"Hey, give that back!" Jetstorm snarled indignantly, as he rocketed throughout the air, directing his body upwards via his jet-thrusters – each talon-ped bristled and fueled at full-blast.
There was laughter.
"Oh, come on! You're not even trying!" Pharma barked his amusement, as he held the object of Jetstorm's desire – just out of reach.
Pinched between two claw tips.
Was a severed head – Jazz's processor.
"Yes, I am!" Storm was furious, and it became obvious as electricity coursed and crackled against his arms and legs.
Invisible wind currents held him aloft.
Mini tornadoes caressed his tired, bruised, still-healing components.
Storm's claws caught empty air, trying to conjure his sparkeater's telekinesis.
But his skills on the matter were an abject failure.
He never had much reason to practice before.
Pharma jeered as he pulled – floated – Jazz's head away – just out of reach, well above Jetstorm's hard-earned perch within the air.
"Look, I'm hovering in place just like the eighth time you've asked me to, already – to show you that my legs work – so give it back – now!" Storm tried to argue his point, miserably reaching with hands outstretched – expectant.
Useless.
Like a baby bird, for worms.
…
…
But Pharma continued to howl with laughter.
Jazz's head teetered side to side, rolling against Pharma's knuckle-plates like a particularly gruesome soccer ball – teasing Storm more and more.
Until, finally – the mechling couldn't take it anymore.
Snhop!
Like a tiny gnat, Jetstorm dared to bite against Pharma's hand.
Jazz's severed head went careening downwards – spiked like a volleyball — towards the ground…
Twaa – wooo — ooomm!
Jazz's processor avoided impact, becoming slowed and captured by Storm's telekinesis efforts.
It was a fast way to learn, but not ideal.
Pharma didn't hesitate to swat Storm outta the sky in his distraction.
Huge bladed hands cut white against blue.
Fortunately, the mechling, as small as he was – dodged the brunt of the attack, weaving through Pharma's fingers like a dog through agility weaving poles.
Twoo – om!
Storm made use of telekinesis to glide safely away from Pharma's claws.
Pharma shook his head. "Why do I even bother?" he tisked, unimpressed with both of their efforts.
With a flashy backflip, Storm landed onto the ground, and began to jog around Pharma's talons, carving sloppy oblong circles as he ran, kicking up dirt.
"Huh, it looks like your legs are healed." Pharma hummed, as if he were surprised. "I thought the joint-welds would take longer to hold."
"Well, that's the perk of being a baby sparkeater. I'm full of flexibility." Commented Storm, joyfully. "I should be dead like three, maybe four times already."
Pharma gave Storm a considering look.
"You run like Blurr after winning a race."
"Haha, well I did win, didn't I?" he asked, his tone of voice oddly jazzed as he danced about – waving Jazz's head around like a trophy. "In your face, Pharma! I w – won?!"
Suddenly.
Pharma's hand outstretched to smack Jetstorm over – pancaking him into the ground, like a cat toying around.
"Hey! What's the big idea – I –" Storm protested, uninjured but chatty.
Pharma ducked close to his face, his expression unreadable.
"Shut up!" Pharma whispered, as best he could.
"W-what -" Storm began, only to be shushed again with a finger the size of his head.
"Don't you hear that? Smell – that?" asked Pharma, and he gestured towards a direction, which laid beyond the treeline.
Eagerly, Storm sniffed the air, peering past the charred blackened woods.
He didn't say a word; instead, he pointed in the same general direction Pharma had, all but confirming he'd picked up the very same scent…
He walked ahead slouched over, creeping as softly as he could – with a behemoth like Pharma just behind him.
Storm cocked his head side to side as he moved, as if he heard something profound with each and every step.
…
…
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
…
…
An agonized wail stopped them in their tracks.
…
They waited a moment.
…
…
"What the hell is it?" asked Storm. "Think it's Soundwave yelling, trying to lure us out? What if he's laying a trap for us?"
Pharma chuckled dryly. He shrugged his shoulder-plates, and each gave an accenting squeak. "If he is, it better be a good one."
"Well, let's go spring it open, then!" declared Jetstorm, uncharacteristically enthused.
To go hunting.
The spot beyond the treeline was empty.
What remained was a suspicious bald patch of dirt, which sat barren – picked clean and devoid of any rocks larger than a pebble.
Obviously, cybertronians had stepped foot there.
"Hrmm, obviously it's someone we know." Commented Storm, as he followed black energon splatters down a singular path – a cliff's edge.
"It smells recent." Pharma added, unhelpfully.
Storm looked down the cliff.
He gasped and pointed. "More than recent! Look! There's Deadend, down in that trench!"
It took but a smattering of seconds for both sparkeaters to clambour down the cliff's edge to Deadend's location.
"Is he dead?" Jetstorm asked, poking the red and grey corpse with a stick.
Flat on its belly.
Black energon had pooled everywhere.
"N-n-no!" groused a voice. "No, I'm fine." Spoke Deadend, through a mouthful of greasy fluids.
"I'm alive." The mech said, as if to convince himself.
"Hrmm, that damage – your backside – who did this?" asked Pharma, touching Deadend with unkindly fingers. "It looks deliberate..." Grimly, he continued to evaluate the extent of the injury.
"By the Primes, you've been skinned alive!" Pharma concluded, to his horror.
And his shouting scared the ever living daylights – outta Deadend.
"Oh, skids and scrap, Pharma! I thought you were the Winglord – come to rescue me!" shouted Deadend, his vocalizer already long rubbed raw.
Deadend's neck sparked with every shuddering breath. He struggled to lift his head out of his own crusty pool of blood.
Jetstorm was momentarily confused, biting his lip.
"Why would the Winglord help you, Deadend?" he asked, with a rather genuine curiosity. "You're a sparkeater? He doesn't do that – show sparkeaters – eh, mercy?"
Before Deadend could speak further – to defend himself…
Pharma stiffened – any repairs he'd anticipated making to Deadend's backside halted – his fingers pulled away, making a careful calculation…
Deadend didn't notice – at first.
But Jetstorm shut up – noting Pharma's slight shift of mood.
"Yes, he does! He's perfectly reasonable if you just talk to him." Deadend continued, oblivious, speaking honestly with blood dripping down his chin.
Noticing Jetstorm's sudden mortified expression, eventually Deadend shut up, to peer over his shoulder-plates.
"What? Is my back that bad?" he joked, but it was painful.
Sensing, a shift of mood.
A bit too late.
"Hey, what gives?" he asked, his voice tinted with false bravado.
But it wouldn't help him.
CRUNCH!
Crump. Crimp.
Crumble.
It was like crushing a soda can.
Sans the energy to scream, Deadend didn't even have the presence of mind to struggle.
Or to ask why.
Without a hint of ceremony, the mech disappeared down Pharma's gullet.
A sparkeater no more.
Just dinner.
…
…
Jetstorm stared incredulously at the spot Deadend had been just seconds earlier – before Pharma had proceeded to coldly pick pieces of machinery – from out, between his teeth.
A severed rubbery arm-component toppled over into the dirt.
Apparently it has been too chewy for Pharma's liking.
The texture was akin to cartilage, or unagreeable steak-gristle.
Several questions had wormed around Storm's skull – questions he had anticipated asking Deadend.
Each all so useful, and reasonable –
That is – until –
Pharma had crashed the party.
Questions like:
"Why does your blood smell like Soundwave?"
"Why do you like the Winglord so much?"
"Can I have your processor?"
"Pretty please?"
But Jetstorm sighed, only able to ask one single question:
"Really, you couldn't have shared?"
"So." The Winglord began. "I don't like this situation, at all." He muttered. Massive golden wings tore the ground apart with aimed-precise gusts of wind – as if sifting through sand on a beach, for treasure.
Talons raked through rocks and organic rubble, overturning the mixture like wet flour within a bowl.
The Winglord was looking for something.
And atop his shoulder-plates…
Starscream paced back and forth upon crab-legs.
He blinked his singular pale-optic – squinting just so, as he struggled to comprehend the scene below him.
"What are you doing?" Starscream questioned, and his tone of voice was naturally acquisitory towards the Winglord. "What nonsense has happened now? Did you find my body, yet?"
The Winglord twitched his audials, begrudgingly acknowledging the drone's largely useless chitter chatter.
'If the noise Starscream currently makes – is a good indication – ' Sunstorm thought, through tired lidded optics, '-- he's adapted terribly quickly – to being a crab...'
'I guess credit where credit is due.' He added, shifting his full attention towards Starscream.
"Not yet, Starscream – everyone is still on the hunt for Thundercracker. You'll have your body back soon - ish – if those Decepticons are as good at their jobs, as you say they are."
In a gesture that surprised even the Winglord himself, he gently rubbed a fingertip atop the drone's head.
To Starscream, it was the closest approximation of affection he'd had in a long long time.
It was enough to quiet down his impending, impudent screeches.
"Wha – what are you doing?" asked Starscream, as if he were surprised every single time it happened.
The Winglord sighed, but there wasn't any anger in his expression – just exhaustion. Dark bags marred the paint underneath his eyes, and he stared at nothing as he spoke.
"It appears there've been a few…complications."
"Explain." Starscream snapped.
"Soundwave and that Deadend fellow – got into an altercation, some cycles ago." He paused, allowing Starscream to absorb said information.
And the crab seemed delighted by the idea of violence.
Dancing and turning, atop his klutzy-legs.
In blissful, childish distraction.
"Well…it appears they've both gone – and disappeared!" Sunstorm examined a thing he'd found within the dirt – a speck of blue energon crystal – a sign of old Decepticon mining-activity in the area, but it was a far cry from what he was actually truly looking for.
"I'm looking for blood, pieces of metal – anything I can use as clues."
"Imbecile! Use Deadend's commlink to track him down!" shouted Starscream, right into the Winglord's audials.
Sunstorm rolled his eyes – and shrugged his shoulders, causing Starscream to make a small distressed noise.
"Pfft, that was the first thing I did. I also pinged Soundwave and got absolutely no response."
"Hmmm…" Starscream sounded concerned. "While Soundwave can be gravely silent at times – unprofessional behavior is not typically what he's known for." Starscream shrugged the approximation of his shoulders.
"I say write them off." He said.
"Excuse me?" Sunstorm swiveled his head, as if he hadn't heard.
"I say write them off."
Sunstorm hummed, not all too happy about that idea.
Starscream continued. "They're obviously both dead." Starscream sounded certain in his conclusion. "Maybe…Deadend finally snapped, and ate Soundwave."
…
…
"True." Admitted Sunstorm, "It was easy for me to forget that Deadend is a sparkeater – and a fat one too!" he paused to scratch his chin, thinking.
"But that's a bit mean to say – don't you think?" he said, more to himself.
"Accusing Deadend of eating a superior officer is a serious crime." Sunstorm didn't sound upset, but his wings flapped just so. "He's the best nurse the Decepticons have. The only nurse! I have to trust him."
…
…
"You know, I'm basically blind as this drone-crab-thingy; but, my audials work correctly – rather well, actually." Said Starscream. "I was surprised to hear talk of Ratchet, the Autobot-medic wandering freely around the camp."
...
...
"Yes, he's been making himself useful, if that's the information you're getting after, Statscream."
"But why are you letting him be free without chains on?! He's going to escape, you utter-buffoon!"
Getting an earful of Starscream's signature screech, the Winglord rolled his shoulders cooly – smiling grimly, he replied with the patience of a saint.
"Because it'd be rather hard for Ratchet to perform life-saving surgeries with his hands and legs tied together, don't you think?"
"You're still stupid." Concluded Starscream.