On the Run (Part 2)
The blue and orange mech's optics flickered on and off. He was still online, but barely. His frame was lain on a berth connected to repair systems by intricate cables. Multiple consoles and beeping devices around him allowed doctors to monitor his system recharge and brainwaves.
Windblade stood beside him, her servo subconsciously twitching as the thought of placing it on his chest plate to comfort the patient crossed her mind. Her optics studied the scars running across his face, jagged and lightly deep, and the doctor who looked him over noted that they had the consistency of something acidic. Windblade wondered if they were the consequence of a battle or something far worse-something more personal. She lingered on the scars and found herself wanting to touch them, whether out of curiosity or sympathy, she couldn't tell.
Pulling back those intrusive thoughts, she instead drifted back to their brief meeting after the crash two days ago. She, along with Nautica and Maxima had been the first to find him. As she and Maxima pulled the mech to safety, Nautica checked out the ship, finding three Mini-Cons in similar conditions to their crewmate. Luckily, all four had survived, and the city wasn't too far from the crash.
To Windblade's surprise, upon arriving and delivering the four mechs to the medical center, they soon received an order to place the four on guard after they had been repaired and awakened. They were strangers, and the way they arrived only spelled trouble. Windblade couldn't deny that, but it wasn't fair to automatically treat heavily wounded and now stranded offworlders as threats.
Something about the mech lying on the berth unsettled her. It wasn't just the physical injuries, old and new, but the sense of what was haunting the mech. There was a heaviness, a depression that lingered in his spark. She could feel it.
Not too long ago, during her current visit, she heard him screaming and begging for something to stop. Racing through the halls, she quickly arrived in time to see him sedated by several nurses. It was later explained to the stunned Windblade that the patient had briefly come online as they were reattaching a loose bit of frame, only to go ballistic. One of the doctors believed that the episode stemmed from the moment he earned those scars.
Despite being a stranger, Windblade couldn't ignore the feeling of helping him through his recovery. It was a puzzle she couldn't solve.
With a soft exhale, Windblade turned her attention to the view outside the medical bay. There were many factors to consider regarding the crash, and it was a mystery as to who or what the survivors were or represented. Yet, she couldn't deny the hope they, he, brought with them, a possible link to Cybertron. For the first time in ages, the thought of Camiens reconnecting with the ancestral world of their race held a glimmer of possibility and a solution to their energy shortages.
She looked back at the damaged mech. But was that glimmer worth the wait? He and his crew crashed here for a reason, and Windblade feared that the reason wasn't just the ship's damage.
"Please pull through," she murmured, praying to Solus for aid, not just for him, but for herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft hiss of the door opening and the soft clack of pedes on the polished floors. She didn't need to turn to know it was Sparksticker, the head medic assigned to the mech's care.
"Anything?" Windblade asked, her voice betraying more concern than she cared to admit.
Sparksticker optics shifted as he studied the readings on his console. "Good news, to begin with. His vital systems, while still a little weak, are improving. We should see him waking up in a few Mega-cycles. On top of that, one of the Mini-Cons he was with woke up and gave us his name. Brightlock."
"Brightlock," Windblade repeated it silently a few times. It had a nice ring to it. "Well, it's a relief he'll pull through."
Sparksticker glanced down at his patient sadly. "As for the bad news. Well, he's not just the victim of a ship crash."
Windblade stiffened, already dreading the answer as she turned to the medic. "What do you mean?"
"I've been scanning his processor, and he's fine for the most part, all things considered, but I found traces of mental trauma, something he's trying to suppress." "It's as if someone-" He hesitated as he looked over Brightlock's slumped form. "-has left a dangerous mark on his mind. He's been through something big, something before the crash. And whatever it is, it's haunting him."
Windblade stared at Brightlock, the weight of Sparksticker's words sinking deep with her. What kind of being would willingly do something so cruel to another?
Forcing herself to focus she turned to Sparksticker. "You said he's suppressing his trauma. Is there a way you can help him process it?"
"It's possible, but it could take a long time. Even if we get him to discuss it, we may never know its full extent." The doctor met her gaze with a perplexed expression. "I'm curious Windblade, why the sudden bond to this newcomer? Ever since you brought him in, you've come here to personally check on him each day."
Windblade found herself at a loss for words. Of course, she cared about Brightlock's health and what kind of effects he and his companions arriving could bring to Caminus. But thanks to Sparksticker's curiosity, she realized it went deeper than a sense of duty.
She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to Brightlock. "He's... different. There's something about his pain I can't ignore."
Sparksticker was intrigued by her response but chose to stay quiet.
"I've seen how ailing our planet is. A dwindling sun and diminishing resources are the biggest factors. It's because of this reason that we adjusted to low-energy lives to conserve whatever energon we have."
The doctor considered her words. "And you believe the arrival of Brightlock and the Mini-Cons can change that?"
Windblade nodded, Sparksticker always was good at reading a bot. "From what I've heard, what little information salvaged from the ship's consoles confirms that it came Cybertron. While I'm partially ecstatic that we may finally be able to with our race's homeworld, the damage to the ship spells out a completely different answer than help for our planet."
She paused feeling a pang in her spark chamber. "And look at what we've learned about Brightlock. Intentional scars on his face, and trauma-based episodes. I've seen many things-injuries, sadness, grief from loss. But this brokenness, it's the kind of pain that heals differently than the rest."
The femme closed her optics for a moment as silence settled between them. "I guess when you've seen various kinds of suffering in ways you couldn't help, it leaves a mark on you. I believe that's why I must be there for him. I don't want him to be alone with this, especially if he must revisit it to heal."
Sparksticker was surprised, he had never seen Windblade like this before. Brightlock's trauma had touched something deep within her, and it seemed to be something she hadn't expected.
"Wanting to heal someone's else pain is not an easy task, Windblade," he said quietly. "It can even be dangerous. But, if you're determined to to help him through it, then I won't stand in your way. Just be careful, waking up in a guarded room will add complications."
A soft ping came from his console, he was needed elsewhere. "Excuse me. I hope you know what you're doing"
"So do I," she murmured.
By the next day, Brightlock's repair had improved significantly. His overall frame was fixed up and his internal systems were almost complete. During that time, Windblade became acquainted with the Mini-Cons and their relation to her charge. They were understandably angry about being kept under locked guard and interrogated. It was from that she and the others learned about Cybertron's war and the devastation it caused.
The three were aligned with a faction known as the Autobots and formed the Night Rescue Team, which specialized in low-light recovery operations. They described what they knew of the war, and how some causes involved a corrupt senate and unfair treatment of the lower classes. They also discussed the formation of the Decepticons and the mass exodus from the planet by many civilians during the war.
When questioned about the war's status, they had no answer. They had taken cover in the ship following a Deception ambush, slipping into stasis mode to repair themselves. When they came online, the ship was heavily damaged and on fire, they met Brightlock for the first time soon after. After working together to fix an energon leak, the ship crashed.
The weight of what Windblade learned pressed heavily on her, fears about their arrival were proven. She had hoped their crash was simply the result of an accident, but situations aren't always that simple. So far, no response had come from the Mistress of Flame, leaving Windblade worried about what might come next for the four offworlders.
When Brightlock finally stirred, her thoughts were interrupted. She immediately stood at his side, her posture open and non-threatening. The mech needed to see she was in no way a threat.
Brightlock's optics flickered briefly as he brought a servo up to his helm, responding to the dull ache in his processor. With his vision a little blurry, his optics wandered to get a sense of his surroundings. His gaze froze when a red and black femme appeared on his left looking down at him with wide optics. He felt his body tense as a knot of unease grew in his spark.
As he lowered his servo, a new thought suddenly tugged at him. Something wasn't right. One of his digits gently touched his face plate-face plate.
His mask was open.
She saw his scars!
"Easy-" The femme started to say in a soft steady voice only to recoil as a mask suddenly snapped shut on his face while scrambled and flailed off the berth. "Wait! Hold on!"
Brightlock's processor was overloaded by panic, racing faster than his body as it hit the floor. His whole frame shivered as one servo clawed at the ground to escape, while the other clamped over the mask as though it wasn't enough to hide the scars from the femme's view. His wide optics darted in every direction for an exit.
She saw them. She saw them.
His spark was pulsing as his scars burned. Visions of of his friends' bodies littering the floor glitched in and out of his view accompanied by the faint sound of lasers and screams. In the background, he could faintly hear another voice calling out to him, possibly the femme's.
"No, no, no..." He barely heard his own voice. Crawling over to a far corner of the room, he curled up, refusing to meet the femme's optics. How long had she been standing there? How much did she see?
Windblade slowly approached the trembling mech, still stunned at his behavior. Sparksticker was right about Brightlock suppressing his trauma.
"Brightlock."
The mech froze, slowly looking up at her with wide optics, both unfocused and confused as if they were taking in multiple scenarios at once. Most likely another flashback. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It made Windblade's spark ache.
"Your name is Brightlock," she continued gently, keeping her voice calm and collected as she slowly approached. "You're on Caminus. You and the Mini-cons crashed here. Don't worry, they're safe too. All four of you have been looked after since then."
She knelt and gave him a gentle smile. Brightlock blinked slowly as if trying to process what she said, and for a moment, the wildness in his optics seemed to dissipate. It was clear that Brightlock hadn't been shown compassion in a long time, and Windblade was more than happy to provide.
His optics locked with hers, and a flash of recognition passed over his face. "You-you're the one who found me."
"Yes, and I'm glad you and the others managed to make it."
His trembling slowed. "You said Strongarm and the others are doing ok as well?"
"They are." Windblade almost considered telling him about how they were being guarded, but given his current condition, it was best to save that for later.
"You saw me my scars." His head turned, optics full of shame unwilling to keep looking at her directly.
Windblade's smile vanished. "I did. I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," the trembling had stopped. "You didn't know. I'm the one who made a spectacle."
"You were scared. You don't have-"
"I'm broken." He stated, frustration and pain evident in his voice. His focus almost seemed to sway.
Windblade found herself stunned once again. She hesitated on what to say but collected herself.
"No," she said softly as she stood and closed the distance between them. "You're not broken. You're hurt, but despite that, you care for others. You helped the Mini-Cons keep the ship from exploding and without you at the wheel as it crashed, none of you might have made it."
She sat down beside him, back against the wall. "I volunteered to help you through this pain, however long it takes. You don't have to talk about it yet, but when you're ready, I'll be there to listen.
The room grew quiet for the next several cycles. Brightlock leaned the back of his helm against the wall, optics closed deep in thought.
"I like your face paint."
For a third time today, Windblade was caught off guard by this mech, only this time she found herself giggling. "Thank you."
Brightlock's optics were open and even though his face mask remained closed, Windblade could tell her reaction made him smile.
Four Days Later
The site of the crashed ship was now quarantined and heavily guarded. Unbeknownst to any of them, a Decepticon drone was scanning the ship's interior and sending back what it found to its owners.
"This is going quite the development," a green and grey mech commented as he and his partner observed the footage projected from the former's arm. "Around two dozen guards around a heavily damaged Autobot ship bereft of its crew and cargo. Odd that they do not carry any blasters. Perhaps they-"
"Smokejumper you fraggin' nerd," the other equally colored mech groaned. "I don't CARE about a bunch of unarmed scrapmetal or the ship! I just want to know where the Autobots are!"
Smokejumper ignored the insult. "Patience, Dreadwind. I'm merely surveying the damage and what we could be up against. We'll find our targets soon enough."
"We better. I haven't had a worthy challenge in over a deca-cycle!" Dreadwing briefly rotated his shoulder cannon. "My weapons will get gunked up with dust if I have to keep waiting."
"Well, you'll be pleased to know the drone has finished its scanning. The ship's computers appeared to have had their records and info removed, so we won't get any answers there." Smokejumper shut off the screen. "The Autobots' absence implied they or their bodies may have been taken somewhere."
He turned to face his trigger-happy companion. "What would you say to a civil conversation with the unarmed scrapmetal?"
A wild look appeared on Dreadwing's visor as his cannon began to rotate once again.
That's right, Brightlock and the Mini-Cons have landed on Caminus!
When I made Brightlock's backstory and pictured him crashing into a colony world, I always pictured Windblade being the one who found him.
After that the two just seemed to form a friendship, the more I brainstormed it.
I hope I managed to write her well.
The two Decepticons after him are Smokejumper and Dreadwing from Robots in Disguise 2001. In this series, I wanted to use obscure characters from the various franchises.
Characters
Brightlock (OC)
Night Rescue Team
Divebomb
Firebot
Strongarm
Camiens
Sparksticker (OC)
Windblade
Nautica
Maxima
Mistress of Flame
Decepticons
Smokejumper
Dreadwing (RID 2001)