It got hot outside way too fast for my body to comprehend.
The struggle is real.
Anywho,
School's almost out and so I'll be able to update easier soon! :D
Just got a few tests and some finals to get through, and we're done!
Enjoy!
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 67
As time dragged on, there were a few things that had become clear in this beautiful, yet tragic world.
One: Fera Rosalie Lennox was dead.
Two: The war had bred a new monster.
Three: The Thirteen's favored Keeper was cut down her center.
Whether it be emotionally or physically, the one claiming to be the entity known as Fera was opened to the elements like the fantastic spreading petals of a virgin blossom. There was no pain in this land of nothingness and darkness. No sense at all, really. Merely, there seemed to be an unlimited supply of fear. That was what had driven her onward to this point. Fear. Terror. Betrayal. Anger. It had become her anchor. Maybe that was what scared her the most - in being unable to express this vast ocean of uncertainty and boundless, inescapable recess of her processor. The white room had unnerved her for so long after awakening from that prison. However, now, as she laid - no floated, in this space of consciousness itself, she knew there was no greater fear than that of being unable to take control. Usually she had the ability to control her thoughts. If not, Solas or Ratchet was there to help her. This was not usual.
Here she was alone, without a soul to aid her in her aimless journey. She could distinguish the difference between natural recharge and a forced one at least. And this was forced; she could feel the artificial fluids running along her lines, dragging her deeper into the abyss and throwing her into a muggy, disoriented state. It was unclear how she could know essentially, as she'd yet been able to tell the difference so easily. This time, it was a far heavier dose, meaning a more complicated operation. She didn't appreciate feeling out of balance or control. It put ease in her spark to know that this was merely sedatives, and that she may awaken again soon. Nonetheless, she was unable to completely purge her spark of that small part of herself that feared that perhaps this rest may never end. These onyx binds that held her may be her companions for her existence.
Was she in the Autobot base again? Was this Ratchet, repairing her frame and taking mercy on her by putting her under as far as a near coma? She could still hear muffled clips of conversation. Pressure was all that could be sensed, from the center of her abdomen to the navel of her neck. Where they performing the surgery on a cloud? It felt that way.
Crashing waves of debilitating darkness overcame her, sending her into a bout of unfeeling. It shut off her senses, shutting her out from the worlds again. Clamoring, with servos trembling hard enough to shake her loose, with raw and leaking digits, she fought to surface again. The anxiety was coming back in acidic vengeance. She called out in a soundless scream, crying the name of anyone whom may hear her with a suffocated voice. The tendrils curled around her slender body, conforming to her and sticking onto her silhouette with merciless strength. Her nasal plate flared with the bitter scent of a vast openness.
In poisonous vigor, stakes bit into her armor as the sludgy, oily tar crawled along up over her legs and around her spinal support like thousands of insects with hooks in their legs. It was burning through her armor as if it weren't even there, searing into her vulnerable protoform with scorching malevolence. Layers of herself were boiled down into her innermost core.
Into her spark it crept, without slowing, sinking into the very fabric of herself. With the yank of an invisible cord tethered to her, her body arched. A screech singed the inside of her throat, bubbling up endlessly through her chassis, with no way to let it out. Heat climbed along the blooming expanse of her form. From digits to shoulderbolts; toelinks to hipbolts; waist to neck; neck to crest, there was no obscuring the fire licking at her. It was relentless as the storms destroying her consciousness. Digits locked into tight fists, their blunt ends carving out depressions in her palms.
Lines, running livid with festering energon, bulged along her neck and arms. Peds kicked out, struggling for a hold to run - to escape. Her spark was hammering with resounding echoes loud enough to strike her deaf. They were a constant, pounding harmony of sounds, never stopping. It soon became the only sense of time for her to understand. And there, right there, in her fevered, scorched chassis, was a part of her spark that she didn't understand. Well, she did, but she didn't. At one point, she had known what it was. Then the memory had slipped her processor and was but a corrupted file in her memory core. It had something to do with Solas. A gasp split her vents as she clamped down on that information.
Solas. Solas Kaon. That was her Guardian and protector outside these vicious walls of herself. The resounding din of shadows, so dark they blinded her, didn't seem as vastly painful as before. She wasn't alone here, she remembered that now. Punch, the one whom had saved her, was waiting to be saved. She couldn't stay here. This wasn't how things were going to go. Growling, the fembot ripped the tentacles of tantalizing darkness from her arms. They left puckered marks in place, letting ivory smoke swirl as marble through the sightless airs. She clawed desperately to rid herself of those shackles of tar, marking herself in the process, but giving no care whatsoever.
Snarls of effort left her while she beat away with her legs until a burn of another kind raged along her thighs. Pivotjoints, tendon belts, struts, and various other strands making up her frame complained. They yelled for reprieve. She gave them none.
Her mouth parted wide with the preparation to roar her achievement. She could feel it now, as she reached up delicate, burnt servos towards the bulb of light a distance away from reach. Peds filled with lead paddled her forward through the tar until her digits brushed the wonderful beauty that was light. It spread around her, scaring away the darkness and thrusting her body into an expanse of pure white. Never before had she been so happy to see the white.
Fera woke with a jolt. Her whole frame flailed, taking in a mighty gulp of air as a scream escaped her throat. Her flying limbs scattered her understanding, which was already frayed, and she let herself panic. She could feel the burning tar still on her, but it was tamed to the mentality of her processor now instead of the physicality of her frame. Smoke seemed to curl from her armor when she slammed her arms down against both sides of her helm. Uncontrollable shudders wracked her until her very oral sheets were clattering. A chill wafted down her spinal relay as a faint digit trailing down her center.
The darkness was enclosing around her again, and yet, it was at a pace which she felt she had more -you guessed it- control over. It allowed her venting to reach a less agitated level and her spark to thrum softly. There was still pressure in her helm, reaching a bustling roar in her audios that made them ring and a cranialache drift on the verge of existence. This situation was unfamiliar to her. She hadn't ever been attacked through her psyche like this. If she ever had trouble, Ratchet, Solas, or Sarah had been there to comfort her. This pain, this torture, this...fear was unbearable.
Her optics shuttered tight enough to cause dots to dance before her vision. Though, she couldn't tell if they were actually shut or not, as she'd blocked out all the light around her by her arms. They were her only protection right now. They kept the world out and the terror from being real. That was, until she opened her optics again.
"Trust me, hiding from it won't make it go away. I've tried already. "
That voice was unknown to her. The shield of her arms flew apart, thrust to her sides as her body jumped. It had come from in front of her. She swiftly shoved herself backwards into the nearest wall, her legs still pumping aimlessly as her vents whined. The mech didn't look dangerous in the least. He was a slighter figure, smaller than Solas, both berth-wise and height-wise, with sights that spoke nothing of violence or ill-will. Dirt covered him as a second coat of paint, partially obscuring the nasty lacerations scattered along his surface.
Fresh, raw wounds, crusted around the edges, were left open and exposed, with amateurish welds obviously self-made covering some. A few of those as well were splitting to let the energon flow again. Armor was dented inward in so many places; he appeared as an over-sized golf ball. Beneath the dust, and under the grief of entrapment, his paint was a lively shade of navy and orange. His helm was boxy, but slanted towards the center towards his crest, which was rectangular in shape. His shoulderbolt cuffs hung off his arms, overhanging his limbs. His chassis was an average size, with average depth and an average hollow where the Autobot symbol of course rested. Peds, with splayed toes, hung off the edge of a berth he sat on, tense as if he were ready to bolt any second. Worn, experienced, and battle-ravaged servos were bound at his sides, lying slack against the metallic table. All in all, this average mech appeared...well, average.
There wasn't anything special about him. But perhaps that was what made him so unorthodox after all. With her lip plates tucked in a tight line, Fera forced up words through her throat.
"Where...where am I?" she demanded anxiously. A hiccup escaped her as she clamped her mandible shut. That wasn't her voice. These words she'd said were tainted in a deeper, richer tone. It was full of smooth, satin venom. It wasn't hers.
"In a holding cell," the mech answered her. "With me no less. At least, until I assume they figure out to do with you, that is." Fera curled into herself, her legs bending to tuck into her chassis. Curiosity overtook her and she let her optics roam. The space was as average as the mech was. It wasn't that different from Ratchet's medbay back at base. It was far smaller however, and was lacking a counter and sanitation station against the walls. Nonetheless, there were still tools lying about on surfaces and unused toys that still shined with newness. They were practically vibrating at the chance to cut into something. It made Fera squirm.
Those foggy, obscured memories were resurfacing in her processor. They told a tale of vibrant trails of life draining away – bustling forth into the nothing before resurfacing into the artificial light of day. It was pain to remember back to it. There was no reason she would want to. However, the images stuck to the back of her optic slips in pestering groups. With them there, she could not concentrate on anything but the noise of a drill as it sliced her down the center. She was becoming dizzy again. She shoved her helm between her legs as her venting picked up.
"I can't be here," she murmured, hatred filling her at hearing this new voice. It wasn't hers. Whatever they had done to her, it wasn't her. A snort came from her company as he stretched his spinal support, rustling his chains some. They reminded Fera of her Guardian's binds. Why wasn't she bound?
"You and I both," he told her with a sigh. Fera's arms tightened around herself, dreading the helpless, consuming weakness she felt. There was strength in her now, as she could feel it within her arms and legs and the oddly organized recess of her consciousness. Nonetheless, she couldn't take the opportunity to be joyed by that fact. There was too much to be frightened of.
Withholding a shudder, though the room was not cold, Fera released herself and sat back against the chilled metal wall. Everything was clear and sharp; almost to the point of discomfort. Sound crashed in waves on her fragile audios. Her spark thrummed in a hollow way rather than the hammer of it against the sides of her chamber. She didn't want to look. "What did they do to me?" she whispered, half to herself, half to the mech.
He didn't answer her, for perhaps he hadn't heard her. She doubted that he cared. But she could feel the new length and coiled them to feel the fresh, powerful strength in her legs. She felt the balance in her arms that would make them easier to swing. She could hear the keen tap of her sharpened digits on the floor while she fought back her anxiety. And she knew for a fact that she hadn't had these programs in her processor before. They had put her in a new frame. For some reason, that reassured her. It was fairly big, however, she knew she would bulk up in time and fit into it. If she lasted that long. But, it was a welcome change from her cramped, inefficient proxy frame, despite this one being of Decepticon origin. It made her sick inside to dare find pleasant this silhouette of the enemy, and yet, it provided her with a suitable frame to live in. It would have to do. She had no other choice.
"I am assuming you did wrong to your faction to have been cast in the same dwelling as a prisoner such as myself," the mech went on, apparently as uncomfortable with silence as she often was. Fera let her weary optics close for a moment before looking back to the mech. He could have been handsome, maybe to a different fembot, but to her, he was just average.
"I am not a Decepticon," she almost growled. The word choked her when she said it. Her throat closed in on a lump there, and she swallowed the dryness of her glossa to dislodge it. "I'd never be one of them. Not after what they've done."
"That is difficult to believe, seeing as you bear not only Decepticon optics, their blasted insignia, and frame type, but one of their devices on your chassis." His voice was colder now. It made Fera want to crawl in a corner and avoid optic-contact. But she didn't. Instead, she twisted herself around her sights and began searching for what the mech spoke of.
The frame was black as black could be. Not even the night itself could compare to its boundless color. Each edge of carefully articulated armor was chiseled and streamlined for a sleeker appearance. Either bracer was void of a weapon, yet, with the sharpness of the caps on her kneebolts, she was sure that they could suffice. Her peds were slim, with bows through her shin struts that made for lighter, faster limbs. Two half circles hung off her hipbolts, leading up her delicate abdominal slips, until her optics landed on the top of her layered chassis.
The mech had been right about the device, however, it was far from Decepticon in nature. It was the Stone of Primus, right back in its place at her collar. Didn't he remember it? He was the one to transfer it to Earth. A gentle servo bathed in deathly grace rose and hovered over the artifact. She did not touch it, however, merely feeling the warm buzz of energy the object gave off made her feel a tenfold better than she had before. But where was the symbol?
A quick turn of her spinal support allowed Fera to crane her neck enough to find it located right on her left bracer. Without compassion or hesitance, she stabbed the tips of her clawed digits beneath the insignia and shredded it from its place. A brief pain bloomed from the spot, but the pain mufflers in her new frame halted that almost instantly. All that was left were a few scrapes and the shadow of the badge she hated so much.
"See?" Fera demanded, sending the bent insignia scattering across the floor. "I'm not one of them. If I could tear out my optics right now, I would, just to get rid of the color. But I need them."
Something seemed to click in his optics while they locked with hers. It was suspicion, but beneath that, there appeared to be a feeling along the lines of relief. Was he trusting her? Could she trust him? "You don't act like a Decepticon," the mech agreed finally, shattering the quiet stare between them. "Are you Wrecker?" It was only here that Fera realized the mech was speaking in Cybertronian. And he had the entire time. And she was speaking back in perfect fluency. This frame was uploaded with English, Cybertronian, German, Italian, and a variety of Mid-Eastern languages. Huh.
"What is 'Wrecker'?" she asked, quirking an optic ridge. It was his turn now to give her an odd look. The expression on his faceplates bit at Fera and caused a rush of embarrassment to hit her. The term was vaguely familiar, though, she wouldn't be able to come up with a definition no matter how hard she tried. She had a mild knowing she was supposed to understand 'Wrecker', but to her frustration, it was a new word. Her company stared at her.
"Are you humoring me?" he questioned. A smirk touched his lip plates and he huffed a laugh. When she did not chuckle with him, his own died and he burrowed his optic ridges at her. "You're serious."
Dumbly, she nodded. "I have never heard of a Wrecker before. Is it something like a Prime?" she wondered. The almost mocking laugh she received from the mech was enough to make her duck in shame. Her armor rattled in low vibrations of anger. How dare he make fun of her! It wasn't her fault that she didn't know as much. The fact that he would tease her merely for not knowing a Cybertronian title was offensive.
"Wreckers are as far from Primes as a phase chamber is from a beam polarizer," he said, continuing his raspy laughter.
It was a quieter rumble, probably closer to a dry cough than a laugh, but it was still annoying nonetheless. "They are a special task force of elite, brute soldiers specializing in front-line warfare. They are called to duty during last-ditch efforts of leaders, as their firepower and overwhelming presence usually win us the dimmest of battles. I'm utterly shocked you've never heard of them prior." His optics lit up when he talked about the faction, and Fera found a part of herself in awe of it. If he could speak so highly of such an obscure team, then there was no doubt they were among the best. She wanted to hear more about them, she did. It would have been interesting to hear of their positions in this war or the wondrous splendor one would have had to see a Wrecker in action. But now wasn't the time. This wasn't the place to tell stories or socialize with fellow prisoners.
As she dug her digits into the palms of her servos, she fought to understand why the Decepticons would leave her in here of all places, without restraints, and another Autobot for her to stay with and possibly share secrets with. Perhaps this was the only other place they could throw her. She didn't have any weapons, and the door was bolted, which meant she wasn't escaping anytime soon. All she could do is wander and converse with another trapped being while she awaited her fate on this vessel.
"I'm not a Wrecker either," she answered as she slid her servos gently across the floor along her sides. The tips of her sharp digits scraped along, catching on every minor scrap or scratch along the burnished metal surface.
"Then, what are you?"
To tell the truth, she hadn't the clearest idea in her processor of an answer. For a long, long time, she'd been trying to figure out that very question's answer for herself. How would she be able to answer someone else, if she didn't know the answer herself?
There was an audible creak from her elbowjoints when she began to shove herself to her peds. She used the wall behind her to help, as she was still weak. She slid upwards, drawn in shadows, only exposed by the lights bouncing from the gloss of her paint, or the maleficent shine in her optics. It was difficult for her to keep up after she was mostly straight, relying far too much on the wall, for a violent sense of vertigo nearly threw her back down. The insides of her processor were being bashed insistently. Her helm felt as if it were going to float off her neck. Her chassis was being squeezed by an unseen force, constricting the already limited air cycling through her vents, and humming with a certain emptiness she was unsure of how to fill.
"I'm an Autobot. That's all I am," she vented after finally regaining herself. Her optics shuttered, and then opened, banishing the blotted darkness eating away at the edge of her vision. It took more strength to break herself away from the comfort and support of the corner, but she forced herself away despite her trembling digits. This position was far higher than it had been before. She'd never dealt with a frame so powerful; so unpredictable; so…Decepticon.
She took a single, unsteady step from the wall, and fell right onto the ground. The mech jumped, though from being startled, or merely out of concern, one couldn't tell. Fera's optics were trained between her clenched servos, their light burning a crusade of angered pity. Humiliation stabbed into her spark, crawling as frigid vines along her legs and covering her in a crippling blanket. Her legs came inward, letting her sit on all fours, however, she wouldn't raise her helm yet. A curse quietly broke the barrier of her lip plates.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she snapped, fiercer than she meant to. Shocked even with herself, Fera sat back on her heelpeds and revved her engines and spoke again, softer this time, "I'm fine." She didn't want pity. She didn't want condolences. She didn't want help. Or to be soothed. Or have her spinal support patted and told everything was to be 'ok'.
No longer would she beg with herself for a comforting hug or allow herself to cry in front of Solas or the others. No, this weakness ended here. This was a new frame; a new life was before her, along with a new opportunity. She could become stronger now.
Roughly swiping the back of her servo across her cheekplates, Fera built up the straggling courage inside of her and climbed onto her peds. It didn't help that the bottoms were so thin that she figured she was walking on daggers. Maybe she was. It wouldn't surprise her that they would adorn her with such a fashion. It gave her a secure edge in her spark that there could very well be another weapon stashed in her frame somewhere. A steadying vent drifted outward from her systems, granting her a better stance. Her servos lifted, open, to hover at her sides for balance. Where she was going, she wasn't sure, but she was more than determined to get there.
"What are you-?"
"Hush, I'm concentrating," she interrupted sharply. When she took a step, déjà vu struck her with amazing force. Ratchet's image danced in her processor. Why was this scene familiar? An injured Fera, attempting to walk towards an Autobot peer, and demanding he not disturb her concentration. It almost made her shudder with the eerie similarities. Although, she couldn't recall the specific memory itself. The mech was only feet away.
Fera withheld her inner pride and concentrated on putting one ped in front of the other. Right. Then Left. Right. Then left. She almost crashed into him before she realized how far she'd gone. Both servos shot out to catch herself on the berth. They landed on either side of the mech's legs, and he tensed up with her closeness. Fera sighed loudly and grinned to herself at her achievement. Her optics scaled upwards, trailing the mech's frame until she met optics with his. "I made it," she said.
Happiness bubbled in her throat, to the point where she couldn't hold it back anymore. She let lose one, clipped laugh. The mech's vocal capacitor revved as he attempted to clear it and he averted his faceplates, the faintest of blue hues touching the expanse of his cheekplates. "So you did," he noted, shifting.
Fera pulled herself away some to make her way along the side of the berth. She didn't care if he wasn't impressed with her feats, she was. She made it far enough that she found room on the berth behind the mech's body. While he watched her over his shoulderbolt, she slid herself atop the structure. She didn't know this mech. He was a stranger to her, and yet, she couldn't help but notice the sadness in his optics; or the way his shoulderbolts slumped slightly in defeat. She felt he needed company to aid him in his time of suffering. Whatever reason he was here, those too-blue optics of his simply didn't fit in here.
"What is your name?" she wondered, placing her servos in her lap. The mech snorted and turned back around, settling his elbowjoints on his legs. The cuffs on his bracers strained, growing taunt when he shifted them. He was not looking at her, but he answered anyway.
"Tell me yours first," he compromised.
Fera's lip plates turned into a hard line and she turned her sights down on her legs as they swung idly. Should I tell him? If they were going to get anywhere, they might as well of had trust for each other. They were both Autobots here, so what could possibly be done between them that would be considered betrayal? Then again, Titanios was a traitor. This situation could very well be the same.
"Soulsearcher," she lied, moving her servos to clamp down on the edge of the berth. She did this so her digits wouldn't puncture her palms. It felt wrong to lie to another Autobot, but for now, it was all she could do. If they were still together later on, and she knew she could trust him, maybe she would tell him.
"Your real designation," the mech nearly growled. Fera went still. How did he know?
"That is my real designation," she told him, her voice too forced to be believable.
"You're not Soulsearcher," he snapped, twisting around abruptly. Fera jumped where she sat, her arm lifting to prepare to protect herself. The mech's expression was unreadable. "I knew Soulsearcher. And you aren't her."
There was a hint in his gaze that spoke volumes of a past Fera was unsure of. She couldn't tell what was there – if the information would be clear to her at some point, but, as far as she knew, there was no fooling this mech. The way he bored his optics into her, vying for every single attribute of a fib, made her weary of him. She didn't like being watched this closely.
"Fera," she intoned, lowering her arm. Her features were hard, her frame frigid. This yet unnamed mech stayed silent at first this time, perhaps waiting to find the signs that she was lying again. But he seemed satisfied, and he turned around once more. Fera studied the back of him, paying close attention to the systems showing behind his plates of battle-scorned armor, where hydraulics and hissing systems worked to keep him alive beneath that protoform of his. She wondered what he was thinking of while he sat here, wallowing in the prison of the enemy.
How long had he been here for? Fera couldn't even remember. It was easier to process now that she had a new frame, with a fresh set of energon flowing through her lines, and her thoughts far more organized than they were before. Now she hadn't the feeling she was going to fritz as often. She was in control. But did he feel that way?
What she didn't understand was why they would put he in this new frame in the first place. She was of Autobot origin. To pamper her with this new upgrade and a holding chamber for the Stone meant they were planning something for her. The Decepticons were ruthless, but they weren't without their motives.
"So you're the one," her mech counterpart murmured, breaking her from her musing. Fera sat forward, leaning far enough to see the side of his faceplates. There was emotion there she couldn't decipher. Confused, Fera assumed the mech was talking to himself. However, to be sure, she nudged herself closer.
There was a strange reassurance she gained when close to a fellow 'Bot. It meant she wasn't alone. "What are you talking about?"
"Mirage," he said smoothly, when he looked at her. "He mentioned you when he came here. You were the one whom he stole the Galvanizer for so you may live in a new frame." The mech's optics flicked up and down her body. " However, I hadn't expected I would see you in a Decepticon frame upon our meeting."
"This wasn't what I was in when I arrived here," she seared, far more mad with their adversaries rather than the mech she was speaking to. "As soon as I leave here, I'm abandoning this disgusting covering."
"You're definitely not Soulsearcher."
Was that a joke? There was the smallest of grins on his faceplates, so maybe it was. Fera wished she could relate to the joke, however, she had only heard of Soulsearcher, and as much, she was unfamiliar with the fembot. But apparently this mech had known her.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"You're too feisty to be her. Soul is kinder than you, and she speaks with a gentler tone to fellow Autobots," he returned, pausing for a moment. "And she would be smarter than to be captured by Decepticons."
Fera took this opportunity to huff herself. Her faceplates turned away and she rolled her optics. "I was betrayed," she snarled through her oral sheets. "Not captured."
"That still gives you no right to place yourself in such a dangerous position when Mirage had risked everything for you," the mech retorted. Fera was about to lash out at him before she saw his features. That look of utter disappointment and frustration made her mandible lock tight. "They all did, didn't they? You mean something to them, and you let yourself be imprisoned by the enemy. Why are you important? What value do you hold to them? Why must they perish because of you?" She shook her helm, half unknowing herself.
They could have taken the Stone long ago. The Autobots would have easily been able to strip her weakling human body of the Stone and keep it in safety while she lived a normal life. She would still be human now if they had. Then why hadn't they? Was it because she was the only one that could control it, but it's original creator? Why did Vector Prime chose her, of every being in the universe, to bestow such a high honor upon? Placing her servo over the Stone at her collar, Fera choked down the rising lump in her throat.
"I don't know," she admitted. This was the truth and a lie all in one. She was conflicted on that topic, and she had never truly been able to answer it for herself. For now, no matter if he was an Autobot or not, this mech would not know she was the Keeper of an ancient artifact of the Primes.
"Don't tell me you don't know-"
"How do you know Mirage?" Fera cut in, wrapping her arms over her chassis. She was falling apart, and this was the only way she could hold herself together. The mech was obviously unsatisfied with her change in conversation, but he went along with it.
"He was a comrade of mine for many vorns during the war," he began, taking away his piercing, demanding optics and giving her reprieve. "He, Soulsearcher, Saber, and I were grouped together in a separate contingent under Jazz during the very early stages of the war."
"Who was Saber?"
At this, the mech paused again, and Fera suddenly regretted asking. But it was too late now. "Mirage was in love with her," he answered, grimly - coldly.
Fera gained a chill from the dejected tone in his voice. Was he in love with her too? Or maybe Soulsearcher and that was why he was so defensive when Fera pretended to be her? She didn't want to think about love. Not here. Not now, where nothing close was in existence. She couldn't imagine how such an emotion developed here. Fera wanted to touch this mysterious mech's arm, as it was the only kind of condolence she was able to think of. But did he even want her pity?
So she kept to herself, knowing that she hadn't the right to touch a mech she barely knew. "Did you know Solas Kaon?" she went on, trying to lighten things.
A short, grumbling chortle came from her companion and he set skeptical faceplates on her. "Who doesn't ?" he said, smiling. "That mech made a name for himself the astrosecond he stepped ped into the base in Iacon."
Again, she pretended to know what he was talking about. "He's here as well."
The mech's optics rolled so far into his helm that she feared they'd turn backwards. A groan split his lip plates and he sat up, shaking his helm in disbelief. "What an imbecile," he muttered, just loud enough that Fera could hear. "What glitch in his processor made him think it was alright to bring you here?" He was now facing her, his smile gone. All Fera could do was look the mech in the optics and shrug.
"It was my choice," she told him, only getting another moan as response. Now that the words were said and the situation was in the open, the pure stupidity of this decision was dawning on her. None of it was sound from the beginning. From Solas, her Guardian, and she, Keeper of the Stone, to be selected for this mission, there should have been alarms going off then and there. She was supposed to be smarter than this. But, she had been trying to prove herself then, and her processor hadn't been in the best condition. Still, she wanted to slap herself.
"Idiots, the both of you," he sighed, shaking his helm. "You have to leave here."
"Trust me, I'm trying."
"No, I mean, you must," the mech countered, pivoting on his aft to see her fully. "This isn't merely about your life, it's about that." He pointed at the Stone of Primus in her collar.
Fera's servos instinctively clapped over it, hiding it from view. So he did know. He was unfazed by her attempts at shielding the most precious cargo of this war. She wanted to speak, but she couldn't manage to collect her words to form the right sentences. The points were forming in her processor. Every instance the connections had been made with this mech was adding up. He was an Autobot. He was captured. He knew about Mirage.
"You're Punch," she whispered.
There was a resounding slam against the door of their room and Fera jerked badly. Punch was right there to get her attention back, drawing her from the eminent presence at their barrier. "Look at me," he coached, stealing her optics. "You must get free, there is no other option unless you wish to let both humanity and Cybertronians alike fall under the destruction of this war, do you compute? You get out and you get back to Optimus Prime. Tell him about Galvatron, and-"
His words cut when the barrier slid apart, revealing a Decepticon mech behind it. Soundwave. She knew him well enough.
That long welding scar was still present across his upper chassis where Bumblebee had blown out his spark. Or so he'd believed. But the mech was alive and standing before them, wasn't he? One swift swipe of his emotionless optics let him locate her behind the bulk of Punch's frame. The valiant Autobot tried hiding her behind him with his not-much-larger frame, but failed miserably.
Fera could feel the acidic burn of his optics burning into her. She flew from the berth and took wobbling steps forward. She wouldn't get far in the condition she was in. It was impossible for her to run at this point, being as unstable as she was on these peds. But she would try. Desperate optics snapped from side to side, hoping hard enough that her spark clenched for a way to escape. Backing up, she knew there was none. Her optic slips narrowed and her gaze drew back to the form lingering in the doorway. Punch was still on the berth, his body turned for Soundwave. He wouldn't be able to do a thing to help her like that. She was on her own. Soundwave moved in towards her, and Fera stepped in turn with him.
She backed up a step when he came forward a step. They did this over and over until Fera could touch the cold steel of the wall behind her and dread was wrapped as a noose around her neck. Soundwave came up to walk past Punch. The mech leapt out at the last moment, throwing himself at the 'Con with all he had. His arms were yanked backwards, throwing him in reverse with a pained and angered grunt. His legs flew out, kicking at the mech.
"Leave her be!" he shouted, gaining but the sparkless pair of optics from Soundwave. "Take me instead."
"Galvatron requested the fembot Fera Lennox in his personal quarters upon her recovery," Soundwave intoned. "Your interjection shall not deter my orders." Fera grabbed onto the wall while Soundwave came for her again. She could not run, as the ashy-silver mech was too wide to dart around. She pressed herself into the metal as far as she could, begging to disappear. There was nothing she could do but fight when the Decepticon's digits came down on her arm. She thrashed out with a roar, throwing her sharpened digits out and scoring a deep gash down Soundwave's bracer. The mech didn't even flinch as he snatched that arm as well. She rolled her shoulderbolts, pulling with all her might from the terror-inducing vice grip. Her kneebolts even came up, sloppily thrust upward to implant the sharp cuffs into the mech's center.
He was able to easily block her and twist her hard enough that she lost her balance. The fembot landed hard on her spinal support. Even here, she struggled for freedom. She was dragged backwards across the floor, her legs flailing uselessly and her body swaying from hipbolt to hipbolt. It was only the clenching of her oral sheets that kept her from screaming out loud. Sparks flew from beneath her, sprinkling a carpet of light behind her, taking all of the substance out of her as it did so. Fire licked at her lines as pain tore through her shoulderbolts. Solas would probably had gotten out by now.
No, she wasn't giving in anymore. She was stronger now, she could fight this. Punch's image passed by her, strained and alive in a new vigor that hadn't been there before.
"Fera! You have to get out!" he yelled at her, his chassis heaving when the hydraulics in his arms moaned."The only way to win this is through the Stone! You have to use it!"
Fera bellowed when Soundwave ripped around, taking her with him. A strong, solid fist connected with Punch's mandible, sending him to his side on the berth. He nearly well fell off, his frame slumped. Soundwave uncurled his digits, to Fera's mortified optics, and ignored the scuffs lining them. They them began away again, with Fera's hapless form dragging behind.
Punch rose, albeit slowly, when Soundwave and she were at the door, and he put shining optics on her. Those optics that held so much hope in so much darkness; those optics that were ignorant to Soulsearcher's death; those optics that believed in one weak fembot to carry on his entire race's future. It made Fera begin fighting again.
"Only the Stone may save us all."
And the barrier shut off view of the mech, leaving Fera alone with the company of unfriendly stares and the unforgiving darkness.
"We are approaching Autobot base."
"Saint Louis already?" the mech's digits expertly fluttered over the console keys, almost blurring. "Are the weapons prepped?"
"Yes."
"Then carry on," Bekos said, nodding to his peer on his left. Platon answered nothing in return, focused too heavily on his work to be bothered. That mech was infinitely attached to his orders. It was near unhealthy.
Shaking his helm, Bekos returned to his own screen. It would be better for him to merely mind his own business rather than pay attention to another's, for here, there was no greater death wish than that of prying into another's personal life cycle. And Bekos was not overly curious - he had no care usually for a fellow Decepticon.
Now, Titanios on the other servo had had quite the struggle integrating into Decepticon society with that oblivious processor of his. Bekos had once been forced to fight off Brawl when Titanios had questioned the mech on his preference of mechs or fembots. Not a good time.
He couldn't focus on his work however. There was too much of a tremor in his tapping and a disarray of thoughts in his processor. A quick glance over his shoulderbolt granted him the sight of his peer's spinal support, curling and expanding as Platon reached across the expanse of his console. The mech was far too busy. He wouldn't notice a thing. Bekos turned his optics down on his servos, swallowing back the dryness on his glossa. His chassis was tight, the armor constricting his every cycle of air.
The painful thrum of his spark pounded in turn with the nervousness that made his digits quiver. Chills ran along his spinal support, running along mischievously like younglings amuck his vulnerable frame. He was victim to his indecisive fears. They told a tale of possible failure, of which he knew too well could arise. There were so many ways this could go wrong. Phantom wounds split his resolve along his arms, legs, core, and helm. He could feel the fiery flare of agony searing his surface, and he shivered. Could he gather the strength to do this? The answer had to be yes. This was a promise to his brother and sparkmate of a better future. This place, under the leadership it had, held no peaceful future for any.
Bekos realized now that, though he was younger then and thus foolishly lustful for power, he should have chosen the other side. They cared there. They fought as brothers and sisters, caught in the general, sincere love for each other that he believed only sparkmates or family units may share. He'd been wrong. Platon rose from his seat and his screen went black. The movement made Bekos tense up, his limbs locked in the exhilarating sense of anticipation. What would happen here? Thunderblast was ready and waiting. Titanios as well. This whole plan fell onto him now.
"I am reporting to Galvatron," Platon informed, heading for the door. "Course has been set for Saint Louis metropolitan area and auto-fire weaponry is online and awaiting dispersal."
Bekos took in perhaps what may be his last vent. Well, his, Thunderblast's, and their sparkling's. Suddenly, this plan didn't seem as valiant anymore.
The flier threw caution to the wind and shot up, spinning his chair around while he jumped to his peds. His bracer reformed into his blaster, the weight of the weapon weighing heavier on Bekos now than ever before. Its muzzle focused directly on the back of Platon's helm, right at the base of his neck. An audible click sounded, and the stony analyst froze to the spot.
"I can't let you do that," Bekos grounded out, beating away the piercing veil of betrayal and unease inside of him. Platon did not move, keeping his servos locked at his sides and his helm turned away. Bekos stepped up, his stiff legs making it harder to shift easily. "You have to understand."
"You're betraying us," Platon intoned, totally unaffected by the weapon poised at the base of his helm. His blunt comment made Bekos' spark skip a beat and his arm twitch. He wanted to put down his blaster and fade back into the background, as he had these long, long vorns of service. However, now that he had his arm up, even if he did abandon plan now, Platon would report to Galvatron that Bekos was an untrustworthy warrior and he would be deadsparked then and there. Bekos clenched his mandible, forcing himself on.
"I want to protect my family unit. I can't do that here."
"No." Platon's helm twisted, his expressionless faceplates plunging an invisible stake through Bekos ' middle. "You want to protect yourself."
Bekos growled and leapt forward, slamming his blaster into the back of Platon's helm. Without a sound, the mech crumpled in a heap on the floor. Bekos hissed at the stinging heat in his servo and he clutched the weapon close, dreading himself to the point where his tanks felt ready to purge. This was happening. This was really, truly going to happen. He rushed to the console and entered in the shortcut operation that would shut off the cameras on the vessel. And without allowing himself to pause at the sight of his unconscious, former comrade, Bekos jumped over Platon's body and ran for the door. His digits fluttered numbly across the were shaking badly enough that he had to try the combination three frustrating times before the barrier would split.
Hurriedly, he moved past into the expanse of the corridor. He made sure not a single spark was in the halls when he turned and slammed his fist into the keypad, shorting out the doors. There was a moment here where he had to stop and take in a steadying vent. Both servos clenched over the sides of the keypad tight enough to crack the already busted device. I'm going to be sick. I'm going to be sick.
Get yourself back together.
With a shock, Bekos found Thunderblast to have entered his thoughts, beating a sense of bravery back in her terrified mate. This isn't about you, or me, or Titanios, or them, or us, it's about our sparkling. About our future. You need to do this Bekos.
I am, he answered back. I promise I'm going to get us out of here.
Full of renewed confidence, Bekos stood straight and walked his way down the hall. He acted as naturally as he could while he sped through the open space to get to his destination. It was across ship, on the eastern sector, deep under the protection of other Decepticon warriors. It would be a task to get past them, but Bekos could think of that later. Right now, he simply needed to get there. He turned the corner and nearly ran into Arachnid. The fembot snarled and whipped around, neatly avoiding him with optics blazing in irritation.
"Idiot," she spat as they passed.
Bekos said nothing, though a retort burned his throat. It wouldn't do him good to be caught up here when his mission lied elsewhere. He quickly passed by his quarters where Thunderblast currently was, and he felt her presence behind those thick metal doors beckoning him onward past his nervousness. Her wispy essence wafted from the door, curling under his scent receptors and causing a suddenly hungry feeling to egg at him.
Not here, she cooed, pushing him away.
Bekos jogged onward before he allowed himself to fall victim to the beauty waiting behind that barrier. If he went in there, he wasn't coming back out. Finally he made it where he was going, and he slowed to a brisk walk while he approached. His assumptions had been correct about the guards. There were two of them, armed, standing at the entrance to the holding space. They were the warriors Thundercracker and Cyclonus.
"Good Kalon to you both," Bekos greeted steadier than he thought he could. The mechs rose their helms at the same time, finding Bekos' form immediately as the black and silver mech leisurely came closer. He stepped up to the door and the guards simultaneously put out an arm to bar his way. Feigning confusion was easy to do as Bekos looked between two mechs that may very well soon be his enemies.
"We cannot let you pass this point," Thundercracker informed, his gaze strong.
"Galvatron's orders," Cyclonus added in.
Bekos nodded and took a step back, crossing his arms. "I'm here on Galvatron's whim," he lied freely, disturbing even himself at how genuine he sounded. "He wishes myself to further interrogate the prisoner and collect information on the Autobot faction."
Cyclonus and Thundercracker exchanged glances almost uncertainly. Thundercracker finally spoke up for the both of them, "I received no message from Galvatron."
"Do you wish I report to him that benign warriors of his were to blame for my failure?" Bekos demanded, his optic ridge rising. "Our Lord and Master haven't the need to contact lowly soldiers such as us through comlink while he is busy as he is. Should I request he meet with you both personally?"
Both mechs' faceplates drained of hue quicker than it took to vent. There was no need for further discussion, for with a single look to one another, they swiftly stepped aside. Thundercracker put in the correct code for the room and the barrier split down its center.
"Please," Thundercracker offered, gesturing Bekos on. "Don't let us be hindrance to the wills of Galvatron himself."
Bekos nodded to them and walked on. "Wise," he intoned, his chin held high. Pride soaked into him from both himself and his mate. But when that door shut behind him, the pride was lost. There was no going back now. Bekos gained back his feeling of dank, wretchedness and fought the urge to turn his optics away. The sight of the prisoner attached to the wall was sickening to him. It took all he had to keep his sights straight and not avert them.
Solas Kaon was slumped, the only thing keeping him off the floor being the chains attached to his were held awkwardly above him as his frame tried falling forward. The room vibrated with the vibrancy of his drying or fresh energon caked to his front, or draining down the center of the floor. The smell of eroding armor, mixed with various waste fluids and rotted airs made Bekos' throat close with an eminent gag. He'd been in here not long before to steal from this mech information that could very well compromise this whole mission. But perhaps if they hurried…
Solas' helm rose, his optics flickering to light. His frame rumbled, the plates on his disheveled form rattled hard enough to make Bekos cringe. His legs were folded beside him, the bottoms of his peds and the entirety of each kneebolt was beginning to rot from being soaked in a constant flow of energon. Those weak and weary optics turned to a pitiful shade of utter hatred. Bekos didn't blame the mech for that smoldering look.
"What…are you doing here?" the neglected creature croaked, more out of struggle than anger as he used the taunt line of his chains to sit up correctly. Bekos pressed his lip plates into a firm line. No going back now, right?
"To help you."
The snort from the broken Autobot was clear and ringing. Bekos feared his vents would fall right off his form by the way they creaked. "As if I would believe that, you lying Pit-ridden 'Con."
Bekos ignored him and moved forward, aiming for Solas' restraints. The low, threatening snarl from the Guardian stopped him from coming more than a yard nearer. He was smart enough to know this mech's past. He was vicious on his own accord, and so, Bekos knew full well to stay far back. Any part of that cornered and injured 'Bot could be, and would be, used as a weapon.
"Don't touch me."
"I'm trying to help you."
"Rust in Pit."
Bekos groaned in frustration and began forward again. "Trust me, because we don't have enough time for you not to. Fera is somewhere on the ship and I don't know where," he said, carefully approaching with his servos opened in a placating manner. "I need your help to find her."
"Why would I help you?" Solas snarled, beating his peds at the floor to aid him in standing. He failed, and Bekos had to jump to avoid the splatter of Solas' energon on the floor. "You invaded my processor and beat me within an inch of joining Primus alongside your slag-eating compatriots. You're nothing but a Decepticon."
"A Decepticon who came here to free you, " Bekos hissed, finally leaping forward before Solas' dulled reflexes could react, and grabbing the chains. As expected, the mech struggled. "Now hold still, I need to unlock these chains."
For a split astrosecond, Bekos believed Solas had ignored him and would continue fighting. However, the mech's thrashing slowed and he became still. Relief washed through the 'Con as he shoved the key into the recognition device on the side of the cuffs. They scanned the key, beeped once, then parted to hit the floor.
Bekos didn't know when he had moved. Only when he was on the wall, with Solas' faceplates an inch from his own, his oral sheet locked, did he realize. A steadfast short sword was angled to detach his helm from his shoulderbolts, his body held still by a bracer on his neck. Bekos gasped and went stock-still, forcing his startled feelings down for the sake of staying calm.
"Why should I trust you?" Solas snarled, his words burning away at Bekos ' faceplates like acid.
"Because," Bekos began, moving his helm around to loosen Solas ' grip unsuccessfully, "We cannot free Fera without your help. Besides, I want my family unit to be safe. And...Titanios is my brother."
"That traitor has nothing-"
"That traitor was an Autobot," Bekos clipped. "Truly, in your spark, had you believed a mech like him may betray you?"
Solas fell silent, his arm slacking some. "Titanios hasn't the evil in him to commit such a heinous act against a comrade. He knew the danger here before I, therefore, he came back to free not only your comrade, but I and my family unit. He was wise enough to do all this. Wiser than me."
Solas stared long and hard into Bekos' optics. He then abruptly jerked himself away, his gaze unforgiving. Always the suspicious one. His weapon-free arm wrapped around a wound in his midsection. Those distrustful optics of his stayed locked on Bekos for an uncomfortable amount of time. His helm then nodded towards the door, his beaten and battered form gaining the strength only a tortured soldier may gain. "Lead the way."
Bekos didn't need a second offering. That first one was enough. Hopefully when he turned his spinal support on the prisoner, Solas would find it in his spark not to strike out at his unsuspecting guide. Bekos knew that he simply must trust the Autobot. It was difficult to do, as his processor was fighting at his every move while he moved for the doors, however, when he reached the keypad without a single mark upon his frame, he relaxed. Swallowing back any last concerns, he pressed the very last key separating himself and his betrayed faction, and stepped out. Thundercracker turned towards him before Cyclonus did, his optic ridge raised.
"That was quick," he commented, setting his rifle against his shoulderbolt leisurely."I didn't even hear a scream. Did you get anything?"
"Do we need to go in there?" Cyclonus questioned, a certain light coming to his optics when the thought of torture crossed his path.
Bekos forced a grin and shook his helm. "No, actually, the interrogation went we-" A black streak flashed past him, colliding with an unsuspecting Thundercracker and sending the Decepticon to the floor with but a split bark of alarm. Bekos launched himself at Cyclonus, grabbing the mech around his neck and twisting with a powerful wrench. The blue warrior hit the wall, faceplates smashed into the barrier. Bekos then quickly slammed the bunt of his bracer into the back of the mech's helm where it met his neck. Cyclonus slid to the ground with only a long shudder of air from his vents.
"Get them in the room," Bekos instructed, grabbing Cyclonus by the shoulderbolts and dragging him inside the doors. Solas had Thundercracker by the leg and he tossed the Decepticon inside without a second care about it. "And you couldn't have waited until I led them in here?"
"I couldn't give two frags."
Why would he? It must feel good to get his servos on the ones whom had tortured him and his charge. Covered in gore and banged up in more places than Bekos wished to process having, he appeared pure frightening.
Together, they fled the space, leaving Thundercracker and Cyclonus tied up in the very same chains Solas had been in. Bekos shorted out the keypad and waved his servo for Solas to follow him. They ran down the corridors as fast as they dared, taking out as many lights as they could where soldiers were milling about. Bekos' spark was racing with the limited term they had left. Platon was sure to recover quicker than most from being unconscious, and so, they were pressed seriously for time. Bekos kept Solas back behind a wall for a nanoclick and stepped forward around the corner towards a small bundle of three soldiers. Grinning through his rough venting, Bekos lifted his servo.
They lifted their own, expecting him to wave. A blaster appeared in place of the servo and shot out the lights. Shouts of surprise sounded in the darkness, disclosing the position of each mech immediately. Bekos pressed his mandible shut tight and started at the last place he'd seen the three, his bracer already changing to a dagger. One swipe gained a shower of sparks to explode through the shadows. A pained cry pierced the curtain of blindness before it was cut off, followed by the thump of a helm rolling from its frame. Bekos pivoted on his heelped and struck out at the first sign of movement. More stunning bursts jolted forth from the nothing, acting as prelude to the river of energon already tainting the space. Bekos jabbed and slashed, leaving no room for hesitance in him anymore until three separate bodies had hit the floor.
"Come on," Bekos called into the shadows. He couldn't see a thing in the dim except the glow of two blue optics. Sighing, Bekos watched Solas rejoin him. "For Primus' sake mech, you'll get us caught by your fragging optic hue!"
Without warning, Bekos' servo flicked out, clocking Solas right in the right optic. The mech's helm reared and he hissed, cupping his faceplates.
"What the slag, you fragger!" he snapped, too loud for comfort. His left optic was turning red. The rumors were true. Good.
Bekos grabbed Solas nearer and pinched a loose part of his helm, just above his optic ridge and pulled it down so it covered his right optic. "There," he said, examining his work proudly. "Now you won't be recognized as well. If we shoot the lights out, that should make it believable."
"Fragging vexpa..." Solas spat, shoving Bekos before attending to his new optic cover himself. By the AllSpark was this mech something to deal with. But Bekos brushed off his opinions and went onward through the halls, taking out the overhelm illumination as he did, thus plunging them into artificial dusk. They made it to their destination without meeting much resistance other than a few more soldiers and a single Sweep mech whom basically knocked himself out before Bekos could get hold of him.
"We need to get moving. Titanios is finding the Russian scientists and is rounding them towards the entrance to be let out before us," Bekos explained over his shoulderbolt. "He'll join us there."
Solas' chassis revved as a hearty cough left his abused systems. Bekos slowed down some, conscious of the mech's neglected condition. "Where are...we going?" Solas called up ventlessly.
Bekos remained quiet and motioned his companion down a lengthy hallway that yawned into the distance without a visible door in sight. The mechs pushed on without reprieve, both stealing the air greedily to cool down their flustered systems. Grey panels of metal stretched onward nonstop, letting loose the crippling urgency in Bekos. They'd taken too long to get here. They needed to move and meet with the others. Now.
With a growl, the mech let the agitated flurry of his digits off on the keypad. It took less tries this round to open the barrier, and Bekos had to physically choke back his growl of happiness when the pneumatic swish of the bolted, Decepticon-labeled insignia parted down the middle.
As one, Solas and Bekos hurried inside. The room was the same as it always was, without a difference made to it but the size of the berth in the center of the space. It had once been incredibly massive to accommodate the overwhelming size of their leader as his frame was being operated on. It had been returned to its original size however to allow the medics to perform on their smaller patients. The air was clean, but suffocated in sterility. It was stripped of any form of color rather than shades of grey or black. All excusing the startled splotch of bright scarlet color standing, compad in servo, by the empty berth. Knockout.
Bekos stood, dumbfounded, staring at the berth without a single other thought in his processor. What was this? Where was the fembot supposed to be here? She was still supposed to be in surgery. Before he could do a thing, Solas stormed past and rammed into Knockout, nearly putting the Decepticon CMO's designation to good use. A strangled grunt escaped Knockout as the obviously furious onyx and crimson Autobot shoved him on top of the berth by his neck. Solas pinned him there, leaving no mercy in his fiery gaze for the trapped 'Con beneath his digits.
"Where is she?!" he yelled, pure, unadulterated anger billowing from his scorched frame. "Tell me!"
Knockout was picked up and thrown back down without a flinch of effort by his captor. Solas wasn't letting up a byte, and the form of a Guardian and former gladiator of Kaon was beginning to show through. It was amazing to see the stark might in that frame of his, and Bekos strained to keep reminding himself that that Autobot symbol on his chassis was no fluke. That red optic of his was merely there from a failed attempt to completely change it to blue. Raging there, without letup in his arm, hovering over his target with forgiveness absent in his gaze…
The mech was a sight to see. His ferocity was terrifying. His will was awe-inspiring. Bekos finally snapped out of his revere when Knockout began kicking out to free himself. The flier roughly planted his servos on Solas' chassis and used his momentum to send the Autobot warrior backwards. Solas snarled, regained his posture, and promptly began for Knockout again. Bekos held his servos open between them, making sure this crazed Guardian wouldn't kill the innocent medic. That look was certainly in his optics.
"She isn't here! Solas, Fera isn't here!"
"Then where is she?!" he roared, pacing from side to side in front of the cautious red medic and his protective comrade. His prowling stance made him appear as an agitated Wrecker. "You said she would be here!"
"I never said that!" Bekos shouted back, following the warrior with a scowl of his own. Solas' expression was bathed in a murderous glint, his optics shaded by the sheer depth of his optic ridges buried so deep into his sights.
When Bekos frowned, Solas' chassis rumbled bad enough to vibrate the floor. "Where is she?" he demanded, lower this time. The threat was still there in his voice. Without the volume, it was almost more intimidating.
Bekos let his arms drop and he stood straighter. "We'll find her," he promised, turning for Knockout. His tone was forewarning. "Please, Knockout, if you know what's good for you, you'll tell us where the fembot you operated on is."
"Operated?!"
"Solas Kaon, for fragging sake, shut up!"
Knockout cringed slightly at the yelling of the mechs. He was no fighter, not usually, for his tactics were usually more valued in his medbay or in the tactical communications board rather than the battlefield. With a visible swallow, his slim optics searched from one mech to the next.
"I don't know," he admitted, hesitantly. A strange, garbled noise, close to an engine leaking oil while trying to start, came from the anxious Guardian. Knockout's servos came up to possibly protect himself. What good that would do. "I swear!" he insisted, his optics wide. Bekos stayed steady in allowing Solas to scare the medic. If they could get information out of him, Bekos would let the Autobot go as far as to land a good punch to Knockout.
"Who came in to take her?" Bekos asked.
"Swindle and…um..." He flinched as Solas raised a fist, "Vortex! Yeah, that one! They came in and collected her before she even got out of recharge. I told them she needed to recover from her frame transfer, but they told me Galvatron ordered they retrieve her anyway."
Bekos went still. He couldn't move. If what he believed to be true, this whole operation was basically compromised. He, Thunderblast, their sparkling, Solas, and Titanios would all be put down on the spot. There was no returning from a hopeless situation such as this event would leave.
Solas stalked up behind Bekos, his chassis brushing the mech's arm. "Well?" he bit, his tone bitterly impatient. "What does that mean?" Bekos wasn't actually sure himself. It could mean their end, or a tricky opportunity for the future. Any way it led, they were meeting with the lord of evil incarnate himself.
"She's…" he couldn't get it out. He didn't want to. What in Primus had he gotten himself into? What had he been thinking, figuring he could get out of something like this alive? His spark squeezed and his vents refusing to work properly. This was insanity.
"Galvatron has her."
And the alarms went off.
Well that ended well, didn't it?
Looks like Titanios and his bro aren't big baddies after all :D
But things are definitely going to move faster, especially next chapter,
I've got a whole lot of cramming to do in that chapter, so it's going to give whiplash :0
So watch out!
Can't wait to hear what you all think,
and see you next week :)
*Chapter Inspiration: Mad World= Jasmine Thompson*