We're getting close to the end, my friends!
Sad as it is to admit, we are nearing the arch of our story.
Things are going to pick up from here, and so I hope you're ready :)
Let's hope that we go out with a bang, yeah? :D
Enjoy!
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 75
A life had ended here, in his arms; under these grey skies; beneath these molten buildings. Where the air flowed once, and never again. A beating entity, alive mere moments before, faded to nonexistence. How? How could a thrumming, pulsing essence be in the grips of euphoric battle, only to fall into a blunt flutter of the world of the living, which left them with nothing left but to...to die.
It was what made the universe go round, they said. It allowed others to live in their place, they said. He was asking for it, and he was insane to welcome death so easily, they said. After all, wasn't he an old, beaten down, failing mech anyway? Let him go, they said. It was meant to end this way...he'd said. Insane as he was, he was the insane kind of mech that one couldn't help feeling honored merely to stand by. It was the insanity befitting of a Prime.
Let him go, they said.
One things Solas Kaon didn't understand was why things had to happen as they did. He could have stayed in the sidelines, guarding the civilians, while Sol and the others did the raid. But, like the stubborn, reckless being he was, he charged into the heat of it all and shoved Solas' ignorant self away from the toppling figure of a collapsing building. When the warrior had recovered himself and realized everything that fell, slowly, into place, it was already too late.
While crashing explosions rocked his armor, sending his audios into a fritz, the mech had the gall to tear away at the building his comrade had disappeared under. In the back of his processor, he knew. He knew what this was be, and he knew how it was going to end. But frag logic, right? Frag the possibilities and the doubting and frag the chances. Sol was desperate enough to break position and seek out his friend. A true friend.
This was Tyger Pax. Optimus Prime was boarding his ship, the Stargazer, after the Arc had disappeared from the Cybertronian atmosphere and spiraled into galaxies unknown. All was know was that it had crash-landed somewhere. Optimus' group was meant to search for him after finding the AllSpark. Alongside him, there was Bumblebee -the brash youngling-, Ratchet -the cranky chief medical officer-, Ironhide -the psychotic, canon-wielding lunatic-, and Jazz -the smooth talker that couldn't reach a cube of energon on the high shelves-. It was a merry, grand bunch for Optimus to choose. The best of the best. The highest of high on his respective, but small, list. These were mechs whom were not going to shoot him from behind.
Solas didn't care about any of that. This battle, waging here, was merely to hold off the enemy long enough for their leader and company to leave. Leave them, their planet, and this war, behind. Any mech or fembot could have felt betrayal deep in their gridmaps. Most understood; it was for the good of the AllSpark. Then there were others, who refused to believe that their Prime was doing anything but abandoning them in their time of need. Countless were dying here. Thousands already lay deadsparked, with frames so damaged that their faceplates were mutilated beyond recognition.
His digits ached from their digging, and his arms creaked in threat to give out. Tremors rigged his legs as he shoved a large slab of debris off a pocket of space. Shrapnel showered him as ships danced overhelm, taking one another out with shocking blasts that nearly made Solas' optics cross. A vessel crashed a few yards away, bearing in it a mech of Autobot ranking, slumped out of the cockpit. With a feeble outstretch of his arm, his optics became black and his frame lost its luster. Solas returned to his task in renewed vigor, using all he had now to get his friend free.
Another yank of scrap from the walls and Solas was staring at a set of faceplates that meant far more to him than this battle. A single name, short and rigid, came slipping from his dry glossa and cracked lip plates. His dirtied faceplates shivered, his armor rippling in waves as the mech fell to his kneebolts.
Here lied Wing, crippled and covered, under the sheets of his home. It was funny to consider, when thinking about it. His own home had turned against him.
Solas gently took up Wing's helm, setting it on his folded legs. A heavy vent left the mech, a vapor of dust and ash from blaster exhaust escaping his vents. They shuddered from the weight of dying, ready to give out at any moment. Solas' wobbling gaze traveled further against the destroyed version of his mentor. His armor was singed along all edges. Holes, large in caliber, had bitten through him straight through down to his protoform. It was the oldness of his frame that had allowed them to spear right through. The edges glowed, still hot, while others were already cooled, letting flecks of black ash float away on the blaster-torn wind.
Immediately, Solas' inner self refused the worst, and he went to the business of releasing his brother-in-arms. Impossibly massive chunks of building were sitting on top of Wing's lower half. From hipbolts down, his legs and peds couldn't be seen. Sparks jutted out from beneath the slab, spitting out across pieces of his armor that had been knocked off. Shot down and pinned, Wing was but a vulnerable victim of the battle. Solas made a noise that no mech should make, and he began pushing against the piece of scrap to dislodge it. If perhaps they could move it, Solas could carry his comrade out of this mess...
Then a white servo came, brushing weakly away at Solas' digits. Startled, the warrior sat back and gazed low on the faceplates that had taken him on as an apprentice these long vorns - these features of which had molded him into the fighter he was now. Those lip plates had scolded him and encouraged him into the strenuous, late joors of the orns as he trained mercilessly. Those plates of armor had offered him a target to scream out his grief and anger. These blades that laid, broken, at his sides, had beaten the mech into Solas. Those optics had provided a wisdom that no gladiator like him deserved. Wing never smiled much. When he did, it was a treat.
This time, when Wing grinned up at Solas, servo still on his, Solas knew he didn't want the mech to smile. It was a sort of smile that was comforting a sparkling. An Autobot was laying out before him, having seen his last battles, and standing the weight of his inevitable end. This couldn't be it, Solas told himself. This wasn't how Wing deserved to go. No mech deserved to deadspark in any way but an honorable one. If Wing perished in this spot, beneath the rubble, the other 'Bots wouldn't think twice over it. It couldn't end like that.
"Solas," Wing began, voice soothing. His servo grabbed harder onto the mech's because his other arm was broken in half. It sat there, useless. Kind of like his legs. "You can't move that."
Solas snorted, snatching his servo away, and slammed his palms into the slab. It twitched, and Wing grunted lowly. "I'm not going to leave you-" Another heave, and Solas managed to separate his mentor and the debris some. Underneath he managed to catch a glimpse of Wing's lower state. He wished he hadn't. For Drift's legs were crushed, the metal flattened in ways it should never be allowed to. Lines of energon poked out, severed, letting a thick pool of glowing, azure liquid to pool beneath.
In his shock, Solas dropped down the slab back onto Wing. The beaten, shot, battered soldier lifted his good arm and clamped his servo to the back of Solas' neck, forcing him to turn his pale optics back to his comrade's. Solas' features were slack, his glossa unable to form the words from his stunned processor. Drift's optics were already dimmer. Slag.
"The rubble is the only thing holding me together down there for," he stated firmly as a weakened mech could, lip plates slowish as he surely began to shut down. "It gives me a little more time. You move that, and I leak out within the click instead."
"But..." Solas began, trailing off as his processor fell into a chaotic flurry and his frame filled with lead, "what... What am I supposed to do?"
Wing smiled again, with a distant gleam now. He was certain of his answer, and Solas was too, but neither spoke of it. Wing wasn't afraid to deadspark. He was welcoming to it in fact these last orns. The vision of joining with Primus in his paradise of the Matrix was alluring to many. Wing merely wished to go out fighting. Which, was nothing less than what Solas would expect of him.
"Nothing," Wing murmured, digits struggling to keep grip on Solas' neck. "Let me go, Solas."
Sol's optics widened and his servos shot out, latching onto Wing's arm in an effort to hold him still. Maybe if he fought hard enough, he could freeze this moment and Wing wouldn't leave. Solas was going to hold on so strongly that Wing wouldn't be able to. Sol's servos alone would be enough to keep Wing on Cybertron, where he belonged. After all, he was all Solas had left. If Wing was gone, who would be there for him to fight for? The Autobots? They weren't nearly the cause he found worth fighting for without Wing being there to support it.
"No," Solas state firmly, believing in those words enough that he felt that they could anchor Wing here. Never before had Sol gotten away with saying 'no' to the elder warrior. With nothing to lose, Solas was sure that this time, he could get away with a bit of rebellion.
Wing chuckled, vents releasing puffs of stale, pitiful air. "That's Drift's spark you've got in your chassis," he noted, nodding toward the mech's core. "Keep it alive. Your place is here, with the Autobots, where you can cause a bit of trouble and make a mark in this war. I'm not going to be pleased if I see you doing anything idiotic while I'm gone." In a gesture of affection, he brought Solas' foreplate down on his own. Their optics cast thin shades of illuminance on each other, lighting their grimy features in ghostly light.
Solas' helm shook once from side to side. Their moment was closing. This window they held onto was slimming to a shut. Solas knew it was coming. He'd known, and feared greatly, for groons of this very instance. He'd tried training harder, being better, being strong enough that he could prevent it. It seemed that he had failed himself and Wing. Drift too. What would Sol's creator think when he caught Solas, without Wing at his side? The two had known each other since Drift had turned Neutral, reverting to his designation of Deadlock, and falling into a quiet lifestyle with Solas' nannia. At least, for a little while. The enemy had made the mistake of missing the second, older creation Nova and Deadlock had made. Their eldest was still alive.
Drift's plan to disguise his oldest from the dangers he'd left had worked apparently. All it had cost was his, his mate's, and his youngest's lives. Sometimes, Solas seriously questioned his dolanno's reasoning.
"I'm not leaving you here," Solas repeated, faceplates lifting to survey the area around him. "There must be some way to free you without further injuring you." He picked up his helm, but his sights failed to catch anything of interest, and his spark sank.
If not a crutch to prop up the slab, then another piece of rubble? Then he would leak out. But a medic? There wasn't one nearby. A fellow Autobot? They were all in battle. A temp plating to seal the leak? By the time Solas made the welding, Wing would be gone. They had no choices, no plans, no strategy. There was this moment. And that was all they had.
Wing shifted his servo, wrapping his digits around the width of Sol's neck. The former gladiator could tell the mech was losing his personal battle. All fumes were exhausted. Within clicks they would be found and shot down by the Decepticons. It was a miracle they hadn't been already. Solas could but hold Wing's arm with the failing will of a warrior on his last stand. Wing was drifting away into lands Solas was shamed to say that he was afraid of.
"Listen to me, Sol, you listen good," Wing panted, struggling to vent properly. His cycling was shallow and his optic slips were drooping. Solas' digits locked onto the mech's bracer with all he had left until the armor was almost denting. "You get out of this, alive, and serve these Autobots as I taught you. You do not yet have my permission to die, is that clear?"
Solas couldn't speak. His spark was in his throat and his words were somewhere in his tanks.
Wing's hold on Solas' neck tightened, and with the strength unlike a dying warrior, wrenched his helm closer. Their faceplates were near enough that Sol could see the gears in his optics shifting. "Do you compute what I am saying?!" he bellowed loud as a mech in his state could.
Solas did not flinch. Well, perhaps some. "Yes," he managed, voice nothing above a whisper. He was afraid what he said could blow Wing away like dust to the storm.
A careful, meaningful force rose the corners of Wing's weathered faceplates. His optics were already an echo of what they had been, as if he were a visitor to his own frame. His servo slipped from Sol's neck and his vents dipped into a silence that deafened Sol more than any blaster fire.
"Good," he rumbled, through more noise than sound. "Now duck."
Was it even fair that those were his last words? If they hadn't been fighting, what would Wing have said? Would he mention Drift-turned-Deadlock or Nova or Solas? Would he have cursed at the worlds and fought a little harder?
Then again, if they weren't fighting, Wing wouldn't have deadsparked anyway.
Solas came online screaming his helm off, his frame already inclined up to a sit. His spark was beating frantically, as if truly in the center of Tyger Pax, under the barrage of blaster fire. Fear tore his optics wide, their frantic gaze searching for what was not there. A whirring sound told him of his flustered vents, rushing to catch up with the scorching temperatures of his frame. Thoughts, memories, and sensations filed through his processor until it was on the verge of a crash. Until he'd searched his entire room thrice over, Solas didn't realize his arm was outstretched.
The taste of the name 'Wing' was on his glossa, bitter and rancid.
Movement entered his space to his low left, sluggish and soft. Solas jerked away, arm lifting the balled shape of his fist. A craze was in his sights from having suffered through a personally devastating memory. Bombs still rang in his audios and the dying screams of mutilated brethren were staining the walls. Yet all he found was not a warrior, with his blaster aimed for Sol's helm, or an assassin paid to end him for his betrayal to his former faction. Everything of it was exhausted and lax.
Fera was laid beside him, her servo on his bracer. That was where he'd felt touched. Her digits were anything but malicious, and she was in no state to have been attacking him. The fembot's optics were barely cracked open, their blueness muggy with the smokey lingers of recharge. Her other arm was still tucked near, the whir of her systems not quite up to a normal, working state of awareness yet. A sort of confusion overtook her as she gaze up at her Guardian, through the sheen before her sights, finding him wide awake already. His scream must have brought her online.
Immediately Solas lowered his servo. Fera stared at him with her optic ridges bunched together. She appeared to be struggling to understand what was going on, however, Sol knew well enough that she could comprehend what had happened without him needing said a word.
"Solas," she murmured in her drowsy, muffled tone. "What...is something wrong?"
The Guardian shook his helm, a long vent escaping his cycling system. He shoved himself to the end of the berth, letting his legs hang off the edge. There he hunched, elbowjoints resting on his kneebolts. A servo scrubbed his faceplates, stilling over the span of his lip plates and chin. His processor was as flurried as his recovering spark. Excitement brought on by the very real, but very old, memory file had his processor spinning. Why here, and now, of all times and places? Where did Wing come into all of this?
Was this the deceased mech's way of scorning him for holding in these lies and the truth about his life cycle? Fera had known about his past before, however, in losing her memories, that part of himself was gone again. Everything they had confided in each other about, all the regrets and joyful moments, were gone - stripped away as a coat of chipping paint. It was eating him alive to keep the secrets from her. His origins for example, being half Decepticon himself, plus the fact that he was a Decepticon for some time, would only shock her. Then there was the possibility of him being a Keeper, like her... Their trust was stronger than ever. Could he bring himself to jeopardize that?
"Solas...?"
No, no, these parts of himself could come up at a different moment. For now, they would continue their stretch of peace. Since Cybertron, Solas was happy. To keep Fera ignorant meant more time she could feel happy as well. Perhaps after this was all over...when the war was good and finished...and the two of them considered themselves survivors...he could tell her.
"I'm fine," he told his charge, voice graveled and worn. "Just...a bad memory file is all."
He could feel the shift of the berth as she rose. The heat from her frame caressed the back of his arm, warning him of her presence long before she touched his spinal support. "Should I get Ratchet?" she wondered worriedly, helm appearing at Sol's side.
"No," Solas stated firmly. Ratchet was already involved in this. Besides, the medic had enough on his plate.
Fera was no less concerned. "But these attacks are becoming more frequent - and they're getting worse. If something is wrong Solas, I want you to go see one of the medics..." her gentle voice requested. If only to make her feel better, Solas straightened where he was sitting and grinned at Fera. He tried putting on a brave faceplate, to settle the constant discomfort of her.
The mech carefully cupped the back of her helm and leaned forward, placing a kiss so lightly on her crest that he doubted if he had touched it at all. When he slipped off the berth, Fera was still there, watching him with her optics alight in hesitance. He could tell she wanted to follow him, wherever he was going. However, right now, he merely wanted to figure things out for himself before dumping them all on her. He didn't even know where he was going.
"I'm going for a walk to clear my processor," he informed Fera, stepping to the keypad beside his door. His digits fluttered over the keys, entering the correct code that made the barrier that separated his universe from the real one split apart. "Stay here. Rest. We can talk when I get back."
Without looking back he moved out of the cage he'd often considered to be his sanctuary. The openness of the halls sent drafts of cool, frigid air over his terse frame. It was what he needed. His burning plates reveled in the tender patting of the conditioned air against them. A walk was definitely what he needed, to more or less cleanse himself of the screams that were, and were not, his from that fateful orn in Tyger Pax.
For a click he stood outside the door, unable to bring himself to take the first step. What was he running from? They were all memories. That's all they were. It may have happened, yes, in reality. However, they were in the past. And the past could never come back...no matter how much he wished it would sometimes.
Solas tore himself away from his quarters and started for Primus-knows where. A chill captured his frame while he started away. They surfaced from the aftershocks of his memory. It was prowling the edges of his spark, awaiting its turn to strike again. Solas' recovery from it caused trembles to flutter his plates and energon to pump harshly in his audios. Balling up his servos did nothing but give him a stinging pain in his palms. Which, still wasn't enough to bring his processor off of things. Deep venting didn't aid him either.
While he stepped along the cold concrete, his every move echoed by the baffling number of narrow passageways, he begun to tell himself that he wasn't going to show this side of himself to Fera. She had enough problems already to deal with. One of his breakdowns would merely add to her plate. With her memories gone, she had no knowledge of his past. If he went on a fritz when she was around, it could send her back into her previous illness. What she needed was rest and comfort. What she didn't need was pressure and stress.
Sadly this meant he would have to keep things from her a bit longer. Simply until she regained her strength and an anchor to her processor. Ratchet's frame transfer seemed to help her organize things definitely better than if she had been remembering and sorting by herself. The therapy from before the Nemesis was certainly taking effect as well. But, it wasn't enough. Fera was never going to regain everything from therapy sessions and frame upgrades. She would have to discover some things on her own. Perhaps the most painful memories actually.
Without meaning to, Solas tripped on his own toelinks. He grunted and was unable to stop himself from hitting the wall, hard. A reverberating slam came from his shoulderbolt as it struck the concrete barrier, mercifully stopping him from smashing his faceplates into the floor. It was unclear to him how he'd tripped initially. All he could comprehend through the lucid fog of his recollecting, exhausted processor was that it had happened. His heavy helm lifted, the cables in his neck straining. There was a creak coming from nearby. It sounded far-off. When Solas shifted, he realized he'd dented his shoulderbolt pretty good when he'd fallen. There was a crack in the wall as well, centered around a chip in the shape of his armor.
He rubbed his faceplates roughly and shook it to get it into a clearer state. Absently he then lifted the servo to hold onto the aggravated alloy on his arm. It didn't hurt. It should, but, he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it. The memory of Wing, added to the information overloading him all at once was making it difficult to focus on anything particular. Minor pain such as a dent, that wasn't even that concerning anyway, was thrown off to the deep depths of his thoughts.
Sol stepped away from the wall, mistakenly believing he was strong enough to do it. With the eyes of at least ten humans on him, Solas hit the wall again, his peds taking him no further than six feet. Mixtures of concern and curiosity surrounded him. To Solas however, they were smudges on the floor. He was having difficulty seeing properly. His vents were shallow, his processor pounding. Gritting his oral sheets, the Guardian used the wall as support as he slid down the hall.
Where was he going? Why wasn't he back with Fera? Judging from the time on the digital clocks posted around the halls, he'd barely recharged a joor. A joor. Cybertronians, if given a healthy recharge cycle, could recharge for three and a half kalons straight.
Solas winced at the erratic beat of his spark. Soon he was going to crash. He needed to get to a dark space, away from prying eyes and optics.
Before the mech could do that he fell again. Primus bless it did he fall this time. He'd been turning a corner when he pushed off the wall a bit too hard. The result was a tip of his balance, sending him sideways. Without anything to grab, Solas was helpless but to become a victim to Earth's gravity.
The floor was rushing up to meet him, the air sailing past his audios. Darkness ate at the edges of his sight, boxing him in a claustrophobic squeeze. Solas prepared himself to land worse this instance around. His frame instinctively tensed and his useless arms flung out behind him. The gleams of his frame struck every surface around him. His gasp of air came in a slow, leisured way.
He could see his own shadow. Then another shadow. And suddenly, there were two servos planted on his chassis, saving him from his fate with the ground.
"Solas Kaon, what in Primus' name is wrong with you?" they demanded, shoving him upwards back onto his peds. Little did they expect him to slump, uselessly, against the wall, sending his aft where his faceplates were supposed to of been. His savior grabbed him by the armor of his chassis, keeping him up. Sol's helm lolled back, depending on the barrier behind him to keep it from rolling completely around.
When he got it to rest on his chassis, he found the one responsible for him not crashing with their small servos planted on his chassis and their black armor rivaling the morbid vortex of the universe itself. Instantly the were recognized. Even through Solas' fazed processor, there was no mistaking some members of the Autobots. "Stratis..." he mumbled.
With some difficulty he managed to get his servo up to set on her shoulderbolt. Stratis lifted herself higher, getting close enough to Solas' faceplates that he could make her out from the world of blur. "Look at me," she commanded, snapping her digits in front of his noseplate. Solas moaned softly, optics shuttering, squeezing, then opening. He shook his helm, but that only made the cranialache worse. Stratis sighed and moved, ducking under the arm on her shoulderbolt and slinging it around her neck. "You're near collapse, you idiotic mech. When was the last time you recharged? Refueled? Saw Ratchet?"
As one, they made their way through the halls. Solas leaned heavily on Stratis, relying on her alone to get him through this journey. He should never have left Fera, that much was certain. However, he fought against the idea, knowing, deep down, that it only would have made her worry. He wanted to remain the strong warrior she saw. If it meant hiding his weaknesses from her, then so be it.
All Stratis' questions ran as one, single string of warbled sounds. They flowed as a stream of bubbling liquid mercury, merging and becoming indistinguishable from the get-go. Her touch was stronger than he felt currently. Whatever was ailing him was hitting him with a vengeance. Perhaps it was the fatigue. If it reached a point where Solas crashed, he wasn't sure he would have been particularly upset. It was nice to process the possibility of recharge - of slipping into an unconsciousness that was beautifully whole.
Every moment he felt himself slipping, Stratis would be there to keep him aware. A simple pat to the cheekplate kept him on track at least twice. He couldn't recall if she'd done it before then. When he tripped, she caught him. She was there as his crutch, taking him to a place he didn't know, and vaguely dreaded. If she was indeed taking him to Ratchet, then Fera would surely find out, and all this running away would have been for nothing.
Solas grumbled under his vents, maybe a question, or a statement, he couldn't decide himself. Delirious was the word he would describe himself as right now. From the way Stratis' vents cycled roughly and her hydraulics creaked, the word she would use would be 'heavy'.
"Where...?" the mech managed as they started for an open doorway. Or was it that? For all he knew, it could be a scaffold with a tarp over it, or a hanging on the walls. From the way Stratis moved directly for it, he could tell it was neither. The fembot went right through, without entering a code on a keypad -or at least he guessed-, and tossed him away from her.
Solas stumbled, falling as dead weight from his supporter. For a nanoclick he wavered, on the edge of swaying and tipping over. Eventually gravity won its battle again, and he was left with no choice but to let his kneebolts give out. With a hollow plunk, the mech was seated on a surprisingly solid structure. Slanted an odd way, Solas was unsure where he was. He righted himself and moaned, feeling a sudden rush of vertigo hit him. His tanks rolled and his processor blacked out for a split sparkbeat. Numb servo rose to knead into his optics, kneading the shakiness from them.
Faint steps started from about a yard away, most likely Stratis', and faded out. With the fembot gone, Solas felt compelled to lie on his side and recharge. However, as vulnerable as he was currently, plus his more frequently reoccurring, undesirable memory loops, he felt that was a last-case choice. He felt absolutely alone and empty, knowing that he feared just another invisible thing. When he was on Cybertron, with no family unit, friend, or mentor by his side, he was invincible. Deadspark was a tolerable topic. He had no 'Bot to fear for, or reason to fear for himself. No one would miss him. Now...now he had Fera to look after. If he perished, he couldn't be there to listen and understand her suffering. If he perished, Fera would be left without memory of their bond, or his past. He had to survive to tell her that much, if not the Keeper situation.
"Stratis?" Solas croaked, finding his throat dry and tight.
"I'm here," the spy called from somewhere ahead of Solas. The mech, reassured, tried to focus on keeping the contents of his tanks inside and not crashing rather than locating where his counterpart was. "Try not to fall under, it could be dangerous in your state." Her add-on broke Solas' concentration, and he hissed as a new discouragement struck his tremulous spark. He wanted to send a biting response to the fembot, but his lack of ability to hold on to a single thought at a time made that a bit difficult.
More steps struck his audios, signaling Stratis' return. He could sense her proximity, her presence too noticeable and familiar to miss. When she was within a few feet he picked up his faceplates. His vision had sharpened a byte, allowing him to see the fembot and the cargo she carried.
Stratis offered him the cube in her grasp, her lip plates dipping into a deep frown. "Drink," she commanded, waiting patiently for him to accept the substance. Solas merely stared at the crystalline box of energon while his processor tried to comprehend what was in front of him. Finally he did take it from her, settling it in his lap to study it more.
It was blue, of course, as all energon was. It glittered with the tiny ripples shivering its surface. It lapped at the edges of its container with the playfulness of sludge. A faint, almost unnoticeable lace of violet sat on the perimeter of the liquid, having been in the process of settling, with more of it in the center. Solas' lip plates turned down at this.
"High-grade," he noticed lamely, sloshing the potent concoction around. And a special ingredient, he added to himself.
Stratis let her arms hang at her sides, optics carefully trained on the mech. "It should help you regain strength," she explained unnecessarily. "After your systems recover some, I shall escort you to Ratchet for a-"
"No," the mech stated firmly, turning his faceplates up. His decision was stern and final, his sights brazen with a challenge to appose him. His grip tightened on the cube. The only way he was going to see Ratchet again was if he was on his deathbed. No time before. Solas had had enough visits to the CMO to last him two life cycles. He'd rather let his wounds mend themselves an irritatingly long while rather than be subjected to more needles, microscorchers, and replacements. It was a whole lot easier to say no after saying it to Wing.
Stratis stood in front of him for a near click. When their battle between their piercing optics came to a draw, she let loose a long, steady vent and walked to his side. With the grace of a fully rested fembot, she lowered herself onto the Cybertronian-styled couch. Her spinal support was of course straight as a board, her limbs aligned in the trained manner of an upper-class fembot. The sole factor an Alpha-class being could never forget was her mannerisms. It was purely annoying. Solas took a swig of the cube before he said anything, letting the burning, acidic taste slide down his throat. When it hit his tanks, a warmth bloomed through his systems.
"Avoiding our medic will only cause yourself more strife than consolation, Solas Kaon," she deemed in her soothing, smooth tone. Solas huffed, catching himself staring at the energon he held again. As much as he hated to admit, he did feel somewhat better.
"If I visit him," he began, looking at Stratis' calm features, "it will only cause me strife. My terms in the medbay have left a sour taste to my glossa, giving me no other option than to avoid the southern wing of this base." He would have added more to that statement, however, it was for the better that he remain silent. The both of them noted this mutual respect for the quiet, and so they fell into a stark, soundless reprieve. The only noises were that of their venting and the hum of the energon dispenser.
Things thinned to a sort of hypnotizing stillness. Solas slouched against his kneebolts as he sipped on the energon cube. Its sweet and almost overwhelming taste shocked his systems back into a better sharpness, and yet, the high-grade was making him sluggish as well. An easiness that wasn't there previously entered his CPU, giving his thoughts a lulling edge compared to their previous viciousness. Things passed through him with ease, never staying longer than he wished. This experience of control made his spark even its beats and his energon run smoother. That was the effect of high-grade, he assumed. He'd never really drank it back on Cybertron. Gladiators weren't allowed, and every other opportunity he didn't have the credits for it.
Lagging, Solas didn't notice his cube was gone until he lifted it to his lip plates, only to find nothing there to drink. He pulled it away, staring into the container in the slow way a mech or fembot did when they were confused in the bars. In the back of his processor he was having quite the challenge trying to believe that it was actually finished. Gently he laid his arm on his thigh, the cube hanging in his weak servo between the two. He could feel Stratis looking at him, as no Autobot could mistake the assault of those dark, stabbing orbs.
A slim arm flowed over his leg, aiming for the cube. "I'll get you an-"
"I'm fine," Solas interrupted, setting the empty cube on his other side. To be truthful, he didn't particularly prefer the effects of the high-grade. It was pungent and overpowering to the point where it threw off his systems. In a war, a mech was supposed to be alert at all times. To fall under here would be to risk his, and every other 'Bot's safety. And still, in the end, he would have picked this lack of sensual clarity over a visit to Ratchet. That mech would have fritzed over a dent, not to mention a near crash. If he saw how Solas was abusing himself, he would...Primus...
Stratis leaned back, caught resting her helm on the top of the support behind them from the limit of Solas' vision. The way she remained, loosely lounging next to him, with her optics averted to the stretch of ceiling overhelm, meant she was either at ease enough around him to let herself go, or that she was too exhausted to care. A war was taxing on any Cybertronian, whether they started that way or not. Whether they had been around from the countless vorns ago that this raging battle began, or two quartexes, it didn't matter. They all by now expected the worst whenever they could.
As her optics closed, a purely random statement left her lip plates: "It was said to me by the humans that if you make a God bleed, the people will cease to provide belief in them." Her optics then opened, revealing the deep-set belief in her sights. "They will stop believing." She would not meet gazes with Solas, nonetheless he could understand and relate. He readjusted himself until he was laid back against the support as she was, helm fixed to the relatively comfortable surface.
"Perhaps," he agreed, knitting his servos over his tanks. A long gush of air escaped his vents. "Or they can revolt. A God in the better views of their followers will be seen invincible, no matter their mortal qualities. They could fall into disbelief and anger. Or, they can become provoked and strike against the force that cause their very God to bleed."
Stratis lifted her helm, watching Solas. The mech continued to observe above them, mildly relishing in his sense of solidity for the first moment since returning. Maybe this was the attractiveness of high-grade to the majority of the Autobot population.
"Those who chose to fall, will, while others bound in loyalty shall remain," he went on when the fembot did not speak. "Who do you think will stay when their God fails?"
"You're suggesting Galvatron I assume," she summed. At this, Solas did let his optics drift to hers. From the extent of a simple point of view, the spy had managed to uncover the gritty underneath of his statements. That was why she was the spy and he was the warrior. A vague comment certainly would never usually peak the interest of a normal 'Bot. And yet, this was no normal 'Bot.
"The one thing we hold above them is the loyalty and confidence we share in our leaders. We fight the battle of our Gods," he said.
"And yet we continue to doubt them time and time again. You especially I should add. It's surprising to me that you, of all mechs, should find faith in the impossibility of this device," she said right back.
Solas sent her a tired glare, but hadn't the strength or motivation to defend himself. After all, it was true. "Wasn't I skeptical before?" he murmured, more to himself than Stratis. His memory files returned, not as strongly as they were, or had been. His control was constant on them, giving him solace that this was not to be another breakdown. "And where has that landed me? I doubt, and I lose. The only strength I have left is belief - is reckless hope." These images haunting him here were of Fera mostly.
Always her. Why her? Where had she come from? Why did she land in his life cycle, of all mechs'? Why did she have to be on that particular bridge, on that particular kalon, where he would be fighting? Why did her creator know them, inevitably bringing the two worlds together? She could have had a normal life. Been normal. There was no turning back now.
A grin, genuine and shocking struck Stratis' faceplates. Whatever she was smiling at, Solas couldn't tell. It was a soft kind of thing, which thawed the usual icy tone of her demeanor. Her smiling brought out a far more attractive side that Solas found way more desirable. Maybe this was the Stratis that Hawktail found love for. That mech would have had to dig pretty fragging deep to find it.
"It had only taken this long for you to find you way Solas," she responded. "Let us hope that it will be enough to give us an edge in this war."
Solas Kaon wanted to say more. If her belief in him was this grand, then could the others bring themselves to believe as well? Was she alone, or could they come around? Complete, utter disbelief struck him. It had taken until Earth for Solas to be of use for once. He'd never been recognized through the ranks. Officers and warriors above him merely gave him a passing gaze as if he were but a soldier, not a warrior. And when they did recall his past, say when he was commissioned to another officer, they would glare at him as though he were a traitor. Of course, he was. To the Decepticons. There was no reason behind their distrust. Quickly Sol found that the only ones he could confide in were a shockingly small band of Autobots. Most whom were deadsparked.
Content with himself at the moment, Sol twisted himself to grab the empty energon cube next to him. His digits were trembling in the slightest way. They touched the rim, shivering across the lip of it. A glimmer broke from a lasting droplet at the bottom, fading as it dried and turned to its pure state. He angled his servo down to touch it, before it hardened. The feel of it was still slightly warm, the acidic potency sending a tingling wave across his digit tips. Was this concoction in his systems? The mech turned around to ask what Stratis had put in the cube.
Before he could, there was a faint, but very, very detectable shiver of the building. The entire structure literally quivered. Solas went stock-still, clutching the edge of his seat, though the quake had been a minuscule one. If a strong building such as this actually was effected, no matter by how small, something major had hit. Whatever it was hadn't be made by the Earth.
Stratis was upright as well, the same expression of confusion and shock on her faceplates. Their startled optics met, and then Stratis looked around them. "Did you feel that?" she questioned unnecessarily.
The Guardian shot up from sitting, his frame tense. If that disturbance had come from inside the building... Solas gained an awful feeling in his tanks. His optics immediately went to the door, awaiting perhaps for an enemy to come storming through. He was in less a condition to fight than he would prefer, however, when push came to shove, he would be ready. Yet, there was a pawing in his chassis that didn't suggest Decepticons...
Stratis' frame made a noise as she stood as well, coming up to stand directly next to Sol. His servo was on his chassis, trying to figure out the excitement within him. Stratis went to work using her comlink, gaining update on the situation. Her words again ran into each other as they did when she led him down the halls, except with this, he knew what she was saying, he merely wasn't paying attention. A spike ran across his spark, shredding along the side of it. Solas' servo grabbed hold of his chassis armor, his frame keening over with a low rumble of pain. His optics were wide and his vocal capacitor fell into crackling bout of static.
On one kneebolt now, Solas fought to stay up. His spark was pulsating at an uneven tone, singing of agony and fear. Two attributes that were not his own. A servo laid on his shoulderbolt from surely Stratis, whom he could not hear oddly enough. His focus was on the door and the discomfort in his chassis.
Then it hit him. How could he have been so carelessly stupid?!
"Solas, it's Fera-"
But he was already out the door.
It was unclear where her Guardian may have gone when he left this room. He'd exited the area too quickly for her to demand he explain his behavior. Just out of recharge, Fera had been bewildered and lost. She didn't find it in herself to be able to sit up and force an answer out of him as she usually could. Up until his abrupt awakening, they had been comfortable in their moment of peaceful recharge. Solas had Fera tight in his arms and she rested against his chassis, where she could better hear the beat of his spark and feel the hum of his liveliness. Then he left, and all she was left with was the bitter cold against her vulnerable frame.
When he told her to continue resting, of course she wasn't going to do it. The way his trembling plates met her digits was enough to shock her into awareness. His optics had been wide and filled with a terror that made her spark pound even now. An unfulfilled part of herself had been stripped from her essence while he exited the doors. Yet her frame wouldn't allow her to step down and follow him. Her urge had been great to grab his servo and hold him back, questioning his strange expression and the scream that had brought her online. Before she could he was gone out of reach, both physically and mentally. Solas had fallen into another moment of silent sorrow that she didn't understand. The want to speak was obvious in his optics, when he watched her with those teal orbs full of a sort of longing. And still, not a word left him of it. He was keeping something from her. To protect her, most likely. That didn't mean it wasn't frustrating.
The fembot had been at ease beside him. Now she was simply worried for him for the millionth time. While she had still been on the berth, legs tucked beside her aft and servo on her chassis, the song of recharge began to die out. Her processor was racing - unwilling to let things lie. It was in her nature to question anything and everything. For Solas to keep undoubtedly precious secrets from her was a sign of distrust. That hurt more than any superficial wound.
So it was no surprise when her curiosity would get the best of her, leading her into the halls. Long ago she had figured out the code for Solas' quarters. She didn't understand the symbols, however, it was an easy sequence to follow. With careful steps she traveled through the halls, looking for her mech wherever she could. It was a helpless endeavor, as she'd lacked the knowledge of which direction he had initially taken. With the size of the base, it would take her quite a while to search a half of it before scouring the other. She'd simply have to gamble.
An arm came up, rubbing a servo over her upper arm when a chill crossed her. Her plates ruffled with a shiver, rippling as a wave down her spinal support. Her wandering optics searched the paths she took intently. From stony, concrete walls, to black, seemingly endless rooms. There was a space for everything it felt. A training room for human soldiers, a barracks for them, a medical area for them, and not to mention a particularly large library and dining space. It was clear who the government favored in this settlement.
Hundreds of unrecognizable faces passed Fera on her journey. They would wave, apparently knowing her, and she would smile back, however wouldn't say a word, in fear that they would strike up conversation and expose her unknowing of them. A few friendly Cybertronian profiles appeared, and with they Fera was more comfortable greeting verbally. To show off her newly-given skills, the fembot went about speaking to them in Cybertronian. At first, many were surprised or pleased to speak in their natural language.
Wheeljack went on and on about his lab back on Cybertron and the things he could have used to study her 'incredible physic' that never ceased to amaze him. Jolt blushed for some reason when she said hello, and ducked away behind a compad to dash somewhere else. Prowl nodded her way, yet didn't return her word of welcome. Bee could barely speak beyond his excited clicking at being able to talk to her in his more comfortable way. He'd even grabbed her servos and swung her around with Arcee, who had been there watching with a smile as her mech interacted with Fera.
Fera was moving away from a room which she had stuck her helm in to look through when she passed a fairly notable figure to grace the halls: Optimus Prime. Rethalia was not with him, nor Liora, though, Fera had been informed that the mech was capable of carrying his young one on his spinal support. When they came together in the corridor, she couldn't help her optics from drifting up past the Prime's shoulderbolt.
"Greetings, Fera," Optimus said warmly, smiling down at her. "What brings you to the outside worlds?"
Fera's optics snapped back to Optimus', her distraction broken. It took her a click to understand that he was trying to be humorous. When she understood, she chuckled. "Nothing much," she returned in Cybertronian, and stood a bit taller. "I was looking for Solas Kaon."
Optimus' optic ridges rose in surprise at hearing her perfect dialect. "Your ability for our language is impressive, I must say," he complimented. "May I ask when you had acquired the skill to perfect it?" His too-blue optics wandered over her faceplates, taking in every feature of it carefully.
Fera locked her servos in front of her. She could barely contain herself when she heard the startle and impressiveness in his tone. "When aboard the Nemesis, the Decepticons transferred me to a stronger frame so that I may..." she trailed off, not sure if she was able to continue with that certain memory. It stained the back of her optics quite often, and made her cringe in a crippling feeling of shame. With Galvatron's digits against her spark, about to...merge his entirety to her... No fembot could have felt less than frightened. Fera could still feel his touch on her chassis, wrenching it aside to expose the most precious part of herself...
A servo touched her shoulderbolt and Fera instinctively jerked away. It was Optimus whom had touched her, and now he stood with concern on his faceplates and his servo hovering where she had been. "Is everything alright?" he questioned. "You do not seem yourself this kalon."
Fera swallowed and averted her optics from his. She couldn't speak of what happened on that vessel. Not yet. They were too fresh a memory and too painful a wound. When they had healed enough for her to bear their thoughts, she would be able to speak. For now, she could merely run away from them.
"Nothing," she lied, wrapping her arms around herself. "I-I'm fine. Goodbye Optimus." She hurried away to not give him a chance to say anything. His presence followed her by his gaze burning into her spinal support; the sheer power behind him, drawing her back to him was palpable on her swollen glossa. As a Prime and friend she found he was a being she could confide to. However, her issues were not worth stealing his time for. Besides, she wasn't certain she could get it all out without breaking down.
When she darted around the corner, she couldn't help flinging her spinal support to the wall. There her servos pressed down on her chassis, fighting the race of her spark. Her vents were blowing harsh sets of air, their drafts burning against her systems. Thankfully no creature, human or other, noticed her tremors against the wall. If but two workers looked her way, they did not stop. Fera placed her servo on the concrete barrier, taking in long, steady vents to help her.
A fog crossed her processor while she stood from her spot. It obscured her thoughts and drug her into an odd sense of drifting. Voices whispered in her audio, correcting her excited systems and sending her into a hypnotic trance-like state. She knew she was walking. She could feel herself doing so. It was the sense of direction that alluded her. With her optics on the floor, she couldn't see where her frame was taking her. It was moving itself, as her control was numb and useless over the length of it. Her grip on her arms was all she knew she could influence.
A flurry of images passed her, of unknown origin, ranging from Solas' faceplates to a...male human...whom she couldn't say she knew. Often she saw a smile on his face and felt his arms wrapped around her. A few times Sarah Lennox, her mother as a human, showed up beside the man. After they kissed a few times, and she saw them curled up together on a...seat it looked like, she knew. A pain hit her. Yet before she could delve further, they moved.
The Thirteen showed up again, as if she hadn't enough of them already. It was clips and messages she'd heard before. Nothing new. But...there was a series of strange images she hadn't seen before, but they moved to fast for her to make out clearly. No sound came from them either, but a popping kind of white noise from her audios. She couldn't wince from it. Instead, she was subjected to suffering from seeing Vector Prime breaking off a piece of his spark, Solas Prime leading a figure from a dark, shadowy pool of nothingness, and Alpha Trion patting a young mech on the helm that couldn't be anyone but Optimus before he was Prime. Other than that, she couldn't make anything out.
The Stone was burning. So greatly it shone - the energy thrumming along her chassis. Its power was flushing through her frame, trickling through her energon and sending a heavy sort of fluffiness throughout her. Hard as it was to describe, she did know that she felt as though a pressure was blowing up inside of her. Her optics shuttered when the swelling behind them made her fear they would pop. She could do that much at least. Without an output, this power was overwhelming her sensitive construction.
When she opened her optics next, she was in a confined space, the walls around her being of flimsy metal and mesh. The whole thing shook when it moved, despite the fact that she was standing stock-still in the center of the floor. A meager, naked bulb hung over her helm, swaying and bouncing along for the ride. A dull light next to the double doors signaled the journey downward. As they plummeted, the air grew colder, with a dank humidity that could only detail the dampness of a cave. Warnings went off in her processor, and a discomfort pierced her veil of calmness. Where was she going? Why was she here? The veil enveloped her, and these questions went unanswered. She simply didn't care.
The elevator came to a jolting halted, the entire thing creaking ominously while the gears and cables came into place. A shrill ding sounded from above the doors, and a split parted them. The brightness beyond was blinding for her to comprehend. It sent her senses into overdrive, immediately crashing them, and forcing a reboot. She sat, voiceless and blind, for a length unknown, doing something unknown, in a room which was unknown. Slowly, each came back, leading her into the current situation whoever was controlling her had put her in.
A glare curbed off her optics while she shuttered them. A sharp image came through, making her helm ache from the intensity of the colors and shapes. Soon enough, the veil came again, and things turned back into the foggy atmosphere she'd developed into expecting. Although, the pressure had lessened on her and she could see things better.
The space she was in was definitely a cavern of some kind. With sharp, jagged rocks protruding from every visible inch, in every possible angle, a pattern of natural chaos developed. Columns, thinner toward the middle and thicker at the end, stretched from ceiling to uneven floor. They shone with the slickness of rebel water that had dribbled down it. Condensation stuck to the rest of the rough walls, giving it a glorious gleam that would have taken her venting away. If she was in control of herself. Oddly enough, she wasn't really caring that her frame had become not her own. She was too distracted by the cavern and its Earthy, brown masterpiece of spiraling tendrils and smoothly-worn welts. Frost collected strangely enough around some pockets, flowing from the man-made ventilation shafts above a row of metal berths.
Each held an occupant of various size, shape, and length, with a silver sheet dressed over every one. They ranged from a mountain of bulbous mass, to a lithe bump that couldn't have made it past the shadow of their larger companions. Fera unconsciously started for them, though, something told her it was her that did this, and not the entity controlling her. Whatever that was.
She drifted by two of the tables, taking in the hills and valleys of the shapes beneath the sheets. It was easy to predict what these things were, without even the need to pull back the covering. When the wisdom made it past the rubbery, opaque veil over her, the entire room's importance struck her. There was no random meaning to it. This, all of it, was purposely put here for a reason. Suddenly her bracer felt on fire.
Reaching inside of it, she pulled out the black, empty spark case of Punch. It was the trinket she had stolen from the Nemesis. She'd completely forgotten to place it down here. Absently, she set it on an empty berth, giving the missing mech his own respectable place to claim. Then, without warning, she was no longer in control again.
The entity brought her over to the rear of the room, back through a dark depth of shadows to a chilling expanse of cramped space. A shaft of light fell from above, lighting up the circular space, making its domed ceiling and circular floor become equally visible. Fera stepped inside, coming straight to the pedestal at the core of it. She'd known what it was before she'd even walked into the room. What the entity controlling her wanted with it, was uncertain.
Wrapped in chains, and vibrating intensely from her proximity to it, was the Galvanizer.
Fera dipped her servo within the nest of metal links, fishing her digit easily through until she felt the white-hot rod of the shaft. A firm yank released it from its prison in a shower of iron splinters. She shouldn't have been able to break those binds so easily. Yet she did it.
Lifting it up, the fembot beheld the majesty in her grasp. Three prongs arched from a flower-like figure at the center. The shaft was as long as her body, the silver of it streaked with touches of electrified, ancient power wherever she touched it. Setting the end of it on the floor, she studied the azure paths of energon running down its sides as they pounded with ready, pulsating temptation. It was thick in her servo, however, she easily held onto it, and felt a certain strength come over her from running up her arm.
Warmth bloomed across the width of her chassis and spinal support. The Keeper was finally holding her Tool. Fera believed she would do this in a more special occasion, however, now seemed better than never. Her digits lifted and curled around the pole she held, unbelieving the pure exhilaration she was experiencing.
It was short lived though, as she instantly felt compelled to travel back to the main chamber of the mausoleum. With the Galvanizer firmly in servo, she twisted away from the mess of chains and stepped back into the row of cloth-covered bodies. Vaguely she registered the noise of alarms ringing behind her from the removal of the Galvanizer. Those went mute within a click. Who was this being controlling her? How did they turn off the alarms?
They brought her back to the berths, skirting between two of them. Her servo brushed along the edges of one, taking her time passing by. Her optics dropped to the cloth, taking in every visible detail she could of the surface. There was nothing special to see, yet everything about it was special. It drew her optic, and digits, to touch it and stroke its side almost lovingly.
"You know, she was a descendant of mine," a voice echoed faintly from in front of Fera. Without being startled, the fembot lazily picked up her helm. Standing there at the end of the berth was the onyx and violet Nexus Prime. His careful gaze was set on the shape lying beneath Fera's digits, yet, his voice was aimed for her. Was he the one controlling her? Why did he come here?
The mech turned his sight on Fera, their ever changing color making it hard to distinguish their hue or emotion. "A distant one of course, however, one nonetheless."
"Where they not all descendants of yours?" Fera intoned, in a voice that was not her own. Well, it could be, if she were perhaps more graceful and soft-spoken. "I'd believed yourself and your brethren to be the origin beginnings of all Cybertronians thereafter."
The mech Prime grinned, and reached up to adjust a plate that was at the end of the table. Inscribed on it was a single name, in thick black letters: Soulsearcher, it said.
"Of course," he agreed, flicking off a layer of frost. Fera noticed the frost vents from above were off too. Huh. "Though, there are more direct beings connected to us. Through generations, I have made sure progeny of mine inevitably met, creating a 'pure' series of beings, as you could put it. Every one of the Thirteen have a pure gene line." He grinned down at the nameplate he'd cleaned off fondly.
Fera frowned, gripping her Galvanizer harder. "Is there a point to this story?" she wondered, bringing herself to step past Soulsearcher's still, covered frame. She wasn't sure she wished to see the scene that was her decapitated helm.
Not surprisingly, Nexus disappeared from his spot by Soulsearcher. When Fera looked to her side, he was lounging against one of the columns. His arms were crossed and one leg was drawn up. "Of course. Have I the time to waste upon yourself when I may be in my place, playing with the matters of the universe and fabric of space-time itself?"
Fera stood there, uncaring, and apparently waiting for the mech to continue. This was not her speaking. She didn't know what she was supposed to say next, nor why she was saying it, though when she did, she was further intrigued. This being controlling her must have been powerful, to be able to speak to Nexus the way they did. Fera merely sat back, going along for the ride.
Nexus huffed, standing again. With the shutter of the optic he was gone. Another shutter, and he was behind Fera. "Solus, it is rude to take over the frames of our progeny," he vented tiredly. Fera whipped around, though, it wasn't to strike Nexus, as she'd thought. Instead, the being controlling her led to to the berths again. Was this Solus holding her hostage? Truly? Why couldn't Fera feel her? And wasn't the Galvanizer Vector Prime's Tool?
The fembot moved toward the line, standing a good foot away from the structure in the middle of them. "Vector is with me," the voice of the fembot Prime said from Fera's lip plates. "He has granted me permission over her. Nonetheless, I am the creator of the Galvanizer, why shall I not test its use myself?"
"Vector created it himself, you merely gave him the ability to do so. You may only wield his Tool because he granted you permission," Nexus shot back.
Fera felt her optic ridges come down in a moment of...irritation? Solus Prime was keeping up the blanket over Fera's senses. She could barely even feel violated by the intrusion of the two Thirteen Primes within her. She felt safe with them, as she knew they would never hurt her. However, it felt wrong to suddenly be possessed by them at any moment.
"Fera," Solus Prime called to her, her voice breaking through the veil and reverberating through the emptiness of Fera's processor. With a wall of shock, the fembot gasped back into herself, her CPU exploding back through to reality. She could suddenly think freely again, her processing no longer obscured. She struggled to resurface, only to be shoved back down by Solas.
"You cannot return yet," she spoke gently. "You have a task to do."
Fera felt panic grip her, though Solus was there to soothe it. She fought for something to say from the sea of questions eating at her. "Why are you doing this?" she murmured in fear, trying -and failing- to break free of the grasp on her. The Prime hovered against her rampant thoughts, smoothing them over with her presence. "I want to be free!"
"Soon," she promised, sending a positive message. "First, you must choose."
"Choose what?" Fera vented, though her thoughts required no venting.
Solus lifted Fera's servo, opening it toward the berths. "Three may rise. Choose carefully."
Fera took in the information Solas gave her slowly. When it hit her as a wall of bricks, she reeled in shock. What the fembot was asking her... She was not God. She did not decide who lived and who died. The very vision of her, playing death itself in deciding her returned to the world she knew, made her nauseous. Her grip on the Galvanizer tightened, giving her an anchor against Solus' fake comforting.
Uncertain and terrified beyond reasoning, Fera mentally backed away from the berths. She cowered there, unknowing what to do or say. "I..." she trailed off, her glossa swelling. Solus attacked her with another bout of false safety, and Fera batted her away. She didn't need the coddling of the Prime, or help deciding things for herself. "I can't do that-"
"Choose," Solus said again.
"But, I just sa-"
"Choose."
There was no questioning it. Solus wouldn't take 'no' as an answer. Why was she doing this, anyway? It wasn't as if it would help things, forcing Fera to do this. Why didn't she choose the ones to revive? Wasn't it her responsibility to be the Prime of Creation anyway? What had Fera the right to meddle in her power? For all she knew, she could be making the wrong decision.
Her thoughts drifted to those lying there, deadsparked, under their sheets. Fera saw each of their names, from the end to Punch. Skids, Mudflap, Sentinel Prime, Que, Lero, Dino, Chromia...they simply kept on. Then Soulsearcher. Then Punch, without his own nameplate yet. And finally, Jazz and Ironhide.
Her optics paused there. Wasn't it her promise, so long ago, to revive them? As a human she had told Prowl she would bring back those very mechs. Could they be the ones she chose? Immediately she tossed that idea. There was no reason she had to participate in these games. She could find some other way to bring them back. This was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Suddenly Solus moved her forward, toward the two mechs she had been staring at. Fera mentally sprung up, her processor falling into horror. "Wait!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing? I didn't-" Her words cut sharply when the veil dropped, harder this time, across her. Everything became ok again, and she sat back in her corner of her processor to watch the show around her.
"I am terribly sorry, Fera, that I must do this," Solus -was that her?- apologized. Why was she sorry? "However you shall need whatever comrades you may get to win this war."
Fera didn't know what the Prime was talking about. She didn't mind really. Her thoughts were elsewhere, drowning in an ocean of indescribable bliss. It was so distant that her painful memories from the past were gone. She could finally relax, and sit in peace, instead of the barrage of noisy fears.
Solus appeared between the berths of Jazz and Ironhide before Fera could notice. When she did, she watched idly in interest. The Prime had her servos up, pinching the cloth that covered Jazz. In a blur of motion, she pulled it back to reveal his frame underneath. It was still and whole, except for the seam across his tanks, spreading from chassis to his right hipbolt. It was a ghastly thing. However, one couldn't be too picky when torn in half.
Ironhide was a whole different scene altogether. When Solus showed him, he was a mess of rust and decay. His faceplates were a disgusting show of destruction that was too far progressed to distinguish his profile. His jaw was misplaced, half of it gone completely, and he was missing major other ligaments to his limbs as well. His whole left servo was simply gone, and his optics were caved in, leaving black pockets behind. Flecks of red rust fluttered off of him with the removal of the cloth.
Nexus was beside Chromia's berth to pull the cloth back for her. She was complete and whole. If one sparkmate was revived, the other had to as well, right? Couldn't have the one dying on them again after just being brought back. Hopefully.
Solus nodded to Nexus, and with a tilt of his helm back, he was gone. He didn't teleport again, or show up inside of Fera's consciousness. He was gone. Just like that. Simple and easy, as she liked things. Why couldn't everything be like that?
The Galvanizer was lifted from the ground, held in two servos by the fembot Prime, through Fera. Arches of blue lightning were already curving from it, licking at the prone frames on either side of it like a hungry predator. Solus was holding onto the Tool tightly, her grip never faltering. It was with awe that Fera watched Solus move her arm toward her chassis. She easily dislodged the Stone and placed it within the Galvanizer. It fit into a slim slot of the same shape at the base of the top. With a click, a great burst expanded rapidly outwards.
Solus' peds slid backwards, and she grunted, planting a ped behind her other to keep her balance. The Galvanizer was shaking violently in her servos, waves of vibrations so strong they caused the air to ripple coming off the Tool in grand curves. Blue electricity danced beautifully enough that Fera couldn't do anything but stare at their spectacle. They bowed above, high enough to strike the ceiling, or low enough to slash past Solus' - Fera's peds. A burn came from the mark, however, nothing serious. Solus' oral sheets gritted and she braced against the powerful waves.
With a cry, the Prime rose the wavering Tool over her helm. Its output of power rocked the entire mausoleum, sending rivers of rubble falling from the roof and creating deep cracks in the floor. The berths trembled seemingly in fear, their silver surfaces flashing brilliantly in the wake of the Galvanizer. Fera could feel her frame grasping in practiced strength onto the Galvanizer, but it was painful to do that. Even the veil could not prevent the fembot from feeling her own discomfort. Without the Prime, this would have been agony. The Stone flashed, entrapping Fera in a ball of light.
When Solus slammed the end of the Galvanizer between her peds, Fera felt herself flung backward off her standing, and that light became darkness.
Well things picked up a bit faster at the end there, didn't they?
I tried to shove as much as I could into this chapter without making it incredibly long.
It was actually supposed to of been longer!
Anywho,
Happy 4th of July, for all those who celebrate it!
And thank you all for reading, I can't wait to hear what you think! :D
*Chapter Inspiration: Battleships= Daughtry*