Understood
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Chapter 31
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"Swerve... please answer," Tailgate mewled in a weak voice. "Swerve... I really need you right now..."
Tailgate waited, shaking and dripping with a variety of fluids—most of them his. His left arm refused to respond to any attempt to use it. The pain in his valve and elsewhere was not diminishing although he knew every repair nanite in his body was at work. When a breem had passed he tried to 'comm Swerve again. And again he waited.
With much discomfort he rose and walked again around the cold and windy rooftop the seeker had chosen—chosen and then abandoned him on after their session. And still finding no way down he pondered what to do, trying not to panic over the state he was in. He could call the Enforcers, but that would just lead to a lot of humiliating questions, as if he weren't humiliated enough already. He could keep waiting for Swerve to answer—surely Swerve wouldn't be gone all night. He could wait until morning and flag a flight frame down, though would anyone even agree to get him down in the miserable state he was in. He was hurting an awful lot and just wanted to get home and clean up and put something on what was probably an entrance to end tear in the mesh of his valve. He wondered if there was anyone else he could send, but on scrolling through his list of contacts he realized most of them were long gone and far from Kaon anyway. And why didn't he have Gamma's or Hot Zone's contact frequency? They were the closest thing he had to friends on Seventh Cycle Street, and Gamma had been nice enough to come his aid before.
And then Cyclonus' name drifted past.
He moved to send a message, but then hesitated. Cyclonus was just a client, one whose comm' frequency he happened to have. Not a friend. The Decepticon officer certainly wouldn't want to be disturbed by some pathetic little beaten-up prostitute calling in the middle of the night needing a ride somewhere.
Two more breems passed, and he limped around the roof of the building yet again, whimpering with every step, hoping to find a previously unnoticed stairwell or ladder or something. No wonder the seeker had chosen this location in the half-abandoned industrial Southlands—they wouldn't be disturbed. The lights of Kaon glowed in the distance.
Tailgate lay down on the rough rooftop, trying to position himself as comfortably as he could, trying to find faith that Swerve would suddenly find the messages and rush to his aid. His left arm still refused to move. The warnings of low fuel and dangerously low coolant levels grew ever more insistent. "Swerve, please..." he sobbed.
In desperation Tailgate comm'ed Cyclonus Chances were the jet wouldn't answer anyway.
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"Understood" continues in Chapter 32
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