Let me just say:
That TF Age Of Extinction trailer...
E.P.I.C
Thank you.
Enjoy!
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 57
"I do not condone this."
Severely disapproving optics swept across the gathered. They flickered and fluttered with a flame that should have been doused by fatigue. A trip as long as he endured should have wearied him. And the way his entry into his world once again proved he was no longer the cyberling he used to be so long ago. It was in the way he held himself. His shoulderbolts sagged with the lack of recharge; a rattle accompanied each vent. But he wouldn't let that show. No, his duties were too many - his load too large. Perhaps when he and his mate were alone.
Said mate loyally kept herself at his side, readying herself in the case of his collapse. Which, she was certain was forthcoming. Contradictively she remain as a strong figure at his arm. Hers were cross as her expression, her audios tuned in carefully to the conversation between her sparkmate, their CMO, a Guardian, and a plethora of others of their kind. The mech Prime was frowning heavier than when he'd arrived.
"We don't have the time for your condoning, Optimus, we need it now," the medic responded, his vents whirring lowly in stress. "She needs it now."
Something stirred in Rethalia's spark, making her glance up from the youngling at her peds to the towering mech at her side. A part of herself wished to drag him away to the security of their quarters and force his worries away, if but for the joor. However, with strong disappointment, she knew her duties came before pleasure. Not even their youngling, whom squabbled and played on the ground merely feet away, acquired her Mime's attentions as much as she'd desired.
"There must be another way, for I see no justifiable wisdom in sending our own into the core of enemy territories," Optimus argued evenly, certainly reining in his fatigue-induced irritation. Rethalia comfortingly rubbed the back of his arm, trying desperately to make sure he remained long enough for the issues presented to be resolved. This wasn't the time to cut topics, or discussion of them, short. He brushed her spark essence through their bond thankfully and seemed to relax a margin.
"A lead is a lead, and as such, I see no reason to ignore it," Solas Kaon, Guardian, warrior, and previous gladiator of Cybertron, input. A hint of a growl touched his tone, which did not surprise the fembot Prime. As of late he had been on edge. The discovery of what appeared to be a Decepticon warship docked near the Northern American state of Minnesota had made them all uneasy. That, and the fact that Solas was Fera's Guardian and was vying for any chance of revenge, made him even more so.
Greenlight and Wheeljack continued to collaborate with the human analysts on pinpointing a direct location to reach the ship, along with a far more suitable transportation method. It had been the signal interception drones that had picked up an unusual amount of electronic signals moving about the United States, and finding them to relay back to a spot deep within the northern states. When satellite imagery showed a large blot on the coast of Lake Superior, Rethalia knew right away it had been a cruiser. Perhaps it was the fabled Nemesis warship Megatron so dearly prized.
Either way, it was large, it was a threat, and it could not be allowed to go on without a proper scouting. That was why Bumblebee was here, along with Hound.
Solas was leaning against the wall, a challenge lighting up the fiery glow of his optics. However the sturdy wave of caution Rethalia was receiving, most likely accidentally, from her sparkmate told of his stubborn will with keeping his soldiers safe. How long could he go on against the whole of the base?
"It seems perfectly fine with me in sending in some 'Bot to check out the area," Smokescreen agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "For precautionary measures of course."
"And what if this 'unidentified aircraft' is dangerous? What then?" Rainwing added from next to her mech uncertainly.
Optimus shook his helm doubtfully and burrowed his optic ridges. "There is that chance. However, with the Decepticon attack on the Russian Nuclear Facility in Kirsk, I am uncertain whether dividing our strengths is of the wisest decisions."
"I'm beginning to think you don't trust us," Bumblebee snorted from the back of the room. Rethalia didn't find enough humor in the heavy atmosphere to laugh.
Ratchet sighed in waning patience and squeezed the bridge of his noseplate. Memories of the medic's willingness to explode on sight disturbed her. Wrenches were not always the things to go sailing through the air in his anger. The mech could throw a punch, that was for sure.
"I highly suggest-"
"Let us go check it out, Prime, we want to make up for what we did," Sideswipe called out, interrupting the yellowish-green Autobot mid-sentence. A venomous glare that was potent as acid was sent the crimson frontliner's way. Sunstreaker was vigilant on his brother's right side, keeping his gaze low and his lip plates shut.
Ever since their actions with the energon depositor, which led to them being left behind on the Yonkers mission, they had been trying to correct themselves. Their attempts were valiant, however, the twins were not necessarily known for their helpfulness. Or stealthiness, for that matter.
"It's a scouting mission, not a playtime raid," Bee quipped playfully, gaining a flash of oral sheets from Sides as a result.
"Which you will not be joining either way," Rethalia told the yellow cyberling sternly. "You are Guarding Samuel Witwicky, Carly, and Daniel. Arcee as well," the Prime added as the fuchsia fembot opened her lip plates. Arcee sank back and settled by her now silent partner, the couple growing mute.
Solas tapped the wall he stood next to, catching most the attentions of the room. "This is delicate, Rethalia. We need to decide who is going, and soon." His digits curled into a fist atop the wall, his expression firm. A light tremble vibrated the edge of the balled servo as he spoke, and Rethalia watched it tentatively. The language his frame screamed rang clear in her audios, though she directed her gaze elsewhere. Each shaking jerk of his plates pointed to one, evidently surfacing fact. He was scared.
And weren't they all? He was frightened about falling apart - about failure. Such a strong character, Solas had held a position in her sights as a formidable presence. Now it seemed as though he too were falling prey to the inevitable sacrifices of war. Fera was dying, and by appearance, so was he. Rethalia was one of the few who could possibly understand.
"Rethalia told you why we need the Galvanizer," Ratchet insisted, gesturing at the fembot. She stiffened in the attention, her processor lost as it had moments before been so focused on the red and black Guardian. Distracted as she had been, she could assume where the conversation had led. She didn't want to show her opinions on the matter yet, since she may or may not conflict decisions with her mate. As Primes they were supposed to lead. If he denied and she supported the mission, what would become of the plan? What of their relationship with their soldiers? Each other?
"And I am still in consideration. We shall retrieve the Galvanizer. Whether that is by means of Cybertronian or humanoid interference, it shall be dealt with," Optimus reasoned. A softer tone had come to his voice when he spoke to his eldest friend. Rethalia's spark fluttered nervously along with her digits, which hung at her sides. What would she do if they disagreed?
"And what if it's not?"
"Solas-"
"What will we do if it moves, taking the Galvanizer and Punch with it? What if it stays out of sights for so long that Fera..." Solas interrupted before falling quiet himself. The mech didn't, or maybe couldn't, finish. His helm bowed and his arms remained limp. Rethalia felt her spark clench with the sight. A Guardian wasn't meant to feel such defenselessness when in mention of his charge. He was supposed to show confidence and support and durability. Solas had been worn more these six months on Earth than twenty vorns on Cybertron.
But his comment had struck her. Confusion marred her spark as she found her optics boring into the stalwart mech standing so defiantly against his leader. Optimus should have scolded the warrior. He should have enforced his decision and set his views on the matter more solidly. However, the most he contributed was the very same expression as his mate.
"I was not informed that Punch was among those captured," Optimus admitted. Rethalia winced when Solas huffed, feeling utterly ashamed of herself. It had been she on base during the time of Optimus' absence, so just how she had failed in receiving the information of Punch's kidnapping, and thus grant it to her mate, embarrassed her.
"I guess the ship is pretty interesting now, isn't it?" Solas bit tartly. Rethalia could feel Optimus' spark dropping, and her own followed suite after.
"That is hardly fair," Rethalia said in defense of her sparkmate. "Optimus had only just arrived."
"No, no, he is right in his accusation," Optimus relented slowly. His optics were dodging back and forth as Rethalia watched him, their gaze searching of Solas. "A hostage complicates matters immensely. We can afford to waste no time, however, a hasty plan such as this must require a considerate execution."
Ratchet abruptly revved his vents. Up until now he had been reserved to allow Solas and his Prime their conversation, but by the look of his scowling features, he was not satisfied.
"Is that all it took?"
"A Cybertronian life is worth far more than any Tool, Ratchet, you know that."
"And a human life? Punch is not the sole victim we must deal with. Fera's existence upon this planet is reliant on the Galvanizer as well."
Every 'Bot in the room turned to the mech Prime. They expected a reaction. They wished for some sign that Optimus would have all the answers and would fantastically save those he led such as he had throughout the decacycles. Rethalia knew better than to expect so much from him, however, a part of herself relied on that expectancy to keep the hope alive in her spark. It was hope itself that herself and him fed from. It gave them their strength. It provided the core for their love and the base element in their leadership.
Wordlessly, she laced her digits through his. If only to join him in any decision he made, she would be glad to follow him to Pit and back. Long ago she vowed to stay at his side. Though that promise had nearly shattered at the shutter of an optic, she now remained cemented to his flank. Liora was swept into her free arm and she cuddled the young one close, gently humming to soothe her.
How was Sarah Lennox coping with her daughter's state? The woman was strong, as she had shown multiple times over. But even the vision of Liora falling into stasis, and have the possibility that she may perish hovering over Rethalia's helm constantly Earth day and night made her instinctively clutch the youngling closer to her chassis - as if she could shield her from all evils of the worlds simply by hanging on.
"We will scout out the vessel," Rethalia announced before Optimus could speak. Liora rested against Rethalia's chassis as she spoke, listening to the beating of her nannia's spark. "It will be a smaller retrieval team, through non-military branded aircraft so as to not raise suspicions." Liora's helm picked up and she set wide, innocent optics upon her fembot creator. Rethalia smiled down at her and rubbed her spinal support tenderly.
"Sounds good to me," Hound shouted, throwing up a fist excitedly.
Through her amusement, Rethalia shook her cranial unit. "You are Sarah's Guardian. As of now, Decepticon activity is high, and Guardians are thus required to stay by their charges," she reported, immediately looking to Solas. The black and red mech was visibly unhappy with her words, crossing his arms tightly across his chassis as his helm tilted forward in shadow. Nonetheless he stayed quiet.
"Greenlight and Wheeljack have informed me that the Decepticon vessel, assuming it is such, has been harbored for twelve-point-seven-six hours now," a figure stepped into an empty pocket of crowd, looking down on a compad in his servos. Prowl. The stormy-grey analyst hadn't the slightest symptom from his long trek to Russia alongside Optimus and Cloudsong. When he met optics with Rethalia and Optimus, that same guarded barrier continued to mask his inner thoughts. "If we strike, we strike now."
"Precisely," Hawktail piped up quickly. Standing beside his far cheerier white and blue brother Bluestring, the brown and golden armory smith's calmer nature made him appear emotionless. "My audience will be required here alongside Ratchet. Nonetheless, Stratis would be essential for such a mission in my place." The mech's servo laid on the arm of his fembot, who was standing at his side. She provided no outward emotion to the suggestion.
Rethalia and her mate locked optics, silently passing discussion back and forth. ~It would make sense,~ she agreed, circling their bond. Optimus flooded into her half of their link, and she allowed him into the confines of her processor.
~Her position is reassuring, however...~ he trailed off and Rethalia observed him curiously. ~She provides little ability to carry both Punch and the Galvanizer in the event of gaining them. Her alternate mode is not strong enough for a trailer, or to tow him either.~
~Considering the possibility that Punch-~
"I will go."
The statement was so sudden and so concealed that it took a moment to find the source of it. Rethalia's neck craned in her sweeping of the gathered. Autobots shifted restlessly on their peds, trying to locate the speaker. It was only when they parted cleanly down the middle that Rethalia found the responsible one. Settling back on her heelpeds, Rethalia straightened her spinal support and aimed her faceplates respectively at Mirage.
He lifted himself from the wall he'd been leaning against to slowly make his way through the aisle formed between his peers. His expression was blank, his stature reserved. The servos at his sides swung tightly, the digits clamped into close fists. When he came before his leaders he paused and inclined his helm at them both.
"I volunteer for the mission. Epps is my human counterpart and shall have the means to transport me to a location near to the vessel," Mirage continued, moving his gaze to the small form held in Rethalia's arms. The mech grinned and lifted a servo to stroke Liora's spinal support. The youngling sat up and twisted around to see the one touching her, a broad smile lighting her features when she saw one of her favorite playmates.
"And you are certain this is your decision?" Optimus inquired seriously. Mirage patted Liora's helm once more without looking up at Optimus.
"Of course. Punch is a fellow spy, and an elder comrade of mine from my and Jazz's contingent on Cybertron. I will make sure neither he, nor Fera, is lost to us," Mirage answered finally.
"Very well," Optimus set a servo on Mirage's shoulderbolt and gave him a sturdy look Rethalia felt her tanks twist from. "Get ready for Pit, my friend."
Another mech flew through the air, slamming against the wall. Hearty, rambunctious laughter filled the space with a deafening roar. Energon flew. The mech on the floor shook his helm with a dazed expression. A new series of scratches adorned the spot on the wall where he'd hit. The high-grade he had been consuming before covered the floor in a puddle of azure blue. The cube was shattered and littered the room about the peds of those gathered with glittering shards. Various mechs -mainly fliers- howled and whooped at the form of their disoriented comrade.
High-grade sloshed about in cubes as the mechs shoved one another and grabbed each other's shoulderbolts as they fought to stay up. One fell against the wall, hitting a fist against the barrier while he struggled to vent.
The mech that had hit the wall before, a bright red and black flier named Thrust, shoved himself to his peds, only to wobble violently and fall straight back onto his aft in the pool of energon he'd dropped. Laughter increased exponentially, sending a few mechs to the floor as tears streaked down their faceplates. Another peer at the counter, rather unimpressed by their rowdiness, grumbled lowly to himself and swirled around the high-grade cube in his servo. It was so ridiculously loud in here that he could no longer hear the pleasant hum of the energon dispenser not too far away. As such he had taken it upon himself to attempt drowning out the others with a high-grade buzz. So far his actions had been in vain.
Red optics turned about the neck to look to the idiotic mech stumbling back to his drunken brethren. They pushed about and knocked into one another, surely promising a future spat between them when some line would be crossed. All this blue and obsidian bystander did was simply hold his glossa, stay on his stool, and throw back the cube of energon in his servo. He grimaced at the burning taste before trembling in satisfaction.
Apparently the three now or so cubes of high-grade weren't enough to block out the annoyance of his peers, so he set down the cube and shook his cranial unit a single, disbelieving time.
"That sure looked fun, Thrust!" a blue, black, and red flier commented, laughing again. "Looks like somethin' I'd like to try!"
"I can help that," Ramjet, Thrust's brother declared. "Here, let's try-"
"Servos off, ya slaggin' fragger!"
"Talk to our nannia with that glossa?"
"Right up your aft and around the corner!" Thundercracker bellowed raunchily, renewing another round of laughter.
The mech at the bar moved in enough time to see Thrust cuff Thundercracker in the back of the helm, his own body swaying with the recoil. "That doesn't even make sense, stupid," he slurred.
"Hey, cut him some slack, the fragger's been wanting ta use tha' joke all kalon," Ramjet chuckled, roughly pushing Thundercracker.
A figure shifted through the edge of the wall, aiming for the door. It was barely steps away. So very close. And when he escaped this place, he could finally have his peace and quiet.
"Hey, what's the rush?"
Slag.
The mech groaned under his vents and rounded agitated optics on the group. A cube in at least one servo, each flier abruptly focused on the one leaving. They watched him with blurred optics shining in intoxication. A blue hue flushed each set of cheekplates. Energon trickled down Thundercracker's chin and he lifted a bracer, wiping it away.
"Ya up for some high-grade, newbie?" he called, nodding at the 'Con.
Lifting a servo, the mech shook his helm. "No," he answered quickly, making his way to the door again. Sweet, sweet freedom...
One thing accredited to the fliers was their speed. This may have helped when Ramjet suddenly appeared behind the mech and clamped an arm around his shoulderbolts.
"Ah, come on Punchy," he whined, swinging his victim around. "Ya gotta loosen up a byte. Maybe we can get 'ol Flamewar to visit 'cha. All in the name of science!" Ramjet lifted his cube into the air and Thundercracker and Thrust joined him with a cheer.
"My designation is Counterpunch," the mech corrected hardly, twisting nimbly away from the trio and backing up towards the door. "And you all are imbeciles." He left without allowing them response, mainly in savior of his own sanity. Down the hall he traveled, careful to aim his gaze ahead so not to cross with others along the way.
Boarding the Nemesis was not as traumatic as one would assume. It was generally peaceful during the insanely short orns displayed on this planet. The views were unsurmounted however, he had to admit. The energon was fresh and the barracks, though small, permitted him recharge. Technology was also a bonus. It constantly called to him, beckoning he fiddle with the many secrets it held. But, from the distrustful glances trailing his frame down the corridors, he would never be granted the time to explore. Sad, really.
Even now, silent as he was, he was given a dirty look from none other than Flamewar herself when they passed one another. Her lip plates were drawn up in a sneer, those fierce optics boring deep within him. In truth, she was a dangerous beauty. If one attempted contact with said beauty without good reason, well, his processor could only recall the rumor of decapitated helms hung up on string along the ceiling in Flamewar's quarters. All in the name of science, right?
Counterpunch hadn't the slightest idea of where he was headed. It was a pointless path, one where he figured he would be taking until his next recharge. though he would, under all circumstances, avoid the command center at all times. Even the thought of Galvatron made him uneasy. His protoform crawled with a chill.
So far as a member of the Nemesis, he had yet to be assigned a mission. Perhaps it was the distrust. What ever it may be, he was thankful. Though recharged, he hadn't gotten back all his strength from his strenuous voyage alongside Chromia and the strange artifact Alpha Trion assigned he bring to Optimus Prime. The fact that it now lay in Decepticon vaults, far into the bowls of the ship, made his tanks churn.
He could leave here now, artifact in his alternate mode, and run off into distant lands. Alas, he was well aware that his levels were low and his knowledge lacked this planet's geography map. He would never get far being hunted by the Decepticons. So instead of worrying over enormous, possibly impossible tasks, Counterpunch found himself heading for the one spot on the ship he felt most at ease: the docking station.
There it was, roomy, open, and so very tantalizingly out of reach. It was as if an invisible barrier barred him from the outside, calling from the other side with a tenuous, melodic voice. Such a planet to land on, of all the worlds. Travels from his past most consisted of the allied planets with Cybertron where political crises demanded his attention. The life was a boring one, considering his home was waging in brutal war. He hadn't complained, knowing that he was blessed to have the chance at seeing foreign planets. Each was more interesting and exotic than the last. And yet, none could compare to the organic serenity displayed so lavishly here. If Cybertron had such life still prowling across it...
Wistfully he allowed his processor to drift. One arm rested on the wall next to him while he leant against it, his optics trained on the endless white stretch of scenes before him. Dappled grey poked through the suspended particles of suspended water in the sky, or 'clouds' as they were properly called, and blocked most the golden rays of the yellow star this planet orbited. Such warmth rolled off the face of it, though it was in its latter seasonal cycle. And though he had only been docked on this 'Earth' for a few of its solar cycles now, he had already forgotten the stark difference in Cybertron's freezing temperatures compared to it.
Was all of Earth covered in white? When he was landing his vessel, Counterpunch had been amazed at the sight of the greens, browns, and striking blues swirling on this ball of rock. Now all he had managed to see was the white of frozen water particles. Snow. An odd name.
Odder still was the speeding blue dot against the simple, vast backdrop. It was so out of place that Counterpunch had to shutter his optics, restart them, and then return them to the landscape. No, it was still there. And it was approaching at an alarming rate.
His first instinct was to run and warn his peers. It was his duty as a Decepticon -for the time being, that was- to alert against oncoming threats. Something held him to the spot. A force beyond him urged he stay put and locked his limbs into place. An inner program kicked in from abandoned recesses. Where had it come from? Why now of all times?
Cautiously he stayed put until that small dot in the distance became larger. That dot continued to grow until its shape and details evened out. It was a mechanical vehicle, strange as it was, with powder-blue. The design was primitive, but it seemed quite fit for sailing across the flat lands of Earth with four black, spiked tires. Frosted glass reflected what little light touched down on it.
When that dot turned into a distinctive form, it slowed its travel until it nearly crawled under the imposing black shadow of the Nemesis' rear docking ceiling. The barrier kept them from entry, but that did not deter them from climbing the metallic ramp towards it. Counterpunch frowned deeply at the sight, incredibly intrigued. A part of him silently screamed for the intruder to leave as fast as they possibly could. Whether this being be Cybertronian or other, they didn't deserve the senseless wrath of the commander of this ship. Counterpunch could see the warlord now, stalking the halls with optics aglow in feral darkness, his servos flashing out in merciless power to score his enemy in half with one foul swoop.
The vehicle stopped just before the barrier, causing it to shimmer slightly in disturbance. "What are you doing?" Counterpunch hissed quietly. "Run."
His digits held down viciously on his arms when he crossed them. Whoever this creature was, Counterpunch was sure they had a death wish. The Nemesis may not have had a Decepticon insignia on its side or beneath its wing, but from the outside hull, one would be wise to steer clear of such an evil-looking structure.
One tap on the barrier was all it took to send a storm of surging electric currents down the frame of the vehicle. Shudders wracked through the body as they jolted, licks of white and blue snapping off of them while they spazzed. Counterpunch's lip plates parted with arising concern at witnessing such energy pass through a hapless form. Through the jolts and jerks, Counterpunch winced with imagined pain. He'd touched the barrier once. Never doing it again.
But this form, as they rode out their punishment for their ignorance and fell into a disturbingly quiet stillness, Counterpunch felt himself holding his vents in anticipation. His body rolled forward onto the balls of his peds. His neck craned.
The doors yanked apart, almost painfully, and two arms rose up to the galaxies, then slammed down into the ramp. The aft of the vehicle split and twisted, wrenching around the wheels and launching them to the back of two legs that abruptly took form within the array of chaotic panels. Wiring flashed and disappeared; armor surfaced from inside; the lights once on the front of it now swept to the chassis. The doors were now protruding from the upper spinal support of the figure, swaying slightly as they stood with creaking pivotjoints. Two menacing blades were drawn from their bracers and shined in the low light.
Counterpunch knew not who this stranger was, until those two blue optics flashed into sight in a permanent scowl brought on by their helm. He may have developed a different appearance over these long vorns, but Counterpunch knew he could never misplace a brother. A red sheen overtook the blue as the programs surely uploaded into the blue mech's processor took action in concealing him.
"Last time I had seen you, you were red," Counterpunch commented lowly as he approached the barrier. He stayed well away from touching it, but his voice carried clear through. Mirage's cranial unit snapped up and he froze. A conflicted look passed over his sharp features, always calculating and hard as ever, as he registered the new company. Finally the realization seemed to hit him, and his features softened to a relieved grin.
"Last time I had seen you, you were lying unconscious on the snow," he retorted smartly back, the slightest hint of an alien accent edging the tone.
Counterpunch smiled and took his time examining the new front of his fellow spy. They had a reassuring amount of time to waste, seeing as Mirage had taken the decency to camouflage himself. Any passerby would merely toss off the sight of the mechs as a soldier speaking to another. None would have the interest of looking up the new arrival's data except for Soundwave, Galvatron, or maybe Arachnid or Flamewar. The others were either too drunk, too lazy, or too busy stocking the ship to care at the moment.
"Which brings me to comment on how magnificent this planet is, my friend," Counterpunch noted with a sigh. "You are a lucky mech to of come here."
"That I am. And you should see Optimus Prime and his mate. They are quite the scene as well."
"Rethalia Prime is here? I figured she was a legend - a rumor spread by the grieving fembots over their lost leader."
"No, in fact. She is quite alive. And she had a sparkling with her upon her arrival."
"Oh?" Counterpunch's optic ridge quirked. "Pray tell." He walked along the barrier to a keypad on the wall. Once there he entered in the base Decepticon override code he'd been given as a higher-ranking double-agent back on Cybertron and watched as the glistening barrier lifted away. The moment Mirage's door wings had passed underneath, Counterpunch closed it off again.
Mirage had gained a serious mask once more now that he had entered. His shoulderbolts were stiff and his posture distrustful. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. But hadn't they dealt with worse before?
"How do you stand being in such a place?" he question Counterpunch as the blue and black double agent trod up next to his comrade. Even Mirage's Autobot insignia, which usually took place on the side of his shoulderbolt, was covered by a Decepticon one.
Counterpunch shrugged. "Doing what I do grants me tolerance. It is difficult for me to stay in one form for too long, for my processor glitches," Counterpunch tapped the side of his helm and Mirage looked to him concernedly. For vorns now, the mech knew all too well of Counterpunch/Punch's tenancy to fritz. He was sparked a glitched sparkling, and for that, he was abandoned to the youth sectors immediately after being weaned from dependence on his fembot creator. No 'Bot had seen her since. None ever asked Counterpunch of the subject either.
"How are you doing now? Are you recovering?"
"Yes, albeit slowly. The Decepticons seem to figure that keeping me from complete recharge may keep me spread thin enough not to enact any criminal acts against them. Which now brings me to the question of why you are here."
From the corner of his optics, Counterpunch could see Mirage go frigid. It was too subtle for a regular mech or fembot to notice, but Counterpunch was no regular Cybertronian. He'd known Mirage for too long. And apparently he hadn't known him long enough to assure the spy that he wouldn't do anything to betray him. Mirage had hesitated in stating his business, which was a sign of mistrust. They'd been apart too long now. A rift had grown between once great friends.
"To save you," he murmured eventually, his icy gaze turned forward. "And the Tool."
The Tool. Instantly he knew - this was a rescue mission. One foolish, impossible, so Mirage-like mission. Typical.
"Imbecile," Counterpunch hissed, causing Mirage to flinch. "You know that isn't going to end well. I'm taking you back to the hangar and sending you back where you belong." Counterpunch stopped and gestured to where they'd come. Mirage took one look back and shook his helm.
"No," he refused flatly. "I leave here with the Galvanizer and you, Punch."
Counterpunch leapt forward and grabbed Mirage's faceplates with his servo, clamping his digits over the mech's lip plates to keep him from speaking. "Do not say that designation here," he growled as he moved closer. Mirage's gaze was steely, his expression unreadable. Counterpunch drew back and aimed warning optics upon his Autobot brethren.
"Do not be greedy," he said lowly. "Take your life, gratefully, and leave with that."
"It is not my life I am here for," Mirage reported as he turned away to start back down the hall. Counterpunch followed quickly behind.
He made sure to steer Mirage away from the more densely populated halls, in case one soldier may recognize the Autobot spy, and at length, Punch. But Mirage insisted upon entering the guarded wings of the ship, venturing dangerously into the core of the Nemesis.
"A human girl," Mirage started quietly while they searched for Primus knows what in a random room in the storage area. "She is the Keeper for the Galvanizer."
"A Keeper..." Counterpunch repeated thoughtfully. "And she needs the Galvanizer?"
"To survive, essentially," Mirage agreed, sifting, and then promptly dumping, a crate of medical supplies onto the ground. "Her spine is snapped."
"Replace it with a new one then, like we do," Counterpunch suggested nonchalantly as he hurriedly replaced the tools back into the crates. Mirage moved on without notice.
"Humans are organic. They cannot be replaced in parts as we can. Ratchet wishes to place her inside a Cybertronian frame to save her life."
"Is that even possible?"
"I don't know...I sincerely hope..."
Counterpunch had to pause for a moment to look to Mirage. His words had been so sad, so...regretful. Did this human mean something to him? What had happened to the old Mirage that cared for none other than his brothers and his duty?
"You are her Guardian then, I assume?"
"No, Solas Kaon had been granted that task."
"They allowed that barbarian upon this planet? After his record and his genes?"
Counterpunch couldn't help but remember the times he had the displeasure of witnessing what that bicolored-optic savage could offer. On the field he was ruthless, merciless, and unforgiving to any considered an enemy. Off of it he kept to himself, rarely spoke, and glared at those around him as though they'd done him an injustice. Punch had never trusted him, and Counterpunch had never trusted him as a Decepticon either. They had yet to personally meet until Solas had become an Autobot, but the fact that the mech could change factions so easily put Punch on edge. It was hard to trust some 'Bot who knew less about loyalty than he did about socializing. Sending him on such an important mission to Earth, and making him a Guardian on top of that...
"He is a very capable mech for the job," Mirage commented with an emotionless voice. "It was a good, sound decision by Optimus Prime."
The double agent placed interested optics on his peer. For as long as he'd known the stubborn red warrior, Counterpunch could not bring himself to remember when the spy had held such a disimpassioned tone to his voice. It was ragged with more than just the accent he must have picked up with his work on Earth. He'd grown since they'd been apart. In a good or negative way, Counterpunch had yet to tell.
"You've changed," Counterpunch stated almost suspiciously, catching Mirage's optics. The blue mech stood, leisurely, and stared down at Counterpunch's hunched form, a wrench still in the 'Con's servo.
"Well I am not usually this color," he replied in bitter humor.
"That's not what I meant."
Mirage's attempt at some reprieve from the tension failed miserably. No sense of weight had lifted in this ever so heavy atmosphere. A new feeling, mutated and deformed, passed between mech to mech. A part of them had moved. Either had grown from the battles of course, but there was also the struggle to keep from falling apart. The stress was intense past words. Mention of it never did justice for the actual thing. There was something in Mirage that was different. Had it truly been so long? Had it been so great a time where Counterpunch no longer knew Mirage as he'd imagined?
"This place is clean," Mirage reported coldly, ignoring Counterpunch and setting down the wrench in his servo before coming to a stand. "Let's move on."
"I know where it is - the Galvanizer," Counterpunch claimed suddenly as his counterpart headed for the door. The Autobot stopped in his tracks and gaze behind him at the one kneeling on the floor.
It had been an accident of course. Counterpunch -or Punch, it was getting hard to tell recently- was wandering the halls, drawn to the aft of the ship in pure curiosity. There had yet been a section in need of exploration and there hadn't been a Decepticon in sight. Even the soldiers, basically drones with a byte of consciousness, were few and far in-between. Thus he'd traveled deep into the chambers of the Nemesis. He was impressed at all he saw. Supplies enough to support its crew for a solid vorn; rooms and barracks large enough for the Constructicons to walk around comfortably; artifacts long lost to Autobot ranks gracing the pedestals of tightly locked-down lockers; and the haggard, previous frame of the Warlord himself. In the belly of the behemoth ship, the Galvanizer sat in a hover chamber, glowing ominously with unbridled power.
Without a word, Counterpunch led Mirage through the way of the halls. The memories saved into his processor guided him along the way. Where the crowd of soldiers or warriors were, Counterpunch couldn't be sure. Most soldiers for now were mining supplies needed to create artificial energon. Warriors were anywhere they were needed. So the Autobots had to be careful, less they desired their helms on sticks.
Their steps were all that could be heard, excluding the thrum of Counterpunch's spark in his chamber. A rush fled through his lines when he flattened himself against the wall covering the stairs that would bring them to the lower levels of the spacecraft. His servo came up, warning Mirage to be careful when the mech sped up to join his peer. Counterpunch strained himself around the corner and removed the visor from his faceplates. With it, he angled it from the corner and through the reflection, searched the hall. Nothing appeared in the range of the light blue surface.
"Follow behind, and stay on my heelpeds," Counterpunch instructed when he put back on the visor. Mirage gave him a sharp nod. "If any soldiers appear, let me handle them."
And so they rushed around the corner, trying to appear normal as possible while their legs moved hurriedly across the long corridor. It was an awkward movement for them, but it kept their cover as they passed from door to door. Crystalline glass flashed as they went by, showing tantalizing hints of the treasures within. However one held their attentions for now, located right behind the barrier at the end of their path. It was so close that the faint white glow from it could be seen as weak beams through the door window.
"Hold on, Punch," Mirage demanded, grabbing the spy's arm. Counterpunch flew around, his optics already snapping from side to side. All he saw was silver walls and floors, inky shadows in the corners, and lights leaking a cold light.
But Mirage was looking deeper. His optics had narrowed and his shoulderbolts bristled. Those small attachments to the sides of his helm circled and clicked a few times in thought. "It is too quiet here. This is too easy."
"Why question it?" Counterpunch snapped, turning back to the door and closing the yard-long distance. While his servo hovered over the keypad, he watched Mirage's spinal support. "Take what you are given and appreciate it." He looked down on his digits as the familiar succession of glyphs passed under the tips. What was not familiar was the loud buzzing and the whining red wailing resoundingly off the walls. Counterpunch jumped, surprised.
Mirage was at his side in a moment, staring down at the machine as though it were foreign to him. "What happened? What did you do?"
"Nothing!" Counterpunch shouted over the shrill alarm. His digits went right to work, entering in every code he downloaded into his memory core from his work with the Decepticons. Frantically he worked, his digits becoming blurs on the pad as he constantly worked to solve the problem. Mirage snarled in frustration and whipped around to guard Counterpunch's spinal support.
"Well fix it!"
"What am I doing? Slagging off?"
He cursed every colorful Cybertronian phrase he could conjure under his vents when password after password failed. Even the main bypass code, usually unlocking any and every door of any Decepticon base on Cybertron, failed. When his fifth code ceased to open the door, Counterpunch resorted to cursing in every alien language he'd picked up in his travels. He was just getting to the high-pitched swears of the Gomaxian species when a single voice picked up over the ruckus.
"Problem here?"
Counterpunch twisted around as calmly as he could. Mirage met his views first, standing frigid and still to his upper right. His position left the rest of the hall to clear view. This let Counterpunch, to his utter relief, to see a soldier of all 'Cons standing uncertainly before them. The soldier was studying them behind a solid black visor, the bottom half of his faceplates covered with a mask. His long, thin limbs stayed cautiously at his sides.
"Yes actually," Mirage's helm snapped to Counterpunch as the double agent put on his best fabricated smile and opened his servo to the blaring keypad. "It seems as though my code is not working for access to this room, may I have your assistance?"
"That room is off limits to all but Galvatron and his assigned warriors," the soldier stated blankly. Counterpunch's spark deflated, but he kept up his act nonetheless.
"Then you don't know the code?"
"I do."
"Well perhaps I may inform Galvatron that I had troubles performing his wishes due to the inconsiderate ignorance of one of his soldiers?"
The soldier visibly froze. He reared back, as in fright, and his servos lifted. There was a sparkbeat of hesitation before he glanced to Mirage, who crossed his arms and slit his optics. The soldier was quick to come to the keypad and input the code at once, ceasing the irritating noise from the keypad and opening the door with a soft click.
Counterpunch clapped a servo on the soldier's shoulderbolt and ushered him inside the room which held the artifact. Who would have guessed that little old Counterpunch-slash-Punch would have been given the honor of transporting one of the Thirteen Tools of Life? And here it was, in all its shining glory. And what a glory that was. Mirage followed behind the soldier and Counterpunch, making sure to waver by the door in case of danger.
"Look at it, mech," Counterpunch sighed appreciatively, sweeping an arm at the Galvanizer as it floated peacefully in the hover chamber. "What a beauty, is it not?"
The soldier peered nervously from Counterpunch to Mirage. "Yes, it is," he agreed, switching his gaze to the artifact. Counterpunch smiled.
"Take it in. You're not seeing it again."
"Wha-?" the soldier was flat on his faceplates before he could finish. The crash of the frame knocked the smile from Counterpunch's faceplates and returned them to stark grimness. He worked rapidly to get to the hover chamber, bustling around the edge of it to find a source of opening. A small device beamed to life when he crossed in front of it.
Counterpunch took to the device immediately with experienced digits twitching uncontrollably. Fear and seriousness both egged him on. Which one held more of his inspiration, he couldn't be sure. There was nothing here but this keypad now. There was no Nemesis ship; no Mirage the Autobot spy standing at the door; no warriors patrolled the levels above; the body of a Decepticon soldier was not laying motionless on the floor feet away. There was only this. Right here, right now.
"Hurry!" Mirage called impatiently. Counterpunch clenched his mandible until he figured his oral sheets would crack. They groaned under the pressure. Gears in his digits fritzed when he rushed himself. But he couldn't afford to go any slower. This process took time - time, that they may not of had. It might have been the wiser of actions from him to keep the soldier conscious and beat the code for the hover chamber out of him before knocking him out. Too late now.
Mirage was getting restless, as was Counterpunch. But he willed himself to stay calm. He worked best under pressure. This was his specialty. Well then why was it taking him so long to figure out a Kaonian Maxmutal Binary code? Frag Galvatron. Frag him and his creation place to Pit.
The pneumatic release of hydraulics as a weapon was unsubspaced into the air made Counterpunch's vents skip a cycle. A quicker beat of his spark made his limbs jerky. His processor could barely focus on everything at once. All the possible things that could go wrong at that moment came to his CPU, bombarding him with an army of grotesque and horrifying punishments for his disloyalty. How would he get out of this one?
Play deadspark, he decided to himself. I'll pretend I fought with Mirage and lost, and I'll shut myself down on the floor. Who knows? They may even throw me off the ship, if I'm lucky.
This positive idea floating amongst the bad picked up his mood a byte. His confidence came back into character, helping him to carry each weight settling on his shoulderbolts.
"Punch..."
"I'm working on it!" the agent bit.
It seemed an eternity had gone by. The time was slipping through his digits. A distant clatter of peds on metallic ground met his audios in a discouraging rumble. It could have been his mutated imagination creating the sounds. Whichever it may be, he knew he was pressed.
And then the screen went green.
With a barely withheld squeal of joy, Counterpunch backed from the tube and watched as the latch holding down the lid popped off. Smoke poured from the inside, coating the room in a mysterious chill. Around the chamber Counterpunch went, standing at the end of the cylindrical holder before plunging his exposed servos inside. Maybe that was not the wisest plan, seeing as most the preserving materials of the chamber were cryostasis-inducing temperatures. But beside the frost hiding his paint, Counterpunch withdrew the Galvanizer with a tender touch. Though it pulsed with power, he was afraid this ancient Tool would fall apart in his servos. He was holding history right now.
"This thing is amazing..." he murmured, reveling in the strengthening light rolling from the shaft and top. An essence inside of him stirred awake, as if sleeping inside of him for millennia over. A raw, primitive, surging instinct urged him to...create.
A servo slapped into his shoulderbolt, knocking him back to reality. With a shake of the helm, Counterpunch came to face Mirage, the mech's faceplates hard and determined. No words were needed to convey his request.
Both took off down the hall they had originally came from. The soldier on the floor must have been stirring by now, meaning they were ever losing time. Vents heaved for the frigid air of the ship. Sparks overwhelmed their chambers and kicked to get free of their restrictive chambers. A certain rush of energy forced Counterpunch on - in the way his arms ripped back and forth, the Galvanizer in servo. How his legs punched the ground, his toelinks digging into the floor to launch him with each lengthy bound, conveyed his desperation. There was no longer a reason to have fatigue. It was not a virtue he could afford. The luxury of rest alluded him. There was only one thought: run.
They ran and ran, scaling the steps two at a time, running through halls and knocking over countless soldiers in their way. Warriors, most Counterpunch already knew by designation, blocked their way ever so often. One, Knockout if Counterpunch recalled correctly, was so far in their way that the poor mech was thrown into the wall by Mirage as they barreled through. The obviously stunned form slid limply down onto his aft.
Counterpunch couldn't exactly count the astroseconds at the moment, however, he figured it was a good click until they finally stopped, vents roaring, and hid against a support pillar. Mirage had his arms splayed, his neck stretched to its limit as he surveyed around them. Counterpunch was doubled over the Galvanizer, struggling to cycle properly.
"Space travel...need to...work out..." he gasped between pants. Mirage's engine revved in his frustration as he returned to face Counterpunch.
"Frag, Punch there are soldiers crawling everywhere. Warriors as well," he paused and leaned back around the corner to steal a quick view. "It is going to be impossible to head for the ramp we came through. Do you know another path?"
The double agent gained most his bearings back and stood at Mirage's side, trying to catch a glimpse for himself of their obstacles. "The rear loading dock," he offered ventlessly.
Mirage snorted. "Walking to the docks with an ancient artifact in our possession will definitely get us caught," he retorted.
The alarms went off.
A screeching wail stabbed into Counterpunch's audios and he stiffened with the unexpected noise. Apparently the soldier had recovered quicker than he predicted. Mirage gave a great sag of his frame, his helm hitting the wall with a soft clink. Surely they could not stop here. There was more to this mission, and Counterpunch, or Punch, knew he could not let this brethren of his to be captured. The Decepticon part of himself insisted that he was merely trying to remove the enemy from their grounds. He was only doing his duty.
Grabbing Mirage's bracer, the mech shot into the open with the Galvanizer clutched tight in his free digits. "We don't have much of a choice, now do we?" he yelled over the sirens. Red tainted every inch of visible space. The air itself was painted a disorienting array of bright, blinding ruby. A flash of the alarms attacked Counterpunch's optics and chucked him into a fit of white or crimson dots exploding in the way of his vision. The visor he wore did nothing to deter the assault. It was as if the lights themselves knew of his betrayal.
Off to the left there was an opening that would take them to the main corridors. There, they could get into the communications hub located in the docking hall and escape through the ramp. They could then enter the main override Decepticon code and hack into the controls of the ramp, which should have closed now that the alarms were activated.
They moved at an antagonizing pace. The air was dragging them back, holding them from reaching anywhere fast. Hall after hall after hall arose, yawning forth in a mocking display. Counterpunch was begging with himself to speed up somehow - to get to the Com Hub and get the ramp down. So close was he now that he ducked his helm, gritted his oral sheets, held harder to Mirage, and planted his toelinks in an utter, last-ditch burst.
Any ounce of speed he could gain would be monumental. Mirage was now carrying behind on his own quite well, however Counterpunch continued his grip on the mech's bracer in the fear of leaving his comrade behind. Again, but that was a story for another time.
They passed the barracks, dodging soldiers who had yet to realize who it was they were searching for. They passed hubs decorated with warnings and security footage of the two of them exiting the hover chamber room. So much for playing deadspark.
Counterpunch stumbled, his helm snapping from side to side as he scrambled to figure out the path. In the moment he took to the left, hearing Mirage's flurried steps not far behind. Black, gnarled walls bathed in red continued on either side of them. Counterpunch's inner self wished to stand and fight. The rasher part of his processor wanted the glory of beating down the Decepticon soldiers and warriors one by one by his lonesome. He'd then march up to Galvatron himself and switch to Punch, screaming, "This is me! Take me on, you overrated fragger!"
But he couldn't do that, could he? So he would keep running. The Galvanizer was burning into his palm, almost painfully. Heat built inside his core, sending his wires aflame. Mirage wouldn't stop. Punch couldn't stop. Why should he?
Primus gave him luck when they found the entrance to the Com Hub just yards away. Blissful relief sank into Counterpunch's spark, and he picked up pace a little in excitement. Mirage was there every step of the way, offering his presence as a constant support. They rammed as one through the doorway, their peds sending sparks through the air as they slid to a halt.
Primus must have hated him as well that orn, for blocking their way, was a single, solid set of doors barring them from continuing. One would lead to the hangar. The other two would send them through halls and halls of endless barracks and weapon dispensaries.
Counterpunch's spark fell to his peds. Disappointment was a choking mass on his vents, keeping him from taking in proper, cooling air. Mirage stood valiantly at his shoulderbolt, awaiting orders or a form of plan. Alas there was none. The double agent wanted to literally punch himself for being so clueless as to forget about the doors that would be keeping them from the major parts of the ship. It was on lockdown, of course.
Sounds of marching peds echoed faintly off down the depths of the way behind them, making Counterpunch twitch nervously. Mirage brushed his arm, causing them to lock optics. A certain strength pushed from the Autobot to his fellow Cybertronian, filled with an unwavering courage that eased the 'Con at once. They may live or die here this orn, but frag it to Pit if they would go down with a fight. They had to keep their cranial units on straight and focus on the now. And that goal was to get those doors open.
Mirage took stand behind Counterpunch while the black and blue mech went to the keypads and placed the Galvanizer beside his ped. His digits flew like the winds howling against the shell of the ship. They dashed as they'd never done before. A newer vigor replaced the tiredness and heat of him, turning that pain into a ravishing desire. He wanted to win so very, very badly. It was harder to envision defeat at this high.
Code after code beeped in decline. The unsteady tapping of the occasional step of those gathering down the hall became a steadier drum of forces. They were collecting in numbers, most likely headed by the beast incarnate himself. Even with the strength Mirage used in holding the door closed against them, they would be on the two mechs in sheer astroseconds, if not less. A sparkbeat vibrated the ground beneath their peds. Counterpunch blocked it all out to narrow the worlds to his digits. They were there, those soldiers and warriors were not.
Mirage was groaning in effort when the crowd seemed to of found them. His cries were agonizing to hear and evidently ignore. In terms of stressful situations, this had to top them all. Mirage's arms wouldn't hold out for long, by the way they trembled and violently shook from the masses pushing against their targets' last means of a barrier. Counterpunch forced it all out of his processor. Any distractions and this mission would fail, leaving them deadsparked on the floor or deadsparked at the end of Galvatron's cannon. There would be no interrogations with that Pit-spawn in charge.
Another flash of red - another pound of the door. Mirage bellowed and Counterpunch cursed. Air sizzled from the heat caused by them both, a serious amount of the door opened before slamming closed again.
"Punch, please!"
"Just a little longer, Mirage, I'm sorry," the agent promised sullenly. There was one last set of codes he could try. If these failed...well, Counterpunch had always wondered what it was like to be beaten to scrap.
It was here that the blue Autobot's arms must have gave on him. They failed him in holding back their pursuers, and an amazing flood of Decepticon soldiers filled the space. In a mere nanoclick, Mirage had his spinal support pressed to Counterpunch's, wading off the attackers with the blades on his bracers. Bodies fell, but were replaced by three more. Mirage could keep but a meager pocket of space open for them, the Galvanizer jostling around at his ped.
Counterpunch pressed in the lasting keys one after another so carefully he could see himself shaking as his digit hovered over the key that would enter them all. Sending a prayer to Primus, Prime, and whatever deity this planet's species worshiped, he pressed the button.
And the door opened.
He screeched a war cry loud enough to be heard above the noise of the Decepticons. It was his victory that placed such malevolence in him, along with the zing in his strikes. The blaster hidden in his bracer was already out, releasing clouds of discharge into the air when frame after frame fell, helm after helm rolled, and spark after spark was blown out of their chassis. He spread death whichever way he went, the anger he'd felt coiling up in him now releasing since he no longer had anything to fear. There was no more hiding here. The pent-up aggression put the fire in his blazing optics - sent boiling napalm through his lines. There was no stopping him. Any in his way fell. Hard.
Mirage stayed out of his line of fire. They fell in sync with one another as they'd done on the field back on Cybertron. It was a rhythm that Counterpunch-slash-Punch sought endlessly in all his other comrades. None had that same smoothness as Mirage did. The flare in his movements, the way of his slick frame as it dodged and struck out in a blur of color...nothing beat this. It was slipping into an old frame for Punch. Yes, he could call himself that now. There would always be Counterpunch, but now, finally, they were as one. No more Decepticon. All, pure Autobot. How proud it would make Alpha Trion to see him now.
The release was intoxicating. Seeing the energon spurt from his enemies and watch as the life slipped from their optics. Nothing compared.
Through this, Counterpunch knew there was a reason behind their fighting. There was a will beyond the lust and a reason for the death. As he reached for it now, he fought back his terror and the resistance his processor put forth. It was for the better that he do this, no matter what his instincts yelled at him to do. There were just too many here to possibly defeat. Warriors were gathering, and would join their comrades soon enough. Maybe this had been his path all along. Maybe this was meant to be.
As his digits closed around that staff, he felt bravery inside of him for the first time in his entire life cycle. This was the side of himself he wanted to be told to his sparklings. This was the story he wanted known as in his image by his closest friends. The traitor he would be known as to them, to the worst of their kind, would be adorned as selfless by his true family. They were what his life cycle was for, not this double life where he doubted each and every move he made.
No more hiding.
No more running.
Counterpunch, now the blue and fiery orange of Punch, yanked on Mirage's arm, stealing him from battle. He shoved the Galvanizer into the mech's chassis and all but threw him past the doors that would lead to the docking hangar. The Autobot's faceplates were shocked, but that turned to horror as Punch slammed a fist into the keypad, effectively shutting them off from each other.
~Punch, what are you doing?!~ Mirage hailed from their private com. Punch almost laughed out loud from how good it felt to be talked to as an Autobot again.
~Something I should have done a long time ago. I'm repaying you,~ he answered back, swinging around his blaster and holding off the soldiers until the locks on the doors initiated. ~You've got something to return to, something and someone I am sure who needs you. I don't.~
~That's not true!~ Mirage argued back. Punch smiled, actually smiled when he heard that.
~I'm a no-good double agent from Cybertron's pits. The least I can do, the one good thing I can do, is make sure you get out alive and get to that human girl,~ he paused, his chassis constricting with emotion. No, he couldn't stop now. ~There is an escape latch at the end of that hall to your left. Open it, and it should allow you to escape the ship...~
~Punch, I won't go without you! I left you once already!~
~This is my last request for you, you stupid mech! Leave! Get out while you can, and get back to Optimus Prime. Tell him what I did. Tell him why I stayed behind and what I believed a good mech should be. I'm not worth it. Please, leave me.~
Silence reined over their link. Punch feared for a split nanoclick that Mirage had already left him. ~I'll tell him...~ Mirage promised almost inaudibly through the comlink. ~I'll tell everyone everything about you. I'll tell my sparklings and pass down your memory until I rust over.~
Punch grinned, but that was wiped from his faceplates when Blitzwing brutally punched him in the faceplates, crushing his cheekplate.
~That's all I could ever ask for. Thank you, Mirage.~ and his link cut.
His next conscious memory was being dragged. To where, or why he was unsure. All he knew was the pain in the back of his helm and the paralyzing coldness in his frame. He hadn't the ability to move, most likely having his motor functions turned offline for easier transport. His systems would be able to bring them back on eventually, but as he knew, there was no chance for him to make such a miracle occur before reaching their destination. His optics closed with his slowly twisting spark. His tanks knotted in anxiety.
When he had opened his optic slips again, an incredibly angry, black form towered above him. A giant servo clasped onto his helm, pulling him up into the air. Inside of himself, he called out, his neck stretching to its limit. Silence was all that escaped him, for he could not react - could not speak or move or defend himself. Galvatron's frothing maw came but an inch from Punch's faceplates and the light of his optics shone a darkness that sucked the very life from him.
"You betrayed me," he rumbled in a tone far from his own. "You made a fool of me and my warriors by bearing my leadership in such a derogatory manner." Galvatron's sharp digits began to squeeze on Punch's cranial unit until the helm whined and started to cave inward. Punch pleaded with himself to fight for his life, however all he could do was writhe internally as his processor compacted. On the outside, his faceplates remained emotionless and straight.
"You haven't the slightest clue who I am, with such ignorant existences of conception plaguing your consciousness. I know you can hear me, wretched creature," Galvatron glowered, stopping the pressure on Punch's helm for but a nanoclick. "So you, oblivious nature of such cowardice form in all, comprehend I am not of your kind?" his optics narrowed, "That I hold within me power beyond comprehension of your feeble processes?"
"I...don't...?" Punch managed through broken oral sheets and bitter energon filling his mouth. "Galvatron-"
"Is but my material host. These simpletons follow whatever it is I declare essential, including sacrificial allegiance if I decide necessary. However, you," the mech's, or whatever he was, voice dropped low to the point where Punch figured his vocal capacitor would break, "you defied me and became traitor where others so wisely trailed behind. I should tare you limb from limb for what you have done against me." That pressure returned to Punch's cranial unit, and since he had gained a smidgen of his mobility back, he winced violently in agony. "And yet I know I cannot, for you are a valuable asset." As useless as a sack, Punch was dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap.
"It is one that I seek upon this pathetic planet, in its primitive inhabitants," Galvatron kicked Punch's side, tossing him onto his spinal support. The Decepticon leader leaned over the smaller figure, gazing down coolly with two blazing, scarlet optics. "Not the Prime; not his sniveling sparkmate either. It is that human, the one known as Fera Lennox, whom I desire."
"I don't know of her," Punch muttered, energon flowing freely off the side of his lip plates to dribble off his chin.
"Do not lie to me!" Galvatron bellowed, rattling the very walls around them. "You spoke of her with your ally prior to his escape! He who is being tracked and shall be eliminated to retrieve my Galvanizer. That disgusting creation of my brother shall be used to proper usage, as it should have been hundreds of millenia ago!"
None of this made any sense to Punch. Who the brother was of this savage behemoth, Punch could admit he felt sorry for. And Mirage's being in danger hadn't frightened him as much as it should have, for the spy was more than capable of handling himself. If he could protect the Galvanizer and get it to Optimus in time was his true worry.
"You shall help us in achieving what I envision most dear. The sweet, savoring lust for my New Universe shall be satisfied soon! Earth is in my path, and I intend on using it quite well. Such a puny world shan't conciliate me considerably much, however along with others in my journey, it will give me the strength required for the greatest term of dimensional history!"
Punch quivered under the steadily rising volume of the entity. This couldn't me Megatron, or Galvatron, or a Cybertronian at all. This was something far surpassing that, with abilities greater than anything the agent had witnessed. The energon leaking from him, along with the strain of traveling in space at such a hasty speed, topped with not resting fully afterward made him dizzy. His helm was going to roll from his shoulderbolts. The darkness was eating away his vision, replacing it with humming alerts and warnings. He vaguely recalled being dragged away by his arms.
"Who...are you...?" he murmured.
Galvatron smiled, cruelly, his sharpened oral sheets shining from behind lip plates stretched unnaturally wide.
"Chaos," he said. "I am Chaos."
A lot happened in this chapter,
wore me out writing it!
Lot's of emotion going on at one time, with all these characters and such :)
And who could Galvatron really be?
I've given you all some hints, so chew on that a bit and keep on guessing
In time, you'll know :D
*Chapter Inspiration: Hey Brother= Avicii*