Duty and Deceit
Chapter 30
Flood Gates
She sat alone on the hill side in the dark of the night. With only one sun, the nights were darker than ever before. The young spy wondered sadly how long it would be before Cybertron had no sun at all.
A small purple light shone in the center of their little camp, surrounded by ammo casings. The femme glanced back at the camp, smiling slightly under her mask. On one side, Skyquake lay in calm, peaceful recharge. On the other side, Dreadwing lay curled up tightly, his vents hissing and sputtering sporadically. Must have got something caught in his systems.
She turned away, scanning the area. All calm. Gently running the magnetic stylus over her various dents, the spy looked out over the city of Protihex. What little remained of it anyway. No attempts to rebuild had been made. After all, in the middle of a war, who had time for construction?
A tiny sliver of gold touched the horizon. The femme watched, mesmerized as that pathetic shred of light spread out across the black sky, slowly bringing a glorious blend of golds, reds, and purples into the indigo sky. Her mask lowered of its own accord.
Somehow in the light of the dawn, she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps the war hadn't taken all the beauty from Cybertron. Maybe... there would still be a world left to win victory over. Soon enough the splendor of the sunrise faded into an even, pale blue sky. Even in the light of day, the stars twinkled in the heavens. The three moons shone in a proud cluster in the morning sky.
A streak of green caught her optics and she looked out towards the portion of the city that had attracted her gaze. A pained grimace seemed to etch itself onto her faceplates. What had caught her attention was the jade forests she'd so loved as a youngling.
All that remained of the majestic forest was a mass of charred stone resembling many spears piercing the once beautiful landscape.
The memories were so painful, they felt like physical wounds. Her spark ached. Tears of coolant began to pour from her gold optics. To see her home again after so long... A harsh sob wracked her frame as her vents caught.
A while passed before she even noticed the large hand rubbing her back in soothing consolation, or the shoulder into which she was crying. When she finally did notice, it wasn't those two things that cause her to notice.
It was the strong, low thrum of his spark pulsing near her audials. The sound of its calm power was like an anchor for her own frightened and angry young spark.
Straightening up, she stared at the coolant stains on his army green shoulder with slight guilt. Turning her wet, gold optics up to his face, she saw him gazing out over the city with saddened optics.
"Hey." She said quietly, her vocalizer a little static-y.
"Hey." Skyquake echoed, looking down at her with concern. "You going to be okay?"
"No." The small Prussian blue femme stated bluntly. "But I'll manage." She paused for a moment before asking the question that had been tearing at her since the start of the mission. "Did... did you choose... here?"
The jet averted his gaze and remained silent. She bit her lip-plates, a pang of hurt striking her spark. His silence spoke louder than any words could. She scooted away minutely.
"Why?" She tried to hide her hurt and anger. She could tell by his expression that she'd failed. She continued accusingly, "You knew what the Autobots did to my people, to me... you knew..."
Skyquake opened his mouth as if to say something, his faceplates telling of some inward battle. He closed his mouth again, his optic ridges drawn together in pain.
Finally he sighed as if settling for the second best of something. "I thought... it would help you come to terms with it. Allow you to put aside your rage to make room for something more lasting..."
His arm wrapped loosely around her small shoulders, Skyquake refused to look her in the optics. Her frame went tense, her processors unwilling to even consider laying aside her vengeance.
"Sky, you don't get it." The spy said firmly, rising to her pedes for better effect. "I 'came to terms' with what happened the rotation it happened. I have no delusions regarding what the Autobots did. And I'll lay aside my rage once they've all paid."
Her anger made her deaf to his sad whisper, "Haven't we all paid enough for this War?"
The swirling green portal shut behind them with a loud, whooshing hiss. The Prime was standing calmly in the center of the room, waiting for them. His usual aura of leadership seemed especially strong, making the whole team automatically sober; each mech on his best behavior.
"Autobots, report."
Bumblebee stepped forward first, pulling out the life-size Energon arm from subspace. "We found the signal's source: a full-size statue of a 'Con."
"Shortly after which, we were attacked by the aforementioned Decepticon, who was responsible for the statue's existence." Terabyte continued, her tone neutral.
"And… we totally kicked his aft, bringing this arm with us as a trophy." Cliffjumper summarized quickly.
The spy grimaced noticeably – noticeable at least to Skyquake, in spite of the mask – at the warrior's not-entirely-true assessment. "The Decepticon in question, designated Blitzwing, showed his armament and skill set to be considerably superior to our own."
"The guy's a psycho. Like, not even just a little bit; he's gone way off the deep end." Bumblebee said, beeping and whirring emphatically to make his point. "And he's a triple-changer."
Optimus thought carefully on each of their observations for several klicks before nodding decisively. He turned to Skyquake, who up until now had been silent, keeping his helm respectfully lowered other than to glance down at Terabyte when she spoke.
"Skyquake?"
The jet looked up sharply. He hadn't expected the Prime address him. Surely as a new defector, his opinion wouldn't matter? He inclined his helm deferentially, "Sir."
"Anything you would like to add to that?" Optimus's tone held no apparent malice or bad intent.
"Yes." He replied, his frame stiff. "Blitzwing and I were by no means the only sleepers on this Earth. There's five more, located somewhere in Asia, Africa, Australia, and the other America."
The Prime frowned minutely. "Do you know where exactly and who they are?"
Skyquake smirked, knowing exactly what all the Autobots were thinking. If the next five were as powerful as he was, they'd be doomed. It was easy to decide how he would reply. He still remembered Technahar quite vividly. Not to mention the Prime had not too long ago let his scout tear part of his processors out. Having defected made a negligible impact on his choice.
Shrugging lightly, he answered simply, "Sorry."
The Prime's minute frown grew deeper, though whether at the news or at his nonchalance was unclear. Terabyte shot him an oddly reproving glare. His mangled wing twitched painfully.
"Are we dismissed, sir?" Skyquake asked more respectfully, for Terabyte's sake. "The team has sustained damage that will need to be repaired."
"Yes. I recommend you have Ratchet, our medic, examine your wings." Optimus said, tone just short of an order.
Skyquake nodded, the motion yet again jarring his injured wings. "Recommendation noted." As a side note, he added, "Sir."
The large jet nodded to the other Autobots and marched off back to his cell. Behind him he heard Terabyte quietly tell the Prime, "My apologies, sir. Skyquake is... unused to holding lower rank."
He walked right past the quarters he had been told were to be shared with him. When he reached his cell in the brig, Skyquake sat down on the berth with a hiss as one wing scraped the wall. The constant pain in his wings had not been good for his mood or his patience, but he'd seen the medic's hatred towards him.
There was no way he'd let that mech touch his wings.
A few breems later, he was right in the middle of a rather humiliating attempt to repair his own wings, involving twisting around as far as his frame would allow, with one pede on the berth with the other firmly braced against the table. Meanwhile he was discovering the embarrassing fact that he could barely reach his own wings due to his bulky, custom made shoulder armor. He was futilely trying to maneuver around the shoulder with a magnetic stylus, straining his neck to see what he was doing.
If someone walked in on him right now... Skyquake was certain he'd die of embarrassment.
The familiar beautiful, tinkling laughter touched his audials. Terabyte was leaning against the door way, her mask down and a bemused smile touching her lips.
"Need some help?" She asked gently, her voice laughing at him.
He put the stylus down and let his braced pede hang down, balancing one arm casually over his raised knee. He grinned sheepishly. "And you stood there watching me struggle, how long?"
She walked over grinning like a youngling with a secret. "Not telling."
Grabbing the stylus, the little femme started working gently on his left wing. She moved quickly and carefully, the result of doing repairs on his wings more times than he could count.
Neither one of them had ever really trusted medics, but ever since the encounter with Shadowlight and the discovery that Knockout was performing personal experiments on his patients out of sheer boredom, neither would go to the medical department except for in emergencies.
She worked in silence for a while, her movements growing more and more agitated. It continued to the point that every dent popped out with a loud, reproving twang that stung like human bullets in his wings.
Skyquake wasn't sure what he'd done to make her mad, but he was beginning to dread what she would do when she reached the fractured wing framing on his left wing. Still, he said nothing.
Finally the dreaded moment came and Skyquake winced as she carefully, but mercilessly, pulled off the green plating to get to the fracture. He felt like bracing himself, but he knew that doing so would mess up the realigning. Instead, the jet offlined his ruby optics and took in a huge vent, holding it in as he waited.
"This might hurt a little." Terabyte said quietly, her voice neutral as she gently positioned her cool hands to the proper place for optimum realignment. The cool metal of her servos felt good on the overheated framing.
He nodded rigidly, ready for the pain. It didn't come. Involuntarily he felt himself relaxing, though he thought he hadn't tensed. He let out the vent of air slowly in relief.
Snap!
Fire laced through his nerve relays as fast as lightning, racing all throughout his left wing and down his spinal struts.
"Oh for the love of Cybertron..." Skyquake hissed, his ruby optics wide open as the pain still blazed through his systems. His wing tips had gone numb. When the burning faded, "Might hurt a little?! What did I do? Wasn't blasting me with the cannon I designed for you enough?"
He turned around to face her, in spite of everything careful not to smack her upside the helm with his wings. Knocking her unconscious in the act of turning around would certainly not help matters.
His lips quirked upwards slightly at the thought. At the moment though, that didn't seem like half bad of an idea...
"You shoot me in the back, I save your life anyway. To repay me, you cause as much pain as possible 'fixing' me. What sort of deal is that?" He continued more calmly, forcing himself not to loom over her, which was hard enough when he wasn't angry due to her size.
She looked up at him with challenge in her optics. "You abandon me for seven vorns then call me a traitor, I save your life anyway. To repay me, you cause as much pain as possible 'joining the Autobots' for me. What sort of deal is that?"
Skyquake's whole demeanor visibly wilted. The fists of guilt clenched down on his spark, wrenching at his very being. He already felt like recycled slag for it, but hearing it from Terabyte only made it worse. His faceplates stung as if she'd just slapped him as hard as she could.
She was right. He had very little to be complaining about, comparatively. He was alive, he was with Terabyte, and the Prime was merciful enough to let the killer of his SIC defect. Besides, whether she'd been nice about it or not really didn't matter in the long run, she'd still fixed him.
He tilted his helm to stare down at his pedes. The mech couldn't bear to look into her golden optics. "I'm sorry, Terabyte... you deserved better... you deserve better."
Terabyte took a little step forward, placing herself right into his line of sight and looking up at him with gentle, beautifully yellow optics. A tiny smirk tugged on her dainty lips. Skyquake felt his spark crack as he studied the thin, jagged scar that ran from just below her left optic down to just above the corner of her lip. If he had only been there for her sooner...
"Sky, you bolt helm." She said fondly, shaking her pointed helm at his foolishness. He snorted. Yep. That was definitely him. A complete and total two-bit bolt helm. She deserved so much better...
The femme let out an exasperated sigh, cocking her optic ridge as if to say, 'Really?'. Aloud, she said, "And... you're still being a bolt helm. I can see it in your optics."
He grinned as he realized her meaning. "And My Lady's orders are...?"
Her lip-plates split into her wide dazzling grin. "Simple really, sir. Stop being a bolt helm." Her grin faded and she looked at him seriously. "And while you're taking my orders; don't get hurt so much."
"Yes ma'am!" Skyquake said, standing to attention and saluting smartly. He meant it deeply, and saw that she knew that. He smirked, "Any other orders, ma'am?"
Terabyte smiled mischievously. "Better be careful... I could ask you to do anything... Lucky for you, I only have one -most tedious- task for you: fix your paint job and go rest."
Skyquake saluted her again before spinning on his heel and marching off. Terabyte smiled at the green jet as he walked out of the brig, making his way towards his quarters.
Messed up paint job or not, he really was her knight in shining armor. Though not in the humans' romanticized way. He was her protector and friend. And he'd lay his spark down for her far quicker than she liked.
The pink and blue femme leaned casually against the wall, watching Cliffjumper as he ran the obstacle course again, still trying to beat Bumblebee's record.
A few feet from the finish, the red mech got cocky – at least, cockier than usual – and he tripped on the target he'd just shot down. Arcee smirked as he lost his balance, arms flailing in a failed attempt to prevent the fall. Somehow by a stroke of sheer chance, Cliffjumper landed on his blaster, causing it to fire in the general direction of a target as he skidded over the finish line.
Arcee leaned her helm forward, indigo optics wide in disbelief. She muttered under her breath, "You've got to be kidding..."
Right there, the target he'd accidentally shot at stood proud and smoking. Where the bull's-eye used to be, there was now a charred hole. A perfect shot, by pure luck.
A similar expression was on Cliffjumper's face, though he recovered much quicker. Standing up and swaggering towards her, the mech dusted off his hands, grinning so widely she wondered how he even managed it. "Now. Am I awesome or am I awesome?"
She raised a skeptical optic ridge, still staring at the target. "You landed on your gun and it misfired. I'd hardly call that 'awesome', Cliff."
"Aww, c'mon 'Cee! You saw me! I hit that bull's-eye fair and square as a direct result of my awesomeness." Her partner declared, puffing out his chest proudly. "What's more, I beat our little Gold-i-bug's record."
Arcee looked down at the time piece she'd used for recording the two mechs' scores. That way there was no controversy over the accuracy of internal chronometers. An evil little smirk lit her face.
"You did?" She asked neutrally.
Cliffjumper's pale blue optics widened as he ran over to snatch the still-ticking time piece. "Nonononono! You didn't! Arcee! I've been trying to beat that score for ages! How could you not record it?"
She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, crossing her arms and casually leaning her weight on one pede. "I guess I got distracted by your 'awesomeness'."
"Argh-!" Cliffjumper made a strangled sound, pacing in an aggravated circle before turning around quickly, his optics twinkling, a look of triumph reigning on his face, "Aha! So you admit that I'm awesome!"
The stealth warrior rolled her optics, laughing at the mech who was now doing a little happy dance at his victory. "You're worse than a sparkling!"
The mech stopped mid-dance, raising a servo to his helm, indicating a comm. "I- no... He's on his way where? ...No, I'm not with him... Yes sir, I'll go make sure the tea and crumpets are set out for our lovely-mannered guest!"
He winked at her puzzled expression and ran out of the training room, calling over his shoulder, "Sorry, his murderous majesty awaits!"
Arcee frowned at the closed doors for a moment before shaking her helm. He must have been talking about Skyquake.
Cliffjumper raced through the halls as fast as he could, finally turning a corner and coming to a screeching halt in front of the huge fighter jet.
"There you are. Been looking all over for you!" The red warrior said pleasantly, a smile plastered on his face.
"Cliffjumper." Skyquake replied tonelessly.
"If you'd kindly follow me, I will escort you to my humble abode, where I'm sure the Boss Bot told you you'd be staying?" He asked, walking briskly towards his quarters.
Skyquake never responded, but his heavy pede-falls followed. When they arrived at his room, Cliffjumper opened the door with a flourish, gesturing that the Con enter first.
They both stood just inside the room, examining it. It was nothing fancy. Gray walls, gray floor, gray roof. Gray berth, black desk, black chair. A smaller offshoot from the main room held a smaller berth, which he had used for reading and report writing.
The only customized part of the room was a medium sized showcase in one corner. Inside the glass case were various mementos he'd collected over the years. An award of valor, a cyberwolf's fang, a melted Decepticon-make pistol from when he killed Vortex...
"Impressive." Skyquake said dryly.
"Hey, cut a mech some slack! It's not like we get a lot of free time, what with you and your buddies trying to kill us twenty-four seven." He replied lightly. "You're on the big bed, I'm in the alcove, good cycle!"
About a joor later, he still lay on the berth staring at the dull gray roof, battle systems active. He'd decided not to recharge until the other mech did. There was no way he'd sleep with that mech active. So he waited, listening carefully for the venting to slow, internal systems to settle into a quiet, steady hum. But Skyquake didn't seem too keen on sleep.
So he was still waiting.
And waiting and waiting... and waiting. Cliffjumper sighed gently. This was going to be a very long night.
Eight days later
Ratchet glared at his datapad angrily. His vents were whirring a little faster than normal to cool his aggravated systems.
The Prime had let her defect far too easily. She was a high-ranking 'Con under Soundwave! And all he did was put her on a four month probation before making her an official Autobot. Optimus wasn't being careful enough.
So yes they needed more firepower. Yes she had intel and a number of useful skills. That didn't warrant so naively trusting Soundwave's right-hand mech!
The medic stood up sharply, sending his chair halfway across the room with a crash as one of the legs broke under the force. He growled and started pacing. Anything that got in his way simply got harshly kicked aside.
What's worse, since the ordeal with the Cybonic plague, the Autobot leader had pretty much promoted her to Lieutenant.
Ratchet threw his wrench at the wall in anger, flicking it out of his subspace and throwing it in a single fluid motion. It hit the concrete wall with a loud crack, leaving a large wrench-shaped cluster of cracks.
"Slag it all, end this vorn she'll be second in command!" The red and white mech froze on the spot, his faceplates going tight. He scowled, his turquoise optics narrowing.
The pieces of this confounded conundrum finally clicked into place in his mind. Con defector. Pointless tendencies to try to hide emotion. Excessive adherence to protocol. Quick acceptance due to negative circumstances.
He leaned his hands on the table to steady himself. His hands were shaking with fury. Prime couldn't be doing this. He wouldn't allow it.
The femme might have a select few cases in which she almost resembled Prowl in the most basic of ways. That did not make her worthy of replacing him!
His engine growled deeply and in a rush of madness he flung the table and all of its contents across the room. Papers and files exploded into a cloud of white.
The door opened slowly and carefully behind him and he whirled around, a hammer from subspace in hand. Not as good as wrench... The quick movement kept the papers fluttering madly in the air. The medic couldn't see who it was, but from their mannerisms assumed it was Prime.
"You're more of a nutcase than Blitzwing if you thought, even for one nanosecond, you could ever replace Prowl!" Ratchet roared, his optics blazing, "Especially with a sneaking, lying, bloodthirsty, vengeful... stuck up, youngling!"
At this moment the last few papers fell gently to the floor, leaving the air almost painfully empty between himself and the person standing in the doorway.
Vents heaving, armor flared, the medic glared at the person standing in his office. He couldn't bring himself to say anything.
Approximately one minute ago
"You're more of a nutcase than Blitzwing if you thought, even for one nanosecond, you could ever replace Prowl!" Ratchet roared, his optics blazing, "Especially with a sneaking, bloodthirsty, vengeful... stuck up, youngling!"
Prussian blue and black armor clamped tightly against her protoform, so tightly the bio-lights down her sides were hidden from view. Gold optics shone bright and wide. Shock and fear were written on her faceplates, having worked hand-in-hand to tear her mask down. As of yet, the spy hadn't noticed this fact.
The last piece of paper landed with a light rustle that seemed to somehow echo in the deathly silence.
She blinked slowly and deliberately, her optics locked on the medic's. She'd never never seen the medic so angry before. When medics got angry, people nearby suffered. When medics got livid... Terabyte shuddered at the thought, mental images effectively finishing the thought line.
Closing her optics and pulling in a huge, calming draft, she said flatly, "I have a significantly large vocabulary of adjectives that may aid you in insulting me. Unless you're finished, sir?"
Her fear had, rather than subduing her, made her lose her tight grip on self-control.
Ratchet blinked. "Well. I can certainly add 'insolent', 'little', and 'twerp' to the list..."
She sneered at him. The femme still hadn't realized that her mask was lowered. "Which do you want first, Medic? My helm on a surgical platter, or this report you requested?"
The medic growled huffily. "Give me the report."
Terabyte thrust it into his hands, her lip-plates still curled upwards slightly. "Why would you think I'm trying to replace Prowl? He was a sparkless killer of thousands of mechs."
He had barely glanced at the report before he flung the datapad in the direction of his desk. "How dare you judge him? You never knew him!"
Her optics turned stone cold, as did her voice. "I knew the mech I saw. And I saw him kill broken mechs, begging for mercy, without hesitation. I knew the mech I saw behind the emotionless optics the color of his victims' life-En. Maybe he was a decent mech. Maybe he was even a good mech. I don't know. But I can pass judgement based on what he did, and the impact he made."
Her bitterness melted into sadness, showing plainly on her revealed faceplates. She looked like a frightened, worried youngling. "But that goes for us all, doesn't it?"
She had seen and caused so much pain in her relatively few vorns... Terabyte clenched her jaw and glared at the roof, forcing her emotions down. No place for weakness in war. Fight now and mourn when the war's over.
Ratchet's enraged expression slid away to be replaced with sympathy, understanding, and his own vorns of sadness and regret. He could only imagine the mental anguish that she was going through in the aftermath of Megatron's full body take-over. He hesitated before stepping towards her, subspacing the medical hammer. He spread his arms wide, inviting a hug.
"It's okay to show when you're hurting, youngling." He said quietly. "That goes for us all, doesn't it?"
After a slight conflict between common sense and tentatively growing trust, Terabyte leaned into the offered hug, feeling very much like a lost sparkling. She hadn't had a fatherly hug since Bullwing terminated. Makeshift had never been the hugging type.
The reminder of her sire and mentor broke her the rest of the way. She hugged the medic in return, letting out all the emotions she'd tucked away, tried to bury. As she leaned into the embrace, Terabyte could almost imagine it was her sire she was hugging. Ratchet was about the same size, his hug had the same slightly awkward feel to it...
Ratchet patted her back gently. She ignored the quiet little voice in the back of her mind, which was currently reprimanding her for losing control and reminding her of the damage medics were capable of.
Finally she pulled away from the medic, whispering. "I haven't been a youngling for a very long time, Medic."
"I know." The medic growled suddenly, "Slagging Cons! If it weren't for them, you'd have still been a youngling just seven vorns ago."
She frowned, confused. "Alpha Trion upgraded me, not the Cons."
She reached up to wipe the pink coolant off her faceplates, optics widening as she realized why the medic had been able to read her so easily. She should have noticed earlier.
Ratchet saw her expression before she could snap her defenses back into place and ordered, "Oh no you don't. Let me see that..."
He reached forward and firmly gripped her chin, tilting her helm this way and that, examining the thin, jagged scar on the left side of her face. She squirmed and tried to pull away, but the medic's vice-like hold was unbreakable.
"Could have been so easily prevented with proper medical care..." The red and white mech muttered, shaking his helm with disapproval.
Terabyte involuntarily shuddered at the idea of what could have been considered 'proper medical care'.
His disapproving frown deepened at her reaction. The medic's engine growled louder. "What caused this?"
The spy shrank away from his inspection, puzzled by his anger. It wasn't like it was her fault. She glared at him, "Medical saw. Cut all the way through the mask."
"A medic did this!?" Ratchet exclaimed. He lowered his hand and walked away and whispered, most likely thinking she wouldn't hear, "No wonder you're so scared..."
As soon as he released her, she snapped the mask back into place, choosing to act as if nothing had just happened. Half way through the door, Terabyte paused, "Thank you, sir. Good cycle."
One orn later
Heavy, cold rain mixed with hail pattered down on the red-haired girl as she rode along the narrow, winding highway. Lightning danced across the black sky. Close beside the girl and her motorcycle drove a fire engine red Dodge Challenger with metal bull's horns mounted on the hood. On the wrong side of the road.
She growled as her soaked hair whipped the leather jacket, making an annoying, constant slapping sound. Wet, dead leaves were plastered to the holo-form and her own frame. Mud sloshed into cracks in her plating, the gritty stuff grinding in her joints.
/So, Short Stuff. How d'you like northern Washington?/ Cliffjumper sent her cheekily, his windshield wipers flinging all the junk on his windscreen onto her.
/This excessively organic dirt ball is a wound to the galaxy./ Terabyte replied grumpily, chilled to the protoform, filthy, and dented from the hail. She was also getting really tired of having to swerve out of the way of suicidal deer.
Objectively, she supposed it might have been a pretty drive. Had it been daytime, sunny, a wider road, deer-free, and without some whale of a woman behind her riding her tailpipe with the brights on.
/Yeah. I just love this state./ Terabyte summed up sarcastically. /With all due respect, why in the galaxy did Prime send us out here? No mech with a shred of sense would be out here./
Cliffjumper laughed. /He probably found the tickets I got in five states yesterday for drunk driving... wasn't drunk, obviously. Just really tired.../
/Would you get on the right side of the road already?/ Terabyte snapped. Her patience had run out about an hour ago. /You're going to make the squishy behind me blow a fuse./
He laughed again, sending her a picture of him raising his hands in defeat. /Okay, okay, I'll m-/
Just then there was a loud crash and a flash of violet light. Her holo-form shattered into shards of glass-like light. Next thing Terabyte knew she was spinning out of control. Too late, the femme transformed to gain her balance, but inertia won over.
Pain shot down her spinal struts as her dorsal plates collided with the barrier. The sound of bending metal filling her audials, though she wasn't sure if it was the steel barrier she'd just crashed into, or her own frame.
Through the pouring rain, she saw that Cliffjumper had reacted quicker, rescuing the woman behind her. Terabyte looked around, frantically trying to see where the shot had come from. She couldn't see a thing.
Getting up painfully, she charged her weapons and walked over to the red warrior, who had transformed and was also searching for the enemy. She grunted as her armor shifted, the badly dented dorsal plates grating together.
"You okay?" Cliffjumper shouted over the rain.
She caught sight of a tall, thin, winged silhouette of a mech. She shot at it blindly, her targeting systems going haywire from the rain and her injury. "I'm fine. I have a visual on the target."
He frowned, still looking. "Where?"
"Two o'clock!" She shouted, dodging a second shot.
The attacker jumped down from his ledge on the mountainside, landing with a crunch of asphalt as the old highway buckled under his weight. Terabyte shivered as a wave of anger hit her, resonating from her old commander.
"Soundwave." The femme whispered weakly. She'd never seen him so angry before.
She and Cliffjumper both opened fire, though their shots seemed to make very little impact on him. The purple Decepticon just kept walking towards them with calm, steady steps.
Cliffjumper charged, sliding down to the ground to sweep his pedes under the mech, to trip him. Soundwave jumped gracefully over the Autobot's attack, landing with a sickening crunch on the red mech's chest-plate.
As if for good measure, her commander shot Cliffjumper in the leg, turning the limb into a twisted mound of melted metal and muscle cables. He tried to stand up, in spite of his mutilated leg as Soundwave drew closer to her. Roaring as his knee gave out under his weight, Cliffjumper crashed to the ground again, this time his optics going dim. He'd slipped into stasis from the pain.
Honestly, she was surprised it wasn't his helm or spark that was a pile of slag right now. But Soundwave's motions were clear. He didn't care about the mech. Cliffjumper wasn't the target, he was just in the way. He didn't care about offlining the mech, because he didn't matter. He was after her.
Terabyte continued firing, her anxiety growing as the red mech fell so quickly to the purple commander's wrath. The femme extended her glowing yellow blade, shoving her fears aside in light of keeping her cool in the midst of battle. Her bio-lights, optics, and dagger reflected off the raindrops around her, giving her an eerie golden aura.
She knew this would happen. It had been almost two orns since she'd defected fully. A little more than that since Megatron thought she defected, due to her protecting Raf when he was in her mind. She'd listened to Prime. She'd trusted them to protect her. It had taken a bit longer than she'd expected for her former commanders to come after her.
But if she lost this battle... she'd be better off dead.
Soundwave flicked his wrists deftly, extending blades from his arms that she didn't even know he had. She'd never thought it seemed his style. Terabyte's own blade twitched.
She didn't charge, that would have just been suicidal. The femme barely noticed that the fat lady had finally stopped screaming. Probably passed out. Agent Fowler would take care of her later. Terabyte waited for the silent mech to get close enough to attack, silently thanking Skyquake for his training.
Five meters and closing... four meters... Now!
Lunging forward, Terabyte swung her blade. Soundwave stepped backwards one step and her dagger cut through the rain uselessly. Her back screamed in protest. Growling lightly she leapt upwards in a feint before rolling between the mech's pedes, mud and grit coating her frame, grinding into her bruised dorsal plates.
Rising swiftly she moved to plunge her dagger into his back. Her dagger cut through air once again, a large, thin-servo'd hand wrapping around her wrist like a vice. Terabyte's gold optics widened and she looked up at Soundwave, shocked.
Either she was moving really sluggishly, or the mech was not only twice her size, but also just as fast, probably faster. She'd hardly even seen him move.
"Traitor." Soundwave said simply, still empathically radiating fury. In that one word, there was more feeling than she'd ever thought a single word could hold. She had been his loyal advisor and right-hand mech for six vorns; she had betrayed him.
Terabyte's optics widened even further. Keeping her mask from dropping in pure, terrified shock was a struggle. Soundwave just spoke. She didn't even know he could talk. She'd made him so furious when she defected... So enraged that he was willing to tell her about it.
He pulled her forward and locked her arms behind her back, pinning them together in one hand. He stood behind her, looming over her, one of his thin, straight, razor-sharp blades slicing through the light proto-plating of her neck, into her exposed protoform.
Vents stilled, Terabyte stood completely submissive in her infuriated former commander's grip. Her armor was plastered to her frame so tightly it hurt. The only movement was the nervous twitching of her finials. Her spark felt like it was going to break through her spark-chamber, it was pulsing so strongly.
Soundwave kept pressing the blade into her neck. Life-En began trickling in a steady stream from the cut. Her frame was beginning to overheat from lack of ventilation, but the little femme didn't dare to move.
Finally she felt a low rumble from the mech's engine. Megatron's voice sounded from him, "Bring her to me... Alive."
She felt like if her optics widened anymore they'd fall out of their sockets, or if her armor clamped down any tighter she'd be crushed to a pulp. Yet somehow both did exactly that.
A string of error messages scrolled across her HUD: Warning: systems overheating. Warning: external pressure exceeding acceptable parameters. Error: abnormal Energon displacement. Error: spark pulse-
Terabyte ignored the string of useless warnings. Soundwave's message was very clear. If it weren't for Megatron's orders, she'd be dead right now. She shuddered, inadvertently causing the blade to cut deeper.
The torrential rains quickly washed the life-En from the wound, causing more to gush out.
A black mist creeped into the edges of her vision. It was getting harder to focus. She felt Soundwave pick her up roughly by the waist and sling her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. The last thing she saw was the rapidly retreating ground and a strange green light in the dark of night.