of power like this. I can't imagine going back having tasted it, knowing that it could have been mine. I can't give up on it, not yet. Maybe it isn't Cybertronian, but it has been mostly under my control so far...it just gets overexcited in battle." He knew he was just making excuses. The bottom line was that he wouldn't let it go...there was no way to justify the decision, not really. He was just being selfish. Nonetheless, he had gone through a lot to do the 'right' thing, he felt. He had sacrificed a way of life. He had sacrificed his place among the Predacons. He would not sacrifice this.
"Thanks for the heads up." He looked past Crosshare, as if imagining what it would look like when Moonhunter came here, with twelve fliers overhead and a troop from the security force in tow. "I'll try to steer clear of Moonhunter's search party."
The scout shook his head. How could he get it through to Streak if he wasn't willing to listen to reason? "You don't get it do you? This isn't your strength!" He looked Streak dead in the optic as he spoke. "What's inside you, doing this to you, isn't true strength, just an imitation of it. Never thought of you as a mech to fall back on someone...something else's power. Any victory you achieve, anyone you beat while using that false power will be hollow. Meaningless!
Shifting into Beast Mode, Crosshare kept his gaze firmly locked with Streak's. "Of all the things I thought of you, not once did 'weak' ever come up. Please, for the sake...for the sake of your own dream, wake up."
Turning away, Crosshare began to leave but as he leaped away he called back, his voice cracking; "I-I still keep you're location s-secret. Y-you're s-still my f-friend a-after all." At least, he hoped it so.
And then Moonhunter's voice sang out: "It's over, Streak!"