Author's NB: Just a real quick note, since I only just now remembered I forgot to do it and it takes my computer too long to sort it so I'll just write it here.
The last chapter had lyrics from an AWESOME song by Roger Whittaker, called I don't believe in If anymore, this awesome guy owns this song not me. I just used it for two reasons, because its awesome and I wanted to include his awesomeness in this story and maybe someone will go and buy this song to hear his awesomeness, second reason was its been on my brain for a few days.
PS: Don't steal music. If you take something you don't own, didn't ask for, weren't gifted or didn't pay for then its stealing and stealing is very, very naughty. And as someone who had a very precious Palisades Nemesis stolen from my flat, along with a very expensive RiD Galvatron I tend to get a bit "irritated" when I hear about stealers stealing stuff. Its like the douche at work who keep stealing the hot chocolate from the locked staff room (so they're staff!!) and now we don't any hot chocolate cos management is sick of buying it for us if people keep stealing!
Rant over, on to story:
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Chapter Thirty Eight
24th December
0200hrs
The first words past Springer's lip components as he regained awareness should never be written or spoken of again.
He stood slowly, his struts aching as he pushed himself out of the smelly sludge he found himself laying face down in. Thank Primus he wasn't an organic, as such a position would have resulted in him suffocating.
"First thing I do when I get out of this mess… shower… all the way. To the pit with Magnus' rationing, I'm going the whole nine yards, full soap, wax and polish".
The aerial commander grumbled to himself as he walked towards the only exit from the small chamber he was in. His infrared sensors allowing him a little more sight then the twins had previously experienced given his need for it was a little higher priority, so his were more well tuned.
"This is one fine mess".
Tracing his fingers along the wall he found to be rather cathartic. He had no idea why, but continued to do it as he walked along what appeared to be a very long tunnel. He contemplated the likelihood of surviving if he just punched through the roof. Of course, his scanners seemed to be on the fritz and weren't giving him any realistic reading of how much dirt was above his head, he decided not to risk it. From somewhere deep in the sub terrain mess he was in he heard a cackle. Obviously Perceptor. Springer could probably take the scientist on, and win, but of course that might not impress First Aid much so he thought against actively hunting the geek. Instead, he realised he was just going to have to find his own way out, then go get help for Percy and maybe the twins if he wasn't still burning with rage for those two bastards.
Sideswipe was okay, and best when he was free of his yellow double. But Sunstreaker was an arrogant prat that would keep his own company quite nicely and would openly distain anyone else.
On Cybertron Springer had been the guy that got the mission the Twins got. The hard ones. The ones that would end with a pile of corpses and a lot of traumatised mechs if not handled correctly. Yes, Autobots, and probably Decepticons, got a form of what the humans called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. But Springer, he was a rare breed, he could put that behind him, do his job and do it well, keep a smile on his face and most importantly the sanity in his CPU. Unlike a certain set of twins…
The cackle echoed through the tunnel again it was carried along by a cool breeze which was slightly damper and much fouler then the other air that wafted about the place. Springer made the snap decision that perhaps hunting the scientist down wasn't such a bad idea, maybe he could bash some sense into him the nerd could find a way out, or at least get his communicator running, all Springer was getting since he woke up in this place was static with the occasional syllable.
Noting a few large boulders up ahead he decided he had earned a rest and so sat down. They supported his weight nicely. He had to admit, it was a large tunnel, obviously the Decepticons had expanded on the human mining operation. He tried his communicator.
Static.
He tuned it slightly.
More static.
He increased its strength, re-directing power from his transform mechanisms (which he wouldn't need down here).
Wait… no… just static.
He heard his internal voice grate.
"dammit".
He whispered into the eerie shaft.
While inwardly adjusting the frequency he was sure he caught something, a word, but he was unsure, he pedantically fidgeted with it, in an attempt to pull it back.
And there it was, in amongst the static was a word… no… a name.
His name.
Amongst the grating static was his name!
He jumped up, perhaps for joy and gave a small "woo hoo" and then attempted to fine tune the frequency reading.
Still just the static. His name was repeated.
Persisting he was able to get the static down to a minimum. It was still fracturing whatever words were being spoken, but he was still able to make them out, and it chilled his energon cold.
"We……..se…….ou……ringer……"
Suddenly a blast of static ruptured through his audios, temporarily flicking them offline, he dropped to his knees and grabbed at his head growling out in annoyance and pain.
After a few moments of being down in the muck the static died down again, it was still noticeable. He stood again, slowly, aching. He looked around, he saw nothing.
The static then died and in its place were whispers.
"Hey! You think I'm scared of you…, you whatever you are? Shut up, okay? Shut the pit up!"
He growled as he stepped around on an invisible mark.
"Bloody things".
He sort of knew what those things were, but didn't want to say it, for fear of giving them power. The static was silenced, along with whatever voice had been present and the aerial commander turned and marched towards the direction of the cackle.
Springer was by no means the tallest Autobot, but he was for his height, one of the heaviest, he had a lot of bulk and a lot of power and that coupled with his annoyance at the situation and his general lack of grace, his marching was so heavy footed that the ground underneath him caved in and he was dropped down at least a hundred metres into the pitch of the cold earth.
Instead of hitting with a sloppy thump like he'd a few minutes to think about while free falling, he hit with a solid clang. It was ever so uncomfortable and it jarred his systems, but thankfully he didn't offline. As he pulled himself into a standing position he was aware of a familiar scraping sound. Metal on metal. His metal body on something metal. His optics relayed to his CPU through their infrared haze that he was standing on a metal floor. About three metres to his left was a purple mark, and while part of it was obscured by clumps of dirt from the floor he'd been momentarily walking upon, it was very obvious to him what it was.
A bloody Con insignia.
"That can't be good".
Pivoting slowly his optics gave him a good indication of what was down in this hole with him.
A ship.
Or what remained of a ship.
Definitely a Decepticon model.
It was certainly not war class like most of their vessels, it was too small to be a freight carrier or some sort, but not small enough to be an escape module. Perhaps capable of carrying 10 mechs, perhaps a science vessel or a scouting ship seeking out suitable planets? He couldn't be sure until he was inside it. Approaching it filled him with a sort of dread; something he didn't realise was that uncomfortable until he was in arm's length of it.
There was no light from the hole above. There was only the light green fuzz that past as Autobot infrared. He tried explaining to Daniel once that it wasn't actually red, after Arcee explained she'd woke from recharge to find he had coloured over her optics with a red crayon. And try as he might, Ratchet couldn't be mad at a child who just didn't know any better. But back to the ship, his mind commanded. Its metal was still in reasonable shape, despite the damp and the slope there was no sign of rust or corrosion or decay of any form. The glass in the cockpit's window wasn't even shattered, though there was a large crack that ran along the vertical plane of the side hatch's window. Reached out to touch the handle, but instead was given a rather sharp shock as to why not to attempt a breech of a Decepticon shuttle.
"Should have guessed".
But the power in the burst wasn't painful, perhaps at one time it was meant to kill, but it wasn't strong enough now, possibly the fuel source that powered it had slowly succumbed to time.
He was no expert on Decepticon shuttle technology but it looked much older then the Nemesis.
He heard a scream.
It came from behind him.
Not above, but behind.
To hell with force fields and infrared, he smashed his fist through the force shield which protested with a jolt of its own but then gave out with a rather sad fizzle. Springer grasped the door handle and gave it a good yank and found, much to his delight, and perhaps a little horror, that it opened.
Once inside he shut the door behind him, closing it on that screaming. It was such an awful sound, it was almost like a femme, but no femme he'd ever met screamed like that – maybe it was Percy? He gave a small chuckle and then took to looking around the shuttle he found himself in.
While the outside had been in surprisingly unusually good condition, the inside wasn't. The chairs had been torn from their place and strewn about the room; one was ripped right down the centre. The control panel was shattered and smashed beyond repair and there were large finger scrapes along the floor coming from the door. Obviously someone had tried to escape but didn't get very far. There were smudges that experience told him were energon, even if the tell tale glimmer was gone. There were fragments of broken glass lying about at his feet, the lights above their source, they too had been shattered. He walked towards a partially ajar door that would lead into the back. He had to wonder if he was making the right choice here. Sneaking through an abandoned ancient Deception ship that was the sight of something awful, deep underground, a crazy and perhaps possessed scientist running around, not to mention the twins. He found some difficultly in pushing away his doubts but found the motivation to keep moving. Something caught his optic and he turned to look down, there, resting against half of a shredded chair was a head.
"How interesting".
His voice slightly stunned, but trying to act blasé about it.
It proved to him that whatever violence had transpired here, it had been… well… vicious. It showed evidence of being almost animalistically ripped from its owner. The glass of its very dead optics were shattered, those round disks staring out at him was unsettling, though. Its mouth was open and part of the jaw had been dented so badly it probably wouldn't have shut properly. There was a black stain around its head, obviously oil or dried energon or something that didn't belong outside a body. The cranium casing had four distinct tears in it, deep enough to express its particular form of malice against the CPU itself. Fingers had made those wounds.
Springer removed his attention from the head and opened the door.
He really wished he hadn't.
He really wished his infrared wasn't working.
He wished he was back at base annoying Magnus or stirring Kup or in his berth with his naked Arcee splayed out next to him.
Anywhere but here.
Anywhere but here, staring up at the lifeless corpses of ancient Decepticon warriors hanging from the ceiling.
Their optics open wide and staring at him though those dead CPUs would not register the presence of an Autobot.
Springer decided to take the company of a cackling Perceptor or a disembodied scream, he backed out of the ship and stood there staring at it, wondering what in the Pit happened on board. No Autobot would ever unleash a fury like that… but that would mean a Decepticon would. It was by no means unheard of for a Con to loose it and cull his nearest and slowest kin, but he'd never known of anything of this scale.
Chilling.
Just chilling.
He needed to get away from it.
He turned and ran.