At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: (Airachnid SI in a Transformers Mashup Universe)

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At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: Chapter Sixteen.
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    • I did say we'd go back to Dustoff and the humans, so here we go.

    Also, a new friend, because Dustoff literally cannot have enough friends.

    Music today is from Jonathan Young and Galactikraken.



    If someone had told the Jorge Figueroa of five years ago that he'd have joined an International Taskforce dedicated to fighting robots from outer space, he'd have called them crazy before dismissing them. If they'd also said he'd be trudging across what felt like half the USA to plant blinking sticks in the ground, he'd punch their lights out.

    Unfortunately for him, the latter was precisely what he was doing.

    Cursing under his breath, Jorge drove another Energon sensor into the ground and glared at the sweltering sun hanging overhead. Then, when the distant ball of plasma refused to cool down, he flipped the finger and trudged back to where the rest of the team were clustered beneath the shade of a solitary tree. Major Lennox was staring at something on his ruggedised laptop that implied a shitshow was on the horizon, though he could just be annoyed at something else. Epps was chatting with Donnelly, the pair briefly glancing towards Jorge before going back to their conversation. Ramirez was showing something on his phone to the unusual sort of/kinda newest team member, depending on who you asked.

    He, of course, meant Dustoff, who'd ended up with Lennox's team on account of their... reputation. Grinning as he fondly remembered some of the events that had created that reputation, Fig snatched the water bottle tossed his way out of the air and used the bottle to salute the Seeker who'd lobbed it.

    "You're a godsend, Chica," he called out. "No more lugging heavy packs all day!"

    "No problem, you looked like you needed it," she replied before giving Ramirez an apologetic look. "Did I miss anything?"

    "Nah, I paused it when Figs came back," Ramirez said, the kid sounding far more confident than a few months ago.

    Keeping an ear on the conversation as he found a spot to sit down with a pleased sigh, Jorge found it a little strange how... normal it was. Now, part of him was still in awe of the Cybertronians, even years after being brought into the secret. But, in all that time, he'd always felt like most of the Autobots he'd seen and met lacked that certain something that allowed them to click with humans. The one's who'd been on Earth longest was the exception, which made Dustoff's behaviour all the weirder. Leaning back, Jorge had to remind himself that the Seeker had only been here a few months and not the decades her actions implied. She was more human, in a way... His thoughts derailed as a random bit of info popped into his brain.

    Was calling a transforming alien robot from outer space a human...racist?

    "I've got a question," Figs asked the air.

    "The answers still no, Jorge," William said, glancing up from his laptop. "Giving you permission to flirt with a holographic avatar is a diplomatic incident waiting to happen."

    "That wasn't my question!" He stridently denied, throwing a glance towards a suddenly very interested Dustoff. "I'd never do that, swear on my Grandmother's grave."

    Unfortunately for Jorge's frantic deflection, his attempt was shot down by a smirking Donnelly.

    "That's odd. Didn't we visit your Grandmother's last week? And had to endure an hour of alligator-based dishes?"

    Shooting the jerkass Bostonian a glare that promised retribution if he made it out of this alive, Figs winced as their Cybertronian companion tilted her head to one side. Why, oh why did he have to open his big mouth, he thought as Dustoff continued with the silent treatment, undoubtedly plotting some manner of revenge for the request. But, when she did open her mouth, it was only to grin as she shook her head with a soft giggle.

    "It's no wonder the Autobots love your species; you're all packing bearings larger than some moons." She did that Cybertronian thing where they rapidly shuttered their optics before looking at the entire squad. "Behold, Humanity! Where your urge to interface ignores species barriers... vegetables included."

    As a round of laughter swept around the team, Jorge calmed down as his brain finally realized he wasn't, in fact, going to die. Slowly relaxing tense muscles, he got up, wandered over to an unsuspecting Donnelly and slugged his shoulder. His fall, accompanied by a gambled mixture of a laugh and cry, drew more laughter from everyone else, Dustoff included. Fig waited for his teammate to recover before offering them a hand up, which they reluctantly accepted.

    "That's for not backing me up as a wingman should."

    The unrepentant bastard just smirked. "I ain't earning the wrath of Chopper Bot over there," he thumbed towards the Seeker in question. "'Sides, your face was priceless."

    Growing, Jorge prepared to knock Donnelly's ass down again, only to pause as a loud clap split the air and drew his attention to an annoyed looking Lennox.

    "Alright, children, enough fucking around," he said, earning good-natured grumbles from his squadmates. "Command's asking us to change how we're placing the sensors due to 'incomplete coverage'," Will made finger quotes. "They want the Energon detectors inside the next abandoned mine, not outside it like we've been doing."

    While Jorge joined Donnelly in voicing his displeasure in a mixture of English and Spanish, with some much milder complaining from Ramirez, it was Epps who spoke up first.

    "Shouldn't the Autobots be doing underground sweeps of these mines?" He asked with a frown.

    "That's what I told them," Lennox griped at the laptop. "But a certain someone with the ear of the president has pissed off General Burns royally by implying we don't need the 'Bot's help."

    "Hijo de puta!" Jorge cursed, spitting on the dirt. "The sooner Galloway fucks off to whatever hole he crawled from, the better!"

    Donnelly offered him a fist. "Amen to that, brother."

    Fist-bumping his brother in arms made him feel better, but a cough from the Major had him sheepishly hiding his hands behind his back.

    "On the record, I'm going to say that the National Security Advisor deserves our deepest respect..." Will trailed off with a sly grin as he made a show of glancing around. "Off the record, well, I wouldn't shed any tears if he got stepped on by a Decepticon." But, eventually, the grin faded, as did any humour in his voice. "Words aside, we still have to complete the mission even if the objectives changed for the worse."

    Resigned, the human squad members began packing up their kit in preparation for moving to the next long-empty Energon mine. An already dreary and boring mission had morphed into a slog that none of them wished to deal with, especially not in the unnaturally hot September sun. But, when it came time for Dustoff to transform and let them hop in, she instead regarded Major Lennox with an odd expression.

    "Major, is the increased coverage due to your sensors being, well, primitive?"

    Will paused as he swung his backpack on. "That's what the scientists were complaining about back at base; why?"

    "What if, while I'm scouting the mine before you enter, I discover a cache of Energon sensors left behind by the 'Cons when the mine ran dry?"

    Lennox was confused. "This one's been empty for years; if we haven't found them by now, then..." He trailed off and assumed what the others jokingly called his 'Officer Face'. "If you did find such a cache, then we'd be in the clear as far as the Tyrest Accord the Autobot's follow is concerned. Equipment left behind by a hostile power is legitimate salvage after all."

    "In that case, I should mention that I've detected what may be a Decepticon transmission from the vicinity of the mine," Dustoff solemnly stated with only the faintest twitch of her mouth. "There's an observation point three miles from the entrance that should serve you well while I do some scouting, Major."

    The other squad members shared confused looks when Lennox nodded with a chuckle and fully shouldered his pack. It continued as the Seeker transformed, and they piled into the troop bay along with their equipment. Only after they were airborne and the noise died down did the Major finally clue his subordinates into what had just occurred.

    "Dustoff, how long will it take you to upgrade the sensors?"

    The speaker above their heads hummed. "Fourteen, fifteen breems, longer if I can't strip the extras for parts."

    "Hold on a second," Donnelly interjected as he looked at the speaker. "I thought that Accord thingy meant you Cybertronians weren't allowed to give other races your tech?"

    "That's only if you care about what the Chief Justice and his goons think," she replied. "Which, if you haven't guessed already, I don't."

    Realization crossed their faces as Will favoured his friends with an easygoing smile. "While our resident giant robot checks the place out, we've got a couple of hours to enjoy the Wendys that coincidently sits slap bang in the middle of the observation point. Our post-mission reports will list us as scouting the perimeter, but I'll inform the General personally about the real reason."

    Leaning back in his seat with a grin, Jorge found himself looking forward to the rest of the mission, which was a nice change of pace, in his opinion.


    "Try not to have too much fun without us," Lennox called as he reached the treeline surrounding the mine entrance.

    "I was going to say the same thing, Major," I grinned. "Tamara will tell you when I'm finished."

    My pilot holomatter projection peered from behind a tree to wave; flight suit exchanged for a set of fatigues similar to what the Major's team wore. Of course, the semi-autonomous projection still rocked a figure that was borderline horny. Still, I couldn't deny that it got results... even if said results were sometimes embarrassing to review afterwards. Putting thoughts of strangely behaving holomatter pilots out of my processor, I waved the group goodbye and turned towards the gloomy mine entrance.

    Festooned in a plethora of warning signs, chain fencing topped with barbed wire and industrial detritus, you'd be forgiven for assuming the place was a long condemned mine. The locals had condemned it decades ago after the copper ore ran out, but the Decepticons had reopened it not long after they arrived on Earth in force after discovering Energon. Shifting my rotors back to spider limbs, I leveraged myself over the fence, lit my floodlamps, and trudged down the tunnel. Despite making up the presence of hostile transmission, I soon palmed my holdout blaster and kept it at the ready once the silence became too oppressive for my tastes. Was it purely paranoia given my full power sensor sweeps turned up nothing but rock and rusting machinery? Yes.

    Would it stop me from keeping my gun in hand? Primus, no!

    I continued onwards with one optic on my Crono, keeping track of the time as my connection to the outside world started getting fuzzy. Oddly enough, despite my satellite and radio links degrading beneath millions of tons of rock, my holomatter generator was entirely unaffected. Unfortunately, checking up on my pilot-self revealed... she was flirting with the cashier in Wendys. Embarrassed, I tuned out before things got even more awkward and set about wiping those memories from storage. Their deletion brought instant relief, even though I knew I'd relive them once we resynched after I deployed the sensors. But, first, I needed to upgrade them, and the elevator shaft that appeared around a corner was as good a place as any.

    Spotting what might have been a mine cart before decades of rust got to it, I wrenched it free with the squeal of shearing metal and set it down beside a clear patch of ground. The twenty-odd primitive Energon sensor poles were dumped from my subspace beside the cart before I undid a thigh plate and retrieved the compact repair kit within. Wheeljack had been kind enough to give it to me when he discovered I lacked one, and I still hadn't gotten around to thanking him for it. Cracking the kit open, I selected the multitool within (a literal multiple-use tool, not an electronic reader like the humans use) and picked the first sensor for salvaging.

    The part of me that was still human was amazed by the miniaturized electronics stuffed into the relatively narrow pole, but the rest of me wasn't impressed if I'm honest. Just at first glance, I identified half a dozen pieces of copied Cybertronian tech that had been crudely attached to far inferior human components. Of course, in my former race's defence, when I say crude, I mean crude by my current species' standards, which was honestly an incredible achievement. Still, as I gutted the sensor, tossed the husk in the minecart and stored the guts in my thigh recess, I kept a few processor threads dedicated to sweeping the area.

    Just because it was abandoned didn't mean I could afford to be complacent.


    Remi gave the curious square burger an investigative poke, more than a little squicked out by a food source that was so... so wet. Then, drawing on her sister's organic memories for reference, she grabbed the bun and took an investigative bite. The precise chemical breakdown of the meal was filtered through a gastric emulator based on the prior memories, providing a burst of flavour that had her making delighted noises around the mouthful of food.

    Human nutritional resupply was awesome!

    "You alright there, Tamara?"

    Reluctantly putting her meal down, Remi glanced up and gave Lennox a happy nod. "Way better than I imagined, so, yea."

    "Good..." He trailed off with a glance around the mostly-empty Wendys. "Where does that even go?"

    "It gets destroyed after I eat it," she explained with a gesture to her stomach. "You wouldn't believe how much of a processor hog creating an accurate model of your biological functions are, so I skip it to save threads."

    That was enough to satisfy the Major, who went back to whatever officery stuff he was doing on his laptop. With that distraction out of her hair (note to self, convince Dustoff to get some kind of imitation hair), the alternate personality went back to tweaking the food enjoyment subroutine with the intention of giving it to other Cybertronians. It was both relatively inexpensive in terms of thread use and helped sell the illusion that the holomatter avatar was, in fact, a native lifeform. That had tripped Airachnid up more than once when the bitch couldn't eat and broke her cover because of refusing food or water. Watching the self-proclaimed greatest hunter fail at basic organic infiltration provided Remi with one of the few good memories she had of that time.

    As the sole employee out front went out of sight, the rest of the squad got a bit freer in terms of speaking about non-human matters. As the only alien here, Remi wasn't surprised to find herself on the spot, though the question itself had her genuinely thinking about it.

    "Tamara?" Donnelly asked. "What's the deal with all the Femmes being, y'know, looking like ladies?"

    On the other side of the table, Epps sighed. "Patrick, of all the damn questions to ask..."

    "I'm curious too," Will said, drawing surprised looks from his friends. "What? I've got Egghead Anthropologists chasing after me about asking Dustoff that question every time I visit the R&D wing."

    "Nice dodge, Boss," the Bostonian praised before turning back to Remi. "So, you got an answer for us?"

    Truthfully, it was a question that had stumped Remi ever since Airachnid died, and she got access to her Spark-sister's human memories. Why was it that some Cybertronians since the time of the Thirteen (of either or neither gender) had frames that were identifiable as female by the short-lived species of this one exact planet? But, of course, their race hadn't even existed in an identifiable form when those frame types were brought into being, though that was only a guess on her part, given all records of that time were non-existent. Chewing her lip, Remi tapped her chin and eventually settled on an answer that, if not making much obvious sense, felt right.

    "Remember when I spoke of Onyx Prime, Sergeant?"

    Donnelly nodded. "The beast lord dude with anger issues, I remember."

    "That's the one," Remi giggled, amused by the spot-on description. "The legend goes that when it came time for Solus Prime to create a Cybetronian people in her image, she turned to the Beast Lord for inspiration in crafting that image. Thus, Onyx used the power of the Triptych Mask to gaze into the streams of Time in search of a suitable choice." She flashed her disbelieving audience a grin that was pure teeth. "I'm not saying that he saw your species and provided a frame type based on that... but in my opinion, he totally did."

    Ramirez was the first to find his voice. "You're saying that Robo-Chimaera-Jesus looked through time... and used human women as templates for Cybertronian ladies?"

    "Bullshit," Fig declared with a snort. "Giant alien robots from outer space, I can understand, but time travelling demigod giant alien robots from outer space? That's total bullshit."

    "If you've got a better answer, Sergeant, you're free to voice it," Remi snarked. "Until then, my theory is the..." Remi went crosseyed as an extraordinary transmission filtered through from Dustoff. "Huh."

    "What's the matter?" Lennox asked.

    "Something's broadcasting a Cube game inside the mine."


    "And Turbojump's just knocked Magnawheel out of the arena! Talk about a letdown for the Polyhex fans!"

    Pausing mid-upgrade, my helm snapped up as I searched for the source of the voice. Rusted industrial equipment and the elevator shaft greeted my optics, but no sign of any Mech speaking in a really odd manner. Firing up my entire sensor array, I swept my surroundings with a fine-tooth comb for the originator, but after an entire breem of nothing, I prepared to shut it down again. But, of course, that's what the transmission returned, curiously underscored by what sounded like a cheering crowd.

    "Sweet Solus Prime, did you see that save! If it weren't for the fact Gunhorn doesn't have wings, I'd have assumed he was a Seeker with aerial skills like..."

    While it dissolved into a harsh blur of static, it lasted long enough for me to get a bearing straight down. More curious than worried, I returned my toolkit to its spot and left the disassembled sensor poles behind me. Something about the transmissions was making me nostalgic, but the why refused to surface by the time I peered over the shaft's edge. Staring down the Decepticon-created construction, a quick optic adjustment let me see the faintest glimmer of artificial light from the bottom. It might have just been my imagination, but I swore the light flickered as if something had passed in front of it. Pulling back to update my holoform, I got as far as mentioning the Cube transmission before an entirely different voice filtered up from the bottom of the shaft.

    "I just want to watch the Cube game! Is that too much to ask, you useless piece of junk!" The Femme's voice was punctuated with a terrific bang that trailed off into silence.

    I was already over the edge and using my spider limbs to descend by the time my processor caught up with the rest of me. However, the raw emotion in the mysterious Femme's voice roused an urge to find out, so I continued downwards after throwing the sensor poles one last glance. Relying on optics and audials in an attempt to avoid spooking the unknown, semi-garbled transmissions in the same vein continued to tease my passive sensors. If I had to guess, they were trying to watch a Cube game, and it was malfunctioning to the point of broadcasting snippets to everyone in range. Watching the light grow stronger as I got closer to the bottom, I assumed the rock above our helms kept the bursts limited to the mine's interior, though that didn't answer why it was done here.

    Several breems (and a lot of rock dust in my joints) later, I cautiously hung upside down above the carbon-scored platform that constituted the elevator. Then, giving the remnants of the old battle little notice, I listened as someone heavy thumped back and forth in the space beyond. I could hear the Femme from earlier mumbling something impossible to catch, but I didn't need my audials to feel the despair from her 'Field. While the circumstances were different, the isolation and well of negative emotions struck a chord with my own experiences alone. Finally, deciding on a course of action that had my processor screaming no, I stuck my head into the doorway and knocked on the wall.

    The blocky purple and green 'Bot within cried in alarm, and the glowing cube in her claws went flying towards me. Catching a glimpse of a singular red optic and windmilling arms before she fell on her aft, I flipped inside and gently caught the cube before it could smash into the floor. Turning the electronic-studded object over in my hands, I figured this was the source of the transmissions. The cracks running along three of the six faces had me worried I'd caused them, but the old weathering helped calm my racing Spark.

    "You're not an Autobot?"

    Now it was my turn to shriek as I belatedly remembered the room's other occupant. Shuttering my optics, I thrust the cube in her direction and prayed to Primus that she would take a shot at me and my dumb aft. When nothing occurred, I cracked open an optic to see the Decepticon's claws reverently grab the cube and pull it to the safety of her embrace. The lack of any attack, or hostility for that matter, gave my processor time to reboot.

    "I'm... not an Autobot, no," I muttered, wincing at how passive I sounded.

    Surprisingly, she cracked a smile and offered a claw for a shake? "Wew, you had me worried there! I'm Clobber, by the way."

    I wasn't prepared for the servo-wrenching force of her handshake. "D-Dustoff," I stuttered before escaping her powerful grip. "What, uh, what're you doing down here?"

    My assumption that Clobber thought I was a fellow Decepticon was proven by, well, how relaxed she was.

    "Got orders to scout this mine for Energon," she candidly responded before raising the cube. "But everyone knows it's empty, so I brought this along to watch a few Cube matches." Her shoulders slumped by the end as her 'Field turned sour. "But it's not working right."

    A smarter 'Bot would have taken that opportunity to make her excuses and bail to inform the others about a solitary Decepticon. But, as I watched Clobber listlessly turn the projector over in her claws, I found myself opening the thigh panel and withdrawing my repair kit. Then, waving it in her direction, I followed my Spark and opened it to let her see the tools inside.

    "I can try and fix it for you?"

    The hug that followed threatened to snap my spine like a twig, but there was no mistaking the genuine intent behind it.


    Dustoff and the Humans, as requested, along with some Remi, because she's a great viewpoint character.

    Say hello to Cyberverse Clobber! She's a sweetheart if you can get past her intimidating appearance. Also possesses one hell of a cool Alt-mode in the form of a hovertank with a hugeass gun.
     
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    • At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: Chapter Seventeen.
  • Threadmarks
    • Dustoff realizes that pretty much the entire Decepticon Armada is a bundle of mental health issues, Clobber sends a message to her best friend and General Burns is searching for the whiskey he hid away somewhere.

    Music today is from Akino.


    Tell me if this has happened to you.

    You discover a Decepticon in a supposedly abandoned mine and offer to fix her holoprojector. Then, after nearly being deactivated by her hug and fixing it, you sit down to watch a few matches while reassuring your allies that everything's fine.

    So far, so good, which is when the Decepticon breaks down out of slagging nowhere and clings to you like a liferaft.

    That's me right now.

    "A-And then, when I came back from the mission, S-Starscream called me a useless labour drone!"

    Pinned against Clobber's torso by her insanely powerful embrace, I had to fight to get my arm free to pat her on the shoulder consolingly. I'm still not sure how watching a Cube match together ended up with the Femme pouring her Spark out to me, but I'm sure as the Pit not going to leave her like this. I made soothing noises as Clobber continued speaking with a voice so thick with emotion I literally couldn't understand her. Still, I kept rubbing her pauldron armour and did my best to ignore what this meant for the Decepticon's mental health and how it fits into their outlook on life.

    "Shhh, It's okay, Clobber; you're none of those things," I consoled, nudging the holoprojector further away with my foot.

    Servos whined as her solitary optic focused on me. "You t-think so?"

    "I don't think so; I know it's not true," I replied, struggling to keep the heat out of my voice. "Starscream's half a dozen hydrospanners short of a toolkit anyway; he's just snorting his own exhaust gasses."

    A static laced giggle escaped Clobber's vocaliser before she clamped a claw over her mouth, but she had nothing to worry from me of all 'Bots. Gracing the brawling Femme with a gentle smile, I pushed my positive emotions into my 'Field and let that speak louder than any words ever could. While some might (and probably would) call me crazy for what I'm doing, seeing a hesitant smile creep across the Decepticon's face made it more than worth it.

    "You're not a Decepticon, are you?"

    I froze but eventually nodded when no attack manifested. "Left on bad terms a long time ago," I lied, or at least I think I lied. "That a problem?"

    "Nope," she said with a shrug. "Lockdown left to become a bounty hunter, and we still keep in touch." Clobber's 'Field shrank as she realized how frank she was with me, a total stranger. "Not that I, uh, should be saying that to a non-Decepticon..."

    "You said something?" I joked.

    The cyclopean Femme looked confused before the smile returned. "You're good, Femme. For a Neutral, that is."

    Clobber cut short my flippant response by putting a hand to her audial sensor and mouthing 'communication' to me. Taking the hint, I scuttled backwards into the elevator shaft and kept an audial out for the impending transmission. Knowing what I did of the 'Cons, it was highly likely to be abusive and dismissive.

    The 'Bot, on the other end, if anything, exceeded my expectations.

    "Clobber, what in the Pit do you think you're doing!?"

    "I'm scouting the mine like you ordered, Commander Starscream," she tersely replied. "I haven't found..."

    "I said check it, you imbecile, not scout it!" Starscream, well, screamed. "Stop wasting time and get back to the Nemesis!"

    Beneath the fear clutching my Spark from hearing fucking Starscream lay a growing disgust at how Clobber flinched as if struck with every shout and insult. My fingers lengthened into talons that dug into the rock as if it was butter as I fought to stay hidden and not give that glitch-ridden lump of toxic refuse a piece of my processor. I welcomed the genuinely murderous images of ripping Starscream's Spark out and stuffing it down his throat, only distantly aware of the audial-damaging screech of the Seeker's voice. Here was someone the universe wouldn't miss if I hunted him down and had a little fun before he expired~

    Warning! Dangerous Emotional Instability Detected!

    Aw slag, that's not good. Increase the restraint level, now!

    Complying... Emotional Restraint Level reset to 80%.

    Trust Starscream to reset months of progress with a handful of sentences. Shunt those memories into deep storage and lock them out.

    Affirmative.

    Alright, let's see if that worked. Here's hoping she forgives me for this.

    Shaking my helm, I glanced down at my fingers sunk into the rock and hurriedly wrenched them free with a crunch. Confused, I couldn't remember why or how that had occurred, but the arrival of Clobber pushed those worries to the side for now. I gave her a smile that hopefully looked better than it felt and dropped from my vertical perch.

    "Did you, uh, hear much of that?" She hesitantly asked.

    I responded with a hug. "Enough to know that everything he said was a bare-faced lie," I stressed with every bit of my Spark. "Nobody deserves that sort of abuse, especially not you. It doesn't matter that he's your superior; you've got a piece of Primus himself inside you and that... that makes you special."

    As the cyclopean Femme visibly struggled to absorb what I'd just said, I was wrestling with both the urge to keep hugging her until she felt better and flat-out taking her home with me. Clobber was, for all her obvious power and ability, a blatantly gentle Spark that deserved a life that wasn't filled with abuse hurled from those supposed to look out for her. The fact that a certain narcissistic, egotistical Air Commander was responsible for her mental state merely made me hug all the harder, not that I could reach all the way around.

    The top of my helm barely reached the Decepticon insignia on her torso, after all!

    As I pulled away from the still silent Femme, an idea occurred to me. Searching for it required a rummage through my fragmented memory cells, but eventually, I found the code I was looking for. Updating it for modern communication protocols, I bundled it up with a priority header and offered the file to Clobber.

    "What's that?" She asked even as she accepted the file transfer.

    "A com code, so you can contact me if you feel the need," I explained. "I've got a thing with the local race where they give me a place to stay in exchange for helping them, so I'm always free to chat."

    "Okay."

    I followed her by wordless agreement as she squeezed past onto the elevator platform and hit the corroded pedestal with a fist. Motors ground to painfully loud life, and the platform began its jerky ascent towards the surface, answering how she'd gotten down here in the first place. Shifting my limbs back to rotors in case the lift fell out from under my pedes, I kept one optic on Clobber, or more specifically, her EM-Field. It wasn't fluctuating wildly as before, but neither was it radiating emotions as was the norm. I'd say it was almost restrained, but that was a wild guess on my part given how leashing your 'Field wasn't the easiest thing to achieve.

    My jump off the lift, once it arrived, was perhaps somewhat hurried, but in my defence, the thing swayed dangerously by the end. My companion was silent as I collected the upgraded sensors and dumped them in my subspace storage. The trip out of the mine was paradoxically calmer and tenser as I couldn't help but keep checking to see how Clobber was doing. With no change by the time the outside light began to filter in, I resigned myself to having tried without success to improve her spirits. That's why, as I walked into the midday sun and paused, that the claw that landed on my shoulder surprised me so much.

    "Dustoff," Clobber hesitantly began. "Do these humans you're working with... do they force you to fight?"

    "Primus, no!" I vigorously denied. "I fight because I want to help them, not because they force me to."

    Her 'Field noticeably brightened. "Sounds nice... Well, t-thanks for fixing my Cube." She raised the holoprojector for emphasis.

    "No worries, Clobber." Now it was my turn to awkwardly hesitate before finding my voice. "I'll be around if you need a hand; just call me."

    She nodded and turned away, pulling a loose section of fence aside and tromping through without a look back. As she vanished into the treeline, I couldn't help but feel guilty for not encouraging her to defect. The fact that such an attempt would undoubtedly have had the opposite effect didn't help my roiling Spark one bit, not when Clobber needed friends, not abusers. That thought, and others in a similar vein, stuck with me as I ducked through the gap and headed towards Major Lennox and the rest of the team.

    Explaining what happened was going to be fun.



    Feeling every aching joint and plate she'd accumulated in the last born, Clobber entered her tiny quarters with a relieved venting. Thumping the switch as usual got the pallid light flickering and eventually illuminating the room. She ignored her recharge berth in favour of dropping into the battered chair facing the wall-mounter terminal. Another thumb got the ancient electronics starting, and Clobber spent the time adjusting the camera back into its usual position.

    It was a ritual she'd done thousands of times, but today was the first where she had good news to convey.

    The screen came to life, displaying the same interface it always did, the message recorder. Then, taking the holoprojector from her subspace, she placed it where the camera could see it and smiled as she hit record.

    "Hey, Lockdown, you'll never guess what happened today," she smiled as she waved towards the glowing cube. "I got the old holoprojector of yours working again! Well, I found someone who did it for me, but you already know that, don't you?"

    Clobber imagined her best friend raising an optic ridge as if to say, 'why are you saying something that obvious.' Chuckling, she shook her helm and gently poked the cube to make sure today hadn't just been a dream. It stayed happily lit, causing her small grin to grow just a little more.

    "I know, I know, I'm repeating the obvious stuff," she mock-whined at the camera. "No need to tell me, you lugnut. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yea, the person who fixed the cube!" The still-fresh memory buoyed Clobber's Spark. "So, I got ordered to scout one of the mines we set up on this planet, like, two deci-vorns ago. I knew it was totally empty, but it's not like I could have told Starscream that."

    Lockdown would have made a face, so she did the same for when he saw it. The memory of the Air Commander's harsh words still stung, but far less than they would have without the help of a certain Neutral Seeker.

    "I went down to the bottom and tried to watch a few matches," she rolled her solitary optic as she imagined her friend pointing out her words. "I'm getting to that; stop interrupting. Anyways, It's not working right, and I feel like I'm about to start punching things when someone knocks on the wall and spooks the Spark out of me!" She threw her arms wide and pretended to be scared for Lockdown's benefit. "I fall on my aft and see this camouflaged Seeker Femme just standing there with the cube in her hands. I'm telling you, 'Lock, it took me ages to see that she wasn't an Autobot cause she wasn't a 'Con; no insignia."

    Clobber gave her buddy time to deal with the info. "One of the smallest 'Bots I've ever seen, bout the same size as that Autobot scout, Arcee, but way more armour," she praised, happy to see others understanding more armour was always better. "Skittish though, but we know that's just a Seeker being a Seeker, eh?" She smiled at the camera and poked the cube. "Called herself Dustoff; next thing I know, she's pulled out a toolkit and offered to fix this bit of junk."

    She paused the recording as voices rang out in the hallway, but they vanished after a breem which let her continue uninterrupted.

    "Sorry about that, sludge for processors making noise outside," Clobber apologised. "Anyways, what do you know, she not only fixed the projector, Dustoff got rid of those dead pixels you always hated when we watched matches. I know you've never been one for hugging, Lockdown, but I gave her an extra-strong hug for you. You'd get on well with her; she can't take one of my hugs for long either!"

    She laughed, partly from the expression on her friend's face and partly from the face Dustoff had made during and after the hug. The Femme might be heavily armoured compared to her frame type, but that was still barely protected by Clobber's standards. Then, gently picking the holoprojector up, she set it in the little cubby she'd long ago made for it and let her happy mask drop.

    "I broke down, 'Lock," she quietly admitted. "The Polyhex/Kaon game must have slipped into the rotation, and I forgot. Seeing..." Clobber's voice choked with painful emotions as she fought through the blockage. "I saw myself making the catch that won the game. Primus, even after everything, I still remember the crowd going nuts when I managed it. 'Course, back then, I had hands... and a face."

    Unbidden, she raised her disgustingly basic claws and sadly clamped them together. While there was no reply from the monitor, not that she expected one, she knew Lockdown would be doing his best right now to cheer her up. Even though he wasn't here to hug her, Clobber took the memory of Dustoff's hugs and substituted her friend in their place.

    Eventually, she recovered enough to face the camera. "I don't remember when it happened, but I started venting to her as I do to you, and she started saying n-nice things to me. I know you do your best, 'Lock, but having someone else saying I was special and not a waste of Energon really helped. So. then, just when I was feeling good about myself, Starscream contacted me."

    Metal squealed as Clobber sunk her claw into the abused desk, the dent joining dozens of others marring the surface. Oh, how she loathed that shiny flying scraplet and his constant abusive language, not that she could do anything about... it. The com code Dustoff had provided floated to the front of her processor, as did the offer of help if she wanted it. Giving the camera a guilty glance she knew her friend would pick up on, Clobber decided that he needed to know.

    "Dustoff's got some kind of deal with the locals, and she pretty much offered me a place with her." She knew how Lockdown would react and powered through before he said too much. "I know, believe me, I know. I wouldn't even consider it any other day..., but I can't keep doing this, 'Lock, not without you here," Clobber squeezed her claw together in front of the camera. "I'm this close to snapping, which is why I'm gonna send this message; call Dustoff and take her up on the help."

    Trailing off, she glanced around the tiny berth that had been her only possession for the last Primus knew how many vorns. It was dingy, cramped, and the rust patches in the corners never stayed clean for long, but it was all she had until now. Turning back to the camera, Clobber offered Lockdown what she hoped was a sad, rather than distraught, smile.

    "You always said I'd follow in your steps someday, 'Lock," she mumbled more to herself than her distant friend. "I should have become a Bounty Hunter with you, but we both know I'd be terrible at it. I'm just tired of fighting because I'm forced to. Pit, I'm tired in general!"

    Clobber furtively glanced around in case anyone heard, but nothing happened. Still, on edge, she decided to finish up the video message as fast as possible and get the slag away from this place and the bad memories it held.

    "This will be my last message for a while, at least until I find some way to get one to wherever you've got a job these days. But, before you say it, 'Lock, I won't make any promises." She shook her helm and made to end the recording. "Wherever you are, buddy, I hope you're having a better time than I am. See you on the other side, Lockdown."

    Hitting the send button, Clobber pulled the holoprojector into her subspace and set about gathering what little possessions she had. Then, throwing the flickering monitor one last look, she sighed, opened the door and left that part of her life behind.

    Not long after she departed, a red alert popped up on the screen. It flashed mutely to the empty berth before the recording shrunk to display a long, long list of similar video messages, all sporting a similar crimson icon in the top right corner. Finally, after a few more breems of waiting, an alert Clobber had long reflexively muted popped up and displayed four words.

    Recipient Out Of Range


    Rubbing a hand over his face, General Jack Burns looked away from the view of Dustoff's hangar on his monitor and faced the people on the other side of his desk.

    "Does anyone have an answer to this," he gestured towards the monitor and the video of NEST's newest acquisition. "And how in God's name did Dustoff manage to get a Decepticon to defect by being nice?"

    Major Lennox shrugged. "Even after being there for both meetings, Sir, I still have no idea how she managed it. We got one hell of a scare when the holoform glitched out and went all toothy, but I don't think that's related."

    "I think it is, Major," Doctor Jessica Yamada interjected with a small cough. "The 'glitch', as you refer to it, occurred when Dustoff heard Starscream verbally abusing Clobber. Something about him caused her enough distress to not only loose several minutes of memory but also affected the semi-autonomous projection."

    General Burns raised a hand to forestall any more Psychologist talk. "While I don't see the connection personally, Doctor, I'd appreciate a full report on your thoughts in the morning. But, for now, I'd like you to focus on what might have caused the defection."

    The mousy haired Psychologist, the head of NEST's mental health division, nodded. "Apologies, General. While this is only a preliminary assessment as I haven't had a chance to chat with either Femme personally, I believe it has to do with a complete absence of mental health specialists among the Cybertronian race as we know them."

    "That's not right," Will argued. "I don't know about the 'Cons, but the Autobots have Ratchet, First Aid and others to talk to. Hell, Prime's always listening to his people's worries."

    "There's a stark difference between a medic listening to their patient and someone specifically trained to assess and help them mentally, not physically," Jessica stressed with a soft voice that carried a core of steel. "Prime's status as not only their superior officer and, from the information we received from Dustoff, a religious leader means he is of less help. Whatever the case is, it's abundantly clear that the Decepticons not only lack anyone to deal with mental health, they actively scorn any sign of weakness."

    Burns gave the video feed a considering look. "Which explains why this 'Con jumped ship so readily once someone showed her basic common decency." He rubbed his face again, but this time it was in disgust. "Now I'm wondering just how many of the Decepticons are like her, abused by their superiors with nowhere to go."

    The office fell silent as the others considered his words and came to equally disturbing conclusions. Watching Dustoff show a hesitant Clobber around her shrine in the distant hangar was a harsh counterpoint by the not so small opinion among NEST and the governments composing it that killing every Decepticon was the only option. Jack had held that view once, back when he'd first met the Autobots and their foes, but time and harsh reality had forced him to cast aside childish black and white worldviews. The universe, just like Earth, was shades of grey with an absolutely minuscule fraction of either white or black.

    "If it's any consolation, Sir," Lennox began with a nod towards the monitor. "That we've found one means there's always a chance to convince others to defect."

    "That's just what I need, more reasons for Galloway to bitch about Cybertronians," Burns grumbled, but he was smiling throughout.


    I expect some people to complain about how easy that was, but Clobber's an example of someone who did jump ship once she found a friend. Without Lockdown there to keep her in the Decepticons, I figured the constant abuse would end up as too much to bear at some point.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: Chapter Eighteen
  • Threadmarks
    • Starscream finally meets his new troops.

    They're not what he ordered. ;)

    Music for the chapter is from Beast in Black.



    "What's taking her so long!?"

    Thundercracker, watching his friend and Trine leader pace back and forth across one of the Harbinger's hangars, shook his helm.

    "You ordered Skywarp to take the slow route to avoid detection, 'Star," he consoled. "Punching holes in the deck isn't going to make things go faster."

    The staccato beat of heel struts faded as their owner slowed to a halt. "That doesn't make it easier to deal with, 'Thunder," Starscream ground out, but his words lacked heat. "What if this ship's piece of junk systems destroyed the portal mid-transit? Or maybe Megatron found the..."

    The emergence of a full aperture Groundbridge silenced Starscream's complaints about the very same systems as the troopship's bow crested the portal edge. Both Seekers watched in anticipation as the craft fully entered the hangar where overhead docking arms moved to lock the ship in place. Thundercracker kept his emotions in check as a docking tube extended towards the platform he shared with Starscream, a far cry from the almost juvenile bouncing from his companion. But, he said almost because his friend's turbines were flaring in time with their spiking emotions, primarily happiness. He fought down a grin at the sight, mainly because his aft would be ash if the Air Commander saw him grinning like a crazy 'Bot.

    In typical Skywarp fashion, she forwent disembarking like every other Cybertronian and teleported straight into a crushing embrace with Starscream. The silvery Seeker's shriek rang high and loud but sadly trailed off as he recovered from his surprise notably slower than usual.

    "Skywarp!" Starscream shouted even as he made no move to break the hug. "What in the Pit are you doing?"

    "Hugging my best friend," she muttered, lacking any of her usual exuberance. "Missed you."

    "I..." To Thundercracker's amazement, the Air Commander choked up. "I missed you too, 'Warp." However, the vulnerability didn't last long as he planted hands on her shoulders. "Did you get them?"

    Nodding, she waved towards the docking tube, which irised open on command. Then, while Starscream held his ground and Skywarp moved off to one side, Thundercracker wisely backed up as what looked like half a company of Warbuilt trooped out onto the platform and arranged into two parallel lines. After a nano-klik of recovery, he noted many sported battle damage and missing limbs in a few cases. That fact didn't do much to detract from how slagging intimidating it was seeing so many Warbuilt Seekers standing there without a sound. Of course, just when he was getting used to the sight, another relic from the distant past limped out of the tube, supported on one side by a slim red and black Femme and a larger green painted Mech on the other.

    Skywarp stepped forward and gestured to Starscream. "Introducing Air Commander Starscream, duly elected Head of the Seekers of Vos and Second In Command of the Decepticon Armada."

    The formal tone sounded wrong coming from the usually bubbly teleporter, but there was no time for Thundercracker to question it as the limping Mech saluted his Trine leader.

    "Commander Rotorbomb, formerly of the 34th Airborne Pathfinder Company and Kaon Training Centre," he canted with familiar ease before waving towards his companions. "With me is Harness, head medic for the company," the Grounder offered Starscream a curt nod. "And Arachnia," the Arachnicon's fanged smile was eerily reminiscent of Airachnid for all the wrong reasons.

    Starscream clicked his heels together and flared his wings. "Welcome to the Harbinger of the Pax Cybertronia, Commander." He swept his optics over the assembled Warbuilt. "Is that everyone?" He asked with a note of disappointment."

    Typical Screamer, of course, he wouldn't be happy with just half a company of Warbuilt.

    "The rest are in stasis lock in the ship, Sir," Rotorbomb replied with a shake of his helm.

    "Stasis lock?"

    "We ended up in a fight, 'Star," Skywarp interjected. "I wanted to tell you, but we couldn't guarantee that the message wouldn't be overheard."

    Starscream bristled. "What fight?" He demanded only to trail off as the boarding tube irised open again to reveal more Decepticons. "Who?"

    That was a question Thundercracker wanted an answer to as a dozen colourfully painted Femmes walked onto the platform and stood at a modicum of attention. All sported a distinctive patch of chrome armour somewhere on their frames, but it took him a few nano-kliks to recall which of the groups in the faction used that mark.

    Why in the Pit had Skywarp collected members of Megaempress' cult, and how the scrap had it happened?

    The Femme in the lead guided her 'Bots to a free spot and stared through Starscream with optics that had clearly seen too much. As if that wasn't bad enough for the Air Commander's fraying countenance, the Combaticons chose that moment to exit the troopship in a tightly clustered group of deployed weapons surrounding something Thundercracker couldn't see. The only reason he didn't deploy his arsenal was that the Combiner team were aiming at anyone who moved, not just Starscream and him. Nevertheless, he still kept a wary optic on them as they moved in their freakishly defensive bubble towards a point far away from everyone else.

    The moment Thundercracker's neurotic friend snapped was heralded by the growing whine of the turbines mounted on Starscream's back. Those 'Bots too slow to adjust their audials flinched away as the noise grew from annoying to deafening. He responded to Skywarp's panicked look with a shrug, knowing better than anyone there was no stopping the breakdown set to occur, though he'd do his best to mitigate the fallout. Finally, Starscream transformed with a frustrated scream and rocketed into the air before making a sharp turn and blasting down the nearest corridor. Watching the bemused newcomers turn their questioning gazes his way, Thundercracker rubbed his face and stepped up to the plate.

    "The Air Commander has been under a lot of stress recently," he explained, trying to emulate the formal tone his Trine mate had used. "The new... additions must have pushed him over the edge."

    The round of mutterings and dubious looks among the crowd implied Thundercracker hadn't assuaged them, but in his defence, he didn't have much to work with. Watching your new superior officer snap in front of a crowd was never going to be an easy sell, so he was happy that nobody had decided to leave... yet.

    Rotorbomb gave him a look. "I don't blame him," he said in a tone that implied the exact opposite as he turned towards a garishly painted Seeker. "'Viper, see about finding berths for everyone, then help Harness with transporting the wounded to the medbay."

    "Sir!"

    "We'll find our own berth, Mech," Onslaught interrupted, posture downright murderous. "I'll meet up when we're sorted."

    Standing on the sidelines, Thundercracker watched as the disparate group split up and either headed deeper into the Harbinger or back into the troopship. Thundercracker searched for Skywarp, but she was notably absent, though he consoled himself with the knowledge that she was undoubtedly searching for their Trine leader. Finally, after a breem of hurried and sometimes passive movement, the platform was empty off all but Rotorbomb, Arachnia and himself. Curious about their relationship, he turned just in time to catch the pair exchanging a deep kiss, glossa and all. As a precaution, he put his back to the couple and decided to shutter his optics, just in case.

    Well, that was one way to answer that question.

    After an exchange too faint to catch, dragging pedesteps healded the Warbuilt's arrival. "Sorry about that, Sir."

    "I'm no, Sir," Thundercracker denied as he glanced at the surprisingly bulky Mech. "Starscream's the leader, not me."

    "He's not in any condition to lead, though, is he?"

    Reflexively glancing in the direction his friend had vanished, the blue-painted Seeker felt the urge to defend 'Star... but every time he tried in his processor, it fell flat and felt off. Well aware the other flier would pick up on his involuntary wing movements, Thundercracker eventually sighed and spoke honestly.

    "Starscream's paranoid that Megatron will discover his plan to defect," he admitted with a grimace. "He's so used to Megatron discovering his plots to..."

    "Betray and/or stab him in the back?" Rotorbomb questioned.

    Thundercracker's helm snapped to them. "How..."

    "Sub-Commander Skywarp has a solid processor under fire, but Opsec isn't a word in her lexicon."

    Her Trine-mate buried his face in his hands with a groan. "Primus damn it, Skywarp, stop running your vocaliser for once."

    "Don't feel bad, Sir." The heavy but reassuring hand that landed on his shoulder quashed his annoyance at the honorific. "After what we've learned about how Megatron's changed, the general opinion is that the Air Commander's got bearings the size of Luna 2 for making all those attempts and surviving."

    Genuinely gobsmacked, Thundercracker turned disbelieving optics towards the faintly smiling Rotorbomb. "You're serious?!"

    "Deathly serious." The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. "No offence intended, Sir, but a civilian-framed Vosian with that kind of determination is as rare as a living Prime." The gruff rotary-wing Seeker shrugged his broad shoulders. "Besides, the Air Commander's earned our loyalty regardless of his current mental state."

    "I'm sorry?" Having firsthand experience of how poor his Trine leader was at inspiring loyalty, he couldn't help but laugh by the end. "But why?"

    The far older (even with the whole 'Bot out of time thing) looked at a point in the distance. "He treated us as fellow Seekers, Sir," he said as if that explained anything. "I won't pretend to understand the Air Commander's mindset for retrieving us, but the fact stands that he considered us Seekers when he ordered it, not mindless drones like his predecessors." The hand on Thundercracker's shoulder vanished as its owner offered him a nod. "I'll leave you to your Trine, Sir."

    As the Mech began to walk away, a thought prompted Thundercracker to call out. "What happened to your Trine?"

    "Non-Seekers don't have Trines," Rotorbomb replied without looking back. "Make of that what you will, Sir."

    Left alone in the hangar of an ancient warship, it was a good thing the Functionists were long dead at this point.

    Thundercracker would have happily killed them all there and then.


    "Kup, I need your help."

    The grizzled old soldier glanced up from a desk covered in datapads as Hot Rod poked his helm through the doorframe.

    "Come on in, Lad," he waved the younger Mech towards the sole chair on the opposite side. "What's bothering you this solar cycle?"

    Hot Rod sighed as he settled on the cybertronian-sized office chair (one of his favourite things about Earth) and took a long moment to get his thoughts in order before opening up to his mentor.

    "It's about a Femme, he admitted, knowing there was no going back. "Dustoff, to be exact."

    "The ex-Decepticon Seeker you tried to keep hidden from everyone."

    He winced at Kup's flat tone. "That Seeker, yea," he mumbled before recalling why he came here. "Did you get a chance to read my report about what happened at Sylvanite?"

    The Teal Warbuilt nodded. "I did when I found out you were involved, Lad," he said, but his optics soon narrowed. "You left something out, didn't you?"

    "Two things..."

    "Hot Rod," Kup growled, cy-gar briefly flaring to life. "What did I teach you about lying to superior officers?"

    "This time was different, Kup!" Hot Rod fired back, slamming his hands on the table. "I made a promise that..." he trailed off with a curse. "I made a promise that I think is going to lead to something bad."

    "Primus preserve us from hot-headed youngsters," his mentor muttered as he shook his helm. "Stop prancing around the issue like an overcharged Seeker and tell me what you promised."

    "I promised not to reveal that Dustoff has a split personality and that the only reason we beat the 'Cons is cause she got possessed by something that speaks Ancient Cybertronian."

    You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed Hot Rod's admission, not that the Mech in question was focussed on that aspect of the room. Hot Rod was far too busy keeping his optics shuttered to notice Kup's cerulean optics whirr before his jaw dropped open in an uncharacteristic breaking of his composure. The flat crack of denta snapping together preceded the thump of half a cy-gar first hitting the desk before falling to the floor. That didn't last long, though, as Kup retrieved another cy-gar, lit it with a snap of his fingers, reached over the desk and rapped Hot Rod's helm.

    "What kind of report was that, Lad?" He asked, deliberately keeping his tone light as his protege recovered. "Details, Hot Rod, give me details!"

    Hot Rod shot him a glare that was more air than substance. "Give me time to get my helm straight, old-timer," he shot back with a wan grin. Then, venting a blast of pent-up heat, he relented. "The night after I met Dustoff, her holoform came over while she recharged and said... a bunch of confusing slag, it's hard to explain."

    Kup raised an optic ridge. "The highlights, then?"

    "Highlights, right." The Autobot racer sent a prayer to Primus, asking for forgiveness before ploughing on. "Whoever Dustoff was before the crash died in it, but that's also not her actual designation. Both she and the holoform personality are terrified of whoever they were before the crash..."

    "Terrified how?" His mentor interrupted.

    "You know about Dustoff's panic attacks?"

    Kup's expression hardened. "That bad?"

    "Worse," Hot Rod admitted, simultaneously relieved and guilty about revealing the information. "I'm pretty sure she'd prefer to die if injured when the alternative is seeing a medic that could identify who she was before."

    Kup's response was to remove his cy-gar and vent a sigh that seemed to pile hundreds of vorns onto his shoulders. The veritably ancient Warbuilt had seen things Hot Rod could only dream about, and experienced horrors that made the current war look like a creche spat between Sparklings. That was why he'd come to his mentor, searching for an answer to his problem that they'd perhaps encountered during their long life. Hope gradually and painfully turned to despair as no answer was forthcoming, but just when he was about to give up, Kup's helm snapped up to face him.

    "We're going to do a little investigating, Lad. Considering everything you've mentioned, I think it's best we find out who she is before going from there," he declared in a clear and firm voice. "But, first, what can you tell me about your Seeker friend's parents*?"

    "Uh..." Hot Rod needed a moment to reboot his processor. "I know her Creator was a Warbuilt Seeker, and her Carrier was an Arachnicon from Eukaris?"

    Midway through getting up from his seat, the teal soldier froze. "Now that's one rare pairing," he muttered before grinning around the cy-gar. "Good work, Lad; you saved us a lot of time there."

    Hot Rod scrambled upright to follow his mentor. "What time, Kup?"

    "The time I don't have to spend asking Red Alert for access to his databanks," his mentor replied as he strode out of the room. "That 'Bot's twitchier than a Cyberhare on Engex, but he's compulsive about saving records, especially pre-war ones."

    "Why did it have to be Red Alert," Hot Rod grumbled as he followed Kup into the base's hallways.

    Given the time and Kup's reputation, it wasn't long before Autobots began stopping for a quick chat with the veteran Mech. Some were looking for tactical advice, which Kup was more than happy to provide in his gruff manner. Others (mostly the younger 'Bots) wanted to hear some of his famous stories, which were only narrowly avoided by Hot Rod non too gently shoving his mentor in the back to get him walking away. Of course, he loved the stories more than most, but even imagining standing around waiting for one to finish was enough to irritate him.

    Eventually, after much talking and a trail of disappointed 'Bots later, they finally reached the Security Centre and found, to nobodies surprise, Red Alert operating the console. The stack of empty Energon cubes off to one side and a fold-out berth explained why he'd never seen the paranoid Mech anywhere but here, though any questions were sidelined as he turned to face them.

    "Kup, Hot Rod," Red Alert greeted them before looking back to the console.

    Well, that was a waste of...

    "Red Alert," Kup said as he strode towards the bank of flashing monitors. "Would you mind doing this old Mech a favour?"

    To Hot Rod's surprise, not only did the Security Director fully rotate his seat, but he also muted the nigh-deafening noise of the dozens of simultaneous video feeds. The abrupt silence was made all the weirder by the complete lack of irritation at being interrupted on Red Alert's face.

    "Anything for an Autobot of your experience, Kup. What do you need?"

    "I'm wondering if you've got any information on cold constructed Warbuilt Seekers," he said, leaning over Red Alert to give the console a brief glance. "I had an old buddy who was one before the war kicked off, but my memory banks aren't what they used to be."

    "Cold constructed Warbuilt Seeker, you say?" Red Alert swivelled around and began punching in keys. The monitors shifted from video feeds to dense archival records that made Hot Rod's optics glaze over. "I should have something here; give me a breem to find it."

    True to the Mech's words, a quartet of image profiles flashed into existence, though only two of them had the distinctive rotors of a helicopter compared to the more common jet frame type. Of the remaining two, both were broad-shouldered Cybertronians that bore far heavier armour than was the norm for the usually lightly-protected fliers. While Hot Rod couldn't point that out without giving the game up, he needn't have worried, for Kup picked up on that need without a word.

    "You can remove the jets, 'Red, he wasn't one of those." The old warhorse made vague humming noises that implied deliberation he knew to be entirely falsified. "What's the production dates on the rotary-wing frames?"

    The Security Director dismissed the jets and typed a few more times. "Immediately following the War of the Threefold Spark for the Lunarian model and after Zeta Prime's deactivation for the Polyhex Arsenal... knockoff."

    The trio of Autobots shared a grimace at the mention of that truly cursed foundry. Infamous for pumping out poor quality copies of other's frame types, being supplied with spare parts from Polyhex was a tossup whether they worked, immediately broke or exploded violently. Red Alert scrubbed the younger model, leaving the far older Lunarian model filling up an entire monitor with its intimidating bulk.

    "Intimidating slagger," Hot Rod opinioned. "I didn't know they ever made Seekers that big or well protected."

    Red Alert glanced over his shoulder. "From the few records I've recovered of that time, the Council wished to reestablish the Pax Cybertronia following the Threefold Spark War. To that end, they designed these frames, built for long-term military deployment and airborne assault, to name a few of their duties."

    "Looks mighty familiar," Kup mused as he chewed on his cy-gar. "I'm recalling my buddy left in, well, let's say unofficial circumstances. You wouldn't happen to have a list of deserters in those databanks of yours, would you?"

    There was a long breem where Red Alert said nothing as he turned all his attention of sifting through records faster than either Mech could keep up. Hot Rod caught glimpses of everything from maintenance records to a list of specific additives for resisting corrosion in paint. Still, his processor soon began to ache as the data flow continued unabated. It was a mystery to him how one Mech could not only process all that but do it while keeping an optic on the internal sensor net. But then again, Red Alert was either a gift from Primus or a Pit spawn, depending on who you asked.

    Hot Rod was about to ask Kup to quit filling the room with his cy-gar's smoke when a... prisoner transfer manifest appeared with a cheerful ping?

    "While the Council never officially recorded desertions, they did order a recall of the line immediately before the War," Red Alert explained to his now understanding audience of two. "I served as Security Chief at the Holstar Correctional Facility for a time..."

    "You served in the Torture Pit?!" Hot Rod exclaimed, backing away from the other Mech. "Sweet Solus Prime, no wonder you're cracked in the processor!"

    "Hot Rod," Kup growled a warning before slapping the indignant Red Alert on the shoulder distractingly. "None of us picked our postings in that time, Mech; forgive the turbo-revving punk; he came online not long before that."

    "I loathed that posting, Hot Rod." The paranoid Mech's prickly 'Field gradually settled as he grumbled something uncomplimentary. "Getting back on track, I think I may know who your buddy is." A few keystrokes brought up a cerulean plated Warbuilt Seeker flanked by two Femmes, both displaying the distinctive sub-limbs of Arachnicons. "Rotorbomb, suspected Decepticon sympathiser, arrested on charges of, among other things, violating the GCT alongside his Conjunx."

    Kup's response was to spit his cy-gar onto the floor in disgust and ground it to a fine powder beneath his pede. His companions non too subtly edged away from the suddenly furious Warbuilt, mindful of the many weapons he was equipped with, never mind the skills backing those up. Finally, Kup calmed down and offered the other Autobots an apologetic look, only once the therapeutic device was well and truly crushed.

    "Sorry 'bout that, Mechs, was never a fan of the Functionist's so-called system." He gave the two Femme's flanking the Seeker considering looks, eventually focussing on the smaller purple-framed member of the pair. "You got a name for her?"

    "Would you believe that's Airachnid?"

    Hot Rod took one look at the frightened-looking young Femme flinching from the camera and shook his helm. "That's Airachnid?" He threw Kup a dubious look. "I thought she was a Cold-Sparked killer born from the Pit?"

    Confusingly, neither of the elder Autobots said a word, merely sharing a glance before Kup nodded and gave Hot Rod an oddly morose look for the usually taciturn Mech.

    "No prisoner came out of Holstar unchanged, Lad; why do you think they called it the Torture Pit?" His mentor shook his helm with a sigh and ignored his confused expression to speak to Red Alert. "Thank's for the help, Red Alert. I'll scrounge up a bottle of the good stuff as thanks."

    Hot Rod left the Security Centre with a processor full of questions, a Spark that refused to settle and a feeling that he'd seen that terrified posture somewhere before.


    Deep amid a restless recharge cycle, Hot Rod shot upright with a shout as he finally put together all the different threads floating through his helm. The Warbuilt Rotorbomb, an Arachnicon Conjunx and a horribly plausible answer as to why Dustoff would rather die than see a medic... specifically an Autobot medic.

    "I'm so dead."


    Hot Rod finally puts the pieces together with the help of Kup and Red Alert. Meanwhile, Starscream suffers a nervous breakdown while Rotorbomb and his people begin to find their pedes in their new existence.

    Tune in for the next chapter of THE TRANSFORMERS whenever this author gets around to it.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: Chapter Nineteen.
  • Threadmarks
    • Welcome to the next chapter of THE TRANSFORMERS: Mental health is important. Edition.

    Music for the chapter is from Dwayne Johnson.



    Doctor Jessica Yamada had dealt with a great many different patients over the years, but none of those prepared her for dealing with an enormous cybernetic alien from a different world. Then again, for a race where their youngest members were older than recorded civilisation, they shared many behavioural patterns with humanity. It was something that had stuck out to Jessica ever since she'd been read into the existence of Cybertronians, but it had been as apparent as it was with her current patient.

    For the last five minutes (ever since Jessica had arrived), the Decepticon defector had been staring at her lap while clacking her claws together. The rhythmic tic-tic-tic echoed slightly in the deserted hangar, but it was easily endured, unlike some of the nervous tics displayed by previous visitors. Jessica was making the best of her time by reading through her primer on Cybertronian turns of phrase with occasional glances towards Clobber. She was fully prepared to wait in silence for however many sessions it took for the Femme to open up to her.

    "What, uh, what do you do?"

    Jessica put her notebook aside upon hearing Clobber's question. "If you mean what's my job, I'm a Therapist," she gently answered. "I talk with people like yourself and see how I can help you through talking about you how you feel, among other duties."

    The ex-Decepticon shuttered her solitary optic. "So you're some kind of Processor medic?"

    "If you wish to think of it that way, then yes, I'm a Processor medic." Jessica gave her patient a mellow smile. "You don't need to talk about yourself, but I'd like to get to know you."

    Clobber's response blew hot air across the hangar as hidden vents opened, inadvertently blowing some of Jessica's hair loose of its bun. Running a hand along the errant strands, she wondered if this occurrence was due to temperature regulation or as an expression of surprise. The answer came as the former Decepticon ceased tapping her claws together, placed them on her thighs and offered Jess a tiny, hesitant smile.

    "You mean it?"

    The question was said with such earnest excitement that Jessica found herself lost for words. Then, giving Clobber a reassuring nod, she reminded herself to request the unedited reports of Dustoff's meeting with Clobber to see if this was normal behaviour on the latter's part.

    "I do," she replied, making a note on her pad. "While we both know each other's name, but it's never a bad thing to start with introductions. I'm Jessica Yamada, from Boston, Massachusetts."

    "I'm..." Here Clobber paused, mouth briefly twisting into a grimace before she recovered. "Clobber, from Polyhex, not that I liked the place."

    Filing away the reactions for later, Jessica posed a question. "Is there some significance to your dislike of Polyhex?"

    "You could say that," Clobber darkly chuckled. "It's... it was known for the Smelting Pits, Gladiatorial Arenas and shoddy quality control." The Femme gave a shrug that poorly disguised her tense stance. "Most 'Bots look down on anyone from Polyhex, thinking you're cracked in the helm, a brute or about to fall apart."

    Jessica didn't need a decade of practising therapy to understand that Clobber spoke from experience. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that genuine aliens wouldn't suffer from their own version of classism and racism, but the sight still hurt to see. So much of the Cybertronian's history was unknown to NEST and humanity at large, but learning that history would never come at the cost of her patient's mental health. Knowing full well that certain parties would ream her out for not prodding, Jessica instead waved until she got Clobber's attention.

    "It's a good thing, then, that I'm not a 'Bot," she began, receiving a blank stare she was more than happy to get rid of. "I'd like you to answer a question for me, but again, you don't have to."

    There was a long few minutes of silence before the Cybertronian nodded. "Okay."

    "Thank you," she replied, putting her pad aside and folding her hands on her lap. "Would I be correct in saying that you've been insulted in the manners you've listed before?"

    A jerky, almost imperceptible nod.

    "Did it ever make you wish that you came from somewhere else on Cybertron?"

    A rapid flicker of Clobber's optic iris accompanied the next nod.

    Jessica ensured her voice and tone was non-judgemental. "Do you believe those insults are true in your case?"

    Their head jerked downwards in another nod, only to transition into a slow but forceful negative shake. The lack of follow-up answers would upset anyone reading her reports, but Jessica knew it was better to let her patients answer in their own time than forcing it. That advice was equally as important whether they were a human or a thirty-foot tall alien robot from outer space.

    God, that still sounded insane with the alien robot in question sitting across the hangar from her!

    "Lockdown always said it didn't matter where you came from," Clobber muttered, seemingly forgetting where she was. "Said that what you could be matters more, whether that meant getting new parts or learning new things." Her claws came up as if to hold onto an invisible object. "He taught me how to play Cube," she whispered, shoulders slumping as she looked at Jessica. "But you wouldn't be interested in that..."

    "I really would," Jessica interrupted, raising her voice just enough to be heard across the hangar. "As would a great many people in NEST and beyond." She favoured the shocked Cybertronian with a genuine grin. "I can name a dozen sports fans, myself included, that would love to learn how Cube is played."

    It was a long shot based on how Clobber had been encountered trying to watch a Cube watch, but, as the Femme openly smiled for the first time in the session, Jessica knew she'd struck a chord. Everyone had a passion, and, as she watched her latest patient vibrate in what could only be excitement, she was glad to have found theirs without too much probing. Suppressing a smile, she decided to reach up and let her hair fall in a loose wave around her shoulders.

    "Why don't you tell me the basic rules first?"

    What followed was the furthest thing from a therapy session as she'd been taught, but Doctor Jessica Yamada was far too busy filling her notepad with Cube rules to care.

    Besides, the only thing that mattered was that she helped her patients with their troubles at the end of the day.


    Starscream came online inside a room that wasn't his quarters on the Nemesis, nor, after a frantic check, his quarters on the Harbinger. Leaping off his berth with weapons deployed and talons extended, the extra-large compartment showed no signs of hidden assassins sent by Megatron. Letting his revving turbines slow down to preserve his audials, the Seeker slowly lowered his arms as he stalked over to the door and peered into the next room. A full-sized waiting area/lobby greeted his optics, the furniture and fittings time-worn but showings the marks of recent cleaning.

    What, in the name of Primus, was going on here?

    Regretting the lack of shipwide datanet on the Harbinger, Starscream picked the door most likely to lead outside and stuck his helm beyond the frame. The Warbuilt Seeker on his right glanced down and offered him a nod, the action mirrored by the second Warbuilt on the other side of the door. With a start, he recognised their paint scheme as that of traditional Vosian honour guards, bearing the distinctive white with blue trim he recalled from a time long past. Taking a moment to defrag and make sure he wasn't hallucinating, the Air Commander shuttered his optics and watched as the relics didn't disappear. Then, recalling his highly embarrassing Breakdown (and feeling grateful his posture hid his twitching wings from view), Starscream tried to make a good impression.

    "Greetings, Mechs."

    There, a good, firm tone that conveyed his superiority as Air...

    "Morning, Sir," the Femmes chorused, voices and 'Fields expressing no annoyance at the misidentification. "Did you have a pleasant recharge, Air Commander?" The right-hand Seeker asked.

    "It was..." Visions of clawed hands and purple optics flashed across his processor. "It was adequate," he lied, entirely exiting his quarters. "What are your designations and duties?"

    "Magnabolt, Sir," the first Warbuilt to speak said.

    "Twinkle, Sir," her companion echoed before she offered Starscream a salute. "We're part of your protective detail, Sir, as per Regulation Thirty-five Kesh of the Unified..."

    "Vosian Flight and Guardian Protocol, I'm aware of the regulation, " he finished. "Who authorised your deployment?"

    "Aerial Protector Thundercracker assigned us to your detail, Air Commander," Magnabolt explained with a nod towards the quarters behind him. "Flight Commandant Skywarp ordered the Harbinger's captain's quarters refurbished for your personal use, Sir."

    Starscream had to scrounge through old memory banks to recall the titles of the Air Commander's direct subordinates, not that it explained why his Trine mates were granted the titles. Shaking his helm, he put those questions aside in favour of addressing the Energon alerts flashing across his optics. Starscream made to head to the repurposed storeroom he'd set up a dispenser, only to pause as he realised an actual Messhall might have been brought online.

    "The Officer's Mess was repaired the last solar-cycle, Sir," Twinkle stated, waving down the opposite hall he'd intended to use. "Would you like us to show you the way?"

    Nodding, Starscream did an about-face and settled in position between his new guards. Keeping the fact he wasn't aware the Harbinger even possessed an Officer's Mess became much easier as he started to note his cleaner surroundings. The halls and rooms had been in terrible condition when he'd discovered the warship all those earth years ago, and his attempts at repairing it had been hampered by the sheer scale of the task. There was only so much one Mech could do, but as he walked through hatches that opened smoothly and under lights that glowed without flickering, Starscream found himself curious.

    "Who has been performing repairs?" He asked his guards.

    "The initial repairs were performed by the Pathfinders, Sir," Twinkle began with an audible grin.

    "But once we fixed the least-damaged self-repair hub, the ship's been repairing herself, Sir," Magnabolt finished.

    Starscream misstepped as his processor caught up. "The Harbinger is self-repairing?" He asked with disbelief, internally cursing himself for not discovering that fact before he'd broken talons fixing slag! "Wait, you said her; why?"

    Both guards shared a glance, shrugged before Twinkle answered. "I think one of the teams found a fragmented log calling Harbinger that, Sir, but it just feels... right?"

    Dismissing the less than stellar answer with a wave of his hand, Starscream spent a few nano-kliks entertaining the thought that the warship might be a War Titan. Finally, he chuckled from the absurdity of it and discarded the idea as utter insanity, feeling the weight on his Spark ease a little. Reminding himself to joke about it with his Trine when they met up, Starscream was shown to a door with a hastily erected sign declaring 'Mess' above the eave before entering.

    Well, he tried to enter, but Magnabolt took the lead and shouted at maximum volume. "OFFICER ON DECK!"

    Biting back the urge to snarl at the brutish Femme, Starscream pushed past her with one hand over his aching audial, only to pause as he saw the interior. While the furnishings were simply multiple long tables with benches and an Energon dispenser against the far wall, every single occupant was facing him and saluting? Shaking his helm to dismiss the processor ache he was forming, Starscream noted a cluster of brightly coloured Eradicons, a group of Pathfinders and... was that Knockout giving him a truly arrogant smirk?

    "At ease," he growled, optics fixed on the smirking medic.

    Ignoring the relieved noises from more than a few 'Bots, Starscream made a beeline for Knockout. In typical fashion, they waved towards the spot beside them with an exaggerated wave and that Primus-damned smug look that never seemed to leave! Recognising the symptoms of a downward spiral (a necessity for anyone living around Megatron), the Air Commander forcibly vented waste heat and gave his processor time to cool before he greeted the medic.

    "Knockout," he said as he sat down.

    "Screamer," the Praxian replied, studying him before retaking his seat. "You're looking good for a Mech that's been in a medically induced recharge for a local week."

    Starscream blinked, tried to process the sentence, blinked again and eventually managed a strangled. "What?!"

    "You've been out of it for the last week, Earth time," Knockout explained with a mild air of glee. "What? Did you think all this," he waved towards the different Cybertronians and the repaired room. "Happened overnight?" The medic's expression sobered before he leaned in and whispered. "Your crazy sister snatched up Breakdown and me when you collapsed in your berth. What in the Pit were you doing with that many stimulants in your lines?"

    Starscream's processor locked on restless days and nights spent waiting for Megatron to appear and punish him for his betrayal. Raising his hands, he was helpless to halt the trembling that wracked the digits as he relived that time over and over. Finally, distantly hearing Knockout speaking, Starscream sluggishly raised his helm and towards the door as it irised open. Fight and flight protocols engaged as a giant Mech strode through the door, prompting him to try and flee from who could only be Megatron.

    Sharp pain in the back of his helm forced Starscream into the embrace of someone who kept a firm grip on him. Alerts flashed across his vision before his processor forcibly pruned entire emotional strings to leave him with a blinding headache and a hand rocking his shoulder.

    "Starscream!"

    "What!" He snapped, jerkily searching for the source of the shout only to find Knockout giving him a concerned look. "What did you do to me?"

    "I stopped you from frying your processor," Knockout said without a shred of mockery. "Stars above, 'Screamer, how long have you been suffering panic attacks?"

    A chuckle from behind him heralded an unwelcome comment. "Who'd have guessed the neurotic Seeker suffered from panic attacks?"

    Recognising that voice, Starscream turned to glare up at a grinning Onslaught. "Say that again, I dare you," he threatened the Combaticon, raising a talon only to freeze as his optics registered what the other Mech was holding. "Is that a..." He trailed off as a sleepy pair of white optics peeked at him over the rim on Onslaught's hand.

    The Combaticon's leader was holding a Sparkling in his arms, and, not only that, but they were also giving him a molten glare that promised nothing but death. Amazed and stunned in equal measure, Starscream was unable to tear his optics from the tiny, fragile form with its spindly limbs and sporadic pink plating. Every time he tried to comprehend the impossible sight, the bit'lit would chirp or shift and immediately seize his attention again. Finally, its vocalisations began to grow as it woke up, and, amazingly, Onslaught bent down as if he understood the Sparkling chatter!

    What might have been a smile split Onslaught's face. "Lunaclub says you have a silly face," he snarked, gently rubbing a thumb across her minuscule helm. "I'd say something harsher, but fancy wheels over there would cut my lines if I did,"

    "How hard is it to not curse around the impressionable Sparkling?" Knockout sighed, moving to offer a digit for Lunaclub to latch onto with surprising force. "How in the name of Solus Prime you formed a Creator bond with her, I have no clue."

    "Did you just say Onslaught formed a Creator bond?" Starscream hissed, horrified by the notion of a Combaticon being anywhere near such a precious Spark. "Would someone please tell me what's happening?" He demanded, voice rising to a hysterical note.

    While the Mechs and his escort flinched from his shrill tone, Lunaclub stopped hitting Knockout's finger to gaze at Starscream in wonder. He watched in growing bemusement as her adorable (not that he'd ever admit say it out loud) face scrunched up before she clapped her hands together with a passable imitation of Starscreams cry. The brief flash of fire that erupted from between her hands sent him reeling backwards with a genuinely alarmed cry, causing him to nearly loose his balance. A hand courtesy of Magnabolt kept him seated, but he was too busy glaring at a laughing Knockout to thank the Femme.

    "Very funny, doc," he snarled, only to feel guilt as Lunaclub flinched away from him.

    As he became the recipient of a threatening glare from Onslaught, Starscream scrambled to find some way to make things right. Contrary to popular belief, guilt and compassion weren't unknown to his Spark, but he couldn't help but wish he had some way to cheer up the frightened Sparkling. Struggling to recall what Seekerlings enjoyed in the long-gone days of pre-war Vos, Starscream recalled the bit'lit's observation and began wiggling his optic ridges. Then, stubbornly ignoring the excessive choking noises from a certain red-painted Grounder, he continued to make increasingly stupid expressions for the Sparkling's benefit.

    Lunaclub's frightened expression quickly faded as she sat up straighter in Onslaught's grip and began to clap in delight. Each prompted a flash of heat and light from what Starscream suspected was a manifestation of Outlier powers akin to his Trine mates. Eventually, she began to slow down as the effort tired her out, but Lunaclub then did something completely unexpected.

    She held out her hands imploringly.

    Meeting Onslaught's gaze, the Combaticon eventually (with evident reluctance) nodded, giving Starscream permission to hold out a talon towards the Sparkling. No sooner had he did when tiny hands latched onto the sharp appendage and began trying to move it up and down. Confused, it took him a nano-klik to realise that she was trying to shake his hand. He didn't need to have a Creator's lexicon to understand Lunaclub's chattering in this instant.

    "Hello, Lunaclub," Starscream said as the spectre of Megatron faded from his processor. "It's a delight to meet you."

    Knockout laughed. "Wait until you meet Moonheart, 'Screamer."

    Legend says that Starscream laughed at that moment, frightening every 'Bot that knew the Air Commander as they heard the impossible sound. While the Seeker in question never confirmed it happened, the conspicuous lack of denials was answer enough for those wondering if Starscream really did laugh.

    The universe felt brighter for just a moment.


    "And that's the last of the major incidents this Orn, Prime," Aileron said over the top of her datapad. "First up on the personnel issues, Prowl threw Whirl into the brig again."

    Holding up a hand to quiet the Camien Shuttle Seeker and his Adjutant, Optimus Prime gently shook his helm. "There is no need to go over that again, Aileron; Prowl informed me after I woke from recharge."

    "Scrap," she cursed, glaring at the pad. "Sorry, Sir, he forgot to tell me that." Irritation rolled off her 'Field in waves as she swiped down the list. "That's the big one, but there's also the issue of Warpath running over the tank he scanned for his Alt-mode. The humans weren't happy about that, and they sent us a bill."

    "I shall contact General Burns in the morning to address the issue," Optimus stated before his expression softened. "Are you feeling well, Aileron?" He asked, concerned for his subordinate.

    "I..." The Seeker tried to deny her unwell state but eventually caved in the face of her Prime's concern. "Arcee and I were supposed to meet up four breems ago, but I've been so swamped with reports that..."

    "Say no more, Aileron," he commanded, already contacting his SIC. "Jazz, could I have a moment of your time?"

    "Sure thing, Prime!" His old friend cheerfully responded. "What can I do for ya?"

    "Would you be able to free Arcee from her patrol early to meet with me?"

    "She ain't in trouble, is she?" Jazz asked, tone concerned.

    Optimus shook his helm, the gesture unseen by his subordinate. "Nothing of the sort, Jazz; I just wish to speak with her."

    "Had me worried for a klik there, Boss-bot. One sweet and stabby scout, heading your way!"

    "Thank you, Jazz." Then, cutting the connection, the Last Prime offered his confused Adjutant a tiny smile. "I do believe you should be able to catch Arcee before she reaches my office."

    Realisation crossed Aileron's face before she grinned and ran from the room, inadvertently scattering datapads in her wake. Amused by the young Femme's antics, Optimus looked up as a familiar pair of sparkling blue optics regarded him from the open door.

    "Letting your Adjutant skip duties to spend time with a friend, Orion?" Elita-1 teased as she slunk inside and walked around Optimus' desk. "What would your subordinates think about such favouritism?"

    Touched by the usage of his old designation, the Prime closed the door with a button press. "They would encourage me to set a good example, Ariel," he replied before looping a hand around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. "Mental health is as important as physical health, as you well know."

    He ignored her semi-faked cry of 'Orion' to pull his Conjunx close and savour the thrum of her Spark. Elita settled down with one last faux-glare before she sighed and enjoyed the simple but oh so hard to find pleasure of spending time with Optimus, what with their duties being a regular and irritating block to time together. So, by private agreement, they both silenced their internal com units and settled in for as much time together as possible.

    Time spent with loved ones was always important, especially during a war.


    When it came to shipping for Arcee, there was only one pairing suitable, in my mind.

    Say hello to the cutest Shortstack Shuttle Seeker in existence, Aileron!

    And, yes, that is Starscream reeling from being punched in the face.

    Tune in next time on THE TRANSFORMERS for a spotlight on everyone's favourite Warlord!
     
  • Threadmarks
    • At Least I'm Not Cliffjumper: Interlude Two. (Spotlight: Soundwave)
  • Threadmarks
    • Well, I did say that this chapter would be a spotlight on a certain Warlord, and it is, from a certain point of view. However, I'm not entirely confident in my ability to write Megatron, so, in the vein of writers everywhere, I'm showing him through the lens of another character.

    In this case, that's Soundwave.

    Music for the chapter is from Beast in Black.



    One moment the Peaceful Tyranny was in orbit of the star known to humanity as Alpha Centauri, the next, it was lurking behind the dark bulk of the far side of Earth's Moon. Voices rang out from the crew pits the moment the heavily cratered surface appeared on the viewscreen.

    "FTL drive winding down from the jump; no damage detected!"

    "Sensors are showing no contacts in range; we're in the clear!"

    The bow of the ship shimmered and vanished before a final voice spoke.

    "Cloak is engaged; we're invisible to any Autobot sensors!"

    Ignoring the chatter of the low-ranking Decepticons operating the bridge consoles, Soundwave turned and addressed his oldest friend and sworn liege.

    "Arrival: Successful. Awaiting your command, Lord Megatron."

    From his position commanding the ship from the captain's chair, Megatron's purple-flecked optics drifted over the bridge without any indication he'd heard the Communication's Officer. Then, in what was becoming a worryingly frequent occurrence, Soundwave reached out with his abilities and attempted to brush against the flow of electrons and code that comprised his Lord's thoughts, only to run into a wailing barrier. Long aeons of controlling his emotions let him suppress the worry he felt upon sensing the touch of Dark Energon as he moved to approach the throne. Soundwave felt the Dreg's (calling the other Cybertronian's present Decepticons would sully the name) start whispering to each other as Megatron stayed silent, not that he cared for their inane ramblings.

    "Lord Megatron?"

    Soundwave's question prompted a tiny chink in the taint clouding his friend's processor, prompting him to remotely disable the bridge's sensors and lean in close. Of course, he'd wipe the crew's memory banks later, but this called for drastic measures. Grimacing at the necessity of it, he disabled his vocaliser masker and used his true voice.

    "Megatronus," he whispered, laying a hand on the larger Mech's shoulder. "You're slipping again."

    Megatron's optics erupted with crimson balefire as he overcame the Dark Energon clouding his processor with a brutally suppressed start that only just kept Soundwave from staring down the barrel of his Fusion Cannon. Seeing and feeling his liege return to reality made the Communication's Officer briefly retract his battle mask and offer a relieved smile. However, in the handful of nano-kliks that it took Megatron to recreate his mental shields, Soundwave was bombarded by a potent mix of loathing and relief. Finally, pulling away, he returned to his usual appearance and waited with hands behind his back for a response, though not without transmitting what had occurred beforehand.

    "T-Thank you, Soundwave," Megatron coughed, trying to hide his stutter. Then, as the last of the purple flecks disappeared, he stood up and addressed the bridge. "Bring us around the north pole of the moon and set a course for the Nemesis' location!"

    To the Dreg's credit, they jumped to the task with only a modicum of fear lurking in their minds.

    "Yes, Lord Megatron!"

    Soundwave went to resume his station only to feel a hand clamp onto his forearm. Turning, he found Megatron regarding him with a clarity that was becoming rarer with every passing orn. Without prompting, he moved closer and received a front-row seat to his friend's mental shields cracking deliberately.

    "I... Soundwave," Megatron growled, physically and mentally fighting to express himself in words. "Remove it from my reach, understand?"

    Neither of them required clarification on what it was, for it was the Dark Energon onboard and the artefact infused with it.

    "Orders: Understood," he replied, slipping back into comforting brusqueness. "Will proceed..."

    A gruff bark of laughter interrupted him. "Don't give me that, old friend," Megatron growled without much heat. "I miss your symbiotes too, even Rumble and Frenzy."

    In the entirety of Soundwave's existence, his Outlier abilities had granted him a near immunity to being caught off guard in conversations and, truth be told, in general. But, thankful for his battle mask and visor, he probed his Lord's bared mind and found a wellspring of guilt beneath the howling rage that grew stronger with each solar cycle. Megatron's face might be an imperious mask, but the Mech beneath it that so few had ever seen was guilty over the loss of Soundwave's symbiote companions.

    The Communication's Officer wished for nothing more than revealing their continued existence to Megatron, but (how this tore at his Spark) their safety demanded that his friend believe them dead.

    There was no telling when the enraged Dark Energon persona would resurface, so Soundwave crushed his own guilt and offered a curt nod. What others would regard as suspicious was merely a fact of life for him, which meant Megatron felt a sliver of relief before the fortress walls of his mind resealed again. With it went the air of familiarity they shared, turning a talk between two lifelong friends into a leader ordering a subordinate. Offering a last nod, he about-faced and strode from the bridge and the Mech he'd forever sworn to serve to the Allspark and back if necessary.

    Soundwave wasn't sure if that Mech would exist for much longer. But, until then, he'd do everything in his power to ensure Megatron stayed Megatron, rather than an addict consuming Unicron's Blood like no tomorrow.

    His steps carried him from the bridge towards what few officer's quarters the DJD's home base possessed. As was typical of the quasi-cultist band, they devoted far too much space to varied and increasingly horrific torture methods. Soundwave regarded the group as little better than semi-civilised Mechanibals (barring the refreshingly sane exception of Nickel), and they, in turn, resorted to base insults. But, if there was one upside to Megatron commandeering the Peaceful Tyranny, it was that the DJD generally stayed well clear of areas containing Dark Energon.

    "Finally decided to cease holding Lord Megatron back, Soundwave?"

    Alas, generally didn't mean always.

    Turning with deliberate slowness, Soundwave coldly regarded the brutish frame of Tarn, leader (not that the word suited a fool like him) of the Decepticon Justice Division. Their mind was, like always, a morass of rationality blended with hair-trigger anger worthy of Devastator or Bruticus. That Tarn's mind was also fond of quoting passages from Beyond Peace turned a bland mind into one that offended Soundwave down to his Spark. In what was undoubtedly a calculated insult, the psychotic Tankformer was holding the leash of his team's 'pet' Turbofox... called Pet.

    He'd debated killing them all for daring to use such a horrifically unimaginative name, but Megatron had said no.

    "Tarn is delusional," he fired back with a contemptuous shrug. "No Cybertronian restrains Lord Megatron."

    "Yet you do just that, Soundwave," the DJD's leader faux-casually noted, stepping closer with the maddened Pet in tow. "Our Lord has the power to win the war once and for all, but you counsel against its use."

    Soundwave stood his ground, refusing to play Tarn's game. "Dark Energon possesses dangerous qualities when imbibed. Usage ill-advised for Mechs as skilled as Lord Megatron." Sensing a shift in the Tankformer's mental state, he allowed himself a little fun. "Surprised that Tarn has not already consumed it. Observation: Tarn favours brute force over basic skills."

    Just as Soundwave expected, Tarn's volatile ego flared and demanded a violent response, forgetting that it was him making the observation. He knew he'd riled the other Outlier up in part to provoke a fight, but as Soundwave turned his back on Tarn and began to walk away, he expected reality to kick in. Of course, attacking a lower-ranking Decepticon for whatever crimes they felt punishable was the DJD's entire reason for existence, but only a truly insane 'Bot would physically assault Soundwave. And, for all his volatility, the Tankformer maintained enough sanity to understand that.

    "You want revenge against Lord Megatron for the death of your pets!" Tarn shouted, voice underscored by the sudden barking of the Turbofox. "You're either a coward or a traitor, Soundwave!"

    Unseen by the other Mech, Soundwave's hands balled into fists as they dared to slander his family with that term. Very few things in the universe could rouse his fury, but calling his symbiotes pets was the gravest of them all. Coming to a decision as he slowed to a halt, the Communication's Officer performed a mental sweep to ensure the other DJD members were absent before unleashing a three-pronged assault upon a surprised Tarn. First, precisely modulated sonic waves nullified Soundwave's opponent's voice before they could use their power and sent them reeling. Second, he opened fire with his shoulder-mounted cannon at Tarn's mask, temporarily blinding the other Cybertronian. Finally, accompanied by a feral grin hidden by his battle mask, Soundwave sprinted towards the recovering Mech, summoning paired push-daggers as he did.

    Tarn swung his twin Fusion Cannons towards Soundwave and unleashed an underpowered blast, unwilling to risk destroying his ship. Aware of the attack before his opponent began, the Decepticon's true SIC threw himself under the ravenous beams and battered the Tankformer with a wall of pure audial-killing sound. Shifting frequencies as he bounced to his pedes, Soundwave shifted his attack to a frequency that permanently crippled the fragile nanocircuits integrated with every Cybertronian's optics. It would only work with powered optics, but, unlike his opponent, Soundwave didn't need to see.

    Even as his view of Tarn and the hallway vanished, echolocation and his Outlier abilities ensured he knew exactly where his foe was and what they would do.

    Soundwave began striking out at his foe with lightning-quick attacks, probing the chinks in the armour he detected. Each hit was minuscule and barely damaged the secondary layers, let alone Tarn's protoframe, but inflicting damage wasn't part of Soundwave's plan. Instead, the DJD's leader grew increasingly furious as he ducked and weaved away from their blind strikes, wary of the Outlier powers they possessed. Finally, ducking under a hammer blow that shattered an entire wall panel, he smiled behind his mask as his opponent's mind became clouded with homicidal fury.

    Tarn's attacks grew exponentially stronger, but the inverse occurred for his reasoning abilities which took a nosedive. The hallway, already rent by fusion blasts, shuddered and groaned as an overcharged Tankformer tried and repeatedly failed to kill his opponent. As Soundwave predicted, the noise and commotion drew onlookers, one of whom got pasted by an errant swipe of Tarn's colossal fist. Then, recognising that the rest of the DJD would be drawn in soon, he drove a punch-dagger into Tarn's hip joint, felt how they stumbled as the joint seized and used the distraction to back away and unleash his entire sonic arsenal.

    His foe (and a few of the Dregs in the way) screamed as their optics were spiderwebbed with cracks before exploding in a hail of shards. Soundwave dismissed his second dagger, seized the howling Tarn by the throat as they fell to their knees and disabled his vocaliser masker to deliver a warning.

    "Take this as a lesson, Glitch," he hissed Tarn's old name with palatable disgust. "No matter how many Cybertronians you kill, Lord Megatron only trusts one of us, and that's not the rabid pet like you and your little torture cult."

    Soundwave let go, reenabled his optics, and left, only to see the Pet whimpering behind Tarn's bulk. Feeling indicative, he stunned it with a blow to the head and took the insensate Mechanimal with him. Leaving the chaos behind, the few Decepticons that met him as he travelled wisely backed away and growing fewer with time. He travelled deeper, passing cramped barracks, storerooms overflowing with bits and pieces of the DJD's unfortunate victims and more torture rooms than was required. Further still lay the domain of the Peaceful Tyranny's weapon bays, serried ranks of autoloaders, capacitors and high-energy conduits providing a maze that no sensor known to Cybertronian kind could penetrate.

    Within a narrow slice of room squeezed between a torpedo magazine and laser array, Soundwave halted and dropping the Pet. Then, reaching out through the symbiot bond, he called to his family and felt their excitement as they hurried to his position. Then, pushing the Turbofox to one side, he knelt down and opened his torso compartment to accept the forms that leapt towards him mid-transformation. As Rumble, Frenzy, Lazerbeak and Ravage linked to Soundwave at a fundamental level, the crushing isolation he felt without them eased... if only for a while.

    The bond between a host and their symbionts was one that non-hosts could never understand, not even Megatron. Buoyed from the Sparkfelt emotions and relief he received and granted his family, Soundwave prided himself on not breaking down on the spot. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said of the Twins, who were making their best mental impressions of stellar barnacles, clingy and refusing to relinquish the bond. Laserbeak wasn't much better, nestling close to Soundwave's Spark in an attempt to bask in its radiance. Even the stoic and aloof Ravage wasn't unaffected by the separation, though, as he brushed minds with the Predacon, a good chunk of it was the result of Megatron's betrayal.


    Striding over the remains of the already crumbling remains of the planet's defenders, Megatron kicked the rusting helm away and glared at the hologram that blocked his path.

    "If Cybertron be your home, far away, never roam."

    "Hear my message, listen and fear."

    "Danger comes; the end is near!"

    "Just like us, you soon will rust."

    "All shall be turned to dust."

    Raising his Fusion Cannon, the Decepticon Warlord blew the projector away with a snarl before turning towards Soundwave and his symbionts.

    "Soundwave!" He jabbed his weapon's barrel towards the blast door blocking their path. "Remove that from my sight! I'm sick of these prattling holograms and their pathetic guardians."

    "By your command, Lord Megatron," Soundwave answered as he waved Rumble and Frenzy forward. "Frenzy, Rumble. Operation: Destroy."

    The twins rushed forward with synchronised gleeful cries, minds and Sparks alight with a desire to have fun through destroying things. The other Decepticon's accompanying their leader and Second in Command wisely backed away from the pair as they went to work with drills and piledrivers, strategically deployed sonic blasts creating fissures that the tools exploited to widen the holes. While it was slow going given the sheer depth of the fortification, aeons of neglect had degraded its capabilities, like it had the defenders.

    Soundwave briefly glanced at the ancient Cybertronian, one of the multitudes who'd roused to fight the Decepticon search party and had been slaughtered for their troubles. Then, reaching up with a hand, he stroked along Laserbeak's helm as she sat on his shoulder, the other busy keeping his blaster trained on the crumbling blast door. A glimmer of crimson optics amongst the dust and rust cloud kicked up briefly revealed Ravage's position before the Predacon vanished once more. If the records he'd recovered from the degraded terminals was correct, beyond this door lay the prize that his Lord sought.

    Dark Energon, perhaps better known as the Blood of Unicron.

    While Soundwave kept his reservations to himself, he knew that his symbiots shared his discomfort with the search but still followed out of duty. Well, as he glanced towards the Minicon twins who were nearly through the door, some followed through loyalty to their family rather than obligation. Then, firing an echolocation pulse through the swirling cloud, he strode forward to stand beside Megatron once it revealed a much larger room beyond the threshold.

    "Operation: Successful. We may proceed, Lord Megatron."

    His friend grinned and slapped Soundwave heavily on the shoulder. "Splendid work as always, my friend. Come, let us see if the means to end our war rests here!"

    The Decepticons entered the final bastion with sensors set to full power and weapons on a hair-trigger. Laserbeak took flight in complete silence, vanishing into the gloom hiding the ceiling from view as she searched for concealed weapons. As the party crossed some invisible threshold, the halting whirr of ancient gears and machinery rang out from somewhere above. The harsh whine of laser fire accompanied the turret's activation as Laserbeak dealt with the issue before returning to land on Megatron's arm with a victorious cry and a cylinder clutched in her talons.

    "Well done, Laserbeak," Megatron praised the symbiot before accepting the prize from her with a dark laugh. "Cosmic Rust!" He exclaimed before offering the lethal gift to Soundwave. "Keep that, Soundwave; we may need this one day."

    Nodding, he accepted the container and its dangerous contents before subspacing it and turning his attention back towards the chamber. Turning his attention to the symbiot bond, Soundwave was taken aback as disbelief then unease filtered through from Ravage before they returned to his side with unusual haste and said two words that froze his Spark.

    "It's real."

    An ominous lilac glow began permeating through the settling dust cloud, diffusing through the particulates to cast a wan light over the assembled Decepticons. Keeping pace with Megatron, he watched with no small amount of trepidation as his Lord moved towards the source of the glow. Hurrying to catch up, Soundwave came up short as his gaze fell upon a purple Energon crystal as large as a Combiner which could only be Dark Energon in all its corruptive glory. But, of course, the disquiet he felt was massively eclipsed by horror as he watched Megatron wrench a fist-sized chunk free of the primary mass.

    What happened next was forever burned into his memory banks.

    "Decepticons!" Megatron roared, backlit by the titanic mass of Unicron's Blood. "Today marks the beginning of the end! The end of the war that has ruined Cybertron and cast us into the stars and the end of the treacherous Autobots!" He grasped the chunk he held, opened his torso plating to expose his Spark and slammed it into his chest. "The power of Dark Energon is mine to command!"

    Soundwave seriously doubted his Lord commanded anything as the chromed Mech unleashed a cry that was halfway between a scream of pain and a bellow of rage. He called his symbionts back to him as Megatron's Spark became shot through with harsh, actinic bands that made his tanks churn. While the purple crystals erupting across the other Mech's frame was horrifying enough to draw cries from some of the other Decepticons, what was happening in Megatron's mind was far, far worse. Soundwave was forced (for the first time in his life) to avoid scanning his friend's mind as impregnable mental defences shattered only to be replaced with a ravenous whirlwind of screaming hatred and madness.

    When Megatron fell silent and met his optics, the bright crimson had been displaced by malevolent violet windows to a maddened Spark. The Decepticon's leader idly flexed his hand, seemingly examining the tiny crystals emerging from the cybermatter before he finally addressed Soundwave.

    "Soundwave, old friend," Megatron began with a voice just this side of terrifying. "You would do anything for my cause, would you not?"

    Bemused, he nodded. "Anything, Lord Megatron."

    "As I knew you would," his friend laid a taloned hand on the shoulder not occupied by Laserbeak. "I have been shown a path to win this war, once and for all. But, for that, we must purge our ranks of weakness... weakness like your symbionts. Compassion has no place in the Decepticon's ranks."

    Hidden behind his stoic mask, Soundwave's horror at the implications ran deep and found itself rebounding off similar emotions from the symbiont bond. Rumble and Frenzy, usually so cocky and sure, quickly found cover behind their host's legs with shock writ across their faces. Ravage, skulking just beyond arms reach, stumbled as loyalty to Megatron fought with his instinctive need to face threats with bared fangs and flashing claws. As for Laserbeak, Megatron's closest companion beyond Soundwave, she froze so abruptly that the Communication's Officer feared her Spark had been extinguished.

    Soundwave searched his friend's face and optics for any sign of deception, but all he found was a flatness that made his stoic mask seem downright gregarious by comparison. Desperation turned to creeping denial as he tried and tried again to breach the tainted barrier sealing Megatron's mind away, hoping against hope that his Lord was merely trapped behind the corruption. Something of Soundwave's internal battle must have made itself known, for Megatron's optics briefly turned crimson as his hand tightened its grip.

    "You may perform the act in private, my friend, but it     must be done, understand?"

    Caught between a rock and a hard place, Soundwave did the only thing he could to preserve his sanity.

    He lied.

    "Mission: Accepted, Lord Megatron."


    Studying the faces of his family, Soundwave cast one last glance around the cramped room before giving them the orders that would save their Sparks from the corruption spreading through the Decepticons.

    "Rumble, Frenzy," he said, getting the Minicon's attention. "Swindle and the Combaticons survived Megatron's trap. Make contact with them and offer your services; I'll send a list of Arms caches along with your pod."

    Accepting their shoddy but enthusiastic salutes, he turned to Laserbeak. "Laserbeak, you will follow behind the Pet's pod," he gestured towards the unconscious and restrained Turbofox. "It will be infected with Cosmic Rust the moment it exits the pod; I want you to record its suffering so we can show the DJD the price of crossing us."

    A bloodthirsty growl of approval came from his symbionts, each relishing in the chance to get some payback against Tarn and his lackeys. There were no questions regarding the inherent cruelty of the act, not that Soundwave expected or even regarded it as possible. The rabid Turbofox was little more than a beast that needed put down, far removed from the sapient killers that made up his family.

    "What of me, Soundwave?" Ravage asked, tail swishing in agitation.

    He offered the Predacon spy a datapad from his subspace. "To you, Ravage, I grant the most important mission of all. But, unfortunately, despite my best efforts, Megatron is slipping increasingly often, and it's getting harder to bring him back." The irony wasn't lost on Soundwave that his following words would be regarded as treasonous. "Find Orion Pax and deliver that datapad to him. It may be treason, but only Megatron's brother can help him now."


    As the Peaceful Tyranny descended towards the cloaked Nemesis, five stealthed messenger pods launched from a hacked torpedo bay, their existence hidden behind a manufactured sensor outage. Once they were far enough to stay undetected, the pods split up.

    Rumble and Frenzy's orientated and boosted towards the desolate expanse of Eurasia's steppes, and the faint signal from the tracker's Soundwave had imbedded in his Virus traps.

    Ravage's pod headed towards the North American continent, set to land at where Soundwave calculated an Autobot base might be.

    Laserbeak and the Pet took a differing course, nosing towards the islands forming the nations known as the UK and Ireland. Though Soundwave chose the location at random, it would prove advantageous for reasons unknown to Megatron's right-hand Mech. As the pods shed their ablative plating as they came into land, an unlikely trio of Cybertronians emerged from a Groundbridge portal in NEST's primary UK base.

    Spotting the welcoming party beside a collection of armoured vehicles, Dustoff grabbed Clobber and Windblade's hands before dragging the Femmes in her wake. While she now regarded Cybertron as her home, her human memories still retained a fondness for these lands that put a spring in her step and a grin on her face.

    Nothing like casually jaunting across half the world to view tanks to cheer a Femme up!

    Pity Hotrod was too busy to come, though...


    Well, enjoy this chapter while I crash from spending the last four hours writing.

    I made Laserbeak a Femme for those wondering, mostly cause Soundwave's gang is a total sausage fest without a Femme to mix things up. ;)

    Crucify me at your own volition.
     
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    • And, with that, I'll take a little break from cross-posting these while I do other stuff.

    Namely try and finish a sickenly sweet slice of life omake for my Battletech Fic.
     
    Interesting, can´t wait to see a certain pair seeing their Daughter being a mess, but not a Monster.
     
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