Sowing wind, hailing storm
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers and all I get out of this is good mood.
Chloroform would have been the obvious answer. Sadly, it was also easy to overdose on and dosages would be night impossible to control accurately enough and so Topspin decided to concoct sevoflurane instead. Sevoflurane (2,2,2-trifluoro-1-trifluoromethylethyl fluoromethyl ether), also called fluoromethyl hexafluoroisopropyl ether, was a sweet-smelling, non-flammable, highly fluorinated methyl isopropyl, often administered in a mixture of nitrous oxide and oxygen. After desflurane it was the volatile anesthetic with the fastest onset and offset. Though desflurane had the lowest blood/gas coefficient of the currently used volatile anesthetics, sevoflurane was the preferred agent due to its lesser irritation to mucous membranes. Though it vaporized readily, it was a liquid at room temperature and had to be administered via an anesthetic vaporizer attached to an anesthetic machine.
It wasn't the easiest thing to concoct without the lab and Xantium couldn't be called down; she was fighting Nemesis, ordered by the Prime himself. Things were definitely heating up and they had abandoned whatever subtlety they had left in favor of speed, Roadbuster not caring if humans noticed him anymore, as long as he didn't detect any cons. It wasn't that difficult, Topspin had noticed. The shielding they usually used to camouflage themselves simply didn't work that well in the atmosphere of this planet: there was too many kinds of too many particles in the air and the cons could be detected as holes against their long-distance sweeps.
Right after they had found out they had decided to merely camouflage their spark radiation. Again, the way Earth was just so full worked in their favor; without spark-readings it would be an exercise in futility to try and tell them apart from local vehicles, it would have been like trying to find a microchip from a junkyard.
Vapor pressure: 157 mmHg (20.9 kPa) (at 20 °C). Easy enough if he could first get it done with his limited shell implanted equipment and spare parts for the bomb. Ronald Witwicky explaining his dreams right next to him wasn't helping him concentrate, either.
Ron had dreamed of ultra-dense, liquid metal material, extremely hard to damage and still damaged, armour twisted and mangled, spread as puzzle pieces upon the ground like someone had dropped a child's toybox. Puddles of glowing liquid upon ground without blade of grass and pavement. A steady flow of that glow pried past protecting metal. He had dreamed of pain and screaming, fire and death. Then deep ice, dark and desperate haste. He had dreamed of a star, pure and perfect and so bright his yes watered before he had to shut them, cupped within his palms. A city so beautiful it could have almost been made of those stars. And he had dreamed of a friend, a mother. He wasn't sure if he explained it all well, but he tried.
Springer's optics refusing again and again unnerved him, shining and spinning in a way he just knew meant his battle computer, whatever it even was, processes the new information into his tactics.
"This friend you told me about, can you tell anything about how she looked? And why do you deem her to be a female?" he asked and Ron squirmed. It was worse than when a math teacher asked him to solve a problem in front of class. He just hated to receive attention like that.
"I don't really remember much, except…" something was coming back now, he shut his eyes and it was drawn against his eyelids.
"She had some kind of exotic, swirly tattoos or paint on her. And, mothers tend to be female, don't they?" he asked with little haughty intonation. He was really having it with the third degree and the way Judy was staring at him intensely. It was stupid to think she would leave him because of this, he knew it, but it just wasn't normal and what if she didn't like it? Also, he was hearing some kind of metallic hum, just strong enough it couldn't be ignored. Maybe it was something from the transformers' systems that did it.
Exotic and swirly were infuriatingly vague descriptions, Springer thought about Cybertronian glyphs and the archaic hieroglyphs that marked the All Spark, most of them had never been translated. He knew there had been speculation about the All Spark being in fact a sentient being that just communicated on a level that went beyond their understanding. Cybertronians couldn't dream. He hadn't even known what dreams were before Ronald had explained them to him, and subconscious that seemed so ineffective way of processing data. He tried to convince himself that it didn't really matter. They would get the All Spark and get off the planet, leaving its disturbing, dreaming beings behind. He didn't quite manage.
And then there was the other boy and his news. If only they had good enough luck, if it was their errant Lord High Protector helpless in the clutches of these humans… He would take great pleasure in executing him and sending the Decepticons into throes of a civil war of their own. And if they were lucky the glitches would wipe themselves out entirely.
"Reginald Simmons, please describe the Cybertronian your father creator has in custody in as much detail as you can. Have you seen him close enough to see his faction sign?" If nervous speculation had reigned until now, the tension could now be cut with a knife. Reginald detected it too; he squirmed much like Ronald had before he sat straighter and lifted his chin.
"He's really tall and massive, but still smaller than Broadside, wide shoulders, chrome plating and insides gray, red optics, talons in his hands, two toes at the front of his foot and one at the back. There are spikes on his shoulders and smaller spikes on his head that make almost like some kind of crown, very angular face. Pretty thin waist compared to the rest of his body, very massive legs and lower arms. No signs that I have seen." His voice was quiet, but steady.
This is promising. Dibs on drilling him a new exhaust pipe right through the spark,Twin Twist demanded, rattling his plating anticipating the kill.
No dibs. First come, first served!Scoop answered just as hungrily. He wasn't unhappy as a soldier by any stretch, in fact he couldn't really imagine what to do if or when the war finally ceased, but that didn't mean he didn't resent Megatron truly, madly and deeply for declaring it. He had lost many good friends during the endless-looking vorns and while it was usually easier to anger a rock than the amiable bot, his anger also died hard and often messily.
No infighting, I will kill him and we obviously have to work with our radio discipline," Springer ended the argument, not entirely unselfish. All right, not unselfish at all.
And why you always got all the fun? We want to shred him too! And they knew it very well.
In reality, the bot that first got to Megatron, if it indeed was Megatron, would be the one to kill him anyway. First come, first served, he conceded the point. Springer gave both Ronald and Reginald a stern look.
"Are you sure you have told me everything there is to know. Bear in mind, this is a military operation and valid intel is of utmost importance." The two small beings squirmed under his gaze, but it was probably merely because, he was intimidating to them. Humans were much like snowflakes; one had to wonder why the universe had seen such trouble to create such diversity and beauty of something so fatally fragile.
"That was everything," Reginald said and Ronald nodded.
Till all are one in Primus' name, Topspin said, activating his guns merrily.
Judy walked to them, well, she took two whole steps and gave Ron a brief hug before patting Reg's hand. He didn't look like he needed consolation, but maybe he was just so proud.
"You know, we should convince our parents to take us here for spelunking and sightseeing after this is all done. Well, after they have let us out of the house again, that is," she proposed. Ron gave him incredulous look.
"You think they are going to let us out before the summer vacation is over, let alone take us into anywhere?" he asked. Judy's smile was unconcerned.
"If we can help those to save their mystic alien artefact we can do anything," she retorted. She had almost said "that has made an oracle out of you" but hadn't. She had almost said "our parents are in our side at least", but hadn't. There were lots of things she hadn't said about whether they should trust the robots with the supposed knock-out gas and how they only had their word about leaving them and their planet the heck alone, mostly because speaking aloud her doubts couldn't make the situation any better, only unnerve her boyfriend and kind-of-friend. She had never been good at biting her tongue, but luckily she seemed to be a quick learner.
Few days. They were entitled to that at least. Few days of nothing but sun, fun, and good company. It was odd for at least her and Ron to be there without their families now, but it wasn't necessarily a bad kind of odd. One could only deal with a family for so long before needing a little break and because they had been taken there mostly against their will they didn't have to feel guilty about worrying their parents. It was an emancipating experience, and bonding with Ron. Now if the going only would end as long as going was still good.
"I suppose you're right," Ron nodded, still a little unsure. The thought of his parent's reaction to this all was an unsettling one. And then there was strange hum that seemed to plague him. It was getting stronger now.
"Of course I'm right," his girlfriend said with confidence. "My primary characteristic is to be right."
Ron chuckled with amusement.
"And the artefact rescuing business is just a detail?" he teased. He really liked Judy's smile.
"Hey, a girl needs a break now and then from being a genius." She stretched, her green shirt licking her boobs and Ron got that funny, warm feeling at the bottom of his stomach again and lower. This time it was a lot harder to ignore.
Reg was listening to their bantering, feeling more than little out of his depth. His father wouldn't take time to take him anywhere, especially after this catastrophe, though he probably would allow him to go with Ron and Judy's families. After doing a background check on them, of course, he wasn't that neglectful. The main issue was, he wanted a girlfriend too. Preferably Macy, but anyone good-looking with some brains and sense of humour would have done at least until he found someone he really wanted and who wanted him. The point was, he was lonely and he didn't like being lonely. Maybe he could try sweet-talking Judy if they were left alone?
But he didn't really want to resort to that either. He was less lonely than he had been that morning and it was pretty much Ron's doing. Ron was friendly with him and it wasn't because of his money. Yes, he knew the drill about traumatic experiences creating bonds. His father had told him that army training was a watered-down version of that: the unit faced hardship and strict hierarchy together, had each other's backs and had a common "enemy", their drill sergeants, and that created a strong bond for at least as long as the service lasted. If the unit actually had to fight and it became real traumatic experience the bond was that much stronger. Actually what his father had told him about how a man's mind works under duress was beginning to make a scary amount of sense.
His father had called it a convert's mindset: a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage showed signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger, or at least risk, in which they had been placed. Oh boy, they had a bad case of that, Ron and Judy worse than him. Reg had never really paid more than token interest in the notion of possible kidnapping, but he had been sure that he would be a tad more intent in escaping than this. But, it was helping them to cope and the abductors should soon leave the planet so maybe nothing bad would come of it. And there was also the army-bonding in effect. That was why he wouldn't go after Judy, as beautiful and clever and funny as she seemed to be. There were many fishes in the ocean, but only two people he was bonding with and he wanted to keep them both.
"Spelunking and sightseeing it is," he said.
"They too are going to leave Ark behind and land on their own," Springer aloud and the three of them looked at one another, suspecting a part of that conversation had been via some kind of radio transmission.
"…and they are definitely going to leave Jetfire as back-up and guard against Nemesis." The humans looked at each other, obviously confused before Judy voiced:
"What's Ark and Nemesis? I presume you don't keep any animals or goddesses of vengeance." Though she seemed little amused by the thought.
"We're aliens right?" Whirl said with straight-wired voice, "just what kind of aliens don't have a spaceship?" Judy grinned a little more.
"That's so cool."
Then they heard a motor. Ron grabbed Judy's hand protectively, but the Wreckers didn't appear concerned.
Raquel stared at the bright yellow and orange surfing board, her smile faltering. Her eyes swiveled towards her boyfriend who grinned proudly and then back to the surfing board with a big, red bow around it that sat innocently in front of her on the well-mowed lawn. Then she looked at the house like she could see the pool on the backyard. He had insisted waiting till the evening before giving it to her, most likely because he thought that the last gift of the day would leave the strongest impression.
"Oh my, Oscar… you shouldn't have…" Really, she thought, you should have thought instead.
"Well," her boyfriend started, obviously happy with himself, "since it is your seventeenth birthday I thought I would buy something a little more expensive." He beamed like a beacon and Raquel suppressed a groan. Apparently Oscar hadn't thought in his desire to see her in a skimpy swimsuit where she was supposed to use the gift. They didn't live anywhere near the ocean!
The Nemesis had retreated when faced the united fire power of Ark and Xantium. Stepping into the pressure lock chamber they shed their exo-structure, the disguise from the last planet they had visited, and returned to their protoform state and then transforming further into their transition forms; armored, cometary shapes capable of interstellar travel.
The heat of atmospheric entry, pressure exerted on a bodies moving through a fluid medium, the air, causing a strong drag force to be exerted on the bodies. The shockwave generated by the rapid compression of air in front of them lit their vision, leaving a streak of light behind them. In transition form they didn't have pain sensors, which was good, for then it would have hurt like pit.
Hitting the ground even more so.
Ironhide grumbled as he rose from a hole in the ground that had been a small body of water before he had hit it. There was a small building that probably housed few of the little things that lived on the planet. A part of him made note of it being lousily fortified even the planet's standards and scoffed while he initiated a systems check.
Initializing full systems check.
Checking weapons system. Checking transformation system.
Weapons system online.
Checking vital functions: Checking spark support system. Synchronizing data. Checking fuel processing unit. Checking self-repair system.
Checking equilibrium system. Checking sensory system. Checking mobile system.
Transformation system online.
Comm. system: System failure, rebooting comm. system.
Vital functions systems online.
Mode: Grade 3 alert.
Full systems check complete.
That was when the screaming started. He detected two human lifeforms and zoomed his optics to two small beings standing like welded to the ground. Then the female's eyes turned white and she fell to the ground with a wet smack. Odd, yellow object fell on top of her. The male shuddered and regained the control of his limbs, running away clumsily while stumbling from fear.
"Monster! Monster is eating Raquel!" he shouted as loud as he could and disappeared behind the house.
It was true that Ironhide didn't always see optic to optic with Optimus Prime, despite their old friendship. He was infinitely more practical of the two, and if he was more than a little trigger happy, the situation justified it easily. He could be more willing to push the Autobot code to the limit than many if he felt it will get the job done faster, but no more than the Wreckers, for example and he'd had more than enough of mechs-in-arms whispering how he was better suited for the Decepticon cause behind his back during the time in his old unit. He wasn't about to take the same from a bunch of organics, however.
He had more guns than a smaller civilization, but sadly blowing the humans up would only have proved their point and threatening people already fallen into processor lock wasn't much fun. Besides, he needed to scan an alt mode.
Contrary to a popular opinion Starscream had a lot of patience and even a moderately high tolerance for stupidity. It had definitely been a benefit once, when he had been a scientist and even more so when he had become one of the Lord High Protector's trusted officers vorns later and a lot of senators with all the processing power of a vacuum unit seemed to think Cybertron Military was composed of their personal sim soldiers. He'd had to handle, sadly personally, several undignified temper-tantrums thrown by elected officials when told that no, the Cybertron Air force/Ground Force/Space Force was not their personal unit and they might not use personnel or equipment from any named branch of the armed forces for their posturing or less legitimate whims.
He had honestly thought he had already seen the most idiotic and self-centered Cybertronians could get. He had been wrong.
Blackout and Scorponok had gotten into a quarrel with the local squishy armed forced in a place called South Korea. They'd had a field day with the little flesbags running for their lives, mostly in vain, but one of the fleshling soldiers had gotten lucky with an explosive and blown the stinger off Scorponok's tail and another had damaged his front leg gears.
All Cybertronians had an intricate self-repair system. No living organism, even a mechanical one, could survive for very long without one. It could repair minor damage and even replace badly damaged parts if they were simple enough, like wheels and joints, but they couldn't make repairs out of thin air. Their mass convertor needed materials to repair and replace with and they were low on Cybertronian on this miserable organic-infested rock ball that had most of any potentially useful alloys so deep within the planet it would have been out of question to try and mine them even with time, which they were also lacking. He wanted to be little late, just late enough to give the Wreckers time to kill Megatron and he had machined Hailstorm to suffer from a minor fuel poisoning that would cause him to slow them down on their way to Hoover Dam, make him the scapedrone – after all, there was no way the Constructicons would leave their lover behind. The gestalt mindset was truly disgusting and he would have to make sure they were too damaged in the fight to form Devastator afterwards.
Being late was part of the plan, but he didn't want to be so late Optimus Prime had enough time to land and take the possession of the All Spark. He didn't have enough troops to wrestle it from him, his shellguards and the Wreckers.
And, Constructicons had decided to be difficult with their cybertronium, silicon and titaron supply. Like they owned it. In the Decepticon Army you didn't own anything, the army owned you and it was obviously time to remind them of that, especially since they just didn't have time to go scavenge Brawl's shell and systems. Also, Blackout was refusing to go anywhere without his precious drone, like he owned it.
Time to get rid of those delusions.
"You, combiners," he punctuated his words with three target locks, "were chosen to accompany me to this planet as some of the best of our resources I had in hand and as such, you will give your resources to the use of the unit. Unless you want our endeavour fall apart due to undisciplined and unworthy behaviour and to end up dead as an example, you will relinquish you materials now!" Scrapper sent him the affirmative, grudgingly, but he sent it. Then he turned to face Blackout.
"And you will not endanger this mission by mollycoddling your pet. Do I need to repeat the lesson I already beat into you once?" The helicopter built was enraged, keeping it all in tight leash, but unable to hide the tremble of his arm rifles, fighting to not start a battle he knew he would lose. In the end, the underling's loyalty to Megatron was what won him over without violence. Blackout didn't want to endanger their illustrious leader.
Then he shifted his attention to Hailstorm. Few moments ago he'd had a cube in his hand, now he didn't. Had he refueled? Most likely, the cyclo-craft had flown to Earth under his own power, after all, and had been low on fuel. Too late to do anything about that now and there was always the chance he had gotten fuel off his lovers' systems, unwilling to take anything he gave when he wasn't keeping an optic on him and making sure he did.
"Are you ready to follow without whining like an Autobot, at least?" he asked the spy.
Who had less than zero intention to let Starscream lead him out of a smelting trap, let alone into a new era. It was unwise to even imply the amount of his contempt. Yet, Hailstorm knew he must say something remotely truthful. Starscream wasn't stupid, merely arrogant bordering idiocy.
"I will follow you. I could say that I don't hate you, that I respect you, but I doubt you would fall for it," he told the seeker as he transformed. The last part was the naked truth. Hailstorm hated Starscream to an illogically emotional degree even in his mostly blank proto personality.
"That is good," murmured Starscream darkly, "then neither of us are in denial."
Roadbuster had gotten them better than the ingredients; he had gotten made up sevoflurane instead and so it had only been a matter of making the pressurized devices that would go boom. So in pretty short order they had all gotten into Sandstorm who had lifted his seats, actually seat-shaped shells on machinery, to make them look taller, like adults. They had hats, woolen scarves and big, dark glasses and Ron was beginning to think they were all going to need some serious confessional after being a contributing factor in such a series of thefts. And they had gotten inside. Ron had never been particularly religious, but now he was praying.
I only the odd humming wasn't distracting him. It made his teeth ache, he could feel it in his bones and he moved like in a dream, first the little bomb, Sandstorm jettisoned them all and they ran back out without breathing and then some even though their lungs burned and the humming was only getting stronger. He could almost make out words now, something about how maternity was something, new life, creating beautiful, fragile things, if only he could concentrate. His head was swimming, but his body worked just fine.
You betrayed me, he accused, without remembering why. He felt such sadness it made his heart ache and he embraced Judy so he would be a little warmer. Somewhere Sandstorm had shot the second bomb deep into a ventilation shaft.
I am so sorry, but this must be. Some species only live long enough to reproduce, she told him, it seems that I must be one. You must divide me so I can multiply, create two of that which was one. Think of it as creating a zygote. In a way you will be a father. The humming went on and on, so melancholy it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Now he wanted to beg her not to die.
They were getting back inside, time is, time was, time had gone, but he had no idea how much. He was talking, but he didn't hear his own words even in his head. They were told to get back ut by the green/strong/valiant/leading/untranslatable/war-jaded one, that they had done their part. Then the orange/strong/brave/trickster/untranslatable/war-jaded one took him with him all the same, there was a reason and maybe Ron was the one that reasoned. He had no idea. Maybe getting drunk was like this? Why were everyone war-jaded these cycles?
He didn't want to be a father yet. He wasn't ready and while he loved the old one it wasn't the same it was with Judy. But the mother, mother not-nature and mother-to-be sung his fears and arguments far, far away. And so they advanced.
Sandstorm watched as Ronald's gaze flew from soldier to soldier, from camera to camera, the ones he could see, a little confused expression on his face like he didn't quite understand what and why he was doing. He remembered when he first had been upgraded into a soldier and how distracting it had been to hear his threat evaluation program whispering things like. /Armed: photon rifle, possible sonic scrambler, standard cybertronium-steel alloy armour, weaknesses in chest area and joints/ when he had looked at his fellow Autobots. The program had dutifully resisted all attempt to shut it down and continued to whisper to him about his fellow soldiers' strengths and weaknesses. Maybe it was the same.
Ron's head was beginning to hurt. There were no more words, but there was haste, desperate haste and he found himself wishing Sandstorm was still a car so he could use the pedal. And then they were in a large, high room, or a hall, or a bay, he wasn't sure about the right word, but he was sure one of the white coats, scientists, had a heart condition and worried about him. Carbon-based/vulnerable, they needed to be protected. And then everything was put into a sharp focus, he was in a fricking huge room and his head was clear. There were people lying haphazardly around, there was… Oh merciful God in Heaven. It was demonic inside the ice.
Then, before either Springer or Sandstorm could as much as take aim, they were attacked.
Shockwave him the from behind, sending Springer and Sandstorm stumbling forward and Ron flying. The hurt was a sharp, silvery blow to his ribs, but not the kind of nauseating pain breaking bones would have been. The door Sandstorm had shut behind them was open once more, open in
pieces, and a huge, silvery Decepticon stood there, the black and spiky, smaller one behind him and one more behind the both of them, not exactly spiky, but blunt and somehow unrefined-looking. More steps came running, echoes deafening. He heard shooting, crashes, screeches, but the splashes were the most disturbing. Judy was there somewhere and there was a big fight going on.
But he didn't run to Judy. True, it was partly because the Deceppticons were between him and Judy, but it wasn't the main reason. Now when the odd, mindbending song was silenced he had no clear idea what he should do, but he had to do something and so he tumbled back up and run to the cube, so alien and still familiar. No one paid any attention.
Springer cursed and shot at them. What kind of boltprocessor would keep the All Spark and Megatron in the same room? Guarded by measly lasers! His logic subroutine pointed out that the humans didn't know just how dangerous the Lord High Protector was, but still, even phytoplankton should have more sense than that! Just how this species had lived long enough to become dominant he did not comprehend!
"You will not pass!" he thundered. Because now the fate of their entire race rested on his shoulders. The Decepticons would not pass even if he had to bring the entire mountain down on them.
"The glorious victory is ours!" Starscream screeched, and ignited his cannons. He was furious beyond verbal expression.
Those incompetent Autobots had gotten the coordinates. They had been here first, but they had sat on their afts and waited for a way to not hurt the measly parasites infecting the planet and here they were! Not much could be expected of Autobots, of course, but he had always somewhat respected the Wreckers before as competent, ruthless enemies. This was all that had come from his trust; Megatron still lived! You really had to do everything yourself to get anything done properly, but at least this would serve as a valuable lesson: never trust anyone with anything.
"He fired at Springer, actually trying to clear the way to accidentally use his missiles on the icicle tyrant, but was tackled from behind by someone blue, oh pit, could nothing go his way at least once?
Ron had gotten to the cube and the first thought when he looked at it up close was that it was huge. The second was that it was gorgeous like nothing he had ever seen before. How could they bear to experiment on something like that? Then a shot that rebounded from a wall near him and a loud metallic crash reawakened him to the situation and he thought: just how in hell am I supposed to carry that? He poked at it (her?) angrily.
"Shrink," he told it a little desperately, not actually expecting anything to happen. But much to his surprise she (it?) obeyed instantly, shrunking until he could lift her easily. Her, it, whatever. Ron ran like his life depended on it because it pretty much did.
The hell had been let loose, huge monsters had attacked the castle when the guards had been enchanted to sleep. Reg had already opened his mouth to scream, but they couldn't attract any attention now. They just couldn't and so Judy clamped both hands on his mouth and hissed:
"If you let out a peep now I'm wringing your neck!" Her voice was hoarse and her heart beat like it was trying to escape her chest, but she took now unresponsive Reg's arm and run for cover, making sure she was as close the wall as possible. Scoop, Roadbuster and Whirl were fighting against a big, black transformer, a giant scorpion and a bunch of miscanellous bundles of weapons and demonic, red optics that were trying to blast them to bits or at least get past them as quick as they could. Broadside and Topspin were running after those that inevitably had gotten past them and everything was exploding.
Eleanor Roosevelt had once said: A woman is like a teabag - you never know how strong she is until she gets in hot water. Judy was thinking about her as she dragged Reg into a utility closet with her and slammed the door shut.
"I'm a strong little teabag," she muttered to herself. Reg was probably looking at her funnily, not that she could see it in the dark. She couldn't help but think Reg wasn't the person she wanted to be there with.
"You don't really think it's a good idea to hide here, do you?" he asked with a low voice.
"Of course not, at least I have to get out of here before I am identified as your kidnapper and besides, this door isn't death ray proof. We just hide until the fight moves further in and then run out," she said even as she wondered what her chances were if she ran after Ron instead. Not very good, she concluded sadly. Her getting stepped on or blown into atoms wouldn't help Ron any so they were both on their own.
"They better protect Ron or I'm going to peel them to death with a potato peeler," she whispered darkly and pressed her ear against the door. The voices were so load she had difficulties telling whether or not they were moving the battle anywhere.
Then she remembered the soldiers that had fallen haphazardly all around the place and imagined giant legs stepping on them, crushing the life and red goo out of them. She almost threw up.
And then she heard someone humming. The lion and the unicorn were fighting for a crown… Reg was talking to her, but it was just odd, fleshly noise she didn't understand.
Many wondered how a soldier so small could have survived so long in the ruthless reality that was war, but there was a reason even the hot-tempered Barricade put up with his more annoying traits. Bots underestimated Frenzy at their peril. True, his little shurikens couldn't harm a good armour, but he could slice a primary energon line that led to the spark neat as you please. His small size was actually often an advantage on a battlefield as the bigger mechs didn't tend to look down. There was the stepping on hazard, true, but he was quick and agile. And now he was running towards the machinery that kept their lord and master imprisoned in ice.
"Ti-ti-time to wakewakewake up!" he cackled and jacked himself in.
They were already winning, mostly thank to Broadside taking on both Starscream and Mixmaster so Sandstorm and Springer could handle Barricade and Hook, Topspin, now damaged even more, was guarding the door. He could barely stand, but shooting was no problem.
Ronald took the All Spark,Sandstorm sent through a secure channel. It wasn't in instant danger as long as they could bind all the cons, but they would better get this done soon, because the human soldiers were already waking up to the chaos, trying to escape druggedly. And then a background hum stopped, one of them. They didn't notice it, so tiny a change it was in the environment. Their weapons heated the cold room soon, Barricade and Mixmaster both took serious damage.
Die, Decepticon scum!Broadside sent murderously through an open channel and punched Mixmaster against a far wall and the much smaller mech fell to the floor, whimpering. He ignited his blaster cannon, but before he could end the crazy chemist there was a new sound, nauseatingly clear through the noise of the battle. The sound of ice cracking.
And the with an enraged, crazed roar Megatron was free. One hit of a plasma cannon, heating the room from freezing cold do so hot it was lethal to the humans lying on the floor in an instant, brilliant, destructive light and Broadside fell to his knees cursing a blue streak, his voice so weak it made Springer flinch.
"That was a warning shot, Wrecker. Give me the All Spark!" Megatron demanded, his voice booming through Springer's exo-structure. It wasn't often that he knew he was at clear disadvantage in one-on-one battle, knew that he probably wouldn't live. Excitement trickling through his systems was almost arousing sensation; as much as he was the sensible one, he revelled in dancing with death when there was nothing to do about it, no tactics to follow, when he was given the leave to do so.
"Never, Megatron!" he shot back. His smile was as scary as any Decepticon's.
Megatron roared, almost primate noise, his optics brightening still and his claws clenched into promises of catastrophe. The suspense was like holding chaos on a leash, just few more astroseconds… He had to persevere until Optimus Prime got there, no matter the means.
"Give it to me!" Megatron's voice made the concrete vibrate.
"You're not soiling the All Spark," Springer stated, "and we will not give it up without one pit of a fight." And Megatron grinned like those were the exact words he wanted to hear, more than a promise of receiving their Creator of Sparks. You could always trust the energon lust of a lunatic despot. Let's tangle, Springer thought and excitement shot through him once more.
Sandstorm spun around and knocked Barricade clear off his feet. Grinning, he felt his bad feeling with the familiar art of kicking Decepticon aft. The smaller and more agile con wasn't easy opponent in close quarters, he found out as he aimed a hit for the interceptor's chest, only to have him dodge out of the way and shoot him from the side. Sandstorm went sprawling, but didn't waste time on getting back to his feet before shooting back. They both stumbled to get back up and sprung again, Sandstorm ducked, knocking the other's fist out of the way and delivered his own right into Barricade's face.
"Give it up and die, Decepti-glitch!" he shouted mockingly. He didn't allow himself think of a vulnerable human being all there was between the Decepticons and the All Spark. He couldn't let his concentration be disrupted; the sooner he killed the fragger off the sooner he could go search for Ron. Barricade responded with a furious screech and his claws.
Not far away enough from the battle, Ron was starting to become aware of the situation as he run away from Springer and Megatron, painfully aware every time he made a turn that the he could very well run away from allies right into the hands of the enemies. He had to get out, but the Decepticons were between him and the doors and while there probably were many others he had no idea where they were and chances were he couldn't open them anyway. He had no idea where Judy was or if she was even alive anymore; a heat wave, accompanied by a loud boom, had hit his back when h had run from the big chamber and oh God, were they using bombs? Inside? What if the whole mountain came crashing down on them? And so he ran.
There was nothing else he could do. He had heard a saying that a soldier's life was 99 boredom and 1 sheer panic. That had to be a peace-time percentage; though the proportions might vary slightly, most of a soldier's time couldn't be that boring if they were chased regularly. Just no way in hell.
He had run for a while, but got tired eventually, some doors opened for him and some didn't. At first there were a lot of knocked-out humans lying on the floor, but they became fewer and fewer until Ron begun to fear he would never find his way out of the base again. And what if the soldiers awakened while he was down there? He wasn't sure how potent the gas had been, but they had to be awakening soon; the noise could awaken the dead.
The underground was beginning to creep him out, he hadn't ever thought he might be claustrophobic, but now he had to get out, Decepticons be damned! He was already turning around when he heard a loud clash behind him. He swirled switly and saw a con, at least he thought it was a con with icy blue plating. The mech was more streamlined than the others he had seen, but still little spikier than the Wreckers and he didn't know him. But the mech wasn't shooting yet, maybe it was Optimus Prime or one of his companions?
"Desist your escape attempt, organic," it commanded him, so maybe not. He turned and ran again.
The Decepticon was fast. The echo of his steps was thundering, each gigantic stride eating up the endless as he chased after Ron and the All Spark. Ron was afraid. He could see that far away in the end of the tunnel was a door. What if it was locked? He ran past many doors, but he didn't dare to stop and try open them, maybe they were locked too and the Decepticon was fast. But not too fast. Ron couldn't understand it. Not that he wasn't happy about it, but when it came to a scrawny high-school student versus a super-powerful evil alien robot with big guns, Ron would have put his money on the robot. And yet, somehow Ron was faster. Maybe it was the way the Decepticon had to run almost folded in two, like a swizz army knife in the high but still obviously meant for humans corridor.
But that didn't explain why it didn't shoot him to the back. He couldn't dodge there, why had the secret base be underground, he would die there and he really didn't want to die. He swallowed tears and ran. He really didn't want to die.
Then the light flickered and died. He screamed and stumbled, ran a little more until his shoulder brushed the wall and he fell to his knees out of sheer terror. He couldn't see! He couldn't even use his hands to get up because he had to hold on to the All Spark and he held on. He could feel the air currents against his right cheek as the big foot stepped down in his side and he whimpered, not caring how undignified it was. He couldn't even see the death coming like that. He wanted to wail, scream that dying for an alien artefact was a really stupid way to go and that All Spark was a stupid name to boot, but even his voice had deserted him.
"Your eyes are absolutely useless," a disembodied voice announced and Ron somehow noticed that it was oddly melodic. Then he was picked up.
Picked up very carefully, like spun sugar. The cube was so hot it almost burned his hands.
"I don't want to die," he managed to whisper. And he wondered if Judy could somehow inherit VCR. The thought of the cute, cross-eyed cat left alone made him shudder. The Decepticon chuckled mirthlessly.
"Then this is your lucky day," it said, "for I am going to make you the hero of the Battle of Hoover Dam. The squishy that saved the All Spark."
Time measurements. Some of them vary in different continuities. I took Wreckers from IDW and I decided to be consistent with my continuities.
astrosecond 0.498 seconds
breem 8.3 minutes
cycle (IDW continuity) 1 hour 15 minutes (1.25 hours)
mega-cycle (IDW) 93 hours
deca-cycle (IDW) about 3 weeks
stellar cycle (IDW)7.5 months
vorn 83 years
AN: The Stockholm syndrome was named after the Norrmalmstorg robbery of Kreditbanken at Norrmalmstorg, Stockholm, Sweden, in which the bank robbers held bank employees hostage from August 23 to August 28 in 1973, several years after this story takes place. Walter Simmons is already common with the phenomenon, though.
About the All Spark being sentient: she (and I use the pronoun she because on Earth mothers tend to be female and I'm an earthling) is a species in herself and goes through an evolutionary process. She always had the potential of become sentient, but didn't until it was necessary for the survival of the species. That is, after the war had already well on. After that, she was a little indecisive for a while, because it's not a piece of cake, or an energon walk, to find you are a sentient being all of a sudden even if it were in more ideal circumstances.
You might have noticed that I use the pronoun she of Xantium, too. Thant's because on Earth ships are often referred like that. The translations from the non-gender specific Cybetronian are truly a pain in the aft.