Chapter Thirty Three
23rd December
1934hrs
He woke to solitary.
His brother was gone.
Springer wasn't there.
There was a breeze that announced itself with a frightening howl along the dark pit he found himself in. There was a great discomfort in his limbs as he activated them with intention of standing. Looking up he realised he wouldn't be going out that way.
At some point during his sojourn in the realm of stasis the ground he'd lay upon had collapsed again, dropping him deeper into the gut of this wretched messy planet. If he was his brother he could have perhaps initiated the use of a rocket pack. But he wasn't his brother. And at this point, he didn't even know if his brother was still up there. He felt his spark was still functioning in this existence. Springer, well, he couldn't care less about that… what was it the humans called them… jock?
Sunstreaker stood at the wall and reached out with his hands to get a feel for their integrity. It was damp, uneven and gritty and any attempt to climb it would probably result in more damage to his chrome plating and a fall back to land uncomfortably on his aft. Looking around the chamber he found himself in he realised his only way out was going to be one where he walked. He activated lights on the front of his chassis and found only the left one operational, and his internal auditing function reported it was only effective to 9.4%. But 9.4% lighting was better then 0% lighting. He decided to walk towards the source of the breeze, hoping it'd be a way out, Primus knew the cons were great cowards and if they were good at one thing and one thing only it was building in alternative escape routes.
The majority of his internal systems checkers were offline and only the most rudimentary of sensors were operating and not exactly at peak efficiency. His chronometer was offline so he had no concept of how much time had past and what time it was now. But he was well aware of the darkness that was fighting the dim light he was giving out. The ground beneath his feet was damp and gave him the realisation that it was probably very unstable; of course, his structural analysis sensors were also, offline. It was rather irritating to him, and in a way he was rather glad of that fact, as it gave him something else to focus on then Perceptor and whatever else could be down in this abandoned… well… whatever it was.
Eventually when he turned he was unable to see the flecks of light that had been fighting their way in through the hole that he'd fallen through. It was just him and his petty 9.4% light and the pitch. Up ahead he noted something odd sticking out of the wall of rock, he approached it with some level of caution. Touching it he tried to contemplate what it was, it was soft and sort of spongy, yet the end sticking out was rather sharp. Wood. It was a plank of wood. He looked up and along the wall until he was staring up at the ceiling. It was an old mine the humans must have abandoned. Looking down he realised that two mine shafts must have been place parallel to each other and the floor of the top one that had served as the ceiling for the bottom one had collapsed which made space for the Autobot. He then noticed a small brown rock sticking out of the ground, on closer inspection the odd shaped rock was actually a skull. His optics followed along its vertebrae and along its chest, which was covered with the soggy and ratty remains of a shirt. The right bony hand was clasped around a pick axe while a few centimetres from the left hand was a crushed cage holding the skeleton of a small bird. He searched his databanks and found ancient human miners would take canaries down into the mines and if the canary died then the human workers would escape – it was an indication of toxic gas in the shaft ways. The twin was by no means interested in any form of human history, but he'd once over heard Sparkplug explaining to Skids all about his old job of mining and how the craft had changed. It was sort of sad, really, Sunstreaker realised, that this poor bastard had died down here with his canary, alone and unnoticed, and then left here. Did he have any family who would mourn? Any friends who had noticed? Or perhaps he was unable to be retrieved as the risk to others was too great. The twin suddenly wondered why he was bothering with the feebly short lives of these blobs. They didn't have the right to complain about Autobot battles with Decepticons ending their short lives when they would actively seek out behaviour and activity that could hasten the end of their life that would shorten that little vorn they called a life span.
"Stupid meat sacks".
He growled.
The echo ripped up and down the dark tunnel and it creeped him out rather significantly. Something dropped on his head. At first he just ignored it; his sensors weren't operating at a high enough discernment to let him know it was anything concerning. Another thing dropped on his head. Then another. It proved to be annoying, he looked up and a clump of dirt dropped into his optic. He brushed it aside and groaned irritably and just continued on his way, a few metres from the unstable roof site, the ceiling came down.
When the twin woke up he found himself under a large amount of soft dirt, in amongst it were a few good wads of soggy wood and larger, harder rocks. It was also black. That 9.4% of light was gone. Feeling down around his chassis thinking it was probably just covered in muck, his fingers gently passed over fractured glass and broken wiring. That tiny bulb that was giving out that miniscule amount of light, it was shattered beyond repair. He was in the dark now. He managed to dig himself out, it was actually quite an easy task as the dampness in the dirt made it soft and it obliged as he scrapped it out of the way. Of course, it was going to leave him in an awful state of appearance. He staggered up into a standing position and was relieved to find he didn't bump his head on anything. He held his arms out and his fingers touched the pile of mud that had only a few moments ago covered him. He knelt into it and slowly started to massage around the mound, it went all the way up to what he assumed was the ceiling and it continued down the sides and until it touched the ground. He began to claw at it, hoping to Primus he could find a way out, a way back to the light source. A large rumble came from above him and a few clumps of dirt started to rain down on his head and shoulders. He panicked momentarily and jumped back several metres, he pivoted and ran through the darkness towards more darkness listening to more of this ill gotten earth cave in, furthering his imprisonment.
The twin stopped running when the loud sounds of dirt moving ceased. He stood there, his cooling vents pulled in the damp, musty air around him, trying to lower the temperature of his over heating, over stressed systems. There was no menu in his field of vision to give him readouts as to just how hot his systems were, or just how serious the damage was, all he knew was he was hot and in the dark. Holding his arms out, splaying the fingers on his hands, he moved cautiously in an attempt to locate the direction free of obstacles, sure he had found it, he continued on slowly, the sludgy dirt below his feet squishing as he went.
He didn't like to stop.
When he stopped there was no squishing.
And he no longer needed to operate his air vents so that sound was gone.
No matter how hard he tried he couldn't focus on his fuel pump, but given the fear he felt he was sure it was chugging away furiously inside his dented form.
When he stopped, there was nothing. Not a sound. And that was scary.
There was always sound around the Twins. Whether it was the laughter of one or both or of friends, or the screams of Decepticons on the battlefield or the loud blaring of Blaster's music or some rubbish flesh creature show Sideswipe was currently infatuated with.
There was always sound.
But not now.
He needed to rest, to recharge, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Surely, part of his CPU told him, if Perceptor, or whatever it was, was going to do something, it would have done it by now…, but then all the human horror movies he'd seen told him that the terrible stuff happened when the lights were out and the humans were either snug in their beds deep in recharge, or snug in their beds deep in interface. That was the human word for a recharge berth, right? He asked himself, bed? He couldn't be sure, but it was something he needed to do, keep his mind active, focused on something other then the blackness around him. He forced his need for recharge to the side and welcomed back the squishing.
Sunstreaker had developed himself a good little system, he'd hold his right arm out to the side so his fingers would trace along the wall, and when his right arm got tired, he'd hold out his left arm, it enabled him to wander along with few incidents. Occasionally he push himself into a rather nasty bout of fear as a clump of dirt would come off in his hands and he'd hear that all to familiar and very unwelcome rumbling. He stopped for a moment as the rumbling seemed to intensify, but much to his relief it ceased quickly. He slumped against the wall and slid down until his aft was edged into the muck that passed as the floor. He wasn't sure when exactly the mine shaft changed, perhaps the mess was a result of further cave ins or the humans had stopped digging. Maybe the Constructicons had started ground work for an escape or another base deeper under the terrain. He sighed and rested his head down on his mud splattered knees.
Squish.
At first he didn't look up. IT was only one "squish" and he was occasionally moving just to get comfortable in the cold sludge that probably had memory of his aft as he thought.
Squish. Squish. Squish.
It was very obvious now to him that someone was approaching him.
Sitting side on, however, he was unable to decide which direction they were coming from. Was it from behind or in front?
Surely it couldn't be from behind; there was a cave in back that way, unless while he was touching one wall there was an adjourning tunnel that merged. Or perhaps they were coming from infront of him.
That was an even more awful thought, if they were approaching from ahead of him, well, that meant if he turned to run backwards to escape, he'd run into a large cave in.
Squissssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssh.
It was the sound of something sitting down next to him.
He turned and faced the direction it had come, from in front, it was now right next to him, and he could feel its air vents evacuating on his face. He held himself still, and not from self control or a desire to trick it into leaving, but more from trepidation so deep and intense he couldn't' find any part of him that would move him into an escape, no matter how much he willed it.
There was a hand on his thigh now.
It didn't feel like a mech's hand. And as wussy as Perceptor was, he didn't not have the hands of a femme.
It moved up his thigh until it reached his hip joint.
The form moved in so it was so close it was brushing against him. Its chassis pressed against his still arm. Definitely not a mech.
But there was no warmth to it.
No sincerity in its actions.
No lively lust.
Its breath stunk of rust and of wasted energon.
"I…. Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yooooooooou"
Its voice was soft, calm and very, very chilled.
Sunstreaker heard a scream, realised it was his, and found the motivation to get up. He pushed the ghostly femme out to the side and took off running in the direction he hoped was away from it and not back into the damn cave in.
Squishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquishsquish.
It was running behind him.
"I seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooou".
The voice called out to him from behind, though it didn't sound as if the volume had increased, it sounded as if it was still right next to him, realising that foul breath upon his form. Suddenly he was flying through the air and it was not self-initiated, he face planted into the muddy floor and he felt it on his back. Pushing its cold hands on the back of his head, pushing his face deep into the mouldy dirt of old.
"I seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee yooooooooooooooooooooooou".
It growled again.
And then it was gone.
He rolled himself over, covered in mud and slime and fear. He sat up slowly and wiped the muck from his face, his fear coming in sobs now as he struggled to stand, he was completely unsure as to what direction he was facing. He was afraid he'd retrace his steps and end back at the cave in. He dropped to his knees and started to howl with grief and distress.
"PLEASE!!! WHATEVER I DID TO PISS YOU OFF! I'M SORRY!!"
He roared into the chilled emptiness.
He was given no response.
He rolled back down into the cold slimy earth and took hold of the foetal position. Sobbing.
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Author's NB: I just figured out how to change it so its not humour as a category any more. Huzzah. Heheh, but I find this sort of thing funny, I showed a friend of mine and she was like "no, Jeanette, you freak, that's not funny, that's scary!"