Happy Valentine's day everyone!
And to those of you who are indeed single, such as I am...
Happy Singles Awareness day! XD
I wish I would have put some mush in here for everyone, but it just didn't seem like the time :/
Check out my new one-shot Don't Forget if ya want some fluff (and aft-kicking of course)
Let's get some drama going on in this saga, shall we?
Enjoy!
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 58
A light was fighting with the dark. In such ambient fears, swelling masses arose to take physical form. And in battles from past told in gracing solar cycles, the worlds would take their rightful places amongst the darkness. Revolvers they were, taking submissive stand against that of the higher powers, dragging them further into forever black. Their fighting was weaker in fury, to a point as to withhold much concern within outside antagonists. It was fine then, that these masses took contentment in this black. Amongst the celestial powers they fell into a temperate, eventually familiar, rhythm.
The pull was intangible. Describing it would fail such a wonder. In such pressures, curling and entrapping all in reach, a brighter youth revealed itself. It reveled in such darkness - fed from it even. Perhaps it hadn't strength to dare defy its Master. There was only the revolution of it, mimicking entrails of Master and all despite monotonous atmospheres. Patience was all it held. It was the only feeling inside. It coursed through itself, turning, washing, burning through as the energy sustaining it. The singleness in it was pure as nothing before, or henceforth could retain. And so it became light.
And yet in balances, there was never One. Whichever mark of opposing forces may set equilibrium for revolution, willing it further on. Forever it seemed this revolution became. It was made continuously; becoming precious craft to crafter. A progeny pair developed to being. They revolved among Master, as they always had, taking shape. A difference became in development: Consciousness arose.
They knew of their revolution of Master. Thus a twin consciousness split for balance. It was necessary. Cruel as it may have been, it was necessary. Patience was a virtue alongside anger. There must be balance.
Patience, basis of emotion, split in the whims of Master for sake of being, became Light. Mirrored feeling dropped to contradiction. The creation of Difference became, pushing progeny apart in its aftermath. Light beheld its first tempest flare of disagreement in its twin. Before they had been and acted as One. Now Master sought balance and contradiction. As such, the time waned, and with it, came its own spawn: Darkness.
Their names would forever mutate as ages carried generations on. Legends sparked from eldest of realities too beyond acceptable boundaries of 'realness' deemed by those told such stories and too fearful to speak up against non-believers. Science and religion interrupted progress in any form of evolution pertaining to acceptance. There would never be a middle ground, so say, as there had been once so long ago.
As Light and Darkness and Master separated, they provided sacrificial halves of themselves to bring upon the galaxies a new era. This term would be as all know it this time even now, dubbing it a true first Beginning. From Light came Life. From Darkness came Death. There would always be that balance between them - always a contradiction that Master so avidly proclaimed necessary. It was ingrained permanently in the laws of the physical worlds. Master faded away into a nether region of an unknown legion, allowing its progeny the freedom of growth and prosperity in the balanced universe.
Light created its own progeny as it allowed itself to become their very creation place. Immense wells of energy had poured forth from Light, ebbing in the tiniest of silhouettes from the dark. It created in the steady rhythm of its own core pulse, ever so ignorant of Darkness hovering curiously over them. Light would create, while Darkness would watch. Jealousy came to be.
Darkness yearned creation of its own progeny, however refused sacrifice of its physical form, which still remained vibrantly youthful in newness, and so could not understand its twin's willingness to destroy what gift Master had left with it. Sadness hadn't existence until Darkness willed it to become. Frustration and destruction were developments of their progress as well.
Failing time and time again forced Darkness into a welt of disappointment. They didn't understand the way Light bent life itself into those tiny, corporal forms. They failed to comprehend the boundless love and pride Light proclaimed for those minuscule silhouettes. What could Light see in frames too tiny to conceive the ability of their predecessor? Thirteen of them still carried only but a fraction of Light's power, so what could their value be? They were weak; fragile; mortal.
Power leaked from each, full of belief and dedication so pure it warded Darkness away when it approached too closely. Light's twin grew spiteful. Why could Light create, yet all Darkness held was destruction? Madness turned to hate. So, as Darkness had greatly been blinded to, it had created something after all.
Life designated its followers 'Primes', decreeing they be the first of many to waltz upon its surface. Darkness became disgusted at seeing the appreciation its brethren placed on these primitive cretins. They themselves knew nothing but love, joy, agreement, and life. There was yet to be pain, or anger, or grief, or darkness. All of which Darkness had endured because of Master and Light. It was incredibly furious with Light, and betrayed beyond mention.
Revenge reared itself into existence when Darkness morphed theirselves to pose as one of Life's precious creations. Unbeknownst to Light, Darkness prowled its ground, introducing the griefs of life onto its progeny. The Primes witnessed violence; they knew of agonizing injury - of unrestricted anger and the gripping black of total, unrestricted darkness. One, forever known as Fallen, took fancy to Darkness. They sought to impress Darkness, as it had been so simple to do so for Light. Fallen drew from Darkness' presence, eventually concocting the most heinous of creations to be brought into life. None had imagined it before, and it brought this peaceful era to a stuttering halt.
Murder.
The Creator fell to The Fallen. Solus Prime, as their designation had been lovingly given by Light. Darkness fled from its twin's form, taking its new worshiper with it. For the first time of history, death had taken place. Neither Light, nor Darkness had any knowing of what was to become of the departed upon their leaving. They hadn't been prepared for such an enormous, altering event to take place. Until then it had been unimaginable.
There was only so much Light could provide for its progeny without alerting that of Darkness, thus signaling the apposing twin to send Fallen to Light's surface to wreck further havoc. They intervened less and less, withdrawing inside of theirselves to protect both them and their progeny. Doubt became, then lack of reliance. They believed their Light had abandoned them.
However, Darkness was left without a way to track Light. They retreated to their own corner, developing the opposites of its twin Light, awaiting their time to strike down their peer. Light watched its progeny with building sadness. More and more as the ages went on ceased to believe in Light, whom they forever referred to as Primus, and thus turned to science and logic. Those few, the ones holding mantle as Prime as those that had before them, carried on Primus' will and those rare and few words of encouragement. They too however fell, one by one. Until a single was left.
Primus entrusted its original progeny's Tools of Life on him. This mech hadn't clue of the future, or of his strife to come. Primus held himself from telling the figure, figuring that in remaining away from the leader, that things would change. They did not.
Brothers killed brothers. Sisters left their spawn to the streets, as they had run dry to nurture their young. Primus grew further and further more frightened at what the future held for his lasting Prime. And thus, perhaps it was better in those failing times, that Optimus Prime send away the AllSpark Cube and Tools of Life, if but to keep them from the ravenous claws of Darkness. Primus was proud of him, as he had been his original progeny so long ago.
And so it may seem that a war between two brothers could be far more common, and tragic, than any had predicted. History was bound to repeat itself, was it not?
"You heard everything, huh?"
Cloaked in the shadows, they reclined toward the back of the room. Masked in their inner agony, they willed their voice low so not to scream. High on whimsy, they envisioned the lingering loveliness of what life was before her. It was harder to imagine now.
"Have you heard everything? Can you hear me now?" a watchful gaze turned to steely grey in contemplation. It was a hopeless cause, wanting this event so badly to come before its rightful time. Yet, all he could muster within his weakened stature was the shuddering vent of his cycles and a creaking sag of his frame. There was no longer the fight in him. What was there to fight but himself? Without his fire here, kindling his flames...there was nothing left but a smolder.
He dare not come close. There was a knowing in the back of his consciousness that warned him if he so foolishly attempted reaching out to her. Before it had been a mere touch. Their bond, broken and weeping as it pointlessly tried healing itself with no sense of accomplishment, remained deadpan. It was only when he had managed such delicacy in himself to carry her mother to their quarters to put the female to sleep that he felt the smallest tingle. Without warning he was left spazzing on the floor, unable to do anything but ride out the debilitating seizure. For the first time, he'd realized what it had been like for his charge.
Now there she lay, perfect as always, and sterile to even the optic. She was too clean, too perfect, and too...fake. It wasn't her. But what could he do?
"I wanted to leave you alone, at least for the time being, just to give you rest from me," his voice was soft and even, burned down to its core. He was shredded raw, leaving him vulnerable and open. "I'm sure by now you would have kicked my aft for talking so much..." he chuckled beside himself. As fast as that had come, his humor left him when his arm tightened up in a painful board-like fashion. Wincing, the mech grabbed his limb and waited until he could move it again.
Waving his servo through the air to get the feeling back in his digits, the mech glanced back at his still charge and shook his helm from side to side. "I've missed you, Fera, I truly have. And I know how insane that must sound, seeing as we fight constantly, but...I miss the fighting," his volume dropped along with his arm. His faceplates fell to the floor, his optics tracing the forever seams holding together the cracks made in the cement.
"I miss the violent, angry you. I miss the annoying slaps you gave me, the overly-protective you when I got into trouble, and the secrets you would say to me and no one else because you were too afraid they would blow you off," though firm, his words softened. Those memories so darkened with regret showed in a brighter hue. His optics warmed and a grin touched his lip plates. There wasn't always bitterness between them.
A figure shimmered into existence at Fera's side, walking into the flood of light to stand next to her. It was a man, taller, with short black hair, tanned skin, and russet red and azure blue eyes. A scar decorated his lip and lower left cheek.
Solas Kaon's holoform approached Fera cautiously, as if scared to come near. Which, in past cases, he should have been. From spasms to full-on seizures, Solas knew he was running out of excuses for ending up frozen on the floor, optics wide and vents panting when some human or Autobot entered the room.
However the holoform came to slowly sit beside her despite these risks. These said risks not only were made by Solas' coming to Fera like this, but also by producing his holoform at all. It strained his already weary systems to the point where he could barely focus. Clearly his time was limited.
Uncertainty filled him as energon did a cube, causing him to hesitate when he'd lifted a semi-solid hand in the air. The green of his sleeve matched that of the dying plant standing at the end of Fera's bed. It still held its colorful, spherical ornaments and twinkling lights wrapped around it. Solas stared at it a moment, wondering how such a seemingly useless thing could bring such joy to Fera's female creator. Sarah had called it a 'Christmas tree', though Solas had yet to understand such an event.
Fera's mother had spent nearly a joor sitting before Solas, trying to explain the custom to him. She'd said it was a time of happiness and giving, where a largely obese human with plush white hair on his face would bring the well-behaved gifts in a sack. Not only that, but they would feast on unhealthy offerings brought by their relatives, celebrating the ending of another decacycle on Earth with music, dancing, and more feasting. It made no sense, but the tree and deflated decorations adorning the room brought a slightly lighter feel to it.
The scent of pine had begun to fade as Christmas had passed some Earth weeks ago. Sarah refused to take them down however, insisting on keeping them up longer. All the Christmas tree offered at this point was dried, brown needles and a dying sense of happiness.
Solas turned himself away from the frivolous object and looked down on Fera once more. What world would she had to of lived in to gain such peace on her face. Not even in sleep had she this tranquility. The mech had to remind himself to look to her midsection to assure himself it was still rising and falling. Those monitors still hooked up to the poor creature had been muted in mercy of those who stayed at the patient's side for longer than a joor or two, and so offered but a small line of color to entertain the sight for a few nanoclicks.
No longer had the mech will to refuse himself any longer. Any and all feeling experienced by him were pushed at the broken bond, begging for some sign of activity. There was always none, yet the mech had to try. The single spike that had occurred towards the very beginning of her injury granted him enough foolish hope to last a vorn over. As he sat at her side, still expecting her to sit up at any moment and yell at him for some inconceivably little thing, a sort of anticipation gripped the smallest bit of his processor. He'd taken to leaving the room more often, as had Sarah Lennox. However, he still spent joors on end, talking to the air as if he could hear her responding.
"There isn't a doubt in my processor that I should have been there. I should have taken you far away from there the moment I could, and yet I stayed to fight..." he muttered. The hand he'd set on her bed curled into a fist, shaking slightly. "Remember what you said to me before you got hurt? That we weren't so different after all?" a chuckle escaped his Cybertronian form from the corner, "Well you were wrong. You are so much stronger than I."
That sad smile played ever so much these Earth days took its perch on both Solas' holoform and his mech form. He hadn't the slightest idea why he was still talking, or where this one-sided conversation was going, but he felt as though he needed to fill the silence somehow. It didn't sit well with him to bathe in the soundlessness. It made him uncomfortable and caused the dam of his processor to fall, releasing every pent-up emotion he'd felt in this quartex. Is that how long it had been now? It seemed longer.
"Can you recall the time where I told you of my mentor, Wing? That tale hadn't been completely true. In fact, Drift was my first mentor and mech creator - my dolanno," Solas informed the quiet, settling an arm over Fera's body and resting lightly against her side as he observed her pale, stoic features. "At a term, he was indeed a Decepticon, as you know. He had been designated Deadlock then, but when he had met my fembot creator -my nannia-, he defected and changed his name to Drift. He had yet to side with Autobot or Neutral, but during the break in his factional choice, he'd begun to receive training from an elder mech named Wing."
Solas lifted a hand and tenderly tucked a lock of Fera's golden hair behind one of her ears. His hand stalled at her cheek and he took to leaving it there, his thumb stroking her cheek. Affection hadn't been one of the Guardian's strong points, but as of late, he'd taken to displaying more of it.
"Upon my family unit's murder, I was devastated. Wing took me beneath his influence and trained me as he had my dolanno. Before they had been taken from me, I was ignoring Drift's strict orders to stay away from the war and I joined the Decepticon cause as he had so many vorns before. I was so angry with the Autobots for taking Astrea from me, and yet, the Decepticons had stripped me of my family unit because of my mech creator's defection from them for Neutrality. So they were no less guilty..." he paused, "I told you before my plans had been to eradicate Megatron myself, but of course that never happened." The holoform's thumb stopped as Solas' processing core began looping through the many memories of his life on Cybertron. All the sacrificing to survive, and the death and destruction, rushed to the front of his processor.
"Between factions, and with no family left, I fled. I wouldn't return to Wing, ashamed at what I had done and caused because of my actions. Chromia and Ironhide, two Autobots and very close friends of mine, found me in the alleyways of Kaon, wallowing in my sorrows. They took me to the Autobot base, despite my creation, and offered me a place amongst them as an Autobot. My dolanno was gone because he had defected. My nannia and sibling were murdered by an assassin 'tying up loose ends'. I had but my own life cycle to watch out for, and even that was in threat, as I had done the same exact thing my dolanno had vorns before...but I joined anyway."
Bringing his hand back, Solas accidentally ruffled Fera's shirt. Her neck and collarbone were exposed, flashing the silver arch-shaped scar on her chest. Bitter resentment touched Sol's spark as he gently brought his holoform's fingers over the scar. It had been made as a joke by the Decepticon Dirge to break Fera down, mocking her as a bonded Cybertronian by cutting an arch into her chest. That Decepticon was now long deadsparked.
As he fingered the mar in her skin, Solas frowned deeply. "I came here on the Xanthium, only seeing Wing once more at Tyger Pax prior to my departure. I'd stayed behind to defend the pods launching what I believed to be supplies into the galaxies. They were actually the Tools of Life, which, I don't expect you to understand at the moment. And the key to one of them? It hangs around your neck." He paused again, training his gaze on the flesh of her eyelids, waiting for them to lift and reveal those too-blue eyes she held. Where were her scathing words now? Or the smiles she made when he asked about the simplest things on Earth? Or the way she ran her fingers through her hair when she became stressed?
Both the chest of the holoform and Solas' chassis vibrated. It was a deeper instinct, to try comforting this charge. The subtle humming had once calmed her before, so it should now.
"Fera, you need to come back. You must come back," his vocal capacitor cracked with barely withheld emotion. "I promise never to hold secrets from you. Never again. If only you could come back to us...come back to me..."
At this time, the door of the room opened with a hiss. Solas' holoform fell from the air in a cluster of pixilated cubes, disappearing completely before this new guest even stepped through the doorframe. The metallic clang of their legs alerted immediately to their not being a human, as well as the large shadow stabbing into the space from the dim light of the hallway.
In came a fembot, tall and lithe, with a frame sculpted hard and fine. Angled plates met graceful curves, all painted in a glossy obsidian color. Observant blue optics spent a good click scanning the center of the floor, where Fera lay. A sort of cautious air surrounded their collected stature. Dangerous as she appeared though, there was a sadness in her sharp faceplates. Those thin lip plates were turned downward, and her shoulderbolts stood with slightly less straightness. Defeated. She looked defeated.
Stratis approached Fera as though walking into a mine field. Each step left only the tiniest rings in the air. Venting was impossible to pick up from where Solas stood. Her movements were less calculated than Solas was used to seeing her as, causing him to knit his optic ridges in concern.
Curiosity muted him from words, instead to replace them with a constant warbling of his fatigued frame to fill the silence. He couldn't help the small ticks his systems produced in his exhausted shape, however Stratis hadn't yet seemed to notice. Which was completely, startlingly, unlike her.
The black spy settled herself onto the edge of the large berth. Fera hung but inches from the mattress set in the center of that berth, leaving a few feet between the fembot and human. However Stratis paid that no heed as she sat with her legs hanging over the side and her servo coming up to briefly stroke the top of Fera's head. It was alarming to see the fembot offer any kind of affection. She was usually so reclusive towards others except Hawktail or maybe Wheeljack. The sigh she admitted even was so out of character that it struck Solas ventless.
"Do you always hide in the corner?" she asked suddenly, lifting her warred faceplates to gaze evenly back at him. She was no longer keeping up her barriers, and that frightened him. It felt as though the strongest of them were falling under the pressure. If or when that happened, then what would happen?
"This kalon is special," he commented with a heavy tone. The misuse of his voice still rendered it thin to the audios, leaving him sounding as though he hadn't recharged in groons. Which, he might as well haven't. Recharging did nothing for him. "Do you always visit her on these random occasions?"
"She's special," Stratis said, turning back to Fera. The fembot almost an maternal aura about her as she adjusted the space around Fera to make the human more comfortable (if she could feel anything at all).
"Did Ratchet send you here to 'evaluate my status'?" Solas bit hotly, crossing his arms and leaning further into the shadows. Stratis huffed at him, smoothing out the crinkles of Fera's blanket. Before checking the monitors and various equipment attached to the female, Stratis' optics darted at Sol.
"Is that necessary?"
"Hardly."
"Then what is it I would be here for? You were not the sole being whom knew Fera personally," Stratis retorted, her cold sights landing on the Guardian in the back of the room. Solas knew he blended in well with the shadows, so he shuttered his optics to give him better cover. The darkness gave him more comfort than the blinding white coming from Fera's observation lights. For some reason, it had become a sort of solace in his private grieving. And that was surprising; especially since the mech had feared the dark so much during his 'visions' when he recharged. That added another point why he preferred not to recharge.
A shrill beep met his audios and Solas opened his optic slips to find Stratis fiddling with the monitors. Solas' lip plates parted when he began to speak up, but he held back as she merely displayed the information produced from Fera. Over her shoulderbolt, Solas looked over the information as well.
"Though you fail to realize, Fera had socialized with many of us on this base and others," Stratis went on, wiping a servo over the screen to clear a smudge of dust on the surface. "Mirage, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Optimus and Rethalia Prime, Hawktail, myself, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, Cloudsong...the list goes on. They too grieve her wounded state, however we are forced to retain our composure. If we were to fall in this time, then the other humans counting on our strength would also break. Sarah Lennox, this spawn's female creator, is most likely the bravest creature I know of during this time."
Solas winced, averting his gaze to study the bolts lining the panels of the walls. He counted each, willing himself to stay focused. The phantom threat of an oncoming stress-induced fit was floating on the cusp of his processor.
"What do you wish I could say? That I regret feeling sorrow for our bond snapping before my very optics? That I loath staying here, cursing every god I know if they are to take her so early in life?" Solas' voice was dripping in venom. The truth was that he felt as though he would fall apart in leaving this room for so long. Apparently he wasn't worth much out in action, as he'd been knocked unconscious on the last mission and lost both the Galvanizer and Punch. Though Chromia was located safely in the mausoleum beneath their peds, he was still unsettled.
"Of course not-"
"Then what? What do you want from me?"
"For you to understand that we are all suffering," Stratis got to her peds, staring down Solas from across the room. "You are not the only one."
"You could never understand a pain you have never endured yourself."
This comment was met with a cease of words. Stratis didn't respond right away, and neither did Solas. He simply simmered in his anger, unfairly shoving it all at Stratis. The fembot didn't deserve to be the brunt of his aggravation, however he saw no other immediate outlet. This was all inside of him. It was a cracking, oozing hatred trickling through his lines made only for himself and his failures. Trapping the seeping sludge of his confused emotional pattern, Solas had been building up a side of himself he'd never before would have been proud to be. And as he began to blame all the wrong 'Bots for his most epic failure, he knew he'd gone too far.
Stratis gestured to Solas with her helm, motioning him forward. Though he'd entitled this corner as his safe haven, he left it behind with a heavy spark and trudged toward the berth and his charge. An invisible weight added to him more and more the closer he came. Lead increased in his peds, desperately trying to keep him away. A dizzying fog clogged his thoughts, making it impossible to process straight. His energon was thread with fire, burning through his plates mercilessly.
She was leaning against the berth, watching Fera again. He remained stationed at the head of that medical table, staring down upon his biggest loss. The first words to come to his CPU when peering at this human was emptiness; powerlessness; remorse; shame; guilt; and a flurry of other humiliating feelings. He had let her down, there was no escaping that no matter what corner he hid in.
"I once lived in the same city-state you had, did you know that Solas?" Stratis informed him, interrupting his musing. "Kaon: the gladiator district of Cybertron. Of course, I was created after the beginnings of the Great War, so I maybe slightly younger than you."
She gave a short laugh, despite the situation, and Solas found himself looking to her in a bewildered way. "However, beside our creation, I find we're quite similar."
"How so?"
"Well..." Stratis sighed in reminiscence, "my family unit was brutally murdered before me by Decepticons."
Shock was the first thing to come to the mech. He could but feel awe when he saw Stratis now, leaning so leisurely beside Fera. Her body language conveyed no sign of the story she was sure to speak, nor of the disturbing nature of observing Fera's inanimate form for too long.
Solas couldn't find his voice, as he had become overwhelmed with the sudden information being thrown at him. In his place, Stratis continued. "My creators created me during the earliest stage of the Great War, where the fighting hadn't escalated to quite a high degree. I upgraded in Kaon alongside other younglings and cyberlings, only hearing of the Great War and its battles, but never truly seeing anything. I wish I hadn't been curious. Primus almighty I wish I had asked my family unit to escape as the others had before the fighting became so hostile."
Her frame trembled, as did Solas'. He knew full well of the final orns Kaon had stood as a city-state. His district had been one of the last to fall, and that had been after he had defected from the Decepticons and before he had met Chromia and Ironhide. However he still remembered it painfully clear.
"I came of age and moved myself from my creators' domicile. For a time, it was peaceful. It wasn't until I was betrayed and my family unit had perished that I witness truly what war really was. They were killed before I could get to them. I had never felt so powerless..." the drop in her voice mimicked that of Solas' spark. It was as though she were accounting his own tale. A miniscule shudder in her voice caused Solas' own files, stored away for vorns in his attempt at escaping his past, to unlock, spilling across his processor his memories.
"Many experienced the destruction of their family units," he murmured. "We were but two of them."
"You had a sibling, correct?"
The abrupt question stunned Solas for an astrosecond. How much of his life did this fembot know?
Hesitantly, Solas answered, "Yes."
"However she perished during the earlier vorns of the war?"
Again he paused.
"That...is true..."
A dreary smile touched Stratis lip plates. She swiveled back to Fera and grabbed one of the straps holding the female from above the bed, rubbing circles in the material with her thumb link while she observed the human in her endless slumber.
"Did you know I have a sister?" the fembot vented a sigh. "She is actually leader of the Decepticons now."
This wasn't a new fact. Solas had found this out during their more recent skirmish in New York, where Stratis had attempted some sort of reprieve with Arachnid in exchange for the Galvanizer and the hapless Punch. That hadn't worked, as the crazed Decepticon leader instead exploded bombs embedded in the ship Punch had arrived in, knocking Solas unconscious and injuring his comrades.
And even if he wanted to say anything, if but a word of condolence for the fembot for her losses, he couldn't. The opening of the door to the front of the room allowed no time for further discussion. Both Autobots turned to the entrance as it emitted the flustered silhouette of Wheeljack. The mech's chassis was heaving for cooling air, his plates shaking slightly in either excitement or tiredness.
At first, Solas would expect the mech to be covered in soot. It wasn't rare to find the mechanic covered in the remains of his devices, which would more times than not explode right in his faceplates. No hint of abnormal dust, chemicals, or scorch marks could be seen on his white, red, and green frame. This meant something else was bothering the ventless mech.
"I've been...trying to...find you both...all over base..." he panted.
Solas fully faced the mech, ready to come forward if support was needed. "Wheeljack? What is it?" he asked.
Wheeljack lifted his servos and stabbed his digits down the hall over and over, mouthing the words he wished to speak, but couldn't right away. Stratis also stood at Solas' side, concerned.
"Wheeljack...?"
"Mirage!" the mechanic suddenly gasped, his voice raspy with his run. "He's in trouble!"
Primus, kill me now.
He would have been the happiest in his life cycle if the godly figure of all Cybertronian culture had deadsparked him early off before he'd even came to Earth. He had a fembot - a promise. He'd had his brother and his sister hiding off on Cybertron's second moon as Neutrals. Peace reined for the shortest of times, leaving but the smokey recesses clawing across the skies to dress the late lunar cycles. Instead of the flashing blasts of battle raging in the distant lands, a chilling, brittle quiet gripped the air.
Then he had met her. It was there in that break in warring that she literally came through the black. Those lengthy legs had morphed from the curtain of darkness, blazing through the dim as a roaring golden flame. And her glorious frame had spilled forth, breaking further the slithering onyx shadows. She glowed beneath its weight, actually seeming to thrive from it as the energy hummed off her paint. Those cautious blue optics peeked out into sight as well, slightly tilted as she cantered her observant features.
And him, covered in grime, perched tall above that of a fallen enemy, was left staring up at the mound as this lustrous being made her presence known. Her faceplates were shaped perfectly, as had her armor, which hugged her thin shape with flattering curves. A stocky blaster that should have been far too large for her rested on her shoulderbolt while she bore those piercing optics down upon the mech below her. Perhaps she had been judging him. With the greatness she produced and the Wrecker insignia she bore, he wouldn't be surprised.
As the undeserving mech he saw himself as, he gently took to trying to woo this fembot. Those mischievous smirks she threw his way, along with the teasing brushes of her servos or lips, made him go insane. She certainly was the fire she claimed to be. And he loved every click of it.
Eventually he managed to tame her somewhat. Her spitfire and brute ways thrilled him, whether it was in rolling around the berth in a tangle of scarlet and gold, or sparring out in the arena, where she would almost always win. Multiple occasions she would account stories from her times fighting in this war, or of her past life. He would follow her up, giving her sight into his own life, thus strengthening their already budding bond. They were but a half of one another by the time the ceasefire had fallen. Another step and they would be sparkmates. Which, he was determined to make happen.
She seemed willing, if only slightly hesitant. Nonetheless, the fact that she was considering it made him the happiest mech in the worlds. She became his universe. While he patiently waited, she evolved into becoming the very airs in which he vented. He felt they were bonded before they'd even opened their chassis plating.
Then the Xanthium had arrived.
He'd made a promise then to return to her, no matter what. Laying with her wrapped in his arms, praying to Primus that his deployment to the planet known as 'Earth' was a simple glitch in his memory core...he'd never been more frightened. He could have deadsparked then; happier than ever before, with her clutched to him. He could have taken his last vent, in hearing her soft venting as she drifted off into recharge - in cupping her faceplates as he passionately kissed her for what he hoped wasn't the last time. It was at that click that he realized his true reasons for being created: to find his other half. And now that mission had been accomplished.
With a pain beyond describing, he'd torn himself away from her without bonding. He couldn't do that to her. He wouldn't. That would place unnecessary levels of agony on them both. Yet, seeing her standing on the surface of his home world, saddened optics trailing behind the departing ship, her form growing smaller and smaller, he knew that there was no greater pain than being away from her. It was a mistake not bonding with her when he had the chance. At least then he could have felt her - known what she was still alive, and if not, gone with her into the Matrix.
Yes, he'd been a happier mech then.
Now, such a sensation of tranquility seemed a cruel, sick ruse from Unicron himself. Could he ever have such a moment again with her? Could he bond with his one, true love, after he'd hurt her so much?
First priority would be surviving. After that, he would have eternity and over to repay her.
Another spurt of land ballooned atop him, covering him in the flesh of the planet's crust. Particles lodged in his grill, sending up tiny tendrils of smoke as they burned under the heat of his engine. It bellowed lowly in snarling effort, fighting to cross distances in times no other inanimate vehicle from Earth could ever reach. His tires ate at the ground, devouring the hills while concussion blasts struck either side of him.
The roads were but another obstacle he needed to cross. To get to them meant he could get back to her. Despite the flaring fatigue gripping him, along with the scalding height of temperature his systems climbed, he felt energized. The energy flaring through his lines surged at his engines, thrusting a new found vigor into him and letting him flash along the roads at unimaginable speeds. He had to get to the others.
A blur of powder blue met the lush greenery of the grasslands. A flatter stretch of the country spanned further than the optic could see. Blaring sunlight cooked his desperate armor, making his processor foggy and difficult to sort. Energon bubbled in the overheated lines running along his puzzled limbs.
The missile aimed for him hit less than a yard away, rocking the grounds to the point where he vaulted unsteadily on his wheels. A deep growl spiked from his innermost systems, rumbling through his frame and vibrating the plates of his blue armoring.
"Frag!" he spat, swerving to avoid the debris. Two more took the place of that explosion however, momentarily blocking the view of the path before him. He couldn't afford to slow down an astrosecond, so he plowed through the cloud. That was his first mistake.
The second was when he slowed down because he couldn't see out of that choking plume of dust, dirt, and other organic material. That allowed his pursuers to soar overhelm in a tight formation, their rockets releasing a thunderous crack as they broke the barrier of sound to get in front of their target.
Each in turn reformed to land on two bipedal peds in the way of the Autobot. Each in turn would take stand with their legs splayed wide and sturdy. Each in turn would bring their weapons from subspace, brandishing gleaming barrels and swords while they awaited the arrival of their disoriented prey.
Said prey struggled to bring his sight back. The dirt was melded to his body, making it near impossible for him to see a sliver of Earth. It would be foolish to blindly ram through the landscape, taking anything down that stood in his way, while having absolutely no clue where he was going. Sure, he maybe able to take out one of the Seeker morons in his way, however without his sight, how could he get anywhere far?
So he transformed on the spot. With a thin brown layer covering his frame, he rolled across the blacktop before crouching on his peds. In one fluid move, he lunged himself forward and into the center mech, Scourge if he recalled correctly, and tackled him to the concrete. They tumbled down the steep hill, locked in a large ball of flailing metallic limbs until they struck the more even street further down the way.
The azure Autobot ended up on top of his enemy with his legs straddling the other mech's midsection. Swiftly he opened his bracer subspace and shoved the Galvanizer inside, thanking the Primes that it collapsed on itself for easier transport. But the distraction costed him. Scourge was able to ram his shoulderbolt into the one on top of him and flip them around where the Decepticon was instead risen above.
A hard punch caused white light to explode before the 'Bot's vision and a bloom of pain to stab from the cheekplate. He felt the dent and tasted the metallic tang on his glossa. Another closed fist met his other cheekplate, followed by another, and another, and another, until the Autobot was swallowing his own energon from his busted oral sheets. His helm snapped to the side, mercifully granting him reprieve from the constant onslaught. Scourge raised himself up, his lip plate curled in disgust, while he rubbed his scratched servos.
A splatter of energon flew from the Autobot's lip plates as he spat, scattering a single denta from his oral sheets across the hardly packed dirt. His audios were ringing, his processor moving sluggishly. The battle programs logged in him were slow to act and made it that much more difficult to process properly.
"I expect more from you, Autobot," Scourge sneered as he punched the mech beneath him again. "Where is your ire? Your fight?" Another punch, followed by a mocking laugh. "Perhaps my comrades where not required for this mission after all."
Rage came from out of nowhere. It filled the Autobot like the waters flowing through Earth's rivers. And with a mighty power that surprised even him, the mech heaved his adversary upwards while releasing a guttural battle cry. The Decepticon's optics widened as he fell backwards. His arms wheeled and his legs flapped uselessly when the opposing mech threw him across the graveled side road onto the main trail. Sparks flew when Scourge touched down, showering the black in bright flecks of white.
Scourge tumbled twice before skidding on his peds, one kneebolt on the ground while a servo shot out to steady him against the road. Scrapes appeared across his armor, giving him stripes of silver. No longer was there a humorous edge to Scourge's faceplates. It was replaced with an aggravated seriousness, which matched his opponent's expression almost flawlessly.
Hydraulics moaned when he rose ever so slowly from his crouch, his optics trained viciously on Scourge. Energon trickled from the corner of his lip plates and he lifted a servo to wipe it away. Scourge followed his lead and came to a stand.
Both mechs were sizing one another up, using the tense pause in their fighting to observe their opponents. In the near distance, Scourge's Seeker brethren were approaching. Carefully they trod down the length of the hill, staring from Scourge to the Autobot as the two bore their gazes into each other.
The mech knew then that Scourge was stalling. He wanted to wait and allow his comrades to help him. That was why he started at the Decepticon without warning, using three incredible strides to close the distance between them and wind an arm back. His fist came around quick and landed square in Scourge's helm, sending him stumbling back a few steps. The Autobot didn't allow the 'Con to recover, and he followed step for step, throwing a punch here, kneeing the 'Con there.
He let loose a right hook, landing it under Scourge's chin. When his helm jerked aside, the mech shot a left jab into Scourge's abdominal slips. The mech doubled over, clutching his midsection, and the Autobot then thrust his kneebolt skyward, slamming it into Scourge's noseplate.
A strangled howl escaped Scourge as he fell back, his servos covering his obviously broken noseplate. Energon flowed freely from behind his digits and his optics flared darkly in fury. With a screech, the Sweeps leader flung himself forward and barred an arm across the 'Bot's chassis, using his momentum to send the mech sprawling backwards. The downed being fell back onto his peds and gritted his oral sheets as he shoved himself back on his standing.
But Scourge no longer was alone. A Seeker mech stood on either side of him, and they came at the cerulean attacker just as he'd gotten to his peds. Two sets of fists hit him in the faceplates and chassis, catapulting him once again on his spinal support and sending him sliding across the concrete with his legs held above his helm. A burning sensation scored his upper spinal support and he grimaced roughly from the injury gashed into his armor. A soft grunt escaped him when his legs fell flat onto the ground.
He stirred and turned onto his side, attempting to settle his throbbing helm, but he was once again yanked roughly to a stand. Here his arms were grabbed and held open at his sides, his frame left to hang between the Seekers. His scowling faceplates focused solely on Scourge, who was taking his sweet clicks when approaching.
The Decepticon's optics were shadowed by his crest, his chiseled features twisted in utter hatred. The suffocating grip of the pure loathing rolling off of him made it difficult for the spy to vent right. Or that could have been from the caved vent.
"A pity," the navy blue Decepticon hissed. Scourge stopped directly in front of the Autobot and venomously studied the mech. In an instant, his servo shot up and snatched the Autobot's chin, forcing him to look the 'Con in the optic. "We've had some encounters, haven't we, Autobot Mirage?"
Mirage's lip plates pressed into a tight line and he jerked his cranial unit from Scourge's sharp digits. He refused to speak, for he'd rather concentrate on the encounter. He couldn't allow himself to fall victim to this 'Con's games. That was what he wanted. And besides, Mirage knew what mech he was - who he was. His past was the past. It couldn't distract him now.
But it was impossible to put out of his memory core the instances he'd met Scourge on the battlefield. Coincidentally this had been the very mech to catch him and imprison him for Decepticon interrogation some twenty vorns before. That had been a dark time for the spy, leaving him ragged and broken beyond repair. Then she had came into the picture and those acidic memories faded into the back of existence. Mirage forced himself to remember her image as motivation for keeping his temper. He needed to think, fast.
"Do you recall the orns I interrogated you in Kaon during the earlier vorns of the Great War? How I made you plead for your meager life cycle and curse my name?"
"I recall that very differently," Mirage retorted lowly. One of the fliers holding him still, Octane if he was correct, landed a swift punch to Mirage's core. The hit knocked the air from his vents and sent an intense pain through him. A churning discomfort came from his tanks, threatening a purge -what a sight that would be- while his wires tingled with invisible needles. Each plate rattled in turn, almost in a wave formation from his core spreading outwards. The plating of his abdominal slips dented inward.
Scourge gave a monstrous laugh as Mirage coughed up energon. "You see now?" he demanded, ducking with his servos on his kneebolts to see Mirage's faceplates better. "You, you're Autobot brethren...you will never win this war. This is our moment in history. Alpha Trion shall record this War as a Decepticon victory for all eternity to remember."
Mirage's chassis rose and fell in large gulps for cooling air, the energon dripping from his vents and lip plates pooling in a small puddle between his peds. Images were frayed and in chaos amongst his processor. Sensation became difficult to sort out, almost to the point where he could smell the remnants of burning plasma from the barrel of a blaster or see the tiniest of green dots far off into the sky. Then the startling realization hit him that he may not actually be insane, and hope instantly filtered a newer calmness into his scattering wits.
Gathering himself, Mirage planted a firm set of optics onto the Decepticon before him. "Your leader is a psychotic lunatic with sociability issues and a habit of meltdowns that get her own soldiers hurt," Mirage grounded out, his optics narrowing. "I don't like your chances."
Scourge growled and raised an arm, aiming to scored Mirage down his front. The spy braced himself by coiling the hydraulics of his legs, his shoulderbolts tensing. When Scourge threw down his arm, Mirage immediately tugged the flier Skyquake in front of him, who instead took the blow. Skyquake arched as his spinal support was slashed, his helm tipped back with a loud cry of pain.
In the moment, the Decepticon had released Mirage, thus allowing the Autobot freedom. He butted helms with Octane and got his right arm back as the triple changer was stunned, backing away with his helm shaking from side to side. Mirage balled his servos and swung around to sledgehammer Skyquake in the side of the helm, effectively knocking the mech unconscious as he fell limp to the pavement. That left Scourge, standing in shock with his digits covered in friendly energon, staring at Mirage.
"This is in return for those vorns ago. You broke me then," Mirage crouched and released his prized blades from his bracers, "now I break you."
Scourge recovered from his consternation and exposed his blaster, taking stance against Mirage as well. The two circled each other along the blacktop, watching with hesitant optics as each prepared for a strike. Each step was but a dull thud on the concrete. Pebbles rocked and tumbled off the shoulder onto the grass of the fields. Sunlight made waves of heat rise from each Cybertronian, distorting the air.
"How is it for you, Mirage, knowing that you could do nothing to stop your fellow Autobot scum from perishing at the servos of us? Do you feel helpless? Powerless maybe?"
"Shut it, Decepticon," Mirage snapped, swinging his arms so his blades flipped around his bracers before slapping back into place with a malicious glint. "You have spoken far too much."
"And what about Cybertron?" the Decepticon went on, drawing his lip plates back, flashing his sharp oral sheets. "You watched Iacon fall yourself, did you not? And the mass extermination of the fembots and sparklings? That was our doing as well, I hope you recall."
"You are sick, taking pride in such an action!"
"They were weak - better off with Primus than brought into the middle of a war. They fembots were needless, as we had the AllSpark to breed from, and the sparklings themselves proved useless when they would only upgrade into future Autobot warriors!"
"You spawn of a glitch."
Mirage leapt then, blinded in grief and rage. His fembot creator, his nannia, had been apart of that genocide. It was her who had laid dying in his arms as her and her sparkmate's lives faded away to nothing. Her, who had sparked him and raised him to be the mech he was this kalon. And it was her who had given him his sister and brother, only to watch as they too perished at the effects of war. Mirage's family unit had been all he had. When they were gone...
He swung with his knife with far too much anger. It threw off his aim and gave Scourge the opportunity to easily dodge and ram his kneebolt into the mech's abdominal slips. Mirage's optics popped wider, and the air in his vents left him once more. Scourge pushed his leg out to toss Mirage off of him, and the Autobot trotted backwards with his arm wrapped securely around his middle.
"It is called surviving, something you Autobots so foolishly ignore," Scourge spat derisively.
"Killing off your own kind? For your own life? That is pitiful!" Mirage yelled back, started at Scourge again. This time, the Autobot feinted to the left, which the 'Con hadn't been expecting. Mirage rounded his arm around and caught Scourge on the side, splitting his armor open with one sweep. The Decepticon wailed as his energon spurted from an opened line. He was fast to retain himself, as he collided a strong elbowjoint into Mirage's spinal support, sending the 'Bot straight into the ground. Before Mirage could rise, a solid ped landed on him, pinning him.
"If it means I am pitiful to save my life, so be it," Scourge vented heavily, cupping his wound. Stray energon beaded down to plop on the back of Mirage's helm. "You may deadspark with the rest of them for all I care." Behind his words, in the distance, Mirage could make out the faint whir of helicopter blades and the furious crunch of racing tires. As his helm slumped sideways, laying flat on the street, he found Octane and Skyquake standing from where Mirage had left them on the ground. Neither looked happy.
The Autobot willed himself to stay put, if only to wait out his peers' arrival. However, as he was well aware, Scourge wouldn't hesitate an astrosecond to blast a hole right through his cranial unit. The spy could see it now: his processor spread across the concrete, sprinkling tiny silver parts still smoking with lacy tendrils about; a blanket of energon drying in the sunlight, painting a grisly fiasco against the unforgiving marker of his grave. It was all too disturbingly clear and familiar.
"Which reminds me why I am so glad to of met you here, on Earth of all places," Scourge quipped almost happily. "I've the most fantastic experience to share with you..." A clink came from Mirage's helm as the 'Con rested the nose of his blaster against it, his digit lying lazily on the trigger. Mirage felt his spark speed up, pounding hard enough against the chamber he feared it might burst. Would that be a better end than being executed by a Decepticon?
"Ah, those black, tar-stained skies filled with the rotting scent of Cybertronian bodies being melted down in the smelting pools of Kaon...I recall the luxurious place vividly..." Scourge accounted dreamily. "I was in my prison, making my rounds, when a pretty little fembot caught my optic." Mirage perked up at this. Scourge set his kneebolt into Mirage's lower spinal support, making the struts groan.
"She was a skilled Autobot Wrecker if I recall right, with that terrible emblem attached right over her spark. As I took her to my quarters, escorting her quite gentlemechly if I do say so myself, I made sure to give her a lovely guard over her pretty little optics so I could surprise her," Scourge pressed harder against Mirage's helm, making him wince, "She liked to play games, I might add. Oh yes, she kicked and hit me, and I did so right back. We had worlds of fun together. But alas, my occupancy required I progress with my business, and so I did. I strapped her up and asked her some questions...to better understand her and her...work."
Scourge was now leaning close to Mirage, his lip plates hovering a vent's length away as his voice lowered. Mirage's optics were opened further than ever, his gaze searching the distance as the scene played out for him.
"Since she liked games, I played some with her. She liked talking, but I didn't like to hear her do so, so I had her gagged. It was a innocent thing, really, I merely didn't wish for her to ruin the moment. And so I played more games with her. I noticed her armor was a bit round, so I shaved it off for her. She was slimmer than ever! I may have gone too deep at some points however...there was a bit of energon shed...but, that has no matter. I made some lovely new markings on her protoform, oh what an exquisite shape she did have, with my trusty little microscorcher. The other fembots would surely be envious!" Scourge proclaimed happily.
He suddenly gave a sigh. "I'm afraid she didn't appreciate my art, so I moved on. I gave her some wonderful shocks to the system, and really, I believed she would enjoy it. Every Cybertronian loves a good jolt to the systems. However she, did not. I got rid of her gag because I became bored with the silence. She was yelling and screaming, but I let her do it. That voice..." Scourge trailed off before continuing. "She ran it ragged. It cracked with joy I assume, and I became elated. So, to please her more, I brought my digit down on her pretty little armor," Scourge laid the tip of his digit on Mirage's helm, "and marked it up. It was a hideous golden color...it didn't suit her at all..." Mirage's spark stopped
Primus, don't let it be her. Please.
"But when I was done, it was wonderfully black! I had to use a few torches to char it up a bit, and some acid to wear down the layers, but it was worth it! She was beautifully wretched! And she was screaming, but not what I'd expected. I could tell she was getting tired, for she was weakening in all the excitement. Still, she yelled one word on and on and on...until I cut a pretty little slit across her pretty little neck."
Primus, no...please...please...
"Mirage, she'd screamed...Over and over and over and over-"
Mirage's blade was swinging up before the information had fully sunken in. The anger was all he could feel now. There was no more Mirage. There was simply the hatred; the loathing; the absolute and overwhelming desire to kill this being who had dare ruin his life. No. It couldn't be. He wouldn't believe it.
The Autobot bellowed a cry strong enough to reach either pole of the Earth, and he flipped onto his spinal support. His optics had brightened to stark white, the edges simmering in enraged malevolence. With an amazing hit, he flung Scourge onto the Decepticon's spinal support more than ten feet away. The Autobot was back on his peds before the mech had hit the ground, his shoulderbolts hunched and his fists clenched.
With two steps he was upon Scourge. He was ripping away at the 'Cons armor, stealing every bit of the mech's protective covering while savagely ripping out any wires or parts he could get his servos on. Scourge screamed and writhed under Mirage, fighting desperately to rid himself of his attacker, however, the 'Bot was on him to stay. The broiling, seething ocean of frothing wrath broke from its barrier and instilled in him a unadulterated hatred so massive, that he could taste his energon leaking onto his glossa from it. A line in the side of his neck split under the pressure, sending his own energon in to mix with Scourge's.
Other voices could be heard worlds away. They were muffled and beyond what Mirage could hear at the moment. He couldn't care less. All he did care for was the destruction and total annihilation of the mech beneath him. Scourge was stripped bare from helm to pelvic armor, his protoform exposed and mutilated. His feeble attempts at protecting himself ended up with two of his digits missing and a full bracer thrown across the road about twenty feet away.
Kill him.
Make him pay.
Let him suffer like you did.
You have nothing to lose now.
Mirage roared, snatching Scourge's blaster from his servo. The red spy then shoved it into the Decepticon's faceplates, burying the features behind a silver muzzle with enough force to make his optic pop in a fizzle of sparks. Scourge whined and grabbed at the blaster, his naked arms clawing for mercy.
"They were our people!" Mirage shouted above his raging spark. "You killed them all!"
Mirage planted the blaster harder into Scourge and ground his oral sheets until one cracked. "I loved her. I loved her and you took her from me..." his digit trailed the trigger, tracing the edge before he slipped it into the hole. Scourge was gazing up at Mirage with one last, remaining optic full of terror. His chassis was rising and falling rapidly with shallow, broken vents. Mirage could feel his anger subsiding into a sucking, petrified black hole. His digits held tighter to the blaster.
"You took everything from me..."
And he pulled the trigger.
All he could remember of the incident was the feeling of dark pleasure he took in blasting Scourge's helm right off his neck, as well as the fanning cerulean energon and destroyed processor parts bursting forth. Bumblebee, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker had been there too, though when they had arrived, he didn't recall. The recovery team who had dropped him off by the Decepticon warship Nemesis made an appearance and offered to take him back to the base. Numb, beaten, and exhausted, Mirage agreed. When his kneebolts failed him and Bee and Sides had to carry him to the plane he couldn't recall either.
The Galvanizer was intact. Bumblebee took it from his comrade before they departed. Mirage couldn't remember anything that was said between them, if there was anything at all. He couldn't feel - couldn't move. There was nothing anymore. Nothing.
Epps made himself known, though, he was one of the wiser men. He simply took a single look at Mirage and sat by his side, saying not a word, and warding off anyone else who did come near, until they came upon the base. All this time Mirage stared into the distance. He would not, nor could not speak. He was in shock.
And all he could think before Ratchet put those sedatives into him was: Saber. Saber is gone...Saber...
Two mechs left, beaten and leaking, as their former and current leader watched after them. A trail of azure followed behind them while they complained of their wounds to Hex and Knockout, the assigned medics aiding the two in walking to their medical station. The door shut out their bickering, which mostly revolved around blame for who failed worse in their mission, and their current leader frowned dangerously at the silver barrier cutting off the vision of his warriors.
Arachnid knew the disappointment Galvatron held for his returning mechs. She also knew it would not end well for them. Some form of punishment would follow, that was certain. Especially since Scourge, one of Galvatron's most loyal followers, was deadsparked by a mere Autobot spy while two other fully capable mechs had become apprehensive for a nanoclick, allowing the Sweeps leader to be terminated quite gruesomely. Those Sweeps were now in mourning - completely in shock and confusion. As clones, they were made to obey Scourge loyally and without question. Since he was no longer here, they fumbled at the simplest things, as dull creatures like them should have without proper guidance. They would be dealt with later and probably assigned a new leader.
Arachnid crossed her arms and sighed after Octane and Skyquake. She felt almost sorry for them. Almost.
"Kill them."
The command was so sudden, and so unexpected, that Arachnid had to take a moment to process it. She burrowed in her optic ridges in confusion, setting uncertain optics upon Master. Galvatron was still staring at the doors, that unsettling light in his optics that always seemed to coat them in these times, and so Arachnid dismissed the words as though she'd been hearing things.
"I'm...I'm sorry, excuse me?" she ventured softly, observing her leader. He rumbled lowly at the door then turned his unforgiving faceplates on her.
"Kill them," he repeated. "Kill them both." At this, the mech whipped away and began back towards his throne, which at one point, had been Arachnid's. She followed closely behind him, panicked at this brash decision of his. The way he walked even, it was unnatural. Each swing of his arms, the swell of his plates off his protoform as violet smoke leaked from between the seams...none of it seemed natural. That could only mean that something...someone else was walking in a dead mech's frame.
"You cannot be serious-"
"I gave you an order, Arachnid," Galvatron interrupted, turning on her. Arachnid halted in her tracks, her body going stiff. Accounts of the last time she'd questioned Master's lead ended up with her covered in his energon and a bruised reputation. Of course, with a few good punches and some well-chosen words, she'd gained that reputation back. But slag was it a pain to do.
The mech had ordered the death of traitors. He had deemed abandoned peers unnecessary and left them to the mercy of the elements of their predicament. He had even damned the youngling Sectors when he found they would be given a merciful, quick deadspark rather than suffer through this war. However, he had never, in thousands of vorns, ordered the end of two of best warriors. He couldn't be processing straight, that was all.
"But-"
Galvatron again cut her off by fully facing her, his body swelling in irritation. "Kill them yourself, or I will. Let this be a lesson to all Decepticons that failure shall not be tolerated under my command. Perhaps in your own, but not in mine."
Galvatron didn't get a Valentine,
So he's a little cranky.
And I just killed a little part of myself when I made Mirage's part :(
Oh the drama...
Let's hope things get a bit happier soon, right?
*Chapter Inspiration: Beautiful War= Kings Of Leon*