And so here we return with another chapter of OTSH! :D
A lot of things happened last chapter...
Steamy, interesting things...
Anywho!
Things are going to pick up speed really soon, so hold onto your hats people!
Hope you like it!
Enjoy!
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 66
"Fera? Fera don't you dare recharge."
Optic slips fluttered, leaving behind the reassuring darkness to return to a dim daylight. Dust danced through the dusky lights, clinging to the exposed surfaces with thin veils of grime. It trickled in a cascade of shivering flecks before sights laden in hazy blue. They were laced with a muggy fog, lost in distant places and slow to regain the brightness of awareness. With a snap her body was straight, her features instantly contorted into fear. It had become apart of them now - a center force within their lives that tested their endurance for the days and caused hollows of despondence to etch into their features.
A hapless Guardian watched while his charge regained herself. Venting here required a strength she barely possessed now. It was something of a luxury to not experience a fit of hacking coughs upon each intake. The dreary shadows were all but poisoning their systems; it was setting up to ruin their systems as they sit, tangled up, captured, and lost in the vast skies. Heaving waves of contaminated air cycled throughout her, running acid through her sore lines and leaving behind residues of stony chalk to collect at the rims of entry.
"I'm here," she said ventlessly, caught up in an everlasting fit of living terror. "I'm awake...I'm here..." Even though I wish I wasn't, she silently added.
Together they settled into their mutual silence, of which echoed previous days, or months, or years - there truly was no time here. Exhaustion told the time. Beatings and frequent visits betrayed the hours warriors prowled these corridors outside the barrier. That single shield for them, flimsy as their supposed comrade, would become traitor, much like he, and allow entrance to all those bearing but ill-will for a mech and his charge. Lashings, punches, spitting, slashing, denting, blows that jarred limbs from sockets, they were all familiar now. These sounds scorned; these pillars of vehemence damned; these crusaders of injustice, all became apart of one disturbingly vivid reality. Of life here.
Seams along the floors, caked with drying liquid, still glowing faintly with its lasting resolve of its former holder, leaving them drained and a mess of a mech in the back corner. Sadness billowed within her while she understood more and more of the blatant fact that with each drop drained, fight would follow. Until the final stream beaded from his corpse, there would be defiance.
However, after the last fist is thrown, and the coldest scream stains the walls, the energon will dry against the merciless ashen floors, and leave the companion - his partner - in peril, alone, forever forgotten after her own spark beats a final, stuttering beat. Periled optics searched, in vain, for salvation to befall them. Nothing came, of course, though she hoped - no prayed, each waking moment. Twice she had seen him now; the one whom had left them to nothing. Twice now he dare show his faceplates here, believing it his right to lay down his fists upon a resilient and bound Guardian until armor squealed its yielding or liquid life poured from his front. Each time, a voice had wrung itself raw, pleading for mercy, though her pride fought her still. There was no dignity left here - no sense of tolerance any longer, for when sitting in your own waste, wallowing in your sullen grievances, there was no room for dignity. It was survival now. And yet, not a digit had been raised against her. To strike her would be to bring her on her comrade's level. There was not a dream sweeter she would have dreamt to suffer alongside him, to take away his extreme and senseless punishment.
Here they would come, beat the mech they would, and then take their leave they did. In the time it took for his recovery, she was left in vigilant silence, weeping dry tears, for she could no longer produce precious lubricant. Four rounds of nourishing cubes of energon lay around her, untouched. There were more laid out for her, as less than half of her given trials were granted to her Guardian. Neither licked the condensation dripping down the side of the container.
"Fera stay with me," Solas would tell her again as she stared down the cube to her left. It was fresh, the icy awesomeness in its inanimate glory waiting for her to shatter and fall to her tanks, slurping up the refreshing energon like a pitiful slave. Her dazed sights tore away to aim forward, the blue still an outline on the edge of her peripheral. Dust bounced on the waves of light.
"What are we going to do?" she croaked, still in reprieve from her previous wailing. Air singed her exposed protoform. The hardness of the ground made her kneebolts moan and threaten to buckle. Burning shocks rocked through her arms into her numb servos, which remained restrained from the first wake. Everything hurt here. To vent, it was pain. To move, it was torture. To speak, it was agony. To watch, it was murder.
"Let's play a game," he responded, obviously fatigued himself, as he was fighting to keep his helm up and without drooping while he spoke. "It will keep your processor busy." A groan rumbled within Fera's chassis, bringing forth an animal slimy in lulling whispers of recharge. She let her cranial unit drop to her front, her chin resting on the Stone protruding from her collar.
"I don't wanna..." she mumbled, long having been delirious enough to no more fight against slumber. Resounding roars blasted throughout, slicing the silence into meager bouts of weak stillness. It was from his engines, jolting her to alertness though she'd already decided to relent to the underworld. Frustrated and horrified, optics widened, once again sweeping and shuttering to squeeze out the lack of consciousness. While he moved, further tiny rivers rolled down his armor, plopping into the puddle of gruesome blues around him and joining the symphony of dried or fresh, liquefied life force down their run to the center of the floor, where cracks bowed the surface ever so slightly to a rusted drain. Chains clattered noisily, both her own and his, from his determination and her being startled. It was no wonder he was wide awake, as he must have still been experiencing the aftereffects of his latest brush with the enemy. She was but a spectator, left to the torturer of her own processor to fear.
"Tell me your earliest memory, starting from the beginning," Solas demanded of her. It was clear he was desperate to have her above the influence of recharge. A part of her thanked him for such an act. "Be descriptive, and don't leave out any details."
"Solas, I don't-"
"Do it. If you do, I will tell you a story." When he offered memories, it was a dark time. Fera relived the suddenness of experiencing another being in her processor, and grabbed hold of the sensation as muse for her plight. In she delved, past the regret and pain, into her barest point, where she entered the world with nothing. But beyond that, there was something. A stirring, boiling series of images played with her, more as a wondrous image than actuality, however, there were instincts within her that forced her to believe they were true.
"I met Vector Prime." She could have began another way. There wasn't true reason that she may have started with such vague, brilliant statements, however, she did, and he didn't say a word following it. So she went on."There was a lot of light...whiteness - and pain. It was sheer agony to move at all. I felt like fire had taken the place of my very skin and turned into a cloud of evaporated mist. I was there, but... I wasn't. It was like being torn apart, but held together all at the same time. I couldn't see anything for a long while, because I'd thought I'd gone blind from staring into all that white for so long...little did I know I could see quite well. Maybe too well."
It was difficult to continue. Whether she wanted to or not, it would be pain to follow her. Shifting in place, she let her helm bow. Not in fatigue, but in shame. She had promised herself to be strong, or at least, become strong. There was a brief hope in her spark that she may once again become the human so revered among the Autobots that now dwelled in this body. She felt like she didn't deserve the title of that girl's name. They were separate entities - long ago and harshly torn apart into the black and white of their entire existence. It was cruel to allow herself to believe that she could ever again reach that level of bravery.
She let the tears come this time. Slick and hot, they rolled as fat droplets down her cheekplates. Truth was bitter as the bile in her tanks. It bit at her spark, leaving her raw and open and jagged at the edges to let whatever disease of fear to enter her now. There was fight inside of her, somewhere, far, deep, deep down. It was merely impossible for her to access that level of intensity at this point in her frail stature.
"Solas?" she murmured, her voice wavering in a shaken grief.
"Yes?" he responded back, his tone low enough that Fera though that he was simply trying to not shatter their fragile still. Lifting her helm, Fera exposed her broken expression to her ragged Guardian.
"I'm scared," she admitted with a whisper. An involuntary tremble wracked through her when a chill doused her sore frame.
"Me too," Solas said right back to her. Though his own voice was steadier than she, Fera found that his words were true. Buried beneath the facade of a warrior's fight, Solas was unsure. Neither knew what was to happen to them. Fera was very well on her way to starving alongside Solas, and Solas had made it clear that he was willing to be shot if it meant keeping her alive.
It was becoming increasingly evident that one, and only one of them may leave here alive. And with everything he could give, Solas would make sure that being was Fera. She didn't want to leave here without him. She didn't want to leave here without Punch or Titanios either. But then the hot, scalding feeling of betrayal would pick up in her memories of Titanios' indifference towards them, and she would no longer add him to her list of escapees. If he wanted to become a coward and slink back into the ranks of ruthless missionaries, than he could go right on ahead. That did not mean that she would be so lenient on the battlefield if or when she did meet him again. That anchor of hatred gave her the ability to pull herself back into the present. It was a gruesome tactic, but it allowed her to gather up her shattered resolve again and put herself back together.
Sniffling back tears, she wiped her cheekplates on her shoulderbolt and gave a dry chuckle. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?" she claimed, producing a sad smile for her weary comrade. "Lost in here, alone, with no one to save us. It looks like the perfect opportunity to be all heroic and save the day, huh?"
"Who in their right processor gave you that information?" Sol snorted. Fera grinned cracked lip plates at him and she could faintly see the sides of his own come up as well. It seemed odd that they would find humor in a place like this, but what else could they do? They were trapped, bound, and humiliated. What other was there to do with them than be happy while they were still alive. They had that much to be thankful for at least.
But their moment was short-lived. The sound of the doors opening made any and all lightness leave the space instantly. A gloomy atmosphere picked up in place of the already dreary one, weighing down the prisoners. Shackles stilled and shoulderbolts tensed. Two frames stiffened, locking their optics on the floor instead of the newcomer to the room. Icy silence befell them, only broken by the leisured steps their Decepticon visitor took. They were muffled; the noise made by each fall of their peds was daunting to the otherwise overwhelming quiet. It was like a vortex, this airless domain. It was difficult to vent here, with the dust and vacuum-tight environment.
Fera feared she or her Guardian may fall victim to it, as their malnutrition and lack of upkeep for their systems were surely catching up with them now. There was no telling simply how long they had been here for, however, it couldn't be less than a few days by now, could it? The possibilities were absolutely frightening to picture. In fact, Fera would rather have stared Galvatron in the optic right here and now rather than dwell on the thought of further imprisonment. Their newcomer took their spot in the center of the floor, pausing. Fera held her helm bowed, refusing to look into the faceplates of their warden.
Solas would surely be glaring by now. Fera didn't want them to know that she hated them. She wanted every single one of them that had hurt her and Solas to have their sparks torn from their chassis. But she wouldn't show that. They wanted to see that they were getting through to her like they were Sol. They weren't. They wouldn't. Then without warning, a ped swung out, flinging the energon cubes spread around Fera across the floor. Most hit the floor or walls near her, but a few struck her body, making her wince. Energon fanned outward to spray contents of azure liquid everywhere. Drops of it dribbled from Fera's dirtied, worn plates, trickling onto her thighs before joining the river of blue streaming towards the drain in the center of the room. She kept her faceplates low.
"You ungrateful scrap," the visitor spat in Cybertronian. "Galvatron is going to have my helm if I let you starve." Fera couldn't quite place the voice, as it and many others had began to blend together throughout her time spent here. Fembots were mechs, and those once familiar now turned into a featureless figure among the rest. Colors blurred to tones of greys; names shimmered along the lines of her consciousness. Legs thundered her way, moving swiftly to kneel into the puddle of energon surrounding her vulnerable form.
Of course, she was already used to feeling so exposed. She had come to resent it, yes, however, at some point she figured it would be easier to accept that she was helpless rather than fight it uselessly. It made the beatings of her Guardian sting less. Her screams were fainter now. The device of her voice was drained, and her vents fluttered shallower now than they had before. She felt relatively sick inside, as if she were withering away. She felt her spark singing its song of remorse, breaking piece by piece, and mourning the scars she felt already developing with every lash of Sol's battered plates. Rough digits snatched her chin, forcing her to lift her faceplates.
Optic slips closed tight before opening again, burrowed deep with an angered tinge. "You're going to live, whether you want to or not," the mech growled, closer than she would have preferred. His sour words bit as cold claws into her core, and she jerked herself free. The Stone of Primus burned in her collar, sending calming sensations into her with waves of warm numbness. Her digits clenched, rustling the chains and pulling them straight.
The Decepticon grabbed an empty cube of energon and scooped up energon from the low-flowing river that was crashing against his kneebolt, as if it too were fighting for her. He brushed a pathetic amount into the crystalline container and lifted it, revealing the odd coloration of azure energon and particles of dirt picked up from the floor. Flakes of rust could also be seen. The image made Fera's tanks churn, and she tucked her lip plates inward to bite down on. The mech shoved the cube into Fera's faceplates harshly and her helm reared away.
She wouldn't dare consume that toxic cocktail if it were the last bit of energon in existence. It smelled unusual as well, the fumes making her curl her noseplate when the rim of the cube was thrust her way. It touched her lip plates, the nasty crust gathered on the edge of the glass smearing on her faceplates.
Disgusted, Fera unwound her legs and planted her peds on the floor, beginning to shove herself backwards. The Decepticon followed right behind, keeping near enough to press the cube to her lip plates. Snarling, he nudged it harder beneath her upper lip plate. It began to hurt when he became frustrated, nearly slamming it against her chin. There was a time during this, and she wasn't aware when, when Fera found her spinal support against the wall. She was trapped there, left tethered and restrained, with a mech forcing tainted energon onto her. Turning her helm away, Fera fought back tears. They seared the edges of her optics, making her vision blurry. Sol's chains rattled when he got to the limit of his binds, making the one before Fera pause for a split second.
"Leave her be," Solas commanded, yanking on his cuffs for the millionth time. As she expected, they held fast and strong, keeping the Guardian in check. The Decepticon blew Solas' request off and began back on his task. Fera tried shoving her legs between them, if but to create space, yet it was no use. There wasn't enough area to squeeze her legs in, therefore leaving her with a mech too near for comfort, and no chance to deny the energon he tried fueling her with.
This was a waiting game now. They were to see how long she would last before she broke.
For an eternity, the mech and her fought, back and fourth, with Solas yelling in the background. Once or twice Fera believed she had finally gotten rid of the Decepticon, however, as soon as she'd believe this, he had returned to put the edge under her lip plate. It was appalling. Eventually, the mech simply grabbed her cheekplates to hold her still. Too weak to fight back, Fera clenched her oral sheets and tried twisting her neck. To no avail. The 'Con grinned in success as he managed to pucker her lip plates and pour in the contents of the cube into her throat.
The reaction was instantaneous. Her frame seized with a series of gagging coughs released from her. Her aching tanks, neglected from a proper refueling, immediately rejected the energon, as it was impure and full of contamination. The mech leapt back as Fera's frame curled in on itself and released a symphony of groans. He barely made it out of the way in time for her to fall to her kneebolts and violently purge on the spot.
"Fera!" Solas called in concern as he saw her retch twice more. Her plates were trembling with more than a lack of sustenance. A cold breeze made her shiver uncontrollably, throwing her into jarring shakes. Miserable, lost, and frightened, Fera let her body lean forward until her chassis rested on her kneebolts, and she moaned. She could hear the mech moving away from her swiftly, however, she payed him no heed. Muggy thoughts swarmed about her processor, shorting her CPU and causing another pain-induced noise leave her. There was someone calling her name, and she couldn't tell whom. She knew before, but...not so much at the moment.
Shudders ravaged her shoulderbolts as she drew in a panicked vent. It tickled her cycling systems, sending her through more coughs. The lining of her tanks cramped and contracted, making her purge nothing but digestive acids. The grey steel of the ground was covered in a marbled array of blues and yellow. It would have repulsed her any other day to see fluids leaving her like this. This wasn't the time for that, as she didn't have the strength to care. All she could focus on was her pain and the voice. Solas. It had to be him calling for her, she was sure. It wouldn't be anyone else.
Trying to calm her tender tanks, Fera picked up her helm and murmured her Guardian's name hoarsely. It was nothing more than a wheeze, and she wouldn't have blamed him for not hearing. He could clearly see her though, and the message was clear that she was calling for him. Behind the leg of the Decepticon who had caused this, Fera could only watch as Solas barked accusingly at the 'Con. The mech himself was seemingly lost. Servos were open to his sides innocently, his faceplates startled. Fera moaned again when they convulsed, threatening to purge. As if she had anything left. A hiss struck along with the cords of chaos developing around Fera. It wasn't fairly noticeable, however, it was noticeable to her. A swaying, dazed set of faceplates raised, setting droopy optics on whomever it was that entered. It was two mechs, one visibly larger than the other. That was the one she knew very well. Too well.
If she didn't feel as horrible as she did now, she would have snapped out at the pair. It was the usual routine if she or Solas ever saw either of them. They would step in, question Solas or herself, and the prisoners would be as difficult and unmannerly as they could possibly be. A ringing had started in Fera's hearing, blocking out most the sounds. Her frame was scorching; it was almost hot enough to melt the alloy right off her protoform. The energon around her was evaporating or dripping off of her in thinned amounts of condensation droplets.
With unfocused optics, she tried her hardest to fight the blackness eating at the edges of her vision. Her spark was in immense pain at the moment. It was throbbing really, on the verge of a full-on round of agonized pulses. She could feel them coming on, and for some reason, that sensation felt vaguely familiar. The mech from before was shoved backwards by Titanios' brother and he stumbled, catching himself on the back wall with a servo raised in defense of himself.
"What did you do?" Bekos demanded hotly, throwing a servo at Fera. She shuttered her optics, staring dumbly into space.
"I tried refueling her, she's starving herself. Galvatron said to keep her alive," the soldier insisted, standing straight again. "I was only following orders."
Bekos slapped a servo across the side of the mech's helm, almost knocking him off his stand. "You imbecile!" he snapped. "You should know full well that you refuel a starved Cybertronian slowly, not by forcing them to chug a whole fragging cube at once! What is wrong with you? You'll be the one to kill her before the starvation does."
The 'Con paused, falling silent with an obvious flush of shame to his embarrassed features. His optics darted around, drilling into anything other than locking onto his fellow peers. "I'm following orders," he repeated, lowly, to himself. The mutter got him another knock to the helm, and the mech pivoted on his heelped right after, his fist raised to hit Bekos back.
Titanios stepped in to block him however, and Fera felt a brief injection of disappointment through her core at the lack of action. She would have liked to see the three fight amongst themselves. She was tired of suffering through the pain without repercussions to them. Another wave gripped her, and Fera grunted, shutting her optic slips firmly before bowing low enough to touch her foreplate to the floor. The warring mechs dropped their conversation for the length of her strangled whine.
When it had passed, they picked up where they'd left off as if she didn't exist. "Soldier, you are dismissed. Galvatron ordered us to attend to the prisoners," Titanios bit coldly.
Fera withheld her shiver at the almost warning tone of his once kind voice. It was still a newer sensation for her to believe that this once great friend was a traitor to them. Curiously she picked up her chin, wanting to see the events unfolding before her. The soldier was still, his features taunt as the chains holding Solas back. He seemed to be deliberating something, perhaps retribution, his optics dancing between the features of Titanios and Bekos.
But, even Fera knew, it was no use. It was a reckless, stupid decision to make. To fight two brothers as closely connected as they appeared, alone no doubt, was suicide. Fera silently snorted to herself, digging her digits into the curves of her tanks. The sharp sting she got from doing so helped her to concentrate better. Titanios moved to the side to let the grumbling soldier pass. And as a group, the four Cybertronians stared after the mech until he'd disappeared beyond the door. The definite slam of the barriers made Fera flinch, then shudder. She couldn't control the quivers now, as they were harsh enough to cause her oral sheets to jitter. Uncontrollable bouts of nausea caused her tanks to squeeze, though not as intensely as before.
Titanios and his sibling were not deaf to her moment of discomfort, for they simultaneously looked her way before she had the chance to snap her mandible shut. A mixed feeling wafted from them, as one was strictly stone-hard, and the other a more bitter resolve. But neither sneered at her. Neither laughed or called her names, like the others had. They simply...observed her. Were they twins?
Without warning, Titanios leaned beside Bekos and whispered something in his audio, to which the brother nodded. Bekos peeled off from his brother's side and rounded on Solas. The Autobot went rigid upon becoming the new target of attention, and he shifted anxiously on his peds. Titanios stayed where he was, watching her with avid focus. Bekos didn't miss a step as he strode over to Solas.
Abruptly, his arm shot out and he rapped Solas across the cheekplate with the back of his fist. Solas' helm ripped to the side and a cry bubbled through Fera's throat. She wanted to scream at Bekos to leave Sol alone. She wanted to fight and lunge, to maybe scare off the attacker and save her friend. But she knew she couldn't do that. It was what they would be looking for.
So without cowering, Fera glared back at Titanios as Solas was punched in the midsection. Bekos snatched the back of Solas' helm and abruptly slammed it into his kneebolt. That was a new one. Nerved a bit, Fera returned her gaze to Solas to see the warrior pinned on his kneebolts, his helm pressed against Bekos' leg. He struggled against the warrior's grip, yanking his shoulderbolts and pulling his frame back. Nothing worked in his favor, and in fact, it probably only made Bekos increase the pressure on the side of his cranial unit.
"Now would be a good time, Titanios," the mech commented impatiently, locking his digits around the width of Sol's helm. The massive traitor started forward towards Fera too quickly for her to react. His large mass left a shadow to envelop her entirely, devouring her frail silhouette on the floor. He reached over her helm to her shackles. Like bells, they chimed while his surprisingly gentle digits worked at her restrains. A split sparkbeat passed before the clanging of cuffs hit the floor between Fera's peds.
The biting pinch was gone from her wrists, and for the first time in God-knows how long, Fera could move her arms again. They wrapped around her midsection, massaging her protoform and the mechanisms beneath. Happiness washed through her in a surge of glee. A laugh was building in her chassis, and she held it back, fearing the moment was a mere glitched memory file. She'd had them before. But it all felt so real. She could taste the stale air; her digits were stabbing into her tingling palms; her optics were shuttering constantly to hold back tears; her tanks tightened over and over. And yet, the joy remained. Freedom.
Titanios gave her little time to celebrate before scooping her up easily into his arms. It was too late for her to care now, and if she did, she wouldn't be able to get free. Solas' strangled growls and snarls of effort followed them when the mech turned away from his brother. Fera was situated right up against him, held to his chassis with a grip that was stern, but careful. A part of herself wished that it was because he was trying to keep her comfortable. The other half claimed it was because he merely didn't want to break her in half. Either was good. With bracers nearly hiding her from view, Titanios brought the fembot away from her spot of torture. It was a welcomed feeling, being whisked away. She laid still, unable to move, and unable to fight him.
She hated this mech who carried her. He'd broken her spark. It was still in pain now that she thought about it. And so she would catch herself murmuring "traitor" while he picked her up. But he was warm and saving her from the one place she'd believed she'd die in, or perhaps watch her Guardian die in. With a final, guttural scream of agony-induced terror from Solas Kaon, Fera fell victim to the darkness and tempting comfort of Titanios' large, familiar frame.
A horrible feeling was here this kalon, in this moment, in this room. Where the massive figure may remain, locked in his own universe, contemplating all that was or may be. Nothing came through to him, for there was nothing, nor anyone to pierce his meditation. Broad plates heaved, their length expanded with the hefty cycles of stuffy, stale air. Armor was tense on his form, the paint glowing a milky sheen beneath the lights. They were usually so etched in brilliance, with the occasional burn, scratch, or scrape from the intensity that was battle adding a more weathered hue to his character.
Digits were tented, tightly, interlocked at a point against his faceplates that made him appear all the more stiff. Arms bent inward, supporting his upper half as his lip plates rested along the rough, tempered surface of his servos. The mask was drawn back. There was no need for it as of now. It was only bring him further, unsettling stress as of this moment. The best he may calm himself with was the presence of his mate, waiting idly at the edge of their bond for him to contact her when he was ready. A Prime sat at his desk, made solely for him, and stared ahead into the distant nothing.
It was all he could do now, as he dug deep into the core of himself to seek out... What? What was he looking for? Guidance? Answers? Both perhaps?
It would have been helpful to hear from one of the Thirteen again, as he had when he nearly perished in Egypt those decacycles ago. Then they had given him all he needed to arise once more and take the spark of their enemy The Fallen. Then he had been the Prime he was meant to be, and not the groveling excuse of a warrior whom begged for his life at the peds of his once brother-in-arms.
Digits clenched tighter, pressing harder to his chin. The powerful gears of his mandible locked, crushing his oral sheets together. Groans sounded from his peds as he shoved them harder into the floor, flat against the surface from toelinks to heelped. Exhaust hissed from the opening of the pipes along his spinal support. Energon pumped, cold and hard through him. What he wouldn't give now to step away from it all, if but for an astrosecond, simply to catch his bearings. He would return to Cybertron and walk among his brethren once more, none fallen, and none unhappy.
Their image fell away like the dust of rust in the wind. Weary optics scowled ahead solidly enough to scorch a hole right through the walls. The consol before him sat still online, awaiting orders for a change. Nothing was given, leaving the holographic map to track the one Autobot responsible for finding their priority: Galax. It was he and him alone that was settled with the mission of locating the ship that held their Keeper. Three Autobots were also among those on the ship, one branded a traitor by his own faction. Or, at least, Optimus Prime sincerely hoped he still considered this his faction. If Titanios had indeed returned to the Decepticons...
He shuttered his optics, the sigh rattling from him a clear sign of his need for a recharge. That was out of the question however. There was no way he could trust himself to fall under and leave all this on his sparkmate without feeling a sliver of guilt.
It was two weeks, two days, and ten hours that they had disappeared. Not a single word had reached Mirage or the other Autobots from Solas or company. Punch was out of the question to hear a report from. Fera wasn't even equipped with a comlink communicator device.
There she had come up again, that name. Every time he thought of it, a shock of energy would rush through his spark. It was a special jolt, one that he hadn't experienced since meeting Solas Kaon for the first time on Cybertron. Rodimus had also given him that same experience. It was odd, confusing, and yet exhilarating all at the same time. He wanted desperately to understand why he felt this way when he pictured her, or why she brought out the nobler side in all of them. Something in the fembot was brewing. It had been since she'd been human. There was no denying she was special; a part of her that was connected to the Thirteen was reaching out to him somehow. The ancient leaders of Cybertron had failed to reach out to Optimus in visions thus far, but they had teased him with random shivers and overwhelming senses of vertigo at sudden intervals while nearby something, or someone, important.
Fera was a Keeper. This they all knew.
Maybe it was better that she, Grimlock, Bumblebee, and the others didn't know they were Keepers as well. Or, at least Optimus hoped they were ignorant to it. Rodimus had mentioned that he only knew of five Keepers, which meant that there could very well be eight others walking among them. What if there was a Decepticon Keeper?
Optimus' optics opened, still shadowed by the ridge of his helm and the deep burrow of his optic ridges. They were alive, glowing ominously in a way quite unlike the usually gentle giant. The war had changed him, that was sure. It was moments like these that he wished to be Orian Pax again, alongside his fembot Ariel, working at the docks on Cybertron or learning as an apprentice with Alpha Trion. It was painful to consider that times had changed so drastically...that so many had lost their lives. Scanning through memory files now would make every Cybertronian close to him had deadsparked an orn ago, not hundreds of vorns.
The Stone of Primus. Where had it originally come from? Was it truly a piece of Vector Prime's spark, molded for the purpose of a weapon powerful enough to alter the course of the universe itself? Or was it merely a stone, blessed by the Prime, able to be used when he found it right, as he found right?
As well as that, the Prime carried two weapons along with him. Not only the Galvanizer, but the Blades of Time as well. They could very well be the holder for the Stone of Primus, and the Galvanizer could be a mere artifact, too old for proper use any longer.
Thoughts and visions swarmed the poor Prime's processor until he moaned and covered his faceplates with his servos. The heels of his palms smashed into his optics, rubbing away the tiredness and pleading he concentrate harder on the task of attention. Fera Lennox was captured, and she needed to be rescued immediately. At any cost. No matter if she was a value to the Thirteen or not, she was a value to the Autobots as a living, sentient being.
Pausing with his foreplate cupped in his digits, Optimus stared at the table his elbowjoints rested on. Not so long ago, Fera had said he was like a father to her. What was he to her now? Did she still feel that way? Did she still trust him with her life, while she was imprisoned, and wonder if he was going to swoop in and rescue her, like a dolanno should?
Frustration is what spurred on the growl from deep within him. It started in his tanks, building and bubbling up through his armor until the very floor was trembling with it. He wanted to collapse here, and recharge until he'd never again rise. If his processor was wiped, would things be any better for him? Would there ever be a time where he and his mate may escape with their youngling, and live a life cycle of peace outside of war? It was a wonderful vision to imagine, seeing Liora upgrade in a world without bombs and blaster-fire; without tumbling buildings crumbling to nothing but ash; without seeing friends killed before her very optics and rotting away to rusty, hollow casks before having the chance to be properly buried.
Lifting his helm, Optimus let his arms fall over the tabletop. They were numb. His whole frame was. The buzzing of the hologram was all the noise in the space beside the sounds of his systems as they kept him alive. That same red dot on the maps slowly made their rounds, locked onto Galax as he flew from sun up to sun fall in search of the girl. Patrols were marked in green. Bases were in gold. It seemed as if every one of them were involved somehow. All but him, it felt. He could hear Trion's voice now, telling him to move off his aft and get out in the field. He wanted to. He really did. It was simply that protocol prohibited from doing so at the moment.
Standing, the Prime made his way across the desk and stopped at the monitors. Diagrams, trails, battle strategies, and statistics lined every visible space across the screen from one side to the other. They were all of past battles fought by either Optimus, or those proceeding him. After all, the Great War wasn't the first major battle of the beings of Cybertron. Studying them now was difficult to do without reminiscing back to when he had Jazz on his right and Prowl on his left, relaying such contradicting views on what action they should take that Prime would often have to interrupt and call in Brains or Preceptor. They always helped his thought process, those two.
But these kalons, Prowl was almost always locked up in his office with his computers, doing what Red Alert would usually spend his time doing. It had scared them all at first, for the mech was more reclusive than usual, but they accepted the newer being walking among them after a decacycle or two. Optimus let the long cycle leave his vents and his shoulderbolts sag as his servos locked behind him.
"What should I do now?" Optimus asked the air; the Primes; Jazz; Preceptor; Sentinel...all whom could not hear him. It was each in turn that gave him silence as their answer. With the Matrix of Leadership thrumming away in his chassis, and the wills of his Autobots beating at his processor, it was difficult to process for himself. He needed the genius of another to spur on an idea of his own.
It wasn't often he felt so helpless when faced with a problem. Most times he solved them fine on his own. A light tap at his door made the Prime jerk, startled. His digits uncurled from the vice hold he had on each other and he put them at his sides. He then turned for the door of his office and revved his engine in preparation.
"Come in."
The barrier slid over, revealing a slight form behind it. Their paint was blue as the Earth's skies, the white of their details white as the clouds adorning that very sky. It was instantly obvious whom this fembot was, as she was seen fairly often beside her mentor Ratchet, or her brother Thunderflare. Her steps were soft, much like the knock she'd made on his door. If he weren't sitting in silence as he had, Optimus was doubtful he would have heard the fembot. Cloudsong made her way up to her leader, her helm bowed respectively and her servos held before her. She seemed nervous, which wasn't a surprise, as the fembot was known for her anxious and timid tendencies.
"Cloudsong, it is a pleasure to see you," Optimus greeted, trying to banish the fatigue from his tone.
Cloudsong nodded quickly. "Optimus Prime," she said, tilting her helm again. "Ratchet sent me."
It was interesting to hear that the medic had sent his apprentice to the Prime without forewarning him first. It wasn't often that any Autobot came to him without hailing him first. It made him curious, until he remember exactly why the CMO would be keeping to himself these kalons. "I see. Well how is Ratchet coming along with Fera Lennox's frame, may I ask?" he wondered, opening his servo at the desk. He stepped toward his chair and Cloudsong scurried around the other side. She was dwarfed by the size of the seat, her legs hanging off the floor. Everything in this room was made for those Optimus' size, so it was no wonder she seemed a bit smaller here.
Her servos folded neatly in her lap and her anklestruts crossed. Optimus lowered himself leisurely, trying not to make his limbs creak, as he'd neglected a proper self-conditioning since Fera and the others had gone missing. His pivotjoints were beginning to lose their cushioning lubricant and his systems were in desperate need of a tuneup. Once seated, he studied the one sitting across from him. With concern, his optic ridges came down when Cloudsong squirmed.
"Is there something wrong?" he inquired curiously. Cloudsong shook her helm from side to side too roughly to be genuine.
"Nothing, do not concern yourself with me, Optimus Prime," she assured, laughing nervously.
"You may call me Optimus, you realize," he reassured, the smallest of grins touching his lip plates. Though he was stressed beyond the Matrix and his frame felt like he'd been through the Pit and back, Optimus couldn't help but smile when the fembot acted so anxiously around him.
Cloudsong let her optics hit the table. "It seems...disrespectful," she noted softly. "I do not feel as though I have a right to be so...informal with you." Again the Prime smiled. Informal? Optimus hadn't felt as if any Autobot had been formal with him since he'd arrived on Earth.
"Whichever makes you most comfortable," he agreed.
Cloudsong shrunk into her shoulderbolts, her faceplates caught in unease. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but was too afraid to speak. Sincerely worried now, Optimus leaned over some and focused Cloudsong with a friendly expression. "Is there something you wished to come to me about? Something Ratchet requested of you?"
Cloudsong nodded this time, albeit waiting a good few sparkbeats to do so. Optimus could see the tenseness in her frame - the way she fiddled with her digits beneath the table. Straightening, he waited patiently for her to talk. When she was good and ready she would go on, and he would not force her a nanoclick sooner.
"Galax hasn't found anything new regarding the Nemesis ship," she began, her voice taunt. Optimus' lip plates came down, his faceplates becoming hard. When she looked up at him, he gestured her on. "But we must find Fera Lennox soon if we are to prevent permanent damage from befalling her. Her frame is suseptible to slowly falling apart, as it is being swiftly worn down by the immense energy of the Stone. It's influence on her is overwhelming her systems, putting her at risk for crippling harm to her frame, and eventually...death."
"We are tying our best to locate Fera, believe me that," Optimus said gently. He felt helpless now, more than ever, knowing that they were on less time to rescue Fera than he'd originally believed. "We will get her and the others back, including the Russian scientists, if it is the last thing I do. I hope you know that she is more to us than a mere Keeper, Cloudsong." His helm ducked to catch a glimpse of the fembot's faceplates, but she had her chin nearly pressed against her chassis.
Her arm flicked as she began to mess with her thumb links again. "I know. She's a friend. She's more than a tool to be used for the war. She's something beyond us all."
It appeared as though the fembot knew more than she let on. She was constantly silent during meetings of the Autobots and never spoke up unless spoken to. One would believe that because she was so mute, that she would be spending her time observing rather than listening. Optimus had always been warned about the quiet ones.
He began to wonder how much she knew, and how much of that information had been given to her by Ratchet. The medic had always been protective, and the Prime would have been surprised if the CMO would place her in that kind of danger by allowing her to know such confidential information. "You seem to understand well," Optimus commented. Cloudsong's helm tucked close again and her shoulderbolts shrugged.
The mech sitting before her let his servos clasp and his frame relax, if only to make her less antsy. "Have you and Ratchet made progress on Fera's frame?" he reiterated.
"Yes," Cloudsong responded, bobbing her helm. "It is nearly complete. Ratchet has told me that it should be ready for a spark within the groon."
Optimus' lip plates turned up in an expression of genuine relief. "That is reassuring. Will it be able to contain Fera's spark essence without it degrading away as the one she resides in now?" Optimus could see the pause in Cloudsong, though she clearly tried hiding it. Steaming waves of uncertainty billowed from her small frame in shockingly powerful paces. It was written along the very seam of her being, glowing bright for all the trained of optic to see. She was avoiding his gaze for a different reason now.
"Ratchet-"
"No," Optimus cut her off carefully. "Do you believe it will be a sufficient frame for her?" His question received quiet as an answer. Cloudsong was battling with her inner self and the loyalty she had for her mentor. Optimus could relate to a conundrum like that. He'd had it thousands of times while under apprenticeship of Sentinel Prime and Alpha Trion. It was not one of his most favorite series of memories alongside the infamous mechs. Cloudsong took the time she needed to answer the Prime. It was saddening for him to think that she may not have an opinion of her own - that she had relied so heavily on Ratchet's guidance for so long now that she would have lost all sense of herself. Ratchet wouldn't be able to see it, but as one with the Matrix, and heir of the Primes, Optimus could make it out easier than he could tell what his mate was processing during one of their fights.
"I..." she trailed off, her lip plates snapping shut. Was she ashamed? Did he make her too nervous to consider trustworthy? "Ratchet is a capable mech, and he wouldn't let Fera take a frame he didn't think could contain her. I trust him."
"As we all do," Optimus agreed contently. Her answer would suffice for now, and it made the Prime give a small smile. Yes, Cloudsong was dependant on Ratchet and her brother, however, she was a fembot all in her own. "We may take confidence in the mech that he may create a suitable frame for Fera upon her return. Is that all you wished to speak with me about?"
"Yes...it is," she confirmed with an incline of the crest.
Optimus stood then, followed by the fembot, and he opened a servo to gesture for the door. "Then let me lead you out," he offered. The fembot was already moving, her legs hurried as she strode in short, clipped strides along the ground.
Though she was shorter, she moved quite faster than he did. She made it to the barrier before him, and awaited him there. Her plates were almost shivering off her frame while she stood there. It looked as though she were bouncing on the balls of her peds. The Prime made it next to her and lifted his servo, pressing in the correct code in the keypad that would let the doors open. Sending another supportive grin the medic's way, Optimus entered the sequence and the barriers slid apart. The hallway beyond was revealed to them, holding an array of humans soldiers, technicians, doctors, and more milling about on their daily routines.
A few Autobots even could be seen, working on their assigned part of their missions to locate Fera and the others. Cloudsong nodded her farewell and turned to scurry away in her usual fashion of escaping socialization.
"Wait, Cloudsong," Optimus called, causing her to freeze solid. "Would you perhaps tend to Fera's mother, Sarah? She is in need of company at the moment."
Not a flinch came from the fembot. It was as if her whole frame had been paralyzed. Then, with utmost hesitance, she twisted back to her Prime. "Of course." And she was off. Optimus let his vents flutter. He leaned against the frame of the doorway, his arms crossing. If Cloudsong were frightened of him, how could he gather the trust of any being? It made him wonder simply how many of those under this roof respected him out of fear more than impression. He wouldn't blame the humans for it, as it was natural to fear that of which was bigger than you. However, what if there were fellow Autobots terrified of him?
Shaking his helm from side to side, Optimus banished these thoughts. No, they wouldn't fear him. He was being paranoid. Certain that he needed a good oil soak after all this was over, Optimus walked back into his office, his chassis squeezing in exhaustion.
Bekos wasn't sure what he was doing was wise. Yes, it was by orders he preform the task he had, and report the results in with his leader, however, if what he was planning to do was ruptured because he'd followed orders, Titanios would never forgive him. He had his whole life cycle to look forward to after this war. If that meant risking everything it took so that this supposed 'Keeper' could get back to her allies and stop it all, than so be it. Bekos trusted his brother, he did. It was simply trying to convince himself, and Thunderblast of course, that it was all worth it in the end. She'd been concerned, oh yes. It wasn't something he could blame her for either.
He was nervous as she for their sparkling and what may become of them when they went along with this plot of Titanios'. Galvatron was no fool, and he would surely suspect their motives if one wrong move was made. That was why Bekos had to do this, if not for the good of himself, but his family unit as well. They deserved everything he could offer for a good life cycle.
And so here he traveled, through these long, dark corridors, with the stain of a Guardian's scream interlaced within his very gridmap. Each spasm and energon-curdling cry of the mech would forever haunt the recharge of him. He was an analyst for a reason, not the torture specialist Vortex and Platon were. And for good reason.
Why had Galvatron sent him for the mission and not one of those mechs? They were more suited for the job than he ever was, which was confusing. And yet, everything Galvatron did was confusing.
Suppressing a shiver, Bekos turned the corner that would lead him to the communications center, where Galvatron had made up his 'throne room' of sorts. His steps were muffled underneath the pressure of the shadows. It felt as though every passing kalon they grew denser - ever the more thicker to pass by and live beneath. They were a constant weight on every Decepticon's shoulderbolts now. And it all came from one source: Galvatron. The mech was changing, that fact was apparent. He was already different from when he had been awakened. For an odd reason, he seemed...darker than before.
Bekos knew this was a stupid observation to make, but he couldn't quite manage to find the right words to describe him. Sadistic? Demented? Maniacal? Nothing fit exactly right. If he could compare the crazed behemoth, it would be to evil personified. Not really the mech he would wish to be lead by during a time of war. Bekos stopped at the door to the communications area, hovering his digits over the keypad. Something was holding him back from pressing in the sequence.
An entity was coiling its cold tendrils along his arm, keeping him rooted to the spot. Apprehensively, Bekos curled in his digits and stared at them. They were trembling. Confused, Bekos pulled his shaking servo close.
Was this fear? Was he truly fearful of his own leader?
His oral sheets locked tight together and Bekos squeezed his optic slips shut. This wasn't right. He shouldn't have been afraid to share a report with his leader. It wasn't right to have this sense of unease in his spark as he did when faced with the task of pleasing his leader. He should be excited to carry out his whims, but instead, he felt hesitant. In fact, he would rather have done anything else than step in that room. However, it looked like that decision was made for him.
The doors slid apart by themselves, letting Bekos see into the space. It was cast in darkness, the lights dimmed low enough to be basically turned off altogether. Viewing screens stretched all around the walls, flickering every so often, though they were of the highest quality technology Earth had to offer. The floors were marred in carpets of charred marks in the unmistakable shape of peds. From one scorched side of the pathway to the other, there was some form of mark soiling the surface. The air itself held a bounty of smokey blackness. It was washed in ink, with a bitter, sour flavor touching the back of Bekos' throat. But the room and its drained, neglected analysts at their computers were not the brunt of Bekos' attention.
It was the Lord of Darkness himself, seated in his throne, basking in the environment he had created for himself. He was settled to the side, his helm cradled by one massive, clawed servo. His leisured, dangerous form lounged along the width of the seat, his powerful legs spread. The stormy armor attached to him was literally floating on the violet smoke that rolled off him in waves. A ring of burnt metal had taken place beneath his peds and throne. Gnarled twists of ghastly-color metal scaled along the sides of the chair and made up the tangled expanse of the arm rests. Those prowling optics of his were staring straight through the doorway into Bekos' very core. They were black as obsidian, with a purple circle in the center.
Bekos dared to step forward into the abyss. Galvatron's new dwelling had officially become his own. A feeling of his energy leaving his form made Bekos slow his steps into the room. When he had come forward beyond the door, it slammed shut behind him, nearly taking off the wings on his spinal support. He skipped slightly, startled by the definite clap of the barriers when they locked behind him. A low, ship-jarring rumble came from the direction of the Decepticon lord. Bekos figured it was some form of a laugh, but it sounded more like a growl than an amused chuckle.
The flier took in a long vent and turned back for his leader. "There is no need for hesitance," Galvatron rumbled, lifting his free servo towards Bekos. The mech's voice reverberated through the ship itself, rattling away through Bekos' frame and into his very core. "Come forth and report your findings."
Bekos reached the foot of the throne and bowed himself forward low enough to almost brush his chassis to his kneebolts. He then dropped to one kneebolt, keeping his gaze averted to Galvatron's peds. It was known throughout the ship that Galvatron did not appreciate having his warriors look him in the optic. That fact had become apparent when a soldier had addressed Galvatron and ended up with his arm torn off. It made the Decepticon less agitated when those around him spoke without direct optic-contact.
"I have breached the consciousness of the Guardian and required what it is you wished to retain," Bekos reported as steadily as he could. There was no hiding the faint shake in his tone. Galvatron's ped shifted some and Bekos tensed up, anticipating being hit for absolutely no reason at all. That seemed to be the trend picking up around here.
The mech moved himself so his legs faced Bekos straight on. "Well? Get on with it," he commanded.
"Fera is indeed the Keeper-"
"That is already known!"
"There is an Autobot base in the human city of Saint Louis, in the state known as Missouri. There is a group stationed there, led by Ultra Magnus."
"Ultra Magnus..."
"I was unable to retain the location of the other bases, as the Guardian went into shutdown before I may have gained anything useful."
This was a lie. Solas had collapsed, yes, but only because Bekos had activated his shutdown programs, placing mercy on him. It was better Galvatron didn't know this, as he was more than capable himself to stop down to the Autobot's holding chamber and wring the information out of him until every drop of energon inside of him had flowed down the drain in the floor. Thick, keen claws, made for shredding through the thickest of armor, clicked over and over against the armrest.
Bekos swallowed back the chilling growth moving up his spinal support at that disturbing sound. With one fowl swoop, Galvatron could slice him in half. Was it worth staying here then, simply to be loyal, all in the sake of fearing for his life every nanoclick of the kalons by obeying a tyrant like this one? Then again, the war would still be waging even if he did leave...it was simply an instinctual fear rather than an instilled one.
"That information is...disappointing..." Galvatron hissed. "However, it is of no matter to me."
The hulking figure rose up from his throne. Creaks cracks from pivotjoints worn over by the merciless turmoil of a deadsparked mech's rust. Energy zipped as a crackling line along the fabric of the air, assaulting Bekos' prone silhouette as he continued to kneel. It took all he had not to rise as well and back away from the steps that lead to this beast of a being. Galvatron began to make his sultry way down those very stairs separating them, making Bekos' frame tense.
"When Fera is to be my bonded, there shall be no secrets the Autobots may keep. She is their all and everything, betraying their ignorance in she though she needn't even raise the cleft of her lip plate. She shall become traitor without conscious meaning; she will be left hollow and lonesome with none but my essence aside hers to take up ruling of this vast universe," he announced, a cruel grin stretching in a way that appeared painful. They stretched too wide - too openly to possibly be considered normal."She shall be creator to my progeny of Chaos."
What secret could she hold then, if Galvatron was to bond with her? It put a stake of ice through Bekos to envision the fembot at this monstrosity's disposal. It would mean torture for her; the endless orns of being mated to a mech such as this, drawing on her processor simply for the reason to be a nannia to this universe's killers. Being Keeper would produce the maniac descendants and push her name through history and time as the nannia of the darkest army in all time. It wasn't a fate Bekos wished upon anyone. Merely because he was a Decepticon, did not mean he was sparkless.
Bekos flinched as his musings were interrupted by the clang of a massive ped inches from his faceplates. There was a moment that the air held its bated vent. The worlds seemed to stop revolving, all in witness of watching the events transpiring on their brother's surface below. It was a show to all of them. They could sit and watch without a care otherwise, merely resting aside while this organic sphere of stone and water lived the deaths of both native and alien lifeforms.
Without warning Bekos was snatched from his kneebolt. Up and off, he was grabbed at the back of the neck, thrust into the open with his legs dangling and his arms planted on the painful fist holding him. A violent twist of discomfort adorned his usually handsome features. Immediately, Thunderblast was there, in their bond, calling for him in unrestrained worry for her lover. A wall slammed between them, if but to keep safe both his mate and underdeveloped sparkling. Ah yes, another thing to keep out of Galvatron's knowledge.
A mech's gruesome faceplates hovered a byte from the flier's. From this distance, so near to a being he'd never wished to come close to, Bekos could make out the very galaxies of Galvatron's boundless optics while they swirled constantly about. Slashes lined the space of the plates of his expression, covering him in battle scars from phantom wars he had yet to participate in. He was a rotting mech, newly revived, yet already disintegrating away from the immense, cosmic power beneath his armor.
"Fetch my intended," Galvatron snarled, though there wasn't a think to be angered about. "There is little patience I hold in this frame."
Bekos was thrown away, onto his peds thankfully, however shoved hard enough to force him to stumble backwards a good twenty feet or so less he wish to fall to his aft. Prying optics all around bore shamelessly into him. They were all mindless now, he realized that.
Still, with his optics sweeping cautiously about, Bekos brushed off his arm and slowly straightened. "She is not yet out of surgery," he reported. Galvatron's optic shined with a light so bright, it was dark.
"Then bring her out of it," he commanded.
Bekos knew he was treading a thin line, questioning Galvatron's order, as it hadn't really worked out that well for past soldiers, however, he couldn't help himself. "She will not be able to handle a bond without a proper resting period," he stated. His servos were trembling. He locked them behind him to hide it. "You could kill her."
Galvatron's snarl could have been heard throughout the ship. It rocked the very bowls, tore at the rafters, and strangled the still. His deathly sights raked along the row of analysts in on either side of the center walkway. They were staring, blankly, awaiting for command. With a bark and a swing of the arm, Galvatron had snapped them from their state.
"Back to work! All of you!" he snapped. They did as they were told, without a flinch of fear at being yelled at. Bekos ignored his inner disturbance and settled on what was ahead.
"I suggest," he began, catching Galvatron's less-than-pleased optics, "that we wait until our vessel has reached its destination and we have succeeded in our plans before you may celebrate in victory with your intended."
Galvatron paused at this. He actually appeared to be deliberating it. His curled, agitated mass unwound and relaxed. There was something brewing in those piercing optics, and Bekos wasn't truly convinced if it was a pleasant thing or not. His vents ceased to take in a cycle of air; the energon within his system flowed slower until it was crystallized within him. His spark was pumping hard enough that he was sure Galvatron would hear its thumping from where he stood. Digits bit into his palm, very well denting them.
"Very well," Galvatron conceded eventually. A great sigh silently escaped Bekos and his spark fluttered pitifully. Galvatron raised a digit and Bekos once again froze to the spot. "However, once Optimus Prime's helm is in my servo, I shall take her as my sparkmate. Now off with you." He waved Bekos off dismissively, "My word is final."
"Of course, Lord Galvatron," Bekos said, bowing low as his leader retreated to his throne once more. He couldn't have been happier to leave that suffocating room. It was a prison all in its own. With a numb consciousness, and an equally as numb spark, Bekos shifted his heavy peds out the door. They pulled back and shut behind him in barely enough time for him to pull away his jet wings. They were shaking as badly as his servos, which were still clamped down on his protoform with enough force to draw energon. Napalm flowed in his lines. Electricity sparked down his relay.
Thunderblast was suddenly there, her shadow all that told of her presence before two long, slender arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She didn't know what he had experienced in there, as he wouldn't allow her to. He couldn't forgive himself if he let her see the weakness in him at that moment. It was for her benefit that she not know she was bound to a mech capable of experiencing such paralyzing fear as this. But whom could dare blame him? Galvatron wasn't natural. Whatever he was...wherever he had come from...was beyond Earth and Cybertron in itself.
Without remorse, Bekos flung his arms around his mate's spinal support, holding her as close and tight as their armor allowed. She didn't need their bond to know that he was frightened. The quivers of his form as they melded together was all she would need. He knew she wasn't dull. Was he so cold before? She was so much warmer than he'd noticed before.
"What in Primus' name happened in there?" she whispered into his audio. They were still in the same spot they'd been in for the past breem. Bekos shook his helm against her and swept her up in his arms, still refusing to let their frames separate a millimeter.
"Don't ask me," he almost plead as he carried his sparkmate to their quarters. "Please."
Easter has literally put into a sugar-induced coma.
Can't really complain though...
At least I'm not in a flying Decepticon compound with my best guy(boy)friend while they beat him senseless and let me watch.
Today is just not their day.
I can't wait to hear what you all think, and see you next week :D
*Chapter Inspiration: Laura Palmer= Bastille*