"LOUSY FRAGGER!" Henry yelled at the top of his lungs as he slammed the door behind himself. "Who does that overgrown crankshaft think he is?! Saying I can't understand cyber-whatsian technology! What am I, some MIT Noob?!" He stormed through the empty house, furious at the autobot medic that had insulted his skills, just because he wasn't cybertronian.
"Nooooo," He continued to fume as he mocked Ratchet's voice, rather poorly actually. "You're just a human. Your species needs time to evolve more. You're not ready for our technology. CH-YEAH! Say's the guy who's race destroyed their own planet!" Henry stole a look at the digital clock hanging nearby and growled in his throat. It was late, and while He knew for a fact his temper would dissipate after a good nights sleep, he was way too worked up to rest. The better half of his mind was still in his lab, going over the suit diagrams and figuring out the individual adjustments each suit would require even as the worse half came up with new problems to solve.
That is until both latched onto one specific, daunting, and potentially migraine inducing idea to challenge him with. But more than challenge himself, this could be the key to making Ratchet finally respect his skills. He ran to his room and turned on the computer, mind already racing with theories as he pulled up the hacked security feed from the hangar and pushed his head set on. He panned the camera around a little, just enough to make sure Bulkhead was asleep in the medical berth and that the doctor was out.
Minimizing the video, he started digging through his computers files until he found what he was looking for: an old PC first person video game he'd modified to fit his needs a long time ago. While the program booted up he grabbed a game controller and hooked it into the computer.
"Come on, come on," he mumbled anxiously as the program slowly loaded, until the progress bar gave way to a new video feed, albeit one completely black and featureless. A button click changed that, turning on a pair of head lights at the end of a long purple hood, and illuminating the metal doors directly in front, and more importantly, doors that were unlocked. He gently pressed down on the right trigger button, and the car slowly eased forward. He didn't know Ratchet had put Bulkhead in an induced stasis nap to keep him from taking off after the Nakadais, son Henry was trying to be as quiet as possible. But just as the car's hood reached the doors, his finger twitched.
The two guards outside the hangar were barely awake, each having drawn the short straws after an already long day. But both men nearly jumped out of their uniforms when two metallic, and more to the point loud, bangs clanged out from the hangar like gun shots.
"HOLY!"
"What the hell?!" Both men looked at each other, clutching their rifles anxiously before their training kicked back in, though the still glanced nervously at the hangar door.
"Well don't just stand there!" the taller and thinner of the two said with more confidence than he felt. "Come on, better check it out." His squatter companion was even less sure.
"I don't know man," he said loosely holding his rifle, "maybe we should just ignore it. Probably nothing you know?"
"Shut up and help me get this door open," His partner grunted, trying to pull open the pilot door while his companion just watched.
"You know, I'm pretty sure Ratchet welded that shut a while ago."
"What?! Why would he do that?" For a moment the only response he got was a pair of crossed arms and his partner glaring up at him.
"Dude," he deadpanned in an obvious tone. "Have you even met the guy?"
"...Right."
"And like I said," The smaller, lazier of the pair shrugged, "Its probably nothing."
CRASH! Both men jumped again when the silence was replaced with ringing metal and breaking glass, and now it was the tall man glaring at his partner.
"You call THAT nothing?!" he yelled running to the main hangar door controls. His partner backed up and aimed his rifle at the doors as the tall one keyed the access code.
"I swear Simmons," he warned as the doors started to open, "If we die because of this I'm gonna kill you."
"Just watch my six!" Simmons barked back as the massive doors slide away from each other. Both men clicked off their safeties and shifted their stances, only for twin white headlights to blind them, causing their hands to shoot up to shield their eyes.
"AHH Sonuva!" But before Simmons could finish the swear his voice was lost in the roar of a car engine as a black and purple Cadillac tore out of the hangar doors making the guards dive in opposite directions to avoid getting run down. And both were left gaping as the car sped down the runway and out of sight.
"Uuhh Simmons, did you just see a?"
"Yep."
"That tried to run us."
"Yep."
"And that just drove off down the."
"Pretty much," he supplied before finally looking at his partner. "Think we should call it in?"
"Are you nuts?!" His terrified but lazy friend laughed. "After the day we've had the last thing we need is to be up till dawn filling out paperwork on something like this."
"You got a point there Griff," Simmons admitted. "It'll probably run into one of the Autobots sooner or later." His friend nodded triumphantly, and a few moments of silence passed between them, before Griff realized he was too awake to keep quiet now.
"Hey Simmons," he started casually. "You ever wonder why we're here."
"Oh dear god," He groaned, "Not this crap again."
Elsewhere Henry Masterson was working the vehicon's remote controls with all the skill you could expect from a video game addict, which would surprise most people in its quality. He turned the drone around corners and up roads until he was in the more residential part of the base where servicemen's families lived. Not any relatives of agents though, hostage situation potential and whatnot. Henry made sure to mind the stop signs if only to avoid suspicion until he finally turned into his own driveway and pulled into the open garage.
"YES!" He yelled, throwing his arms up in triumph, "Ownage! TOTAL OWNAGE!" He yanked off his headset, turned off the computer and ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the garage. He threw open the door, devious smirk already cutting his face in half as he opened the driver side door and pulled out the equipment he'd picked up from his main lab, including a wireless pc adapter and the prototype control gauntlet. After 15 minutes of fussing and moving some equipment from his room to the garage he slipped the gauntlet on, and crossed his arms.
"All righty Stevey," he smiled watching the Vehicon transform then shift to lay flat on its back on the floor. "Lets see if we can't get that genie outta the bottle." He knew he was in for a long night, but the chance of wiping that condescending glare off Ratchets mug was far too tempting.
If Soundwave thought he was keeping his little pet a secret, then he really needed to clean that mask of his. If there was one thing Motormaster had learned scrounging his way in the mines and work camps of the hard labor caste it was the potential importance of every little detail. Like a few too many credits payed to a certain bot, or a discolored patch on an armor plate. Even a nanoseconds waver of the ground-bridge didn't escape his notice, though he had decided to let Soundwave believe it had.
It wasn't that Motormaster didn't trust Soundwave, but with their leader in self imposed exiled the Comm officer was only loyal to the Decepticon cause. And he would see it through regardless of the consequences or collateral damage. That was why when Soundwave stalked off to one of Alpha Tarn's more unstable area's he sent Deadend to follow him.
The recently revived and reformatted Stunticon tracker was one of the few mechs that could go unnoticed by Soundwave, but even his abilities had limits. He had to take greater and greater care the farther Soundwave traveled from the heart of the base, the changing floor beneath his pedes making silence difficult but not impossible.
The open hallways branching out from of the command center quickly gave way to narrow cluttered run down corridors, slipping his dark burgundy frame through the tangle of collapsed hull supports, broken energon lines and crumbling wires. But his scout frame was smaller than most decepticon mechs, so it wasn't that terribly difficult. The game changed however when the metal walls and floor ended, switched with loose powdery rock. At least it was at first, but Soundwave's trail quickly took Deadend down into the ground, where the rock was harder but still loose and one wrong move would give him away. He kept going through, following the silent comm officer through the cavern and as they went deeper the floor and walls changed yet again, but it was a change Deadend did not like recognizing.
His movements became even slower to avoid squelching down into the muck and he had to disable the sensory nodes lining the horns of his helm to keep his energon down. He didn't care if that meant taking the chance of a swarmer sneaking up on him, this was disgusting. He made sure to keep himself focused and avoid looking at the hive structure around him as much as possible, but the stench of secretions and hatched pods was everywhere. Little did Deadend know having an Insecticon hive in the basement would soon be the least of his bosses concerns.
Realizing he had lost sight of Soundwave in the stinking tunnels, Deadend kept his optics on the trail left in his wake, trying his best to both ignore and keep mindful of the chattering all around him. Then it occurred to him that it hadn't been this loud when he entered the hive just moments before, and the noise was only growing. Clicks became trills then rebounded into echoes that crashed together in the narrow tunnels.
One of these echoes sources was on the move and Deadend wasted no time in hiding his frame behind a pile of broken egg pod shards as a group of Insecticons, easily fifty strong, surged out of some unseen portal and across his path. But instead of turning and going down the tunnel they kept straight, appearing out one wall and vanishing into the other as quickly as they could scrambling over one another. So when the last swarmer had followed its brothers, Deadend slunk out of his hiding place and followed their trail. Not even a millicycle later the short side tunnel simply ended and Deadend again checked himself in the shadows.
The end of the tunnel had become a window, one looking out over a massive domed cave dominated by the single colossal gestation pod standing at its center, one easily large enough to hold five adult cybertronians inside. Smaller maturing pods lined the walls while the roof above was honeycombed in hard dark green and purple secretions that did nothing to break up the thousand echoes bellowing up from below.
The floor and indeed much of the walls were covered in Insecticons, of all colors, kinds and sizes. Chattering Swarmers reared up on their six legs as they attempted to roar louder than their brothers, while over head Spittors droned and hovered ignorant of the acidic slime dripping from their mandibles as they eyed their fellows like they were energon goodies. But both breeds scattered when two massive Bruisers shrieked loud enough to deafen those too close who were swiftly crushed under pede when the two crashed into each other, their hivemates cheering and clamoring in their own language as the two struggled like bulls through locked mandibles.
Then without warning the hives noise ceased when a new, terrifying roar rumbled up over the others like thunder. The enormous pod in the middle of the cave glowed blood red through its shell, illuminating the curled form within and scattering the formerly fierce horde like the insects they resembled. With his path now open, Soundwave approached from some unseen portal with what ever Insecticon still blocking his path slinking back into the mass. The faceless Con stood before the massive pod, hunched over and looming like the rumors told of him by both sides. Yet his body language was gentle as he reached up and placed a single servo on the Pod's exterior. Deadend watched Soundwave slowly circle the gigantic pod, the burning red glow from within following his touch.
Deadend noticed that as Soundwave seemed to focus on the pod ,the insecticons were terrified of it. Not a single one dared approach it now, as if they would be incinerated it they did. Deadend zoomed his optics on the pod, trying to get a better idea of what was inside, but the glow was too dim and too small to reveal true details. Then he noticed the insecticons were beginning to leave the room and undoubtedly filter back into the tunnels they had come from. Deadend wasted no time in retracing his steps out of thew hive, though he should have stayed.
Then he would have seen the glyph like symbol that had grown out of the pods shell, one that resembled the head of stinging insect.
You would think the ability to travel anywhere in the world in seconds would eradicate jet-lag, right? Wrong. If anything it made it worse. One minute it was nearly midnight , the next it was barely past noon. After they day she'd had Miko's body was screaming at her to stop and rest, but she knew there was still a long way to go before that could happen.
Both Father and Daughter agreed they would tell Miko's grandmother the truth, and that afternoon they did just that. Everything from Miko's involvement with the Autobots to her fathers agreement to help Unit:E keep their world safe from the dangers of his old home, and Naoko took in every development with the same small and plastered but somehow earnest smile she had long ago mastered. Dynomo introduced Wheeljack, and told her that the Wrecker would be acting as their guardian until after the funeral.
But not much went unnoticed by a Nakadai, and before either swordsmech knew it she had already discerned them as old acquaintances. Both reluctantly acknowledged that they had trained under the same master, and each was grateful when the elder Nakadai left it at that.
All this though was just the families way of stalling, and as dinner time came they ran out of excuses. The mood in the house turned solemn as their conversation turned to the funeral and the plans Naoko had already set in motion. Miko felt herself go numb in front of her plate as her mothers wishes for a small, quick ceremony were laid out, but the voices around her ran together as Miko's thoughts turned to the washitsu.
She kept struggling with the decision until her grandmothers voice rang through. She asked Miko if she would like to try on some gowns for the funeral. Miko quickly agreed, but clothes were the furthest thing from her mind, and still were thirty minutes later.
She growled and tossed another black kimono aside, telling herself they were either to long, too short, or wouldn't fit right, but she knew she was lying to herself. She dropped back onto the bed mat, head in her hands as she tried desperately to get her emotions under control. Just then an outline appeared at the door, but Miko ignored it.
"Miko?" Her grandmothers voice called as the thin door creaked open, any further questions vanishing when she saw Miko sitting on the bed. She wordlessly closed the door behind her and hobbled over to sit beside her granddaughter. With features withered as much by grief as by age she took Miko into a hug.
"There there," She said softly, "its all right Miko, its all right." She held her for a few more moments before Miko found her voice again.
"Gran-gran. When Sofu died," She stumbled when the pang of guilt shot through her at bringing up her grandfathers death. "Did you, see him at the..." But Naoko was already wearing that wise knowing face.
"You want to know, whether or not you should see your mother before the ceremony." Miko nodded and looked away.
"I don't want to see her like that," she admitted shamefully, "but if I don't see her before what does that say about me?" But before Miko could go any further she felt her grandmothers hands on hers.
"It says," She started with a calm but grim knowing, "that you value your mothers memory very dearly, and that you don't wish to have that love tainted by grief. It is not weakness, its a choice, one we all must make when times like these come." Her smile turned a stale kind of mournful as she looked away from Miko, her mind wandering.
"I remember when we got the news that your great grandfather had died at sea. I was a few years younger than you are now, but all I could think about was how my last memory of him, would be of he and mother kissing in the garden before he left for Osaka." Miko hesitated, but knew her grandmother was not the kind of person to answer unless she was asked.
"Did that make dealing with it any easier?"
"I think it all depends," Naoko returned, patting Miko's leg before grabbing her cane and pushing herself up. "Now, lets see about finding you something presentable to wear." She walked to the closet and began going through the clothes herself as Miko's curiosity got the better of her.
"What was your dad like?" Naoko paused for a moment, then smiled and returned to searching.
"He was kind," she said wistfully, "a calm, honorable man. Did you know he built his own boat? He kept it behind the house on a little dock we made, and sometimes we would take it across the lake and have lunch."
"Did he build boats for a living?"
"No," Naoko said, voice hollowing ever so slightly. "He was a sailor in the Imperial Navy, during the second great war. Ah, here we are." She took out a long purple kimono and held it up to the light. "This should do wonderfully. Now, lets see how it fits." Reluctantly Miko got up and put the dress on, slipping her arms into the sleeves then letting her grandmother wrap her stomach in the layers of ties. She had just finished tying the bow at the small of Miko's back when she reached up and plucked the hair ties from her granddaughters pigtails.
"Gran gran!" She yelped, spinning around to face her smiling elder, who actually looked to be on the verge of tears. Miko was about to ask, but then she saw her reflection in the mirror across the room. "Wha, is that me?"
Any further questions died on her lips as Miko took in her own drastically changed image in the mirror. Her shorts and tank top had vanished beneath the ankle length dress. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, pink bands like flames running up from the tips to meet her dyed bangs where they arced down to frame her face better than any mirror. The lamp light over head made the deep purple silk of the Kimono gleam like polished metal, and the pink cherry blossom designs glittered as if moving in a spring wind, while the obi sash around her stomach shimmered as its own design of two intertwined dragons, one green one gold, caught the light and sparkled as if carved from diamonds.
"It was one of Mikahura's requests," Naoko explained with a sad smile, "That no one at her funeral could wear black. She said she wanted to be remembered for the happy times she shared, not the pain or grief her passing would cause." Miko turned so her side faced the mirror, brushing a small strand of hair behind her ear while a tear rolled down her grandmother's face. "You look just like her Miko. She would have been so proud of the strong, beautiful woman you have become." A slow smile crept over Miko's face even as fresh tears welled to her eyes.
"I wish I could have spent more time with her," She said distantly as her grandmother adjusted the bow of her sash. "I barely even saw any of you between traveling and the autobots."
"Don't blame yourself, Mikahura was the exact same way when she was your age."
"Really?" Miko asked skeptically glancing back at her grandmother. Granted she hadn't been as strict as her father, but Miko couldn't exactly see her mother as the tomboy dare devil type.
"Sure. Why when she was little your grandfather and I had to tie a bell around Mika's arm just to keep her from wandering off into the woods. And she was always skipping school to visit her friends. Stayed up until dawn most nights too, playing in that band of theirs." Miko listened as Naoko recounted stories of her mothers childhood, of a fiery independent young woman always on the look out for the next adventure and more like her daughter than Miko had ever imagined.
They were not the only pair recounting tales that night.
Dynomo brushed aside another branch as Wheeljack walked through the forest, letting the smaller cybertronian ride on his left shoulder if only for times sake.
"How much farther until we find this something?" The wrecker asked, anxious of the distance from his youngest charge and fellow wrecker, though the houses lights were still visible behind them in the setting sunlight.
"Just over the next rise," Dynomo assured, before the two fell back into silence. Then after a ten second eternity Dynamo said: "I'm sorry Wheeljack."
"For what?" The wrecker snorted, turning his helm away, but he could hear the twinges of accepted shame in Dynamo's voice.
"Everything," He answered. "The part I played in Megatron's rebellion, breaking my oath to Dai Atlas and the High Council, but most of all I am sorry I had to betray you and the others to satisfy my own ruinous lust for combat." It was then they entered a small clearing in the tree's, their tall trunks forming a wall around an object Wheeljack had thought he'd never see again. Dynomo dismounted from his perch on the Wreckers shoulder and approached the object, its segmented blade bound together with vines and roots.
Even with its tip impaled in the earth the rounded hilt still came up to Wheeljack's waist, its servo guard and handle not yet touched by the plant life that had ensnared the rest of the sword. The greenery was laced through the blades spear head shaped segments, themselves linked together like teeth as one's base locked into the others tip, wider segments tapering down to the tip hidden below ground. Dynomo approached the overgrown weapon and placed a hand on the roots covering it, and hung his head with a heavy sigh.
"I was so ready to taste that battlefield glory. So eager to hear my name chanted by millions, to be hailed a hero. But there is no glory in battle worth the lives it costs." For a moment the swords mech's words hung in the air along side his head, until Wheeljack spoke up
"Hey, you wanna know a secret?" Dynomo turned to face the wrecker as Wheeljack lifted his right hand an closed his thumb and pointer digits together until they nearly touched.
"This close," He said in the cold hard tone of a veteran. "The day after we found out you'd run away, I came this close to joining you in Polyhex." Dynomo looked up at his former friend incredulously, shocked at the confession. "You weren't the only one who'd had enough of the Senate's slag," He admitted with stale guilt, "but you were the only one of us that had the bearings to do something about it."
"I broke my oath to the High Council," Dynomo countered flatly as he looked away from his former friend. "I turned my back on all of you. Even our Sensei. There is no excuse for what I did." Even through his repenting, Wheeljack noticed something missing from the smaller cybertronian's tone: regret.
'Why should he,' Wheeljack thought. If Dynamo had never joined the cons he wouldn't have left cybertron, never found his way to earth, never found love and Miko would have never been born.
"Hey," Wheeljack said to get Dynamo's attention. "You remember all those cheesy sayings Yoketron was always telling us?"
"I can recall a few," The swordsmech shrugged confused.
"I think one of them went like this: The seeds of salvation must sometimes be grown in the soil of deception. Now," he said, tone shifting from wise to his usual crass and bold, "Don't think for a minute this means I'm gonna forget whats happened, but as far as making amends goes." He cracked a smile, helm tilting a little to the side. "You're getting there." Dynomo allowed himself a smile of his own, spark welling at the thought of regaining an old friends trust.
"Thank you," he said breathlessly, even as Wheeljack's attention went to the plant covered weapon.
"Its funny though," he remarked folding his arms across his chestplates. "You didn't use to be the sentimental type."
"Fatherhood changes many things," Dynomo countered, even as his voice began to show his true age. "I suppose some part of me always knew the war would find me again, that my family would be thrown into danger once more because of me."
"Still, not like you'll ever be able to use it again, locked alt mode and all." But the way Dynomo's eyes glanced up and down his old sword told more than his words had meant too. "Oh-HOo No! No. Don't even think about it!"
"My family is all I have left," Dynomo snarled back with a voice as determined as it was grim. "And I will do whatever it takes to protect them."
"Does that include ripping yourself in half? You know what happens to someone who tries to transform with a locked cog. You'll tear your frame in half before you even land a punch and even if you did make it to robot mode there's no telling what else could go wrong." But the smaller Cybertronians resolve did not waver.
"If that is the price I must pay, so be it."
"Same old Dynamo," Wheeljack groaned shaking his helm. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I," he said putting his back to the vine covered monument. "So do I."
"Yes Mom, I know exactly what I'm doing." It wasn't the first lie Jack had told today, but it was one June Darby was far from believing. "Look, I know its short notice, but Fowler trusts me enough to put me in charge. What does that say about me if I say no?" But his mother launched a quick retort that made Jack blush. "What?! No! This is not just about seeing Arcee again!" He sighed and paused when he realized his temper had gotten the better of him.
"I'm sorry Mom, but I can't talk about it over open phone lines. Not with Soundwave on the loose again. I know its your job to worry about me, but seriously Mom, give yourself a vacation once in a while. I'm not a kid anymore. I'll write back every chance I get, ok? Love you too Mom. Goodnight." Jack tapped the screen of his phone and ended the call before letting the hand holding it fall to his side. He'd had this conversation before more or less, but repetition didn't make it any easier.
He leaned back against the wall of his room, wincing slightly when his head rolled too far to the left and onto his damaged skin. Jack hadn't even realized he'd been cut until Ratchet started yelling at him to hold still. A medic had bandaged him up once they bridged back, but energon blades have a strange way of slicing through organic flesh and leaving it to slowly cauterize. Ratchet said it had something to do with a sub-atomic particle reaction between the opposing genetic and synthetic materials. Whatever the reason, Jack's wound had stopped bleeding within thirty minutes of being opened, but the medic made it clear he would have a scar there for the rest of his life.
He abandoned the wall and walked toward his bed, but just as he passed the small chest of drawers he felt eyes on him through the open door.
"Sorry," he said tiredly as he turned around, "I'm used to leaving the door." His voice faltered when he saw who was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed as she leaned on the frame. "...Open," he swallowed. "Hey Sierra."
"Jackson," She returned icily, much colder than Jack remembered. "You never answered." The expectant tone caught Jack off guard.
"Uh, beg your pardon?"
"My question at dinner," She clarified flatly, eyes narrowing to slits. "How long have you been working with the Autobots Jack?" Sierra cold tone seemed to freeze the whole room over like a blizzard, and Jack felt the color of his face drain. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out a sound to come out of it while Sierra began to tap her foot.
"I'm waiting."
"Uhh," he stumbled, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "High school, sophomore year." Sierra said nothing, but her glare prodded him like a hot iron. "Look, I get it if your mad at me, but you have to understand that things were different back then."
"Your Director already briefed us on that," She hissed stomping forward and looking Jack right in the eyes, and he could see her temper flaring behind those olive green orbs. "I want to know why you didn't tell me. Why you lied to me for Two! Years!"
"Because I thought it was over," he snapped back, his own self control eroding. "I thought that after everything we went through, fighting Megatron, being hunted by the cons, loosing our home!" he caught himself before he completely lost it, turning around and running a hand through his hair. "I thought that after everything that happened that maybe, just maybe," he said turning around to face his ex-girlfriend, "I could have a normal life again, or something resembling one."
"Easy for you to say," Sierra returned, more sarcastic than cold thankfully. "Next you're gonna say I was your one hope at your normal life. God, why do you have to be so mushy all the time?" Her words were casual, but Jack visibly deflated.
"I thought I was being romantic," he mumbled under his breath, before attempting to lighten the mood. "But my ex-girlfriend always told me I was better at making women laugh at my expense than swoon over me."
"She sounds smart," Sierra said as a smile broke from her lips, and Jack found himself lost in her eyes. "What?" She asked, "Is there something on my nose?"
"No no, nothing's wrong," he backpedaled hastily, only to start tripping over his tongue. "Its uh ... I can't believe I ... you are so beautiful." Sierra's smile twitched and grew ever so slightly as a tinge of blush flashed over her cheeks, but her eyes told infinitely more of the shift Jack's words had caused.
"...Look, Jack," she said carefully and exhausted. "I didn't ask for this whole alien robot planet boot-camp thing but I just don't want things to be awkward between us." Jack did his best to hide the smirk, as both of them knew they were well past awkward, but he put on a serious face nonetheless.
"Ok."
"I'm here to learn what I need too to keep my job," she said quickly, but suddenly got very serious. "But get one thing straight Jacky. The Director might've named you commanding officer, but if you want me to follow your orders you're gonna have to earn that respect."
"Fair enough," Jack replied, already kicking himself for what he was about to say. "Just tell me one thing."
"And that is?" Sierra asked as jack looked right into her eyes.
"Why did you leave?" Now it was Sierra that panicked, but instead of going pale she closed her mouth tightly and swallowed hard before responding curtly.
"Goodnight Jackson." Then she turned around, walked out the door, and left Jack standing alone in his room without an answer. Truthfully he'd expected that kind of reaction from her, and it wasn't like this was the first time she'd walked out on him.
When Soundwave reemerged from the tunnels he had been hoping to make it to his quarters and a nice long recharge. Instead he found his path blocked at the turn to the command center by a very annoyed, impatient looking Dragstrip.
"Ey yo chatterbox," She called as Soundwave walked past her and down the hall. "I don't think I ever got the memo about an insecticon hive in the basement." Soundwave stopped walking and while outside he kept a clam appearance, inside his vents were cycling like mad. If they knew about the hive, did they know about him? "Found the tunnels after one of the pests burrowed its way up into the med-bay and tried to eat Wildrider's left foot," Dragstrip explained without an ounce of concern in her voice, "Little glitch better be glad the room wasn't sound proof."
"Might want to look into it though," Motormaster said just as Soundwave's sensors registered his approach from the direction he himself had been heading. "I swear to Primus if I catch that sorry excuse for slag screaming like a femme again I'll melt him down for lug-nuts." His tirade was ruined by his sparkmate's scoff.
"Yeah right, you just might make good on those threats, now that Breakdown's bit the dust." Soundwave made a note to inquire the Stunticons about their adoption of earth slang into their vocabularies. "And with him gone," Dragstrip smirked folding her arms behind her head, "No more Mena-eyesore."
"That reminds me," Motormaster said looking at Soundwave. "Any word from your contact yet?" But before Soundwave could even find an audio recording to use, Dargstrip intervened.
"Contact? You mean that pest program that keeps popping up on the comm monitor?" Before either Stunticon could say Kaon Krusher, Soundwave had already made a b-line into the command center. He reached the comm station's holographic interface just as Motormaster ducked through the hall door, and noticed that while the message had his contact's email address and signature, this time there was an access request for a visual interface.
"You know Soundwave," Dragstrip started accusingly. "Between the insecticons and this new contact, I'm starting to get the feeling you've been holding out on us."
"She's right Wave," Motormaster barked reluctantly, "When are we gonna meet him?" Soundwave keyed the command to open the chat, and faced his comrades with a flat recording.
":now:" The holo-interface flickered as a second projection suddenly appeared in front of the screen, and both Stunticons took a step back when the image coalesced into a human nearly as tall as they were. His dark green trench coat hugged his broad shouldered frame, though the main feature of interest was the robotics covering the right side of his skull and the red optic in place of his eye.
"This?" Dragstrip asked in disbelief as her sparkmate engaged his mouth-guard, "This is your contact?"
"Not exactly I'm afraid," The man said as if he was talking to a foreign dignitary. "The young man you have been contacting is part of my organization, but unfortunately he is unavailable at the moment. I thought it best not to bore you with a middle man." Soundwave looked at Motormaster, still afraid the stunticon leader's aversion to organics would derail any negotiations before they started, but when he stepped up to the hologram Soundwave could only hold his breath.
"And who am I speaking too exactly?" He asked looking down at the cybertronian sized but still much shorter than him avatar.
"My underlings know me as General," He said confidently, "But to you I am Zarak, Leader of the Mechanical Evolution Coalition of Humanity."
"Mech huh?" Dragstrip smiled, smoothly cutting in front of Motormaster, who was looking very relieved as his sparkmate fell back on her political caste upbringing. "Interesting. In our culture Mech is a term for what you would call the male sex."
"Our world utilizes it a bit more loosely," The General admitted with no small amount of courtesy. "The acronym itself was also something of an accident. Forgive me," he said suddenly apologetic, "But on my world it is rude to address a member of the fairer sex without asking their name first."
"We have a similar custom on Cybertron. I am Dragstrip, Second in Command and Diplomatic specialist of the Stunticon squad of the Decepticon Army. And I must say," she smiled looking at The Generals robotic implants, "Its nice to know there are humans willing to embrace technology for what it is."
"Thank you," Zarak smiled with a slight nod of his head as his tone shifted smoothly to business. "I had hoped we might reach an agreement of some sort that would benefit both our factions."
"Such as?" Dragstrip asked in a thinly veiled get-to-the-point.
"Resources," he said flatly. "We know you are currently outmatched by the Autobots, and We can remedy this. If you allow our scientists access to cybertronian technology for us to reverse engineer, we will repay you a hundred fold with new troops and safe locations to stage your operations from on Earth. I also have teams standing by to seize control of several energon mines."
"Won't that mean revealing your organization to the Autobots human collaborators; Unit:E?"
"No one can hide forever," he said with solemn but rock like confidence. "The time for disguises is nearly over, and when that hour comes I do not intend to let the future of Humanity be snuffed out by a few backwards old men." Motormaster nodded his helm approvingly and smiled behind his mouth-guard, Dragstrip smiling likewise.
"Very well then General Zarak, consider your offer accepted. Allow me to introduce our Communications Officer, Soundwave," She said stepping aside to let The General see the silent Con. "He'll provide you with everything you need to recreate our technology, in exchange of course for a reliable supply of energon, until more troops are available you understand."
"But of course," The General smiled and bowed, "You will have the first shipments within the month. And forgive me if I sound too bold, but I believe this is the beginning of a very important friendship."
"As do I General."
"Mad'am," he said nodding courteously to Dragstrip, then to Soundwave and Motormaster. "Gentlemechs, I bid you goodbye." The hologram flickered out before finally vanishing as Motormaster stalked up behind his sparkmate.
"Do you trust him?" He asked, only for Dragstrip to scoff and roll her optics.
"Like I trust a turbo fox to stand still. But we're still Decepticons aren't we?" she asked inclining her head back and up. "Since when have we made deals based on trust?" Motormaster laughed in his vocalizer, components grinding together.
"True," he said steering Dragstrip off to another part of the base as Dragstrip started going on about how badly they needed the supplies, leaving Soundwave alone in the command center with recharge now the last thing on his mind. His audios had recorded the humans promises of new troops and resources word for word, but through it all the only thing he saw was the being saying them.
The way he charmed the Stunticon second spoke volumes, but nowhere near as much as his body language; smooth and controlled. His words spoke of a grand vision for his race, and Soundwave was certain the man had the ambition to make that vision a reality no matter the cost. He would wait until he better understood this General Zarak, but already Soundwave sensed a familiar fire within the human, one that could perhaps return the Decepticons to their former glory.
I decided to stick with the insecticon designs from the video games instead of the show, more variety for fight scenes. A cookie will be awarded to whoever can name the reference I made to a well known machinima series.
Now, I got good news, bad news, and a problems. Good news is, I now have a clear idea in my head of where I want this story to go and end up. Bad news is, classes start back tomorrow that will more than likely slow updates to a snails pace.
Here's the problem: I stuck with Dynamo's sword design from Beast Wars, but I'm in a bit of a fix as to what Miko's melee weapon of choice should be. On one hand her depiction in the show leans toward something like an ax or hammer, some heavy hitting get-out-of-the-way weapon, and that was what I had in mind starting out. But the more I've thought about it and the more I've written the more I realize that I want something more controlled but still properly over-the-top. Something that reflects her japanese heritage as much as it does her cybertronian. I asked my friends but all they would suggest is swords from animes.
So, any ideas?