Fire of Youth
Chapter 4
Location: Area Fifty One, Hangar E.
Exact Geographic Coordinates: Unavailable
General Location: Twenty-seven miles outside Rachel, Nevada
Time: 2100
Infernus's power down was not restful. His tormented spark and processor assaulted him endlessly with manifestations of his own uncertainty.
He was caught in the middle of a raging storm, no comforting land in sight for as far as his optics could see. Stinging acid rain remorselessly pounded against his hide and seared his thin wing mesh and burned his sensitive optics. Lightning struck harrowingly close to his body, each strike soon after ushering in deafening claps of thunder that rattled the sky and made his audial receptors shriek and protest. No light penetrated the dark clouds swirling above him. He couldn't see anything that might herald the end of the acid storm. It seemed ready to rage until the end of time itself. His wings burned from the acid droplets slowly but steadily eating away at the thin, delicate mesh. His hide stung for the same reason, and his optics fritzed from the acid seeping into them. He shook his helm to remove the droplets to no avail. His sight was failing and it was nearly pitch black in every direction, the only illumination coming from the lightning bolts striking ever nearer his body.
Finally, one them connected with his right wing, frying the circuits to a crisp in a fraction of a second and making him howl. The acid rain pelting the thin mesh seeped into the open wounds both attacks had caused at the same moment, his pain receptors overloading from agony. He screamed as he plunged towards the burning, endless ocean of acid below him. He screamed for someone to help him, to make the nightmare stop. He screamed for Optimus, for Amalgamous, even for Primus to come and get him, to simply take him away from the pain.
But no one responded, and the storm raged on as ferocious as ever. With an agonized, terrified cry he plunged into the endlessly churning acid sea below in a titanic spray of water. Then the hungry waves swallowed any evidence of his submergence. Thunder clapped and lightning flashed, and the gale force winds howled ever onwards.
For a moment there was nothing. Infernus felt himself slowly sinking into the scalding acid ocean, his mind wandering in an effort to drown out the agony of the substance eating away at his plating bit by bit like a cruel carnivore tearing away at its still living prey. He could see nothing but darkness and could feel nothing but processor-numbing pain. He simply wanted his spark to go out, just to escape it all – to escape the grueling pain he was suffering. He wanted to die. Why couldn't Primus let him snuff out already? Was it really too much to ask for?
However, his optics seemed to heal of their own accord despite being bathed in acid, and he took note of a pale silvery light shining higher up in the dark waters. A faint but steady and soothing song was coming from it like a soft heavenly chorus. He felt some of the pain fade, but he still hurt terribly, both internally and externally, and he was still sinking deeper into the depths of the acid ocean. He knew he could kick and pump his wings to swim up towards it, but he just couldn't find the strength to. He was limp – limp from pain and loss and uncertainty.
The silvery light above seemed to sense and understand his plight. Thin tendrils of light sprouted from it and spiraled down towards him, wrapping around his limp limbs and wings like gentle anchors or life lines. He felt more of the pain fade, but even then much of it remained. He let them slowly lift him up towards the surface, finding himself unable or perhaps unwilling to struggle against them. He wanted to be brought to the surface just as much as he wanted to sink back into the dark, bottomless abyss below.
A familiar, ancient voice spoke into his mind gently: 'You are weak, little ember. Your fire dims.'
There was no malice in the words. It was not intended as an insult. There was only kindness and sympathy and understanding. It was simply an observation, an accurate observation. His desire for revenge that had burned so strongly earlier had been drowned out by his desire to just fade into oblivion, to let someone else carry the burden that was the Matrix of Leadership. He felt he was unworthy to hold it. He was too young. Too inexperienced. Doubtless there were others way more qualified to be holding this thing than him. Frack, couldn't he just give it to Ultra Magnus maybe?
'I know you feel that way. But let me ask you something, and do not reply back right away, as I want you to consider this: What is it that keeps your fire burning? What is it that gives you cause to live, rather than to wither and fade? What drives you?'
Infernus remained silent as he mulled these questions over his processor. The burning of the acid on his hide had stopped, and now the water was cool and refreshing. It was beginning to clear as well, to become less murky and dark. The raging storm and howling winds above quieted. Images and scenes flashed in an out like phantoms in the water all around him. No, not images. They were memories, his memories to be exact. Some of his lighter and happier memories. Memories that made him smile mentally, even if he couldn't physically.
Omega One a week or so after his arrival. Jack, Miko, and Raf were darting around the open command center with remote controllers in their hands, racing little model cars around while Bumblebee kept a watch on them to ensure none of them got too close to the cantankerous and often prickly medic Ratchet as he performed some basic but necessary calibrations to the groundbridge arch the team used to get around. The scout himself was, regardless of that task, egging his tiny, spectacled human friend on to victory over his older companions. All three children were laughing and playfully taunting one another. Smokescreen lurked in the entrance of one of the corridors, smirking as he silently observed.
The scene shifted, this time going farther back. He was in the Hall of Records during some of the final days of the War on Cybertron, wandering the lower levels as an assigned guard to the master archivist, Alpha Trion. He had suspected the job to be tedious and boring, as he would have much preferred to have been out on the front lines defending Iacon from the Decepticons encroaching on the city. But he had been surprised that such had not been the case. He found himself fascinated with some of the volumes he plucked out at random, and the older mech had encouraged such curiosity. The guard job had...actually been surprisingly fun in a way.
When he failed to find the data pad he had begun skimming through the other day, he turned on hearing a faint sound. Sitting there on a nearby table was the data pad he was looking for, and a note had been typed on the front:
~Found this in Political Philosophy. Would it kill you to sit still for a few cycles, or at least keep better track of the volumes you take without my knowledge?~
-Alpha Trion
*Please put this back where it belongs when you are done with it, or failing that return it directly to me.
Infernus chuckled weakly, only to wince slightly at the sharp ache the slight movement caused him. Alpha Trion hadn't exactly called him out on that occasion, but it had convinced him to be a bit more orderly and respectful towards the data pads – and the master archivist – in future. The tendril anchors around him brightened almost in motivation, silently telling him to keep looking back and searching, telling him to grasp onto these memories and use them as the reminders they were, soothing coolness further healing his many acid burns.
He was inside the laboratory of the Nemesis, restrained to an exam slab while Knockout preened and gloated just out of reach. A sudden idea came to him, and he played along with Knockout's words. The vain red mech took the bait in all innocence, sauntering over to him without the least suspicion and preparing to reconnect the cortical psychic patch and tear through his mind to find the location of Omega One. Knockout jerked when he felt a hand latch onto his wrist and activate the Phase Shifter, comprehension dawning on him too late.
"Worse how?"
After a struggle Smokescreen had found himself sprawled in one of the halls, Knockout stuck in the wall they had phased through, snarling and snapping at him when he smirked and held up the Phase Shifter to him in smug triumph: "Well, aren't you the clever one?" he snarled, trying in vain to extricate himself. "This ship is miles in the sky and swarming with Decepticons! Do you really think you can escape?"
He got up from the floor, ensuring the device on his wrist was still active, and tossed a sly, impish look at the red mech: "Who says I'm lookin' to escape?"
With that taunting, suggestive hint, he darted off down the corridor, Knockout unleashing an aggravated, snarling howl after him as he struggled in vain to free himself from his impromptu prison.
That moment had honestly filled him with acute satisfaction that bordered on smugness. There was a certain ironic poetry about the red mech being caught in the walls of his own laboratory. He had seen a distinct similarity between Knockout's imprisonment and the cursed crew of the dreaded Flying Dutchman in the "Pirates of the Caribbean" films. It was their fate to eventually become part of the ship after entering a bargain with Davey Jones to escape death, their bodies merging with the vessel until they were effectively trapped in their places. At least, that's what it reminded him of anyway. Miko had shown him those films, and he'd enjoyed them.
He was running, running through the ship in a full-on sprint, two stolen Omega Keys in his hands, darting around corners, through walls, and through various chambers and rooms that comprised the mighty Decepticon vessel. Eventually he made it the small runway atop the ship that the flight-capable members of the small army employed. Wind whipped past him as the Nemesis surged ever onwards through the skies. He drew near the edge, but hesitated. Megatron and a slew of his underlings finally caught up with him, the warlord himself sneering on realizing his predicament.
"A pity you are incapable of flight."
Defiance flashed in the youngling's optics as they flicked behind him and then back at the Decepticons. He smirked back:
"Pfft. Yeah. Like I'm gonna let that stop me!"
Storing the keys in a convenient nook between his doorwings, he turned about and ran the short remaining distance to the edge. And with no hesitation he leapt off the vessel and into the open skies. The scene shifted then to a point a few minutes further along, showing him sneaking out of the underground cavern he had phased inside of to survive the lethal fall from miles up in the air. A moment later he vanished into a waiting groundbridge and into the command center of Omega One, revealing the relieved expressions of everyone within. Then this memory strand faded away like the others before it had done.
That day he remembered well. That had been strangely fun despite the dangers. He had also been glad to see that the members of the Prime's team were beginning to accept him as one of their own.
Then the scene shifted one last time, but his perspective this time around appeared to be a bit different. He was no longer looking out of his own optics or viewing himself in the third person, rather he seemed to be looking out of the optics of someone else entirely. He felt he was taller, and he felt stronger, yet he could that strength beginning to fade, and fast. And he felt tired, so very tired, and it wasn't a physical kind of tired. It was a tiredness of spirit. His whole body ached, too, pain lacing up his limbs from the countless wounds that dotted his frame.
He was lying in the underground cavern, helm resting on a slab of stone behind him. As he lay there, he felt a surge of warmth spread out from his chest and into his battered, weary limbs. Then it happened again, this time the warmth forming what felt like a little tendril and reaching into his sputtering spark, soothing it and the owner. No longer did he feel afraid. No longer did he feel the pain of his wounds. He only felt a sense of pure bliss and peace. His optics shuttered, only to reopen again after a time. He felt the tendril again, felt it wrap around his spark as gingerly as a child's hand would. He was not afraid. He knew what was coming. He knew what awaited him in the next world and the next life.
'Come, my faithful one. It is time. You no longer need to fight. You may rest now.'
He was not afraid, and he felt no pain when it happened.
With that final vision the flashes of memory came to an end. Still Infernus found himself floating in the water, suspended by the tendrils, but now he felt strangely content. The waters were calm and near crystal clear now, and the storm clouds had dissipated to reveal a brilliant golden sun shining above in the blue sky. His pain was still there, and most likely it wouldn't go away entirely, but it wasn't as bad as it had been before.
He knew then. That last vision had been of Optimus's last moments. They had not been scary, or pain-filled, or saddening as he had thought. He had left without fear and without pain. He had met his end peacefully, with help from Primus through the Matrix. He had not been fearful, he had been content, happy. That was a relief. After everything he had been through over the centuries, he deserved a peaceful death, and a peaceful afterlife. The gentle Prime had deserved to lay down his weapons and his helm at long last and sleep.
He heard a faint, thoughtful, yet serene and peaceful hum in the back of his mind. The tendrils tightened their grip ever so slightly, and their brightness increased. He was then lifted from the waters and into the clear skies above, but the tendrils didn't release their grip on him. Now he could see the pale light that had saved him from the abyss. It was blinding white, made of blazing starfire, and exuded an aura of peace and tranquility. He knew who it was then. His cry for help had in fact been heard, and by the highest authority – Primus himself. He was torn between feeling immensely grateful, utterly terrified, and completely awe-struck.
Then he heard a faint sound reminiscent of rolling thunder. Hearing the deity laugh was unexpected, but the sound alone lifted his spark further. It was a wonderful noise to hear. It carried joy and amusement and mirth and so many other positive things. Evidently he found his confusion on how to react to his presence amusing. Another tendril extended down to him then, this one touching his chest plating right above his spark chamber. A wash of fatherly warmth filled him as the Voice spoke again:
'I see. Remember these moments whenever you feel your fire dim. Cherish them as one would any valuable, keep them close to you spark. Use them to rekindle your fire when you feel it begin to fade. Can you do that for me, little ember?'
Well, that would probably be harder than it sounded right about now, but he nodded and said he could do it. Eventually.
The tendrils around his limbs and wings tightened in a strange embrace. However, they still did not release him. The white starfire sphere simply held him in the air, letting comfort flood the Primeling's senses as it steadily healed the remaining acid burns and other physical damages he had suffered thanks to the raging acid storm. He sighed softly, his tense body relaxing to where it was almost limp. His optics grew heavy, but he wouldn't let them shut. He wanted to be aware to savor this interaction, knowing it wouldn't happen often.
In response, yet another tendril extended down, touching his cheek gently and then drawing up to his optics, coaxing them shut.
'Rest now, little ember. Rest now without troubles. Know that you are loved by all who know you.'
Infernus never felt himself lowered back down into the clear, shallow waters below. He never saw the sphere of white starfire draw closer to him and eventually sink into his body, he never sensed the warmth it held spreading out from it and into every circuit and wire within him, eventually settling into his spark. He never felt or observed or sensed any of these things. He was already unconscious, lost in the grip of a dreamless power down now no longer plagued by terrors of the night – terrors conjured by his own mind.
He did, however, feel content and relaxed. Even, perhaps, a little bit happy. And he did, very briefly, sense a familiar and wise presence nearby – watching, guarding, and most importantly, comforting.
In the waking world, the sun had finally sunk below the distant horizon and stars were now beginning to dot the sky, and a waxing gibbous moon cast down streams of pale silver light. Nocturnal insects were beginning to sing their nightly songs into the crisp desert air. A spare few fireflies blinked in and out of existence as they flew around what little shrubbery existed in the parched desert.
Hangar E's interior was in a state of silent turmoil. No one dared speak a word and so focused on ensuring the new, smaller base they had been supplied with was in full working order, trying as best as they could to distract themselves from the grief and loss. They simply did not want to believe the shattering news even though they knew that it was true. Every so often a young military officer would pop his head in to check on them, but he never stayed for very long. He felt the hangar was suffocating from sadness. He knew what it stemmed from. He had read the report written up by the one called Prowl and had then handed to his superior, Federal Special Agent William Fowler. Private Daily's heart had went out to them on reading it:
Optimus Prime, the mighty leader of the Autobots, whom he had actually seen on one occasion, was no more. He had died saving them and this world from Megatron. And his team, his unit, were understandably devastated. They hadn't just lost a leader. They had lost a father figure.
Private Marcus Daily once more withdrew his head from the hangar and headed out. On an impulse he decided to go around to the back of the hangar in order to cut across back to the barracks. When asked later why exactly he decided that he would be unable to answer them honestly or even fully. He just felt that he had to go that way, no questions asked. It was a short cut, but not by much. It was just a sense that he decided to indulge.
He rounded the corner of the hangar's south side and then stopped in his tracks at he saw. He blinked once, eyes going round afterwards. It took a moment to realize what he was looking at. He idly wondered how he missed this thing the last few times he had come around the hangar. It was bright white and looked very much like a robotic dragon, and it was curled up in the same manner of a sleeping cat. Its chest rose and fell steadily, its eyes shut tight. Once in a while it shifted slightly, folded wings twitching imperceptibly.
Curiosity got the better of him and he tentatively approached the sleeping beast. While it looked powerful and dangerous, he got the peculiar sense that it wasn't either of those things. It looked more...sad and lonely, if strangely peaceful. But then, everyone who was asleep and not suffering nightmares looked peaceful. There was an odd dark stain on the cement near the creature's head that held a faintly sweet smell. This was a smell he was familiar with – engine coolant. Where exactly had it come from though? Was the Cybertronian injured?
He started when the beast began to move more. Its head lifted a few inches off the ground, and its eyes flickered open to reveal their vibrant baby blue hue, but they seemed a bit on the dull side. It looked at him for a moment before laying its head back down on the cement in a rather apathetic manner. If ever a robotic alien dragon looked worn out and depressed then this one certainly did. Any trace of wariness faded then and was replaced by sympathy.
A youngish sounding voice spoke over his handheld radio communicator: *Come to gawk at the beast?*
Private Daily shook his head. "No, not gawking. I was headed back to the barracks and just stumbled across you by accident. I…well, I wasn't exactly expecting to bump into a giant white metal dragon of all things when I rounded that corner. What's your name? I don't think I've ever seen you before."
*Smo-Infernus Prime.*
So this then was the Prime's young successor that Prowl's report had mentioned. "What are you doing back here all by yourself, Infernus? Why aren't you with the others?"
Infernus gusted out an exhausted, somewhat guilty sounding sigh from vents located on his neck. His voice came out as a mere mumble: *Hiding. Avoiding them. What's it look like?*
This baffled him to no end. He was hiding from his unit, the unit he now held command over? "Why are you hiding from them?"
Infernus did not respond, merely gusting out another world-weary sigh, his blue optics fading and dulling before shutting again. His air intakes seemed heavy but also strangely shallow. He could almost feel the grief and sadness coming off the alien in subtle waves he could just barely feel and that made his skin tingle ever so slightly.
Daily had read of reactions like this concerning the loss of a loved one. The person wanted nothing more than to sleep without end as a means of escape from the emotional pain of their loss. All they wanted to do was fade away into an unending dream, and would be contented if they simply never woke up from it. But he also knew that avoiding living loved ones did more harm than good. Interacting with those who cared for you did wonders to help with depression. Infernus, in his personal opinion, needed this interaction badly, but was too upset and or nervous to go near them, fearful of a possible backlash.
Then the Primeling responded: *I'm not Optimus. They won't accept me. Better I just stay away from them.*
Marcus Daily made his decision then and there. This poor young E.T needed some help, and he would help him however he could. And he would start by getting him back in the company of his squadron.
"If I came with you, you know, as a support, do you think you could go in and talk to them? Hiding out here in the dark is not doing you any good. Staying out here is just giving your mind and heart more and more time to brood and grieve. You can't just sink into that. Optimus wouldn't want that. You're not the only one hurting, you know. They are, too. We all are, damn it. We thought the guy was invincible. He'd want you to go in and give them some solace. It's what he would do."
The young Prime's blue optics reopened to gaze at him in mild astonishment mingled with curiosity. No doubt he was wondering why some random military officer whom he had never met before in his life was so openly offering him his aid. He was also probably wondering how the heck he knew about the dead Prime in the first place. Autobots were known to the government and certain branches and sections of the world's military, but were a heavily classified secret and as such not known to many people not privy to the information.
He seemed to come to a decision then. His head bowed in acceptance to the man and then he rose to his paws, reverting out of his dragon form. Daily was struck by how young he looked, but also by how old he looked as well. His body looked young and athletic while his eyes showed he had aged in mind, his spirit weighed down by the responsibility he now held and the grief of his loss.
"I...guess I can try to."
Daily smiled faintly at him. "That's the spirit. I'm not forcing you to go, but it'd be good for you if you did. It'd be good for them as well. They need some closure. I think you do, too."
Infernus nodded weakly, still looking depressed and reluctantly nervous: "You lead, I'll follow."
Private Marcus Daily poked his head into the hangar once more, asking whether or not it was okay for him to come in. He said that he didn't want to feel as though he were intruding or anything. He added that he had brought someone with him, having found him hiding 'round the back of the building. It seemed he'd been too scared to step foot inside, fearing a backlash of some form from them.
At that the young officer was permitted inside. And then he gestured for whoever it was that had come with him to follow him. However it took a bit more verbal encouragement on his part to convince whoever it was to come out of hiding. He had a feeling they knew who it was, judging by the anxious yet relieved expressions on some of the aliens faces.
Very reluctantly, a white and fire-accented mech stepped out of hiding and stood on the edge of the hangar's entrance. While his frame was hardly recognizable any longer, altered as it was, they were still able to recognize his blue optics and his unique electromagnetic field. It was Smokescreen alright, and the tenseness of his body showed he was bracing himself for an attack of some kind. He looked wary, nervous, and ill at ease.
One of the aliens, a very young looking mech colored grey and pale blue, got up from the floor where he'd been quietly interacting with Bumblebee and the three kids and rushed over in a blur of movement, cannoning into the Primeling enough to make him stagger slightly. But he wasn't attacking him. He had grabbed the white youngling in a fierce brotherly embrace and it seemed he was not about to release him any time soon. But Infernus didn't really return it. After a few moments he was gently shoved away.
"It's true then?" Ratchet asked, voice cracking. "You're...?"
Infernus nodded numbly, refusing to meet the medic's optics. He knew how close he and Optimus had been, friends before the War had ever even started. To know that his friend would not be seeing the end of it, at least not here with him, was certainly painful for him. He debated turning around and slinking back out, but a glance down at Daily showed the human eyeing him sternly. He was not to run. He had to face them.
"You guys have every right to hate me. I'm not him. There's no way I can replace him."
He was stunned to see that everyone, Autobot and human alike, was looking at him in varying degrees of utter shock.
"No one hates you, Smokescreen." Ultra Magnus said, his tone losing some of its former ice. It was noticeable enough that some of the Autobots cast surprised looks at him.
He ignored them. Right now, he was the closest thing the youngling had to a mentor concerning leadership skills. He would be needing him more than ever, and maintaining his detached, professional manner would do nothing to help ease him into the role. It was what his older brother would've wanted from him. His old command style would not work with a tight-knit group such as this. Transitioning out of the style he had used on Cybertron would be difficult, as it was old habit by this point, but he would do it.
"You...You don't? None of you?"
"Optimus chose you for a reason, and we'll all abide by his decision. To ignore it would be to disgrace his memory, and that is something none of us in good conscience will ever do."
There was a low murmur of agreement. Infernus's wariness abated somewhat, and drew further inside the hangar. When he looked down to check for the friendly Private he had befriended on such short notice, he was rather surprised to find no one standing there. Only the faint whiff of detergent mingled with automotive fluids leading away from the entrance told him he had bade a quiet retreat to the barracks as he had stated he had been meaning to do.
'I owe you, Daily. I owe you big.'
Author's Note: Yeah, the emotions are going to be running high for a while until Infernus settles into the role. And I decided to throw in a sort of character nod. Anyone remember Private Daily from the episode "Grill"? The guy holding the camera that was perpetually low on battery? I figured there was more to his character and made him a kind of young counselor to him. He deserved some love. :)
Note 1: College starts Monday, so my updates might not be as frequent as I settle into the groove. Damn it I'm scared silly about this! o_o
