Chapter 1: Reentry
Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Another awful vibration shook the vessel around Chromedome, the crates of cargo clinking and shifting around; only the belts strapped over them were keeping the contents from being destroyed. Another laser had struck the side of the shuttle; the Deception starship was moving in closer.
“Come on, dammit, WORK!”
He slammed his palm against the chaff release, but the connection to the opening mechanism had been cut off from the sustained damage. What was worse was that he couldn’t see where he was being hit from. The windows at the front of the shuttle only revealed so much of the starry void around him, and the sensors on such a small starship were not made to detect exact locations of a bogey in combat. Pulling back on the yoke, he tried to pull the shuttle up into a loop.
“If I can just get an idea on where they are, I might be able to pull away!”
The mangled engines revved up; the bolts and nuts bouncing around their internals signified just how far gone his craft was. Unsteadily, the shuttle began to climb upward. With no air to slow down the maneuver, the shuttle throttled upwards. His grip on the controls was tight; nothing outside would get the better of him. But within his own anxious mind, he was already shooting himself down.
He heard the glass within the containers behind his chair clank violently. He swore he heard a crack. His voice caught in his throat as he pushed down the reflex to scream, but the rest of his body did flinch. For just a few crucial milliseconds, his grip softened, reflexively trying not to harm what he was staking his life and the life of the Autobot cause on, but the prudence would cost him. Maybe they could have taken a little bit more pressure, but he didn’t let himself take that chance.
It cost him almost immediately. Another beam struck the shuttle, this time piercing the roof. Whipping his head backwards, he caught sight of the end of the blast. The laser had gone right through a crucial pneumatic cylinder; the shuttle was now an uncontrollable brick. The sides of the containers had been scorched, but not substantially damaged. He looked upward in horror, watching as the strapped down cargo began to be pulled towards the opening in the ship.
Ch: It's gonna give!
Unstrapping himself from his seat, he lunged at the opening. It wouldn’t have done him much good to remain at the controls. All he could do was use himself to keep the mission going as long as possible. Air rushed out into the vacuum as he soared over the chair, and slammed into the ceiling of the craft.
“Huph!”
His chest and shoulders were broad enough to cover up the breach, but in his haste to prevent the loss of any cargo, he had also decided where he was going to be when the craft was taken in by the destroyer.
Ch: I can’t move. The suction from the vacuum is too strong. Once the fuel runs out and they catch up…that’s it. Primus…I’m sorry, everyone. I fragged this up.
Craning his neck, he tried to make sense of what was going on outside the shuttle through the front window. Stars passed by like flakes in a snowstorm, only being obfuscated by the presence of the starship as it pulled into view. A long, spear-like craft, with that abhorrent Deception insignia painted on the side in purple. On the nose was a large, focused laser weapon, the bane of his existence at the moment. The sides of the weapon were painted with white, purple, and cyan stripes, the preferred colors of its captain.
Ch: Damn you to the Pit, Sixshot. I’m never letting you have this energon. Not while I can still move even one finger!
Chromedome tensed his knuckles. Small, white spikes of varying length shot out of his fingertips, scraping the ceiling of the shuttle. He watched as the arc of the shuttle moved the Decepticon starship out of view, leaving only the void of space. He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable inertial shift as the shuttle would be pulled into the bay of the starship. Indeed, he felt a pulling motion, but not in the direction he expected.
“Wait…why am I moving…down?”
He looked back to the window. The nose of the shuttle was now firmly locked in a specific direction as the craft entered a spin. The containers jumped up and down underneath their restraints. Chromedome reached his hands out to hold them down as the source of the change in trajectory became apparent. Ahead of him, below him from his perspective, was a ringed planet, greenish blue with two natural satellites on opposite sides of its norther hemisphere. His craft, already traveling at a considerable speed, went faster and faster as the gravity of the planet pulled it towards it. He could not remember what planets were within this sector of the galaxy, but that wonder was replaced with the realization of his exposed body and its contact with the rapidly approaching atmosphere.
Ch: Oh no. Oh, no, this is going to be BAD.
He attempted to push himself off the opening to no avail. The vacuum held his chassis firmly in place. The planet came closer and closer until it filled the window entirely. Trails of flame began to form on the outside, streaking off into the void. The heat on his body settled in slowly, then amped up all at once. It felt like the metal was being sheared off slowly; the space above his spark might as well have not been there. He cried out into the shuttle, gripping down on the containers, trying to bear the pain. Pain signals overwhelmed his circuits, and he kept screaming all the way down to the surface.
The forests outside of Koraja were about the only place Stylor felt comfortable enough to unbutton his dress suit in public. Every day, after he left the exchange, he came here and just unwound, looking over the lake closest to the road. No fauna ever seemed to come here to drink, though maybe his persistence presence had something to do with that.
St: Today was not good. I should not have made that call on that tungsten mine. I thought they’d go under after that last quarterly report. How the hell am I getting out of this one?
Twice this week already, he had to flee out his home’s windows to stop the loan sharks from finding him. Even if he pawned off all of his extravagant clothing, his property and everything else to his name, it wouldn’t be enough to forgive his debts. He insisted on keeping some of his unwisely acquired luxury on him almost all the time.
St: Opulence is just too intoxicating to quit. I feel more whole when I look like this.
His current attire was made of the most expensive fabric manufactured on Nebulos. Endthread silk, gathered from an endangered species of alien worm harvested from a planet that no longer existed. Then there was his necklace, made on Earth, black diamond with a depleted californium coat, the radiation contained by a constantly active particle shield powered by a microscopic engine built into the jewelry. It was ludicrous and he loved it. His other clothing was extravagant, but not to that level. The necklace, it was something else. And he had many possessions of similar complexity.
St: I can’t let go of this. I can’t let go of anything. I don’t WANT to. But, dammit, if something doesn’t change soon…it’s going to be PULLED off my CORPSE.
Stylor could never escape these thoughts, even here, as the sun set beyond the Nebulan horizon. The stars above came into view, and he sighed, watching his breath fill the air like smoke from a cigarette.
One of the two moons hung in the sky above him. He liked to try and memorize which stars the moons would block out each night, finding their location again and looking for the constellations he missed before.
St: There’s Rubortz, there’s Rokli, there’s Formam and Boduenscai…Hmm? What’s that in Bornham?
A streak of light was coming down from the sky.
St: Ah. A shooting star. Haven’t seen one of those in a while.
He watched it for a little while, waiting for it to burn up and vanish. When it didn’t, and continued getting brighter, he furrowed his brow and began backing up from the edge of the lake.
St: Oh. Oh, HELL.
Stylor turned and ran away from the lake. A whistling, like the song of death, set in behind him, before being replaced with a ground-shaking thud, followed by an explosion. Stylor was thrown from his feet, sliding across the cold, snowy grass.
“AH! Damn, my suit. Where’d my necklace go?!”
He found the expensive piece of jewelry just a few feet away.
“Oh, thank goodness. Never losing this. Never.”
Putting it back on, he looked back towards the lake. A massive fireball had landed on the eastern shore; Stylor jumped to his feet and ran back towards it. It was clearly not a meteor; it was made of metal, and had an industrial shape.
“A spaceship?!”
In any other situation, he probably would have run away once more and called someone. But looking at this destroyed, alien craft, two things came to mind instead.
St: Someone might be in there…and I bet there’s some valuable components as well!
Moving on autopilot, Stylor charged up to the wreckage. The flames were spread out enough for him to approach without having to incinerate himself. It was a large craft for a Nebulan. To him, it was a full-on starship, but the doors and windows were supersized, clearly made for naturally larger creatures. Running up to the massive windshield, he cleaned off some of the grime.
St: This suit’s ruined anyway; I’ll have to buy a new one.
Through the tinted glass, he saw a humanoid form lying useless on the shuttle floor. They were massive; from head to toe, they had to be at least thirty feet tall. They had a robotic appearance; their head was like a white helmet, with an orange face and a cracked yellow eye visor instead of two separate eyes. Their body was a mix of red and orange, and their arms were an eggshell white. They did not seem to have a mouth.
St: Wait a minute…is this…a Cybertronian?
“Hello? Hello?!”
The Cybertronian did not respond. Rushing over to the massive door, Stylor gripped the external handle and attempted to pull it open. He’d expected a heavy slab of metal that he would need to put all of his strength into opening. Instead, it opened on its own after he pulled the handle upwards.
“Oh, electric. Nifty.”
There was not much smoke inside the wreckage. The craft had held up remarkably well.
“Look’s alright…oh.”
The ceiling of the craft had a hole punched through it. On the chest of the Cybertronian was a deep indentation with a similar shape. Large, sealed containers had been tossed around the inside of the ship. Hopping over one, he landed in front of the unresponsive robot.
“HEY! Hello?”
A moment passed; no response. Then, a jolt. A warbling noise, a mechanical gasp, escaped from the automaton. Stylor flinched.
“Woah!”
The robot jerkily tilted its head over to look at him. Sparks flew out of the space where the eye visor was cracked. Slowly, it raised a hand out to him, appealing for help.
“Bah-weep…Graaaaagnah…wheep ni ni bong…”
They managed to choke out a few words before once again dropping away from the world of the waking. Being a Nebulan, Stylor knew the words they spoke well.
“The universal greeting…Hello? Are you still there? What do you need me to do?”
No response once more. He reached for the face of the Cybertronian.
“Hey!”
As his fingers grazed the visor, the body of the robot began to move once more. He snapped his arm back to his side and moved away as the Cybertronian began contorting.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Before his eyes, the robot had transformed into a sleek, red and orange roadster. Black all-terrain tires with hub caps that looked like platinum; just looking at it made Stylor want a car that looked just like it.
“…What is even in here?”
He unbuckled the latch on one of the containers and, with some effort, shoved the lid off. Inside were several dozen cylinders filled with a dark pink substance. Stylor had no idea what it was, but it looked exotic and interesting. Already, he was getting some ideas.
“I’m gonna need my car…or a car.”
Rushing to the side of the Cybertronian, he placed his hand on the door and pulled. Like the shuttle, it opened. Pushing aside the moral concerns of driving another living creature that appeared to be incapacitated, he checked the dashboard and driver’s side controls. It all looked like a fairly standard set up for a humanoid driver. In fact, it looked a lot like an Earth vehicle he had purchased from a dealership a few years back.
“No ignition…I wonder if-?”
He pressed his foot against the gas pedal. Instantly, the vehicle lurched forward. Slamming down on the break, he looked to the back seat of the roadster. There was a decent amount of space, but perhaps not enough.
St: I need to try. I’m probably not going to get another trip before someone else shows up. I think I know where to go.
It was as if all the energon had been drained out of him. Chromedome had the faintest sensation of being present and awake, but the signals to open his eyes and move weren’t quite reaching their destination. He tried again, harder, and then again, even harder. Eventually, something clicked. The world returned to him; jets of air rushed out of the vents on his faceplate.
‘Hoo! Woah…where am I?”
Looking around him, Chromedome found himself in a funnily familiar location. He was in what was clearly an auto shop, like one he’d been in back on Earth. The layout was eerily similar, down to the height of the roof and the haphazard location of the recharge slab he’d been set up on. Sitting up and inspecting himself, he looked at his hands. His paint job had changed dramatically; the orange hues he’d had before were gone, those spots painted over by a crimson shade. His white arms were now a beige color; testing his fingers, he found that his surgeon’s needles extended and retracted about the same. His helmet felt a little larger and blockier, but the most striking change was his visor. A mirror behind the shop counter revealed that the yellow emotive one he usually sported had been replaced by one colored a medium shade of blue. He moved his expression around, narrowing and unnarrowing his visor.
“Seems like it works about the same.”
He placed a hand to his chest. The painful chunk that had been burned away had been replaced. Whoever fixed him up had even emblazoned a new Autobot insignia onto his chest. He had a vague memory of someone finding him in the shuttle, but he couldn’t remember their face.
“Wait! The shuttle! Scrap!”
He had to get back to the energon immediately, and find another way back to Cybertron as soon as possible. He jumped up from the slab; his joints were still sore, but he ignored the discomfort and moved up to the counter.
“Hello?!”
From the back of the shop, he heard a masculine voice.
“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. I’m coming.”
From the door to the back, a human man emerged, dressed in a mechanic’s uniform with an oily towel thrown over his shoulder. He had brown hair and a slightly pudgy body.
“Hey, metal man. How you holding up?”
Chromedome opened his mouth to respond, but then did a double-take. Looking over the human again, something about him was clicking in the Cybertronian’s mind. Then it hit him.
“Ah…wait. I…I know you!”
The human raised his eyebrows.
“Mmm?”
Chromedome pointed at the human.
“You were one of the humans who helped us when the war found its way to Earth.”
“Your son was that young man who helped Optimus Prime bring the population to our aid!”
“…Witwicky? Yes! Your name was Witwicky!”
The human grinned.
“Heh-heh. Good to know Optimus and his friends haven’t forgotten about Spike and the rest of us. I’m Sparkplug Witwicky if it matters.”
Chromedome nodded.
“Yes, I remember. Your name was the most normal one out of any human I’ve met.”
“Really,” Sparkplug said, “What was yours, again? You seem vaguely familiar.”
Sparkplug reached out to shake Chromedome’s hand; he took it gently with both hands and returned the gesture.
“I’m Chromedome.”
“Ehh, not ringing a bell. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I have to ask though, what are you doing here? Earth is halfway across the known universe from where I recall my mapper last said I was.”
“Ah, I just needed some space away from all the noise while Earth was being rebuilt. That, and these Nebulans pay top dollar for fixups and customization. It’s good work! My son Sam will have no problem paying for school once everything’s in order back home.”
Chromedome looked sheepishly at the counter.
“Nebulos…I’m afraid I might have brought the chaos of the war to you once again, Mister Witwicky. The Decepticons are probably in orbit around the planet right now!”
“Well, that’s no good.”
“I appreciate you helping me, but I need to know. Did you take any containers from the crash site? What’s inside of them is more important than my own life; I need to get them to Optimus as soon as possible!”
“I’m sure it’s mighty important, Chrome, but I haven’t the faintest clue where that would be. After all, I’m not the one who brought you here.”
“Huh? Then who did?”
“One of the locals. Guy about yay tall with black hair and this ridiculous suit. He was talking so fast I could barely understand him.”
“Did you catch his name?”
“Cy-tor, or something like that. Drove you in here and asked if I knew anything about Cybertronians. You were in rough shape. I’d worked on y’all before on Earth, so I knew what to look for. Your chassis was destroyed, but your cranial vault was even more messed up.”
“Drove me in…I must have gone into alt mode as a defense mechanism. How bad was the head damage?”
“Bad enough that if I didn’t do something drastic, you’d slip into that bad sleep a few of your number did on Earth.”
“Stasis lock…” Chromedome put a hand to his chin worriedly.
“Yeah, that’s it. Probably would have been worse.”
“Am I going to be okay?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re fine now. Gonna be honest, it was a bit of a jury-rigged job. Gonna need you to take it in calmly…”
“Look, that’s nice, and I really appreciate it, but I need to find this Cytor and get those containers, now.”
“Sure, ask him yourself.”
“He’s still here?”
Another voice filled the air.
“Chromedome, huh? Nice to meet you, big guy.”
Chromedome looked around, him, confused.
“Huh?! Who’s-”
“Where are you?”
“Right here.”
Chromedome felt something shift in his neck. He grabbed at his collar. All of a sudden, his vision spang up from his own body and spiraled forward in front of him. He was now having the surreal experience of looking at his own, headless body. His arms and legs still moved when he tried to use them. From his vision, two arms stretched out towards him dramatically.
“Hello there!”
Chromedome flipped out.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
“Woah, easy, man.”
“What in the Pit is this?!”
Sparkplug snorted.
“Now, when I said take this in calmly…”
“What did you do?!”
His vision changed back to the mirror against his will. He saw what was going on. Before him stood a Nebulan, tall with black hair like Sparkplug had described, dressed in a metal and plastic suit that made him look like a smaller Cybertronian. The suit was colored the same shades as his head; he could even tell which parts turned into his mask and visor. The Nebulan himself, like most Nebulans, looked almost identical to a human, save for the sideways pupils in his eyes. His hair was clean, but unkempt, as if it had been gelled, but not combed; on his pale chin he sported a soul patch.
“What-”
“My name’s Stylor, by the way, not Cytor. I don’t want to be rude, but I take pride in much of myself, so I’d appreciate it if you remembered it.”
“Why is this Nebulan my head?!”
Sparkplug sighed.
“Yeah, well…”
“The damage to your cranial vault was so extensive that you would not have been able to survive with the head you had. This guy seemed really concerned for you, so he offered to help. Even put up a lot of cash to do it.”
Stylor scratched his head.
“It’s uh…it’s nothing.”
Chromedome tapped his foot impatiently.
“I still don’t see how this counts as help.”
“You see,” Sparkplug said, “I needed you get you a new head, new space to get that spark or whatever you’ve got instead of a heart flowing upwards again. I actually was a medic a few decades back, army stuff…”
“Please stay on topic.”
“Point is, you needed a new head. I saw how bad a problem that could be with your wounded on Earth. But I didn’t have the complex parts or machinery to do the process needed to help you out. So, I winged it.”
“Stylor here offered to help with this idea that one of your scientists fed to me a while ago…Brain…blast, or something like that.”
“Brainstorm?”
“Yeah, that guy. Something called… “Binary Bonding,” I think. Your Nebulan buddy here is acting like a brain for you to use, thanks to that suit. On your head, you can both move as one, think as one, ‘cause you’re both the same brain.”
“Please tell me this isn’t permanent…”
Stylor put his hands to his chest in mock offense.
“What, you can’t imagine having little old me around for the rest of your mechanical life?”
“Primus, no. I’d only be around for your short, squishy one.”
Sparkplug waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh, sure! It’s just my little patch job! I’ve seen you Autobots pull people back from the edge with nothing on a good day. I’m sure once you’re back home, you’ll be fine.”
Chromedome sighed.
“…Okay, then. Beats being dead, I suppose.”
“Better than being dead,” Stylor said, “I’ll take it!”
“You should probably hop back up there,” Sparkplug added, “I don’t know how long he can survive with the two of you apart.”
“Alright, sure.”
Stylor jumped back up towards Chromedome, flipping forward as he did. Just like before, he transformed. Chromedome found his vision back where it ought to have been. Inspecting his head in the mirror, beyond the cosmetic changes, it was like nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Looking forward to our partnership, Chromehead!”
“It’s Chromedome.”
“I knew that.”
“Listen, Stylor, I need you take me back where you found me. Those containers I were surrounded by…”
“…Are important. I heard you say that.”
“Yes! We need to go.”
“Ahm…right, about that…”
“Stylor?”
“I didn’t know what those were, right? And…I’m not exactly what you’d call ‘liquid’ at the moment.”
“What did you do?”
“I…MAY…have pawned them off.”
“YOU WHAT?”
“Hey, those people were willing to pay top dollar for whatever that pink stuff was! I’m sure you can get more!”
“That ‘pink stuff’ was the hope of all of my friends and family! And NO, I cannot just ‘get more!’”
“Well, that’s inconvenient.”
“Why would you sell the possession of someone in a crash?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“Yeah,” Sparkplug said, “That ain’t exactly Christian, son.”
“Hey, don’t judge me!” Stylor replied, “I’ve got my own problems. You’ve never had money problems?”
“Who did you sell them to?”
“I didn’t sell, I pawned-”
“Who did you sell them to?!”
“I…I can take you to the place.”
“Fine! Tell me where to go, we need to move!”
Chromedome took a stance, holding his arms at his sides and clenching his fists. He stood there for a few nanocycles, slowly looking down at his body.
“Um, what are you trying to do?” Stylor asked.
Chromedome shook his head.
“Why…can’t I go into my alt mode?”
Sparkplug snapped his fingers.
“Ah, that’s right. Sorry, I’m a bit tired.”
He reached under the counter and pulled out a small orb. Chromedome’s eyes widened as he looked at it.
“I had to pull this out to make room for the connections making the binary bonding possible.”
“You…removed my transformation cog?!”
“I’m sorry, Chromedome. I was just trying to keep you alive.”
“I…was there really no other way?!”
“Hey, I’m a mechanic, not a surgeon. That medic business? That’s learning how to put a bandage on someone, and little else.”
“Okay…sorry. I-”
“Don’t you need to go save the world or something? Get moving!”
“Y-yes! Thank you!”
Sparkplug tossed the transformation cog to Chromedome. Catching it, he dashed for one of the garage doors. Sparkplug pressed a button next to the counter. Chromedome slid under the opening door and ran out into the night.
“And keep yourself safe! You Autobots are good people. Don’t go killing yourselves like you all seem so eager to do!”
Chapter Text
Chapter 2
Chromedome charged full bore along the road leading to Koraja. He hadn’t said anything to Stylor for the whole trek beyond asking for the name of the pawn shop he went to. on the horizon, the sun began to crest the horizon; they would likely arrive at the city by the time it fully rose.
“So,” he said, “Any thoughts? You got a family back home?”
“What are you trying to do, Stylor?”
“Well, that’s blunt.”
“Why would you sell my cargo, then volunteer to save my life?”
“Because I like it when people live? My greed and my empathy are not necessarily intertwined, my friend.”
“The fact that you acknowledge it as greed happily is concerning.”
“Hey, man, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the finer things in life.”
“You seem a little desperate for money to be holding that stance.”
“Life’s too short to let prudence stop you from enjoying yourself. I mean, you just got a new paint job for free! You look good! You should be enjoying that.”
“I’ll admire myself in the mirror when my people aren’t about to die, and when the man in my head isn’t jeopardizing their lives.”
As they continued their back and forth, something appeared in the sky above them. Looking up, they saw images on a miles-wide projection against the clouds. The source was from somewhere in the city far ahead of them; a few lights from the center of the metropolis shot up into the sky. It bore a familiar, foreboding sight: the Deception insignia.
“No…” Chromedome gasped.
A voice rang out around them, amplified loud enough to be heard by all in the area of Koraja. It was gruff and authoritative: the voice of the monster who reveled in taking down entire platoons of Autobots singlehandedly.
“Greetings! People of Nebulos, I ask for your attention for only a little while.”
“Sixshot!”
The image changed to show the Decepticon speaking.
“I am Sixshot, leader of the troupe of Decepticons who have graced your planet. We do not come here with ill intent, only a meager request.”
The image shifted once more; Chromedome’s image of how he looked before crashing flickered in the sky.
“This Autobot desperado is wandering your planet, with something that WE need.”
“We have no interest in harming you, but if you stand at his side, we will do what we must.”
“Do not aid this despicable hulk of scrap. If you choose to take up arms against him, you will be rewarded.”
“Conversely…”
The image changed again to show the image of Sixshot and four other Decepticons. Chromedome recognized each of them: The manipulative Swindle, the vicious Cyclonus, the mighty Skold, and the tactical Bombshell. These were the five Decepticons who were to spell the doom of the Autobots, and the freedom of the universe itself.
“Attack any of these fine soldiers, or myself, and you will meet a slow, painful end.”
“The choice is yours. MAKE THE RIGHT ONE.”
The image vanished from the sky. Chromedome stood next to the road, staring at where it had once been.
“These people seem like bad news.” Stylor quipped.
“How much do you know of our civil war?” Chromedome asked.
“I know that Cybertronians can turn into things and that you’ve been at it for a very long time. That’s about it, though now I gather that these ‘Decepticons’ are the bad guys in your little battle.”
“Do not reduce the lives of the people who’ve died by calling this war ‘little.’ They won’t stop at Cybertron. You hear how she promises rewards for cooperation? She’s lying. Once she’s done back home, she’ll come here and then everywhere else next.”
“It sounded like that already happened on Earth.”
“Humanity played a major role in turning the tide of the war after we woke up. The Decepticons want to punish them, and they will do so if they succeed.”
“’Woke up?’”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Clearly.”
“Hmph. All that matters now is getting that energon.”
“And would you like to tell us where that is?”
Another voice spoke behind them. Chromedome turned around to find another Cybertronian staring at him, hands on her hips. An obsidian black body with patches of artificial scales and spikes adorning her chest and arms respectively, and a wing-like shell on her back; Skold, the Predacon, a very young Cybertronian with an alt mode designed to excel in the environment of organic planets like Earth, and indeed, Nebulos.
“Perhaps you’d like to speed up the process of us getting out of here. Go home and see your little friends one last time?”
“It’s a shame that you had to be born into the wrong side of this war, Skold.”
“Wrong side? That’s presumptive, isn’t it, Domey?”
Ch: Do not call me that.
St: Woah, wait, what? Chromedome?
Chromedrome blinked and stared down into the snow.
Ch: Huh? Stylor?
Ch: This is weird. You’re not saying anything, are you?
Ch: These are my thoughts.
St: These are mine.
“What’s going on with you?”
St: So, I guess we can just talk to each other like this? Though privacy goes out the window with that, huh?
Ch: It’ll go out the window, anyway. I can’t tune you out. Just don’t think anything strange or perverse, if you would.
St: Perverse? Geez, that’s a low opinion of me.
“Hey! Skold to Autobot, listen to me when I’m talking to you!”
Chromedome looked back up at the Predacon.
“You know, a real Decepticon would have killed me right there and then.”
Skold seemed flustered as the realization hit her.
“Wha-?!”
“Why’d Sixshot send you instead of facing me herself?”
“Because you’re not as much of a threat as you think. And don’t think youth equals ineptitude, you presumptive tool! I’ll show you what I’m made of.”
“It looks to me like you’ve come here without so much as an ion pistol, Skold.”
“Who needs guns? I’ll rip you apart with my jaw!”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Skold took the form not of a vehicle or tool, but an animal. Her alt mode resembled an Earth creature, a large reptile with an armored shell and a sharp beak.
St: I don’t suppose YOU have any guns, do you, Domey?
Ch: Do NOT call me ‘Domey’!
St: I…wow, okay, sorry.
Ch: Scrap! My ion rifle is back in the shuttle! Unless you pawned that TOO?!
St: No! I swear, all I took was the pink stuff!
Ch: It’s called energon-
St: LOOK OUT!
Chromedome had become too involved in his thoughts. Skold charged him, ramming him with her snout and sending him cartwheeling over her through the air. He landed on his front, skidding across the snowy road.
“Dagh!”
As he came to a stop, he gripped the ground to try and regain some traction, inadvertently activating his surgeon’s needles.
St: Woah.
They retreated back into his hands.
“Looks like you’re shell-shocked, Autobot!”
Skold turned to face Chromedome as he stood back up.
‘Come on, mano a mano! Let’s see how long you last against a REAL fighter!”
Chromedome wiped the snow off his face, and took a fighting stance.
St: We’re not going to be able to get through her shell like this.
Ch: We don’t have much choice. Don’t distract me!
St: Fight and think at the same time!
Skold charged again, this time going to bite Chromedome. The Autobot slid aside, watching Skold as she turned to try again.
St: Use your spikes!
Ch: Those aren’t weapons.
St: Use ‘em! I bet you can pierce her skin like that!
Ch: They’re not meant to be used like that!
St: Here look, let me see if I can just-
The needles popped out of Chromedome’s hands again.
Ch: STOP THAT!
St: Just slice her! You don’t have to kill her!
Ch: No! Stop messing with my body!
The needles receded, then extended again, then retreated once more. Skold jumped for Chromedome, and clamped her jaws around him. The bot barely reacted in time to grab both the top and bottom of her mouth to prevent her from biting down.
"Looks like you’re barely holding up, Domey!”
Chromedome seethed.
“I-”
St: Okay! I’m sorry! I’m just trying to help!
Ch: You could help by shutting up!
St: Chromedome, please. We need to fight her together!
Ch: What do you care?! Why do you care so much about cooperating with me?!
St: Chromedome…I just want to help with something successful.
St: I’m sorry. I won’t manipulate your body against your will again.
Ch: Why should I believe that?
St: I feel bad about the containers. I want to make it up to you.
Ch: Why?
St: Like I said, I want to do something right for once.
St: I don’t want to die a failure.
Ch: …What makes you think that?
St: What?
Ch: That you’re a failure?
St: Just…
St: What do you need me to do?
Ch: Right now?
Chromedome pulled himself up and over Skold’s jaw, letting it snap shut below him as he ran along her back. She whipped her tail up and tried to pierce him with it, only for him to leap off and slide back.
Ch: She’s right that I can’t keep up with her like this.
St: Chromedome?
Ch: Fine, you think it will help? I’ll try. I’m going to focus on stopping her next attack; YOU activate the needles.
St: You got it!
“Stop running you coward!”
“I’m not going anywhere…”
Skold charged him again. This time, she leapt at him from even further away, arcing through the air straight for the Autobot. Chromedome crouched down and prepared to try and stop her; it was clear that she wouldn’t let him grab her snout as easily as before. As she approached, however, it looked like she was slowing down. Chromedome watched as her movements became much easier to read than before. It was bewildering, but he kept his stance. He reached out and effortlessly grabbed her upper and lower jaw once more; all at once, the world snapped back to a more normal pace. Skold’s reptilian face looked shocked.
“Ah-…Huh?!”
“…But if you want, how about we both go and see what lies beneath?”
The needles extended once more, free of Chromedome’s will. They sunk into Skold’s jaw; Stylor and Chromedome’s mind flooded with imagery of places they had never seen, things they had never experienced.
Sk: W-What’s going on?
They saw a burning city. People, humans, fleeing. Angry faces, the sound of percussive gunfire.
Sk: Stop.
Vague faces, a being grabbing Skold and dragging her somewhere.
Sk: This isn’t- stop!
Pleading, commands, the sound of a transformation, followed by screaming.
Sk: NO!
Ch: Enough.
Chromedome withdrew the needles; the visions ended. Skold staggered, backing away fearfully, reverting back to her standard mode. Chromedome pointed at her.
“You were born on Earth for the war, right? Were those some of your first memories?”
Skold looked back up at him from the ground, shaking.
“I’m not going to demean you for being created for the cruelty of Megatron. I’m going to judge you on your own terms.”
Skold scoffed.
“You think I want your pity?”
“Who said anything about pity? You want to fight. Fine.”
Chromedome extended the needles once more, like claws emerging from the paws of a predator.
Skold rose to her feet, and began circling around Chromedome. He was the first to make a move, rushing Skold and slashing at her with the needles to make her flinch. Skold leapt back; Chromedome made the needles recede and jumped after her, landing several punches, clocking her in the jaw and send in her spinning into the snow. She jumped back up and roared, running at Chromedome with fists balled up. The two exchanged blows and blocks, the sound of metal crashing against metal filling the air. Once more, Skold’s movements seemed sluggish, not out of weakness, but as if she was moving in a slower timescale.
St: Do you see this?
Ch: I feel…strange.
St: In a bad way?
Ch: Not quite.
St: I’m trying to keep my focus on her.
Ch: Keep it up.
Chromedome kept pace with Skold, breaking the exchange a few times to land a solid, debilitating hit. The young Decepticon grew frustrated with each passing minute. She pushed off of Chromedome and transformed once more as she slid away. Then, with a roar, she assailed the Autobot, going to ram him once more. Chromedome held his ground, reading her moves easily. Then, as she approached, he slammed his fist down onto the front of her snout. Like a lever and fulcrum, she flipped through the air over him.
“WOO-A-AAAH!”
Skold landed hard on her back. Careening off the road, she crashed into the tree line and kept going. Chromedome and Stylor couldn’t see her anymore. Without a second thought, Chromedome began running for Koraja once more.
St: Nice!
Ch: That was pretty good, actually. I’m not the best at CQC.
St: Did you see how everything sort of slowed down there?
Ch: So I didn’t just imagine that.
St: What was that?
Ch: If I had to guess? Maybe the fact we’ve got two people in here has improved our focus. Let’s try focusing on the same things and see if that changes anything in our perception of it.
St: Sure, but what about all the images and stuff?
Ch: Those were some of Skold’s memories.
St: And your needles let you SEE them?
Ch: I’m a mnemosurgeon. I specialize in accessing and occasionally altering other people’s memories.
St: That sounds…morally dubious.
Ch: I’ve been considering giving it up, but it’s too useful a skill to toss away. Interrogation without having to torture someone is something the Autobots needed.
St: Unless fiddling around with their memories is ALSO torture.
Ch: I’ve pondered the same thing. But I can’t give it up right now, no matter how much Rewind wants me to.
St: Who’s Rewind?
Ch: …The one person who can call me “Domey.”
By the time Stylor and Chromedome had made it to the site of the crashed shuttle, the sun was about halfway above the Nebulan horizon. Chromedome kicked around inside the remnant of his craft, turning over containers haphazardly and keeping his head on a swivel.
“Where is this thing?”
St: What are you looking for?
“You can talk out loud, you know.”
St: This is fun, though.
“Fun’s not exactly on my mind, right now.”
St: Then what is?
“Where my ion rifle went off to. I need an actual weapon when we face off.”
St: You seem to do fine with your hands.
“Skold is a greenhorn compared to most of us. She’s clearly strong, but she lacks the experience that would make her a credible threat.”
“The rest aren’t going to be so easy to deal with. I am NOT an effective brawler.”
St: I think you’re selling yourself short. You seem more proficient than you think you are.
St: Maybe you’ve picked some stuff up over the millennia you’ve been fighting.
“Mmm…I’d still like a gun.”
St: What kind of soldier are you? Like an infantryman? A medic? With the surgeon thing and all?
“Mnemosurgeon. Not exactly medical, and I’m not a proper soldier either. Just another freedom fighter.”
St: What’s the difference?
“Soldiers fight because they want to. Freedom fighters fight because they have to.”
“And also, most soldiers don’t start their lives as statisticians.”
Another voice spoke up from behind Chromedome standing in the doorway.
“No…a soldier knows what he wants from the cycle he is born.”
St: Crap! Do they all like make this kind of entrance?!
Spinning on his heel, Chromedome narrowly slid out of the way of the Great Sword’s blade that Cyclonus drove into the wall. The towering, purple Decepticon scraped his horns on the ceiling of the shuttle; Chromedome dove past him and out through the hatch door, rolling into the snow.
Ch: Work with me! We need to hide!
St: I’m trying, I’m trying!
Chromedome sprang to his feet and circled the outside of the shuttle.
St: Wait, hide? What do you MEAN hide?! We need to run!
Ch: You can’t run from Cyclonus.
As Chromedome slid behind the wreckage, something glinting in the morning sun caught his eye. An onyx body, with a tin and zinc stock and a titanium barrel.
Ch: My ion rifle!
Chromedome dove for the weapon. As his fingers came within inches of the gun, a shadow appeared over him, and the sound of the air being parted by something sharp whistled around him.
Ch: ACK!
Chromedome came to a halt and leapt backwards, sliding through the snow on a knee and a hand. Cyclonus came down on where he had been standing, splitting the ion blaster into splinters with a single stroke. The fragments flew past Chromedome like shrapnel from a grenade, some pieces embedding themselves in his chassis.
“*tsk!*”
“Nice try, Autobot, but you’re not going to shoot your way out of this duel.”
“Duel? What is this, some honor debt? Screw off, Cyclonus!”
“Nothing so personal. It is just a fight between two individuals. Thus, it is a duel.”
“Where one of the participants is unarmed.”
“I never said it was a fair duel.”
Cyclonus took the blade in both hands and raised it, aligned diagonally with his view on Chromedome. The Mnemosurgeon rose to his feet; out of his fingertips, the needles jut out, their length dwarfed by the Decepticon’s weapon. His dark violet armor and horned helmet evoked the image of a barbaric being, an avatar of violence, and his sneering expression only reinforced this appearance. Chromedome clawed up his fingers and pointed the needles towards Cyclonus, shrinking down as he waited for the Decepticon to strike.
It sounded like the air itself snapped. Had he been slower, Chromedome’s head would have been removed from his neck before he even realized what had happened. As he was, he saw Cyclonus jolt forward, an afterimage being left behind with each meter he covered in his lunge.
St: He’s fast!
Ch: Wonderful observation! MOVE!
With the added mental speed from the binary bond, Chromedome and Stylors minds plotted out a course in sync; Chromedome pushed off from his stationary position and dove down towards the ground, towards Cyclonus. The Decepticon, caught off guard, hesitated mid-flight, head turning downward as he watched the red and beige blur slide underneath him.
St: Ba-Bow.
The needles retracted, a ploy to give Cyclonus the wrong idea about their fighting style, and Chromedome punched upward. The certainty that it would land squarely in the Decepticon’s gearbox evaporated quickly as Cyclonus countered with a move of his own. Even with enhanced perception, the appearance of the blade in front of him was startling. His fist struck the flat of the sword, keeping them attached but denting his knuckles. The sting traveled through his circuits.
Ch: AGH!
Ch: Can you can feel that, too?!
St: No…
Chromedome continued on his trajectory; he pulled his legs up to his chest and curled forward, before straightening up, standing and sliding across where less than a nanosecond before, Cyclonus had once been. His hands tracing through the snow as he rose, something bumped across his left hand’s fingertips. Closing his hand around the object, he found, in his grasp as he righted himself, a massive length of tungsten reinforced tubing, a few meters shorter than Cyclonus’s Great Sword.
“Tricky.”
Cyclonus offered the solitary word before immediately jumping back in.
St: Fight?
Ch: YES.
Chromedome lurched forward and raised the tubing to block the blow. The tungsten alloy held up well against even the Great Sword, but at the point where they met, a scar was left behind. The sound of metal sheering off metal rasped around them, and sparks flew from each point of contact as the sword and tubing slammed into each other. Both bots exchanged blow after blow from a standing position. Cyclonus, ever slightly taller, peered down on Chromedome with a growing look of frustration.
St: This is what I mean. You’re a natural at this!
Ch: It’s…odd. My hands are usually shakier than this. I have to keep my mind under control when peering memories just to keep them from shifting.
St: Your movements are fluid, man. It’s like you were born swinging a weapon in your hands.
Ch: And this thought speed…
St: How many seconds have passed since we started thinking to each other?
Ch: It hasn’t been more than one nanocycle at the most. This is absurdly fast.
St: He looks like he’s feeling it.
Ch: I’ve still seen bots who are faster; we just have the element of surprise on this one.
?: …upwards slashing maneuver once I break away.
St & Ch: Huh?!
Cyclonus landed another blow, then bowed down and jumped back away from Chromedome. The mnemosurgeon whiffed the strike he made attempting to get the retreating Decepticon, leaving the tubing swung back over his shoulder. At that moment, Cyclonus leapt back in, pulling the sword down and behind him, going to cut diagonally and upwards. Both Stylor and Chromedome saw the appropriate counter, and lowered the tubing down to the level of the incoming sword, without swinging it around wildly, once again, the tubbing and sword met. Both bots struggled against each other, the awkward angle making it especially difficult on the Autobot.
“Rrrg!”
The Decepticon growled like a terrestrial animal. He pushed harder against the tubing.
“Fine…I acknowledge your skill. Why you’ve chosen to wait this long to display it is…”
“How many times have you fought this guy?” Stylor pondered.
Ch: You…said that out loud…
“Oh, crap.”
St: Oh, CRAP.
Cyclonus narrowed his brow and shoved the blade into the tubing as hard as he could. Chromedome absorbed the shock of the blow, stopping at a dozen mechameters from his opponent, his heels grinding in the snowy dirt.
“Interesting.”
The Decepticon smirked. Chromedome held a defensive stance.
“Looks like you have some help.”
St: Uh…
Ch: He knows now, there’s no point in hiding it from him. All we can do is hope he doesn’t transmit it.
St: Damn it. I screwed it up again.
“How’d you guess?” Chromedome asked.
“Aside from your little caged rat’s blabbermouth? I’ve seen you fight, Chromedome. This isn’t you.”
“I have some inkling of what this may be…some kind of bond, perhaps?”
Ch: What?!
St: How does he know?!
Ch: Every war has spies…dammit!
St: Who do you think-
Ch: Shut up! I can’t think on that right now.
St: …
“So this is how desperate you are? Leaning on the meek for support when your own strength fails you.”
“I’m sure the Nebulans would love to know that you Autobots plan to use them like battery packs.”
“That’s not what it is, and don’t hand me that scrap, Cyclonus. As if the Decepticons wouldn’t literally use organics that way if they could.”
“So you’re saying you are?”
“That is not what I said.”
“Then you cannot pick your words right. For as long as you’ve operated in the shadow of Prime, you’re still nothing more than a drone.”
“You don’t fight for anything except the idea of ‘peace’ that’s been placed before you by someone else.”
“And without a cause, you are doomed to fall.”
Chromedome snarled.
“You’re wrong. I’m here to save people from despots and maniacs like you. You’re the ones who started this war!”
“As a means to an end. Megatron has his own ambitions, but I merely wish to see Cybertron returned to the height of its glory, back before the Senate and the end of our empire. His goals align with that, and so I am here.”
“To act like it’s a simple matter of murderers and heroes is childish, Chromedome. We’ve all taken lives in this war.”
St: Chromedome, you’re quivering. What’s wrong?! Don’t listen to him, he’s talking like a madman!
Ch: …
St: Chromedome!
“Do you fight for something other than the vague concept of the Autobots, Chromedome? Did you travel back to Earth for something other than the sake of your orders?”
“You know full well why I went there.”
“I’m disappointed. There is no cause besides that placed before you, is there? On either side, you’d be cannon fodder; a sacrifice to the arrogance of the Prime or the glory of Cybertron!”
Chromedome gripped the tubing tight enough to scrape the tungsten. His entire body was tense, joints locking up as he seethed in anger silently. Cyclonus yelled once more.
“You’re not fighting for anything!”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Cyclonus transformed and shot off into the sky. The purple and grey fighter jet dove down towards the ground, unleashing a hail of gunfire. They could perceive the bullets flying towards them, and swatted a few away with the tubing, but the number alone made the attack unavoidable. Projectiles peppered the Autobot’s body, stumbling and denting him. Staggering, Chromedome desperately raised the tungsten as he watched the jet level out. It careened into him, spearing him in the chest and sending him flying backwards through the air. He hit the ground hard, his head snapping back against the soil.
St: AH!
St: …That one I felt…the head…
Ch: Ah…Everything is burning…
“An opponent with no cause is not worthy of falling by my blade!”
Cyclonus was screaming as he soared back into the sky. Chromedome remained inert on the ground, stunned.
St: Come on…get up.
St: We need to run.
Ch: …
“Or maybe you fight for someone, if not something?”
“Is that what this is Chromedome? An elaborate suicide in the name of someone else? Unable to fight for an ideal you created on your own?”
Chromedome twitched.
“If you wish to die before those Autobots we’ve already claimed choke on their own rust, then I’ll grant you that mercy.”
Cyclonus dove back down once more; the machine guns opened fire again.
“And the first words you speak to that wretched little minibot in the Pit will be of your failure!”
Stylor felt something. It was as if a light was dimming, but in his own mind. His breath stopped; his words escaped him. In a single instant, he was utterly subsumed and left to the machinations of a force beyond him. All of his mental power drained and sent elsewhere…
Chromedome roared as he sprung to his feet. His eyes flashed with electric voltage, like a surge from his own spark reaching up and throughout his body. It arced between his fingers, across his shoulders, past his legs and out into the ground around him. Looking upwards, he grabbed the tungsten tubing once more, pushed off the ground and rocketed skywards, the energy alone propelling. Cyclonus had no time steer off course as Chromedrome smashed it into his cockpit. The glass sprinkled through the air as the jet came down hard onto the ground below.
“AAARGH!”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
The Decepticon reverted to his true form and drew the Great Sword once more. With one eye smashed, and a countenance of complete infuriation, he charged at the Autobot, going to sever his torso from the waist down. Utterly focused, he knew he was more than fast enough for Chromedome, even with whatever this bonding trick was.
Chromedome landed, still surging with electricity. Cyclonus paid it no mind, single-mindedly going for the kill. As he swept his sword towards the Autobot, it came to a sudden halt; the tubing had been placed in front of the blade without Chromedome turning to face him, arm out behind him. He didn’t so much as jitter when Cyclonus pushed against him. With the speed of a supercomputer made material, Chromedome spun around and began a relentless assault on the purple Deception. Blow after blow, half a dozen hits within a nanocycle; the thundering of the metal was deafening, the impacts so fierce that they threatened to light the trees around them on fire with the ferocity of the sparks alone. There was no emotion in the Autobot’s eyes. The space behind them had gone blank. Cyclonus felt his joints begin to lock up; his spark sank into his lower chassis as he suddenly saw an opening he had left ripe for the taking.
The tubing broke off half of his helmet and one of his horns, and itself snapped into. With the shortened length, however, Chromedome continued the swipe, angling it against the Great Sword and through force alone, prying it from Cyclonus’s hands. Chromedome’s other hand caught the blade and pulled it back to turn it on its owner. Cyclonus transformed once more; Chromedome bashed the sword against the flat side of his canopy several times, trying to hold him from flying away with his free palm. Cyclonus managed to take off into the sky regardless, and circled back around, weaving through the air and launching underwing missiles and unleashing more machine gun fire. Chromedome shifted the handle of the Great Sword into the space between his fingers and began twirling the weapon like an oversized pen.
Moving it around him at blinding speed, the bullets ricocheted off the surface of the spinning edge, embedding themselves in the environment. He dove and rolled out of the path of the missiles, keeping the blade spinning around him as he did. Cyclonus took another pass, unleashing an even bigger assault, only to be met with the same result on an even more extreme level. Craters were left in the ground between each salvo; the bullets shredded the trees and what remained of the shuttled. The forest around them began to collapse, snapped wood and foliage littering the ground.
With an angry bellow, Cyclonus released another round of gunfire, his missile supply having run dry. Instead of indiscriminately deflecting them, Chromedome began spinning the blade between both hands, facing one direction and sending them back at his attacker. Rounds peppered Cyclonus’s wings and engine; uncontrollably, he continued rocketing forward towards Chromedome. The Autobot held the blade as firmly as he could. As he did, Cyclonus’s form passed in front of the weapon; energon sprayed on the ground as his own velocity severed his right wing and tail fin from the rest of him against the sharp edge. The awful noise of splitting metal filled the air as Chromedome, too, was painted with the Decepticon’s viscera.
“HEEURGH!”
Cyclonus’s already unstable form spun out, crashing into the ground with a plume of smoke behind Chromedome. The chaotic cacophony came to a halt, and only the sound of the gentle wind filled the air once more.
Ch: …What?
St:...Chromedome?
Ch: …What happened? I…I can’t…
He looked down at the Great Sword in his grasp.
Ch: When did I get this? And…
He examined the mixed energon and oil stain covering half his body.
Ch: When did this happen?
St: I…blacked out, I think. Are you okay?
Slowly turning around, Chromedome found the untransformed Cyclonus lying in the snow behind him, in a puddle of his own energon. His right arm and leg were gone, along with portions of his head. His eyes had gone dark, though he retained his pigmentation.
St: By the…what did you do?
St: What did we do?
“*Ack* *Graagh*”
Cyclonus gurgled, eyes flickering in and out.
Chromedome scoffed. “He’s fine.”
Examining the Great Sword, he slid it behind him and onto his back, where it magnetically locked to him without need of a scabbard. Without a second glance, he started back on his march toward Koraja.
St: You’re just going to leave him to die, then.
Ch: He won’t die. I’m sure of it. Old bastard’s too stubborn to die from something like that.
St: That looked like a lot.
Ch: He won’t die. Optimus keeps us very much in line on that. Last resort, and exhaust all other options first.
St: So does that mean you don’t want to kill him?
Ch: I…no, of course not.
St: Is that like…a conflicting thing, or-?
Ch: Primus, what does that mean? Do you want me to go shove this sword through his spark?
St: You just-I don’t know what you’re thinking! You got pretty excessive. I’m still processing it.
Ch: I don’t even remember what he said!
St: Something about…a “minibot?” What’s that mean?
Chromedome stopped dead in his tracks.
St: Chromedome?
Ch: He’s lucky I didn’t decide to kill him for that alone.
As the Autobot resumed his march, the Nebulan in his head tossed out questions that went unanswered.
St: What is going on with you, Chromedome?!
St: What are you so scared of that Cyclonus was able to cow you just by talking like that?
St: What does the “minibot” mean?!
Notes:
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sixshot being referred to by feminine terms is not a mistake. I watched some video essays recently discussing the strange nature of the robots having a gender binary when it doesn't seem to do anything for them, so I thought: what if they just didn't? What if each Transformer simply did not have a gender binary and were referred to by different terms from established canon simply on a case-to-case, preference determined basis? I decided to try out the idea here; a few more bots will be referred to by pronouns they typically aren't in canon media, so there's the explanation. - W.T.L
Chapter 3: Countdown
Chapter Text
Chapter 3
The rest of the way to Koraja, Chromedome shunted out the thoughts from his organic compatriot. The sun had risen fully into the sky, its warm rays melting the snow around him into slush.
St: Slow down! Talk to me!
St: CHROMEDOME!
He finally shot an angry thought back at Stylor.
Ch: So what, you can nearly get us killed again?! Stay quiet and stay focused if you really wanna help!
St: Please! Just stop for a moment and take a breath!
Ch: I don’t breathe, Stylor.
St: That’s not the point!
Ch: Stop pestering me and quiet down until we get to the pawn shop you mentioned…
St: I’m serious! Please, just stop for a moment.
???: Other…None…
St & Ch: ?!
Chromedome reached for the Great Sword and scanned the area round him panickily. There didn’t appear to be any obvious source of what he and Stylor had just heard.
St: Hey. Didn’t that sound like it came from…within?
Ch: It did sound like how I hear you. I think we heard Cyclonus before as well.
St: That thing about “slashing maneuvers,” that was Cyclonus, wasn’t it? I thought that was you at first, but it didn’t sound like you.
Ch: We might be crossing brainwaves with more than just each other.
St: Do you think they’re listening as well?
Ch: No way to tell…you seem calm.
St: Hmm?
Ch: Half a nanocycle ago, you were barking in my ear…er, brain.
St: Chromedome… I’m just trying to keep us working together as a unit. I am trying to help you, believe it or not.
Ch: You’ve been useful.
St: As a person or a brain enhancement?
Ch: You’re not exactly in a position here to say things like that. You still sold the thing I’ve been risking my life for, and need to save the lives of almost everyone I know and love.
St: So you do have a reason to fight…Cyclonus was wrong.
Ch: Of course I have a cause. I don’t need a shrink; we just need to focus on the mission. You offered to help, you ARE. That’s it. I appreciate it aside from your thievery; there’s nothing more to say.
St: …Shrink, eh?
Ch: What?
St: Look, it’s probably best we focus just a smidgen more on the person whose thoughts we just heard, but can we keep talking afterwards, please?
Ch: …We’ll get back to looking. Focus in.
The melting snow mixed with the dirt, sloshing around beneath Chromedome’s feet. Koraja was very close now; if he started running once more, he would be there within minutes. The shadows of the skyscrapers around the edge of the city blanketed the woods he stood. Within the slight dimness, his eyes caught the edge of something darting in the trees near the city.
Ch: There.
St: I see it.
Chromedome looked through the trees, sword at the ready. The gentle gust bristling the grass began to gradually quicken; a turbulent roar echoed somewhere avoid and behind him.
St: Cyclonus?!
Chromedome spun around to face the source of the noise, finding not the previously defeated Deception, but a solitary missile sailing towards him. He tensed his leg pulleys, about to move away, only to feel the bristling of something encroaching on his back. War exhaust crept down his neck and little pinpricks dug into his shoulders.
“So easy to distract…”
Ch: IT’S HER!
St: Who?!
Chromedome attempted to dive out of the way but found himself being held to the spot by incredible strength. Realizing this, he instead twisted around and under the force keeping him down, moving lower to the ground to temporarily escape the attacker’s grip. In this brief window, he scrambled forward, the claws on his back scraping along his shoulders as he slid from their grasp. Behind him, he heard the grass rustle, followed by a loud boom that sent bits of Nebulan turf showering over him.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Flipping over onto his back, he found, standing before him, the insipid leader of the Decepticon squad that had shot him down in the first place.
“Sixshot…”
The Decepticon placed a hand over her insignia.
“You almost sound disappointed. What, were you expecting Megatron himself to waste his time tracking down some Autobot lieutenant as he prepares to wipe out what’s left of your little gaggle of rebels?”
“We are an army. You’re the death squad. Though I guess to you, Sixshot, everything looks like a target, so I can see how you’d get confused.”
“Someone’s being rather snarky, aren’t they? So confident in your chances?”
Sixshot reached for her hip and drew a laser pistol that hung at her side. Chromedome pushed back along the ground, sliding out of the way of the first few laser bolts that scorched the terrain where he had been laying. Hopping up to his feet, he held the Great Sword in one hand and the other out in front of him.
“Well, that’s impressive, I’ll admit.”
“If you want to throw down, I’m all here for it.”
“You sound like one of the infantry! Is this an audition? Because, if you wish to change sides, I might be able to find some room for you.”
“Drop dead.”
“Oh well. So violent…even Counterpunch isn’t this vicious. No wonder you made mincemeat of Cyclonus…”
Sixshot put a finger to her faceplate.
“…You’re quite an angry bot, aren’t you?”
St: Chromedome, don’t let her-
Ch: Believe me, I’m not trying to. Here…
Chromedome rushed Sixshot, winding up the sword.
Ch: I won’t give her the chance!
Sx: …blow your legs off…
Ch: I hear you.
Chromedome waited for Sixshot to begin raising her weapon once more. As she did, he jumped upward, pulling his legs into his chest and raising the sword above his head. Sixshot seemed to follow his pace the whole way, much to his chagrin while she could not raise the gun in time, she did step out of the range of his swing. The Great Sword slammed down into the ground, Chromedome staring dumbly at its missed mark.
“W-why…”
“You’ve certainly improved, Domey, but you’re far from getting near me.”
“…”
“Don’t be so dour. You’ve still got plenty of room to improve, and in a short timespan as well, I’m sure.”
“After all, two working together are stronger than one fighting alone, simply for the power it offers.”
St: Damn.
“…”
“I’ll admit, I’m peeved about what you did to Cyclonus, but at least he sent me confirmation on why you so thoroughly thrashed our Predacon unit without so much as a taser.”
“I look forward to finding the scientist who did this for you. Shockwave will have a field day with them.”
Chromedome straightened his posture.
“Are you here to talk or fight?”
He pulled the sword from the ground and attempted to slash her with it again, then again and again. Each time, she stepped back as if it was no major struggle. His perception of her movements was flawless, but he couldn’t keep up with her speed. The bond alone didn’t contribute enough to make an impact.
Ch: If I could take care of Cyclonus…why the hell is this too much?!
“Maybe one day, you’ll land a hit, if you live that long. Though, I have higher hopes for you, rust-free and clean of a cough.”
“Don’t trivialize what you did! That energon holds the lives of Decepticon prisoners you left to die in that attack as well!”
St: Attack?
“That attack was calculated, and those bots were already willing to die for the cause. That’s our strength, our defiance in the face of fear, while you linger on every failure like the whelps you are.”
Sixshot leapt out of range once more and reached for her side. A panel in her torso opened up, revealing a cylindrical container full of a dark pink substance. She took it out and held it out towards Chromedome.
“When you look at this vial of energon, you see the life of someone you care about, don’t you?”
Chromedome froze, transfixed on the vial.
“Cyclonus knew other things about you, Domey. If I gave you this vial and let you go, would you leave and take it to that one person you ARE fighting for?”
His grip wavering, Chromedome lifted a hand from the Great Sword and hesitantly reached out for the vial.
St: Chromedome…
He paused and jittered, his outstretched hand inches away from the vial.
Ch: Rewind…I…I have to…
St: I know it’s not accurate, Chromedome, but you need to breathe.
St: You’re panicking. You’re not thinking clearly. You can’t run away and you’re not going to.
Ch: I know that…I can take it and then stop-
“Too slow.”
Sixshot closed her hand, smashing the vial. The glass fell between her fingers to the ground; the energon dripped from her palm and soaked into the dirt.
“NO!!!”
Chromedome thrust the sword forward; Sixshot transformed into a jet and took off into the sky.
“Haven’t seen you transform once, Domey!”
“Lost your cog or something? Ah-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!”
Sixshot flew away through Koraja, weaving between the buildings. Chromedome knelt down and tried to gather up the wasted energon in his palms.
“No. No. No. No.”
“Chromedome!” Stylor said aloud.
The bot shook at the sound of the Nebulan’s voice.
“It’s gone! We need to move before she does that with all of them!”
Chromedome gasped.
“Oh scrap, oh scrap!”
The bot righted himself and rushed for the city.
St: The bond lets us have a minutes-long conversation in seconds, Chromedome.
St: I need you to talk to me.
Ch: You did this, you did this, you…I did this, we did this, we-
St: Chromedome, please.
St: Talk to me. Tell me about Rewind.
Ch: …Rewind? Why?
St: They’re important to you. You didn’t react when Sixshot called you “Domey,” out of frustration? Building anger? But you’ve said you don’t mind Rewind doing it.
St: Talking about this might help you clear your head, and you have someone to talk to. TALK TO ME.
Ch: …Rewind is my Conjunx Endura.
St: What does that mean?
Ch: There’s a human word for it…a…partner…
St: A spouse? Husband? Wife?
Ch: The…the second one. That’s the one Sparkplug’s son used.
St: Is he ill? Rewind, that is?
Ch: He’s very ill and I need to get this energon to him and the Autobots to save both him and our cause.
St: Sounds like you have a very good reason to fight. Why did Cyclonus’s words get to you like that?
Ch: I’m here…for Rewind. I love the Autobots, but I can’t live without him. I legitimately considered taking that vial and running. It’s so stupid, it’s…
St: Like I said, your emotions are running high. It’s easy to get lost in panic. Don’t hold it against yourself; you staved it off and didn’t run.
Ch: I still thought about it…
St: Your thoughts are sinless. People think awful and stupid things all the time. What matters is that you don’t act upon them and recognize the awfulness. They don’t make you who you are.
Ch: You know, you really do sound like a shrink.
St: I mean it, Chromedome.
More thoughts traveled between the duo. Chromedome broke through the foliage and into the city proper. Running through the streets, eyes turned skyward, he couldn’t find any trace of Sixshot. The streets themselves were barren. No people were wandering the sidewalks, no non-sapient vehicles were traveling down the roads or in the skies above.
St: Hold on…this is strange.
St: There should be plenty of people out on their commute to work or heading to the exchange.
Ch: Your society resembles much of what the humans have on Earth.
St: We noticed that as well on first contact. There’s speculation in the scientific community about us sharing a similar evolutionary ancestor, since we look alike as well.
Ch: Still doesn’t explain the architecture…or the capital-driven society.
St: Genetic patterns of behavior?
St: …I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.
Ch: What DO you do for a living?
St: I’m a day trader. Stocks and stuff.
Ch: You any good at it?
St: Thought I was… Haven’t had so much luck lately.
St: My debt to keep getting money to buy, sell, and short has been getting worse; even pawning your energon didn’t put that significant of a dent in it. They SAID it was valuable, Cybertronian goods usually are, still didn’t do much.
Ch: What do you think they would have done with it?
St: Sold it back to you? Seems like what they would do, opportunistic bunch of-”
Ch: Would they sell it to the Decepticons?
St: …Shit.
Ch: Hah-hah, I’m kidding. The Decepticons would just take it by force…
Ch: …and they may have already.
As they reached the center of the city, a psychic series of noises made themselves known.
?: …out of here…can’t…go away…bringing…death…
St & Ch: ???
Around them, they spotted the reason for the absence of civilians from the streets. Many organic eyes watched them from the buildings, most of them on the highest floors.
Ch: It looks like they’re hiding.
St: From us?
Chromedome arrived at a four-way intersection. The eyes from the building kept following them. It was quiet. Chromedome looked around the city; for a human or a Nebulan, these buildings were massive, and even for a Cybertronian of his stature, they were of considerable height.
The sound of metal clanking against concrete came from around a corner, along with a loud, repetitive, metallic clapping. Facing the direction of the sound, Chromedome and Stylor watched as, from around a building, a purple, yellow and black bot emerged, clapping his hands slowly with a smug expression on his face.
?: Suckerssuckerssuckerssuckerssuckerssuckerssuckers
“Suckerrrrrrred in, Chromedome!”
Swindle, the arms dealer Decepticon, raised his hands in the air above him.
“I don’t know who offered you this gig, but maaaaan, you got the short end of the stick!”
“Are you here to scam me to death, Swindle?”
“Nah, I’m not much for fighting, especially not against big, dumb brutes swinging a Great Sword around like they’re the next Dai Atlas.”
He gestured to himself with both hands.
“I’m not going to lay a finger on you, I can guarantee that.”
Something flickered in the corner of Chromedome’s vision; a brief, greenish glint, traveling at a downwards angle. Looking down at his chest, he saw a green dot hovering over the Autobot insignia. Another appeared, then another, then a dozen more lit up across his body. Looking around, emerging from the rooftops of the buildings and skyscrapers, from around corners and out the front of buildings, ranging from average civilians to beat cops, pointed weapons at Chromedome, fearful looks on their faces.
St: What is THIS?!
Chromedome arched his visor angrily.
“Swindle?!”
The Decepticon huckster chuckled.
“Business is booming, Chromedome! And I’ve got a price these organics can’t beat!”
“Honestly, today has been one of the best trade days I’ve had EVER.”
“Just some friendly conversation, a little, gentle nudge…and some good old-fashioned DEATH THREATS, and next thing you know, you’ve got your own organic militia AND a scrap-ton of curative energon!”
St: Oh no…Oh, nooo…
Around them, the thoughts of the armed civilians began to pour inside of their mind on an even more incessant level.
Ch: Oh…GOD, this is DEAFENING!
Ch: Make it STOP!
St: We need to shut it out!
Chromedome grabbed his head with both hands, the Great Sword falling to the side as he dropped to one knee.
“Hah-hah! What, you surrendering already? Too scared of carving through some meat to make a…steak, or whatever?”
The negative thoughts surged through Chromedome and Stylor’s mind as Swindle kept talking.
Ch: I-…I can’t…
St: Oh, God, there’s too many voices!
Ch: STYLOR!
St: I…hang on…
“Ah, that’s enough of that. You know what disobedience means…kill him.”
Chromedome made a move for the Great Sword, but the overwhelming strain of the many thoughts of the Nebulans made it impossible to focus long enough to do so.
Ch: He doesn’t even know…Swindle, I’m gonna-
St: GRAAH!
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Chromedome’s vision left his body once again; Stylor ejected from him and unfolded back into his standing position as he landed on the road. He held his arms out in front of him, palms open outward.
“WAIIIT!”
The Nebulans flinched. Swindle, taken aback, squinted at Stylor.
“Now what the hell is this? What in the Pit-”
“That’s some fancy tech! Never seen that before.”
“Alright, you’ve convinced me. I'll get Shockwave to figure this out, THEN I’ll nab the tech while he does whatever he wants with ya.”
“Get your little friend there.”
Swindle looked at a Nebulan near him, holding a miniature ion rifle, as he spoke. The man was dressed in a business suit and looked quite unnerved.
“I’m not going to ask why one of your BROKE our agreement and aided the enemy. Don’t push your luck. Bring him over here.”
The suited man walked over to Stylor; the latter’s eyes lit up as he approached.
“Onarch! It’s me, Stylor! Listen, Chromedome and I can help. You don’t have to-”
“I know it’s you, Stylor,” Onarch replied, “And I’m going to kill you anyway for skimping out on your last payment.”
Stylor shrunk down, embarrassed. Onarch reached out and kneaded the bits of fabric from Stylor’s business suit that stuck out from under the armor.
“What is this, Endthread? You’ve got money to spend on crap like this, but you won’t pay your loans on time? Screw you.”
“I…don’t have money, Onarch. Period.”
“Then you’re an idiot, and I’m going to peel that suit off along with your skin.”
Swindle laughed heartily.
“I like this one! He’d make a good enforcer! I wonder if his brain would work inside an exoskeleton…bring him up to size…”
Onarch tensed his shoulders and sighed uncomfortably.
Stylor shook his head.
“You don’t have to like me, or even plan on me LIVING that long, Onarch. You’ve got GUNS! Stop him yourselves!”
Swindle laughed smarmily.
“Hey, little birdie here with a message for ya. I gave them those, and they’ll blow their stubbly little arms off if they so much as flick the trigger at me.”
“You’ve got nothing except a flimsy, and now headless, excuse of an Autobot on your side.”
Stylor shot back at Swindle defiantly.
“This Autobot has taken down two of your Decepticons on his OWN!”
Ch: …YOU were there, Stylor.
St: Don’t say that out loud, man. I’m trying to help you.
“He can get them OFF Nebulos! You know that capitulation to the Decepticons will only end badly!”
Onarch gritted his teeth.
“Even if I did trust anything you said, Stylor, I can’t believe that.”
“Why not, Onarch?!”
“Because you’re offering one headless guy with a sword against…”
Onarch looked upward, and Stylor followed his gaze. Above them, in the clouds, a large metal object hovered in place, watching the planet below like a stern eyeball.
“That purple and white one that changes into a tank or a wolf or whatever threatened to wipe Koraja off the face of Nebulos. This is a fight for all the people in the city. Hell, on the planet. We can’t be cavalier with a billion lives.”
“You’re not a general, Onarch. You don’t need to assume that responsibility.”
“I’m not. No one is in charge here except the Decepticons. All WE can do is obey and survive.”
“You want to submit to enslavement instead of fighting for what you hold dear?”
“It seems to me that you do the same on the financial front.”
“THEN DON’T BE LIKE ME!”
Onarch took a step back, surprised.
“You’re all really going to take the LOSER route out of this?!”
Stylor yelled to the city around him.
“Be STRONGER! It’s terrifying, I know! I’m scared too! But you can’t bow out like this. You can’t fall to the impulse of the short-term!”
“Believe me! It’s doesn’t work! Not in the exchange! Not ANYWHERE! If you can’t trust me, trust the Autobots! Trust Chromedome! All you have to do is take a stand!”
Swindle groaned.
“Primus, that’s annoying.”
He pointed his wrist at Stylor. A beam flew from a small barrel hidden in his wrist and struck the Nebulan in the chest.
Ch: Stylor!
St: I’m…fine. Witwicky did a good job with the armor.
Stylor was now on the ground, propping himself up with his hands and staring at the scorch mark left on the chestplate.
St: Did you feel that?
Ch: A bit. Not as much as when it’s ON my chassis.
Swindle made a throat-clearing noise. “I SAID I wasn’t going to touch you, but…eh.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t damage the tech itself, but I don’t need the Nebulan inside it.”
“Onarch. Kill him and take the suit.”
Onarch stared at the sitting Stylor, unmoving.
“Are you deaf, you idiot?! DO IT!”
Onarch shakily raised the rifle and pointed it at Stylor’s head. Stylor exhaled.
“When you said you were going to kill me, Onarch…”
“Did you mean it literally, or did you mean that you were going to sue the pants off me?”
Onarch’s grip on the rifle loosened, and he sighed.
“You know which one I meant. Which one have I already done?”
Swindle huffed.
“That’s fair, Onarch.”
“And a horrible business decision, as well.”
Swindle, smiling maliciously, raised his wrist to the unarmored Nebulan.
“I’m going to have to cancel your contract.”
The beam flew from under his palm, towards the two Nebula men. A blurry, rectangular object flew in front of the projectile; it ricocheted off, flying off into the sky. Swindle and the Nebulans turned to look at the interrupter: The headless Chromedome, still wielding his sword effortlessly.
“Stylor and I appreciate your hesitancy, Onarch.”
“Allow us to return the favor by getting these gangsters off your planet.”
Stylor made the move to jump back onto Chromedome’s neck. Before he could, however, Swindle fired another beam, forcing him to break away from the Autobot. Chromedome moved towards the Decepticon without waiting for Stylor to try again.
Ch: Keep your eyes on him. I see what you see.
Chromedome approached the purple and yellow Decepticon slowly. Swindle winced.
“Hmmph! Fire!”
Not a single shot rang out in response to the order.
“Did you hear me?! I said FIRE!”
The silence persisted.
“FINE! You’re all fired AND marked for death!”
Ch: I guess your little speech convinced them.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Swindle transformed into a jeep, a massive cannon present on a mount in-between the seats.
“I’ll show you all what REAL, EXPENSIVE, DEADLY hardware does to a city block!”
Chromedome rushed in to deal with Swindle as Stylor and Onarch fled the street and partially around the corner of a building. Stylor faced the two Cybertronians at all times; even at a distance, he and Chromedome noticed the ample increase in their perception.
St: Careful. You’re seeing things faster but the rest of you is moving at the same speed.
Ch: Believe me, I noticed with Sixshot.
Swindle reversed in circles around Chromedome’s body. He tried to keep his Great Sword between the blasts from Swindle’s cannon and the rest of the city. The sturdy Great Sword was more than capable of taking the hits, but even with the boost to his perception, one or two shots occasionally got through; all he could do was try and ensure that they would land in the road or fly off into the sky by positioning himself to have Swindle aim in these directions.
Ch: It’s just a game of catch and release! I can’t do much without causing harm to the city unless we stumble him!”
Stylor turned to Onarch.
“We need to distract Swindle so Chromedome can get a clean hit!”
“Uh…let’s drive our cars into him!”
“WHAT?!” Onarch was appalled.
“It’s that or this just gets worse. The bot is already fighting without a head!”
Onarch seethed at Stylor; the history between them formed a tangible aura around them as they spoke.
“I’ll-”
“If you say you’ll pay me back, I’ll shove you back out there.”
Chromedome heard Onarch un off somewhere; Stylor remained in place to give Chromedome a line of sight. He began to feel dizzy. The sword in his hands began to swing around a bit weaker than before as he blocked the cannon shots, and his gait became wobbly.
St: Chromedome?!
Ch: I’m…feeling woozy…
St: Just hold on a second!
The sound of skidding ties and revving engines resonated nearby. Stylor watched, and thus, so did Chromedome, as half a dozen non-sentient cars careened toward Swindle. Each one slammed into the Decepticon’s side, pinballing him around in the middle of the street.
“OW! DAMMIT! WHAT-”
Stylor and Chromedome could both see that the vehicles were unoccupied; their owners, Onarch among them, walked out shortly after. They all got a good view of Chromedome’s headless body slicing the cannon off the thoroughly distracted Swindle.
“AAH!”
Stylor ran back towards the Autobot’s body. Chromedome was visibly wavering now.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Stylor leapt back onto Chromedome’s neck; the creeping lethargy instantly went away. The binary bonded duo snapped back to attention.
Ch: You know, I was trying to AVOID as much collateral damage as possible.
St: You DID. It’s my ass on the line with that. Let’s deal with Swindle first.
St: Do you feel okay?
Ch: I do NOW.
St: The thoughts are gone.
Ch: Please don’t focus on them again right now.
Ch: We can’t push the separation time very long, can we? I’d never make it back to Cybertron alive if we DO pull this off.
St: Which is why I’ll go with you.
Ch: You’d do that?
St: Of course! Now deal with this twerp.
Ch: Gladly.
Chromedome went on the offensive, chasing Swindle to the city limits, away from the Nebulans, before lunging after him and throwing the sword at one of his tires. With a hiss, the tire popped and lost all the air, leaving Swindle rolling around on a scraped-up hunk of metal. The Decepticon reverted, and turned to face Chromedome, his option to outrun him having been taken away. Chromedome pulled the sword from the road.
“H-hold on, Chromedome! You’re not going to kill me…”
Swindle nervously pointed his hands at Chromedome in a finger gun gesture, his teeth clenched.
“That’s right! Your Prime would NEVER forgive you if I ended up dead! You guys never kill unless you have to, you strange little…er, and you don’t have to! I’m unarmed!
Chromedome raised the Great Sword.
“You’re unarmed, alright.”
Chromedome did not hesitate in slicing off Swindle’s hands at the wrists. Oil and energon spread across the road.
“NAAAAAH!”
St: You really are getting gratuitous with this.
Ch: Limb replacement isn’t as much of a hassle for us. He’ll be fine.
St: I still think we need to talk more.
Ch: …I’ll think about it.
As Chromedome and Stylor turned to run back to the intersection, they heard the sounds of police sirens pull up behind them. Commotion began to return to the streets of Koraja, though they made way for Chromedome as he passed.
Ch: Your people will take Swindle prisoner?
St: Sure, they will. They’re vindictive, but they like their justice to be bloodless, if just to make themselves feel better.
Ch: That’s…disconcerting.
St: Every planet has problems they need to fix, Chromedome.
Ch: Tell me about it.
Chromedome arrived back at the intersection. Many Nebulans, including Onarch, were talking amongst themselves and sifting through the car wreckages. Chromedome approached Onarch; Stylor was the one who spoke.
“Thanks! You did perfectly! Chromedome and I can stop the Decepticons before they use that ship to-”
“Will that thing be able to hit Koraja for that high up?” Onarch asked.
Chromedome shook his head, “Doubtful. It’s powerful, but it’s intended for combat between vessel only a few miles apart at the most.”
“Then go deal with it, and don’t think you’re getting off the hook for THIS either, Stylor.”
Onarch gestured to the wrecked cars.
“This is going on top of everything else…when you get back, we’re not letting you run anymore. I don’t care what kind of hero you become. I’ll take everything you’re worth to pay back the people YOU’VE swindled and have you spend the rest of your life working off what you’ve taken from ME.”
“…”
“Chromedome, good day to you.”
With that, Onarch turned and strode off. As Chromedome started to make his way out of the city, he could feel the other Nebulans staring through his eyes at the man behind them.
Ch: I’ll admit, this is an IMPRESSIVE amount of contempt for a day trader.
St: I’m notoriously bad at my job here. All of Koraja knows me.
St: I’ll be honest, I think getting out of here would be good, even if Onarch and the others still come to track me down.
Ch: You honestly haven’t tried to just return all the material wealth you have?
St: Oh, but that would SUCK! I love my necklaces and Endthread attire, and every single gemstone I have lining the doors of my house…
Ch: You have GEMSTONES lining your doorframes? Dude.
St: I know…
Ch: Come ON, dude.
Chromedome snorted.
St: Don’t judge.
The two took off in the direction of the area over which the Decepticon ship hovered in the sky. Three Decepticons were down, two remained.
Chapter 4: Ignition
Chapter Text
Chapter 4
Chromedome scaled a cliff face, near the area where the Decepticon ship lingered high in the sky. Pulling himself up onto a high ledge, he was and turned to face the Nebulan horizon.
St: You’re taking a break?
Ch: Just a few nanocycles. We can talk as much as we want and not waste time, thinking like this.
St: …So you DO want to keep talking.
Ch: I’m just…I’m very anxious, Stylor.
St: I can tell.
Ch: I…maybe I do need to air out to someone. I don’t want anything messing me up at the last second, or Sixshot making me freeze up like that again.
St: Well, speaking like this, we have time, as you said. Talk to me, man.
Chromedome sighed; air rushed through his faceplate.
St: Woah, what?
St: That was a sigh! You DO breathe!
Ch: I was letting out exhaust, Stylor.
St: From?
Ch: …My face vents.
St: So you EXHALED then.
Chromedome took cool air in through the vents.
St: There’s more!
Chromedome scoffed.
Ch: Enough.
St: So…what did you want to talk about?
Ch: …I wanted to talk about why I’m here.
Ch: I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but…
Ch: I feel the need to for you to know how crucial this is so I can be sure you’re giving your all when we face Sixshot again.
St: I understand completely. Just start wherever.
Ch: Can I show you?
St: Hmm?
Chromedome extended one of the mnemosurgeon needles from his fingers.
St: Woah, WOAH. Hold on.
Ch: It’s not a damaging procedure. Even if it was, I think if I just stick it in my own head, you’ll get the effect like you did before with Skold. You DID see those, right?
St: Yeah, it’s just…
Ch: It’s a big needle.
St: It’s a BIG needle.
Ch: If the answer is no, I will try to articulate it.
Stylor remained silent for a moment.
St: I can feel you getting anxious.
Ch: Yeah…
St: You want to talk, but want to get back to the grind as fast as possible to save your friends.
Ch: Mmm-hmm.
Even in his own mind, Chromedome sounded like he was struggling to put his emotions on display.
St: …Do it. Don’t stab ME, though.
Chromedome immediately inserted the needle into his temple, consciously avoiding the spot where Stylor was. Images cycled from his mind into Stylor’s, both of them vividly reliving parts of Chromedome’s life that even he wouldn’t remember as clearly without the mnemo-boost.
The rocky Cybertronian ground around Chromedome quaked as he clung to the wall of the tunnel. Outside, through the cavern opening, he could see the bombs littering the battlefield. Autobots and Decepticons alike fell victim to the indiscriminate bombing run by Starscream’s men; an arm flew through the opening to the cavern and further down into the tunnel. His eyes followed it briefly, then stopped on the other Autobots taking shelter with him. One of them held close to the wall, hands on his head, slowly rocking back and forth. Chromedome knelt down to him and placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, Paragon. You need to stay alert. We might have to flee from this position at a moment’s notice.”
“…You know who’s out there, Chromedome…”
“I know, but we can’t worry about the pains of the past right now. It will be what it will be, but we need you here and now.”
Paragon slid up the wall to his feet.
“Okay.”
Chromedome reached over his shoulder and pulled the ion rifle on his back from its sling, handing it to Paragon. The tense Autobot readied the weapon; Chromedome drew his ion pistol and turned to face the other Autobots. Powerglide, Smokescreen, and Wheeljack each nodded to him, and Chromedome turned his attention to the land outside once more.
The shelling stopped.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
“AUTOBOTS! ROLL OUT!”
The Autobots moved out of the cavern and into the Cybertronian desert. Powerglide took to the skies above to divert the Decepticon fliers while Chromedome, Paragon, Wheeljack and Smokescreen sped off along the ground, clouds of sand and dust being kicked up in their wake.
The Autobots spoke to each other through their comms.
“We need to get Wheeljack back to the Outpost! You’ve got all you need to build a counter to this weapon you’ve mentioned?”
“Just a preventive measure, Chromedome, but, yep! Once we’re in the lab, I’ll get Perceptor to breakdown the structure of the sample we collected and then I’ll start the manufacturing process. We’ll take this weapon out of the equation before it’s even deployed!”
Smokescreen groaned.
“Still don’t even know what the “weapon” is.”
“Brainstorm can give you a full dissertation when we get back, if you wish.”
“No thanks.”
Chromedome reasserted himself.
“You heard Wheeljack! To the Outpost at all costs!”
The Autobots rushed through the desert, far on the opposite side of the arid plane. Above them, the fliers tussled it out; Powerglide and some of the aerialbots kept the Decepticons at bay. Out of his peripheral, Chromedome saw Starscream rocketing towards them. He rolled out of the anti-air fire from the distant Autobot artillery; he was going to reach them without question.
“Left flank!”
Chromedome shifted to his Cybertronian form and fired his ion pistol at the incoming Starscream. The shots went wide around the incoming Decepticon. Starscream unleashed a volley of missiles towards the group of Autobots; Chromedome dove away while Wheeljack and Paragon kept going. Smokescreen came to halt after the missiles hit.
“Keep going! Get Wheeljack to the Outpost.”
Smokescreen ignored the order and reverted from his alt mode, taking the safety of on his own ion rifle.
“Paragon’s got it! I’m going to help you get this guy off our tail!”
Both ran around in circles, exchanging ion beams for bullets with Starscream as he strafed around them. Chromedome barked into his radio, the noise of the battlefield making it impossible to hear otherwise.
“I’m telling you to GO, Smokescreen!”
“I’m not leaving you here to die, sir!”
“You’re disobeying a direct order!”
The clouds of sand around them made ground level visibility almost non-existent.
“Then I’ll take my reprimand later! We’re here to-”
An engine noise and a horn blurted from out in the sand cloud. Before either of them knew what happened, a massive sixteen-wheeler slammed into Smokescreen full speed. The Autobot crumpled to the ground as the truck ran him along the arid terrain. Chromedome watched, aghast, as within the span of a nanocycle, the truck unfolded into the Stunticon Motormaster, brandishing a massive thermal sword.
Smokescreen reached out desperately, trapped beneath the Stunticon’s foot, his rifle thrown from his grasp. Chromedome raised his ion pistol to fire, but it was too late. Motormaster cleaved the Autobot betwixt with a single stroke. The depigmentation set in rapidly, the body turning grey as the life drained from Smokescreen’s eyes, Chromedome tried to call his name, but his voice caught in his throat, and only a croaking noise came out.
Chromedome ducked out of the way of Starscream’s next strafing pass and fired his ion pistol at Motormaster. The Stunticon charged Chromedome, attempting unsuccessfully to transform as the Autobot staggered him with the pistol shots.
“Stand down!”
Motormaster did not respond. With an angry roar he continued charging at Chromedome with the thermal sword raised over his head. Chromedome moved out of the way, transforming and rushing over to Smokescreen’s corpse. Behind him, Motormaster transformed again as well and accelerated full speed towards Chromedome, like he had tried to do before. Chromedome shifted back and grabbed the ion rifle from the ground near Smokescreen. Taking a knee, he spun and took aim at the incoming Stunticon. A single blast from the rifle smashed through his windshield and sent him sliding along the ground. The Decepticon untransformed as he came to a slow stop; Chromedome kept the rifle trained on the prone form of Motormaster, debating what to do next. He would not have to debate long; Motormaster sprung to his feet abruptly, sword still in hand.
“RRRAAAAH!”
Chromedome roared back.
“SURRENDER!”
Motormaster was seeing red. He’d already killed Smokescreen. He was not going to stop.
In his haze of battle anger, Motormaster did not have the mind to move out of the way of the shot, or simply did not react in time. The blast obliterated his head and upper chest, killing him instantly. His body fell before Chromedome, greying out like Smokescreen had.
St: So, you HAVE killed before.
Ch: You can’t fight a war and not take a few lives. Optimus keeps us in line about being cruel, but he’s not naïve. You only take a life when you have to, to save someone else or yourself, when the situation calls for it and you’ve exhausted all other options.
St: Do you believe that ideal yourself?
Ch: There are people who I think should have gotten more punishment than they did, but I trust the Prime, and I know that he’s right.
St: And that soldier who died?
Ch: Smokescreen was young. He wasn’t on the Ark when it crashed on Earth; all he knew was his anger living on a Decepticon dominated Cybertron, so he took it to war and died in his fervor.
St: Do you feel guilty over his death?
Ch: On some level, but…you saw the circumstances. That’s not what made this day the worst one in a long time.
St: What did?
Ch: …
Starscream landed in front of Chromedome, arm cannon pointed squarely at the Autobot’s head. Chromedome aimed the rifle in turn; both bots stood apart in the sand cloud.
“So, Autobot, you have some fangs after all!”
“Maybe you should try staying for a full fight more often, Starscream.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”
The second-in-command of the Decepticons took on a grandiose tone as he spoke that irked Chromedome to his core. The Autobot fired a single rifle shot at his feet. Starscream slid out of the way of the shot and fired one at Chromedome; the Autobot jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding the cannon blast.
“And you can’t hit anything with that oversized caulk gun. Are you trying to embody Megatron to make up for you own inadequacy?”
“Grr…I’ll show you what happens when you address me like tha-hmm?”
Starscream paused, keeping his eyes and gun trained on Chromedome. A horrifying smile crossed his face, and without another word, he transformed and flew away. Chromedome fired a few shots at the retreating Decepticon, watching him vanish high up into the atmosphere. The battle around him had died down; the explosions had stopped, the blaster fire ceased. A gentle wind began to disperse the sand cloud, and Chromedome could see that he stood alone in the desert, surrounded by the bodies of Autobots and Decpeticons.
He went to speak into his radio.
“This is Chromedome, I’m out in the desert about forty kliks south of the Rust Sea from the coast of Tyrest. Is anyone there?”
A crackling, and then a voice.
“Domey? You there? You’re okay?”
“Rewind? What are you doing on this frequency? Why are you out here?”
“Brainstorm needed me to help him back up some data before he evacuated out of Helex.”
Rewind’s tone became much more urgent.
“Domey, you need to get out of the desert! We just got a warning from the front that the Decepticons are going to start another round of shelling on Tyrest soon!”
“Where are you?”
“I’m still with Brainstorm, and he’s got a full transmission team with him. He has everything he needs. I just need you to get out of the desert before the shelling starts.”
“Don’t worry, I’m getting out of here.”
Chromedome looked morosely at Smokescreen’s body, then transformed and sped off in the direction of the Outpost.
“I’m heading for the Outpost, outside of Tyrest, Rewind. It’s not far and it’s well fortified. What about you?”
“Brainstorm’s going to try and take cover at what’s left of Darkmount.”
“WHAT?!”
“I-it’s just what-”
“Patch him through!”
Brainstorm’s voice came in on the radio.
“Hello, Chromedome?”
“Brainstorm, Darkmount is not going to stand up to a shelling! Come to the Outpost! We’ve got room!”
“No way! I’m not risking my equipment and data out in the open desert with bombs incoming to find marginally better cover! We’ll be fine!”
Chromedome growled.
“Rewind, ditch that convoy and get to the Outpost. Wheeljack might need help too, anyway.”
“Don’t listen to him, Rewind! It’s not worth the risk!”
“I...”
“REWIND!”
“Brainstorm, what happened?!”
Brainstorm sighed.
“Your anxious Conjunx just took off. I hope for your sake this works out.”
“It will. You stay safe, too.”
“We’ll manage.”
Ch: I shouldn’t have told him to go to the Outpost. I was so worried…and I wanted to be with him through the bombing.
St: But I assume he survived the bombing?
Ch: Oh, he made it to the Outpost long before I did. If it was a bombing run, he would have been fine.
St: “If?”
Ch: …
Chromedome finally caught up with Paragon and Wheeljack, speeding through the desert. Powerglide flew above them, keeping pace. Moving back into formation with his comrades, he swerved his wheels from side to side to salute them. Wheeljack’s voice crackled on the radio.
“Where’s Smokescreen?”
Chromedome responded sorrowfully.
“Gone. The Decepticons got him.”
Powerglide followed up.
“Damn. Poor kid.”
“Can’t let it slow us down, Powerglide. We’ve got more shells incoming, so get the lead out, you three!”
The Autobots carried along without any further conversation, through the empty desert. The lack of battle started to create its own uneasy atmosphere. Paragon groaned, his engine sputtering.
“This feels wrong.”
“I don’t mind the quiet, but Cybertron is not calm in this day and age.”
Chromedome reassured him.
“Just focus on driving, Paragon.”
“I don’t like this, Chromedome.”
Off in the distance, a whistling noise began ringing in the bots’ audio receptors.
“Oh, no…” Wheeljack gasped.
The radio in Chromedome’s head crackled to life.
“Domey?! Where are you?!”
“Rewind, are you at the Outpost?"
“Yes, and you’re NOT! The shelling’s started, where are yo-”
“Rewind! REWIND!”
Wheeljack came to a stop.
“We’re not going to make it!”
“HIT THE DECK!”
Wheeljack reverted and dropped to the ground, hands on his head. Chromedome and Paragon did the same, while Powerglide launched into the atmosphere, high above the danger. The whistling became louder and closer; Chromedome tensed up, waiting for the maddening chain of explosions he could only hope he would hear the end of. But instead of the numerous bangs and booms he expected, a different noise replaced the whistling: a series of pops and the hissing of air. Chromedome and the others looked up from the ground to see something massive moving out from the horizon. A cloud of pink and red, low and close to the desert’s surface was being carried towards them by the wind. It would be on them in nanocycles.
“Gas!”
Wheeljack stared in horror at the oncoming cloud.
“N-not just gas…”
“Huh?”
Wheeljack used the precious few nanocycles he had to protect his comrades. From his storage compartments, he pulled three airbox cover masks, and ran to Chromedome and Paragon, strapping one over their faceplates and face vents before they knew what was going on. The scientist fumbled, trying to get his own mask on, but the cloud sped in even closer. The current it rode on was too fast for all three to be ready when it arrived.
“WHEELJACK!”
Chromedome reached out to his struggling compatriot as the cloud enveloped them. Instantly, his entire world was reduced to a red and pink fog, the feeling of particulate peppering his metal body. Desperately, he stumbled around in the gas, running a hand along the ground and keeping the other one in front of him.
“Wheeljack! Paragon! Powerglide! SPEAK TO ME!”
There was no reply.
“Rewind, come in! It’s Chromedome! Are you okay?!”
The static that responded made his oilstream run cold.
“HELP! WHERE IS EVERYONE?!?!”
Chromedome languished in the cloud, grasping at the air around him helplessly. Just as quickly as the cloud had appeared, it began to move on. The desert environment returned to view, the terrain untouched as if it hadn’t been disturbed at all. The cloud rushed on behind him, spreading further across the desert towards the Rust Sea. Within nanocycles, it was gone from view completely.
“Chromedome!”
Paragon’s panicked voice felt, only for a moment, like a tremendous relief. That feeling vanished as Chromedome turned to face his ally. He was knelt over Wheeljack, holding the scientist in his arms. As Chromedome rushed over to the two, he heard the sound of a horrendous, croaking cough. He looked down at Wheeljack; red matter stained his face, pouring from his face vents like pus from a wound. His fingers were spasming violently and he wouldn’t stop coughing. He looked back at Chromedome and Paragon with utter terror in his fragmenting eyes. Powerglide returned to the ground, and was taken aback by the grisly sight as he approached, stopping before he got near Wheeljack.
“Oh…Primus…”
Paragon reacted as well.
“Oh, God.”
Chromedome did not say anything after Paragon. He simply stared as the dawning fear overtook him as well.
“Hello?!”
Chromedome led the march into the Outpost as they arrived, carrying Wheeljack by the legs.
“Help! We need help!”
Paragon followed up behind him, holding the Autobot by his head and shoulders. Neither of them had taken off their airbox masks. Powerglide stayed in the air above them, having chosen not to put on Wheeljack’s remaining mask in case what had taken hold of him had contaminated it. As they ran inside the Outpost, he remained circling outside, standing guard from whatever nasty surprise might be coming next.
The voices of Chromedome and Paragon were drowned out by the murmuring, shouting, and crying of the bots within the Outpost. The structure was partially above ground, but with the majority build underground, making for great refuge in the case of bombing runs. It was, however, utterly unprepared for a gas attack. Many bots seemed to be running around fine, but they all wore airbox masks. Chromedome could not recall the last time gas had been used by the Decepticons; most kinds were ineffective for causing serious damage to Cybertronians, and didn’t do much that bombs couldn’t already accomplish.
An Autobot ran up from the bottom of the ramp they were heading down.
“Stop!”
Chromedome and Paragon froze as the red and white bot, masked up like the rest, came up to them.
“Ratchet?”
“Chromedome, you cannot bring him into the Outpost this way!”
Paragon wailed, distraught at the ever-escalating situation.
“What is going on?!”
Ratchet pointed down to the mob of Cybertronians beyond the ramp.
“We need to get this side of the Outpost clean. We’ll take Wheeljack around the back, so the rust parasites don’t get mixed in down there.”
“Rust parasites?!”
Wheeljack gasped meekly, trying to speak.
“The…the mechanoweapon…what we tried to stop…used it sooner than…”
Ratchet, tightening his airbox mask, stepped up to the ailing Wheeljack.
“This was a new Decepticon weapon, Wheeljack?”
“Espionage…weaponized rust parasite larvae…microscopic size, dispersed in gas-*hrrk*-kill you from the inside…don’t breathe in…”
Chromedome spoke up.
“Wheeljack said he had a countermeasure! All we have to do is-”
Wheeljack wheezed one more word.
“Preventative…”
Ratchet cut him off.
“Enough, Wheeljack. If it’s a preventative measure, we’re far beyond that. Might help those who are uninfected, but we need a cure.”
Chromedome’s exhaust exchange became more rapid.
“You two, help bring him back to the entrance to the sick ward. We’ve got to get him under care ASAP so he can help us understand what little we can do right now.”
Chromedome’s legs quivered as he heard the words “sick ward.” He knew from his time at the Outpost that the medbay was small enough to be overwhelmed and flooded with even a slight crisis. He desperately wanted to charge into the clean section of the Outpost, wanted to confirm that Rewind was in there, but his dedication to his ally and friend kept him anchored enough to follow Ratchet for the time being. They headed around the outside of the Outpost, in through another entrance hidden away in a cavern like the one he had been in not an hour earlier. He wanted to stop moving forward towards the “sick ward,” but he couldn’t let himself do so.
The “sick ward” was a cesspit of writhing, miserable bodies. Bots moaned and screamed in anguish, rolling across recharge slabs and tarps placed around on the ground. Other bots wearing airbox masks walked between them, distraught, silent, and listless as they went about their duties, tending to the ill. Paragon shuddered, his voice peaking as he conversed with Ratchet.
“A-are we…are we going to be okay?”
“Keep the mask on and you’ll be fine.”
Wheeljack wheezed in agreement. Ratchet shushed him once more.
“Save your energy, kid.”
Chromedome couldn’t hold it in anymore. He felt like his spark was going to gain a mind of its own and eat through his chest plating.
“Where’s Rewind?”
Ratchet stopped dead in his tracks; Paragon and Wheeljack both looked at him worriedly.
“He’s here.”
Chromedome could barely keep himself from yelling.
“Where?!”
His eyes began to fluidate, a process similar to what humans would call tearing up. The colored space that comprised his visor partially liquified and wobbled around. Ratchet turned, a solemn look on his face. He said nothing, only moving to take Chromedome’s position in carrying Wheeljack. No one said anything as he swapped out with Ratchet and took off running into the sick ward.
“No. No. No.”
He looked between the sick and those in attendance. He almost grabbed another minibot by the shoulder, mistaking him for Rewind. He still recognized him; it was Eject, one of Blaster’s cassettes, a group Rewind once belonged to. His coordinator, his friend Blaster, was laid down on a recharge slab, speckled with rust. Eject stared at him, stunned; the rest of the cassettes were also infected, and laid near Blaster. Eject was seemingly the only one to be spared. Chromedome locked eyes with him, speaking no words. Eject knew well what he was there for, and hung his head low as he pointed further past the infected cassettes, towards one of the sick corners.
“No. No. No.”
He could already see him lying on a tarp, unmoving. A tube was hooked up to his faceplate.
“No.”
Chromedome dropped to his knees at his Conjunx Endura’s side. That same accursed rust stained his vents, his eyes, his joints, even his head camera. If it weren’t for the faint fogging of air in the transparent tube that came and went intermittently, he would have let out a cry worthy of a death knell. As it was, he curled up on the floor next to Rewind, grasping his rusty hand as his eyes fluidated more and more. The feeling of overwhelming guilt made his fuel pump twist into a knot and his extremities go numb as he lost himself in the sight of his dying Conjunx.
Chromedome stood silently, blending into the crowd of uproarious Autobots as they argued with each other. His head was trained on the single mnemosurgery needle he had extended, pointing back as his visor. Nobody said anything or seemed to notice, leaving him to his own silent contemplation. Calls for action, desperate pleas for direction, all of it sounded like little more than dull ringing that gradually faded out of his focus.
The needle wavered, his gently wobbling wrist making it swerve in a hypnotic pattern. It inched closer and closer to his face every few nanocycles. His thoughts ceased being anything material, all that existed before him was the needle. He gently closed his eyes and let the needle drift upward, himself uncertain of his intentions.
“Autobots!”
The strong, low voice of the Prime quieted the room, and drew Chromedome out of his melancholy trench. Optimus always dominated the atmosphere of any room he was in, and especially in times of duress, and the Autobots were eager to hear him speak. On Earth, on Cybertron, the Prime was always there to present a plan to escape from even the most hopeless situations.
To see the genuine strain behind his eyes as he spoke was spark wrenching.
Optimus stood at the center of the hanger they had all gathered in, surrounded by the other Autobots.
“I know that to hide the truth of how dire an emergency is to avoid panic is the choice of many, but it is not for me, and not for today.” His statement belied a dour status update on the ill; there was a collective drop in the mood in response.
“We are plus eighteen solar hours from the rust parasite attack, and have managed to isolate the infected thoroughly enough to not worry about further contamination or needing to keep airbox masks on at all times. At this stage, however, it is currently impossible to properly treat and purge the parasite infestation from those afflicted with the resources at our disposal. This is a mechanoweapon engineered to be as difficult to beat as possible, and we would need to synthesize our own cure. We cannot do this.”
The Autobots looked around at each other distressed. Chromedome remained as listless as before. Brainstorm, fine and uninfected, stepped up next to the Prime and whispered something to him. The Prime nodded and continued.
“But that does not mean it cannot be done, period.”
Instantly, the entire room jumped to attention. Chromedome was reenergized by the Prime’s words, pining for the hope that would be laid before him imminently.
“Out human friends on Earth have continued working with the technology we left behind with the wreck of the Ark, including experimentation with the manipulation of energon. If we act with haste, there is a chance, however slim, that they could manufacture an energon-based countermeasure capable of purging the parasites that we would be able to employ before we lose our dear, ailing comrades. But transport of said countermeasure would have to be done with a trip to and from Earth, open to pursuit by the Decepticons if they become aware of this plan. And with the cut in our available fighting force…we would only be able to spare ONE Autobot to conduct it solo.”
The hanger went silent. What pierced it was the noise of a needle being retracted; Chromedome pushed past the bots in front of him aside as he stepped up to the Prime.
“I’ll do it.”
Optimus leaned his head back.
“I was about to ask for volunteers, Chromedome, but…”
Chromedome continued.
“This…I want to make sure this doesn’t destroy us. I will try-…no.”
“I will do this, Prime.”
All the fear and self-loathing, for the moment, had been eradicated from Chromedome’s circuitry. The conviction in his voice rivaled that of Ultra Magnus or the Prime himself.
“Very well, then. We’ll get you a shuttle and what supplies we can spare. Brainstorm will set you up with a line to Earth. ‘Til all are one, Chromedome.”
“’Til all are one.”
There was some applause and hollering, but Chromedome did not acknowledge any of it as he stepped away from the Prime. Brainstorm walked alongside him as they moved further into the hanger to prepare. Both knew the other was thinking of the same thing: if Rewind had not come to the Outpost.
“You could not have known,” said Brainstorm.
“I should have.”
St: …I see now why you feel such a desperate need to see this through as soon as possible.
Ch: If I hadn’t told him to leave Brainstorm…if he hadn’t trusted me so much as to leave without any further convincing…he would have been fine. For all I know, he could have died the day I left for Earth.
St: Your allies haven’t been in contact?
Ch: No. They didn’t want to risk attracting attention to what we were trying to do. Whole lot of good that did, since Sixshot found me anyway.
St: Would you have volunteered even if Rewind had not been stricken in the attack?
Ch: Maybe? I’ll admit, some part of me missed the lush flora and the relative peace of Earth. But to be completely honest with you, and with myself…no, I don’t think I would have. The strain of this conflict has made it easier to see the end result as simply being what happens to Rewind and myself, to keep it together in my own mind. Sixshot proved that; Cyclonus saw it as well. My cause to be here is flimsy and selfish.
St: You would not have so quickly volunteered to travel halfway across the known universe as you did WITHOUT considering those besides your Conjunx Endura. You’re clearly an intelligent person, Chromedome. Adaptable, clever…I do not believe you threw yourself at this mission for the soul purpose of putting your soul at ease for your guilt over what happened to Rewind. I believe you are here to save the Autobots as well, with Rewind happening to be among them.
Ch: That doesn’t sound that different…though it does sound more noble…
St: Then why are you giving yourself such a hard time over it?
Ch: I-!
Ch: I…don’t…know…in the end, it’s all the same, so…all that should matter is my attempt to complete the mission.
St: There you go!
Ch: It seems so obvious now, but in the moment, I wasn’t capable of thinking that way.
St: It’s not uncommon; high emotions make us vulnerable to missing details in how they’re thinking and what they’re doing. It goes across species and bodies, organic and synthetic. At the heart of every person, no matter how confused, deranged, or angry, is a series of scared thoughts that simply needs the right direction and perspective. GETTING that perspective to them varies and the same method almost never works twice, even on the same person, but when you work with people on a case-by-case basis, it becomes a bit easier to adapt. That might just be me, but…
Ch: …I was joking before, but did you REALLY used to be a shrink?
St: Therapist, private practice.
Ch: SERIOUSLY? You gave THAT up for trading stocks?
St: I…had a lucky streak and got carried away, then lost the option to go back to my old job by virtue of debt alone.
Ch: Looks like you weren’t thinking clearly in the height of your emotions.
St: Hey! Don’t be snide!
Ch: Heh…nah, we all do stupid things, you’re right.
St: Being able to admit and trying to recover from it is what matters. And making sure it doesn’t hurt others.
Ch: Yeah…
Ch: Do you still have hope for yourself, recovering from where you are?
St: Beyond running away for a bit with you? Not really, because I just don’t see what to do. I don’t have anything to work with, and what I DO have to my name…
Ch: You don’t want to get rid of.
St: I have a problem. I know I do. Giving back my opulence would relieve SOME of the pain coming my way AND give me more time to figure out what to do next, but…
Ch: You can’t give yourself your own advice?
St: Hey, I’M the therapist. I just want to keep my better things in life while not being frivolous; opulent, but not reckless. I could reopen my old practice if I cleared my debt and make a decent enough living to do that, reined in by the need for shelter and food and all the other necessities, but as it is, I feel as if I’ve trapped myself.
Ch: …You’ll find your way out. As much as opportunity gets obfuscated, progress cannot be stopped. People like Optimus convince me of that. You just need some friends to back you up.
St: Friends like you?
Ch: Absolutely. I’m the best you can get. Priceless; just ask Rewind when we get to Cybertron!
St: I’ll hold you to that!
Ch: …Hmm.
St: What?
Ch: I didn’t feel bad when I mentioned Rewind there…
Ch: …
Ch: Nope, it’s coming back. Good talk! How long did that take?
St: Um…eight seconds? Nano-how much is a nanocycle?
Ch: Cool! Good! Let’s get back to work!
Chromedome pulled the needle from his head and retracted it. His vision returned to the world of Nebulos, and to a startling sight in front of him: Skold the Predacon, staring at him, hand on her hip, head cocked to the side.
“WHAA-?!”
Chromedome scrambled for his sword. Skold did not stop him as he fumbled with it and, eventually, brought it to her throat. She adjusted her stance and took a more neutral pose.
“That was mnemosurgery you were doing just now?”
Chromedome stared her down angrily, honing in all his focus on her. His elbows were locked; his legs were bowed at a slight angle as he pressed his heels into the ground. A nanocycle passed, then another, then several more. Skold said nothing, and continued staring.
“What are you doing, Skold?”
“…I need your help.”
“You need MY help? And you seriously expect me to GIVE it to you? A DECEPTICON?”
“Please. You’re the only person who can.”
“Why?” Chromedome had not lowered his sword an inch.
“…What you did before, with those images on Earth…”
“…”
“I…didn’t recognize them. I didn’t know those images.”
That made Chromedome arch the brow above his visor.
“What do you mean you don’t recognize them? They’re YOUR memories.”
“They FEEL like it now. But I KNOW they weren’t there before.”
Skold placed her hands on her head as she continued her explanation.
“I went back to the ship after I woke up in the woods and searched about mnemosurgery on the supercomputer database. The bio they gave us…we knew that you were capable of it, but I didn’t know the specifics. Mnemosurgery cannot implant false memories, can it?”
“…No. It can toy with what’s already in there and remove it, but it can’t create anything that wasn’t already there in some form.”
“Right, which means those memories were THERE, but I couldn’t…access them.”
“Repressed memories?”
Skold pulled her hands from her head and lowered it.
“…I fear it may be suppression.”
Chromedome lowered the sword a little bit.
“…Go on.”
“I can’t stop thinking about what I saw. Myself, pulling…someone, some people, apart.”
“And that bothers you?”
Skold’s tone became defensive.
“We have emotions as well, you know! Not all of us are the same as Sixshot or Shockwave!”
“Fine, sure.”
“But I need to know what that was. I don’t hurt people for no reason. I hurt them for the cause of the Cybertron.”
“You mean you hurt them for the glory of Megatron.”
“…I heard stories of what Cybertron was like before the war, before I was born. I didn’t want to be the spawn of a world strapped down by the power hungry and fanatical: I wanted the soul of the Cybertronians to be the ones in command.”
“But you heard that idea through the lens of the Decepticon cause.”
“…I learned it from Sixshot.”
Chromedome lowered the sword more.
“Why would Sixshot bring you here to deal with me if she hid something in your mind from you, like you suspect?”
“I never said I suspected her.”
“…”
“I just need to know what those images were, for certain.”
“Any you expect me to help you? How do I know you don’t have Bombshell lined up to snipe me the instant I dive in?”
“You don’t. All I can do is ask.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then…uh…”
Skold raised a finger, then lowered it. She seemed earnestly unsure.
“…You haven’t thought about that.”
“Uh…”
Ch: If’s she’s putting up an act, I’ll give her credit, it’s confusing enough.
St: I don’t think she’s trying to be “deceptive,” Chromedome.
Ch: Hmph.
St: I’m leaving this choice up to you. I don’t know what the right answer is.
Chromedome slowly lowered the sword all the way and placed it on his back. With the same hand, he extended the needles and held them out to Skold.
“Do something even slightly suspect and I’ll scramble everything that you are.”
“Cross me and I’ll short out every neuron in your headbuddy’s brain.”
St: She knows about me, as well.
Ch: Sixshot’s probably been talking; I’m sure they all know.
Skold stepped forward and leaned into Chromedome’s palm. The Autobot pressed the needles into the side of her cranium, and all three were whisked away into her mind.
St: Hello, Skold.
Sk: Are you the organic?
St: I am.
Ch: Let’s see what you’ve got here.
Stretched within the canals of the Predacon’s mind were webs of experience, emotions, faces and names. Chromedome was taken aback by the lack of resistance on Skold’s part. She did not fight back no matter what memories he veered towards. Even when he was performing mnemosurgery on those who’d asked him to do so, there was always a tension, an unwillingness, even an unconscious once.
Not with Skold.
Chromedome felt an obligation, imposed by himself, upon himself, to steer clear of the brunt of Skold’s memories, almost out of appreciation for having such a cooperative subject, but conceding to flitting in and out of different links to pick up the trail on what he had peered within her reminiscence before. Brief conversations with Decepticons he recognized flashed before Chromedome’s eyes; all of them were being demeaning towards Skold. He pushed deeper, past rings of long expired lines of thought, into an abyss of icy binary neurons and misfiring synapses. He and Stylor felt her own consciousness finally begin to push back, but the path Chromedome had carved enabled him to bypass this reaction almost completely. It was as if he was gripping her hand, bracing her for dealing with whatever came next.
Then, the barrier broke, and he was submerged into the memory link he had tapped into before. Through Skold’s eyes, he saw a war-ravaged city on Earth. Human civilians and police fired fruitlessly upon what must have been a newly born Skold. A static, emotionless voice directed her; the results of her actions were visceral and distressing to watch, as if he were conducting the acts himself. He and Stylor reeled mentally from the vision of the memory. Skold was stalwart, but Chromedome sensed a growing vexation of a different kind entirely. There was an uncertainty and trusting willingness in the memory of Skold, like a protoform unaware of the concept of lying. Even for a Decepticon, the willingness to commit such barefaced slaughter was shocking. Once finished with the droves of humans they saw before Skold, they saw some Cybertronians fall as well. Some wore the Autobot badge; others, stunningly, wore the Decepticon insignia. Energon and oil stained Skold’s hands and her alt mode’s beak.
There didn’t seem to be a purpose; no point to hold, no strategic value to the location they saw, just the bloodbath which eventually came to an end.
The youthful Skold was turned around by another Cybertronian. A solitary yellow eye surrounded by an angular, purple head.
“Test complete.”
And the world snapped back to Nebulos.
Chromedome recoiled, dragging the needles across Skold’s face as he fell away.
“Ah! S-sorry!”
Skold held her hand over the light scratches that marked the side of her faceplate; her thoughts were clearly on something very different.
“Uh…hah…tahhhhTahhhtehhTest?”
“Test?”
“TEST?!”
St: Who was that purple robot?
Ch: Shockwave, a Decepticon scientist, and one of the cruelest beings I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing to have lived on Cybertron. If there’s anyone you could say is worse than Megatron, it’s him.
Chromedome adjusted his stance and looked back over at Skold.
“How are you holding up? Still feel like you’ve got everything?”
Skold was seething, eyes shut tight. She began clawing at the scratches out of tension. Little flakes of metal fell away from her face.
“I…why…”
“You’re surprised that the Decepticons would make you perform horrendous acts? The word ‘test’ implies-”
Skold ripped her hand away from her face and began yelling at Chromedome.
“FIGHT…and KILL…ONLY for CYBERTRON!!!”
“Everything I do is supposed to be a step forward to ending the war and putting our fate into the hands of the strong! Combat and death are supposed to have a DIRECT purpose!”
“…Direct purpose…that’s how Sixshot described it. ‘Direct purpose’ isn’t-”
Chromedome shook his head.
“Executing people who you know can’t harm you to test something like combat capabilities?”
“…That is for the field…”
“Were you seriously that unaware of who you were fighting alongside, or did you just want to be the exception? Or did you really think that no one you fought alongside would endorse purposeless killing?”
“…”
“I wish I could say that I was surprised, Skold, but I’m really not.”
St: Chromedome…
Ch: What?
St: …
Ch: Right…high emotions…
Chromedome thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. Skold looked completely despondent.
“Listen, Skold.”
“The fact that you seem upset about this at all is a good sign…I think.”
“You want the violence you commit to have a direct cause. You don’t want to take lives, Cybertronian or otherwise, without it being a direct necessity to ensure what you’re fighting for succeed.”
“…”
“You’re fighting on the wrong side of the war.”
Skold stared at the ground as she replied.
“…Autobots don’t kill.”
“I’VE killed before, Skold.”
“Really?”
“That sinking feeling in your chestplate as you realize what you’ve just done…”
“Where it’s not quite guilt, but it’s not quite euphoric…”
Chromedome nodded.
“As long as you’ve got your head screwed on right. You only ever take a life when it’s the only option left to you.”
“…”
Chromedome had to actively suppress the snarky caprice trying to wash over him. Everything about the situation made him want to grab Skold by the shoulders and yell every failure, every stupid notion of misplaced trust and inability to read the people at her side. But whether by the presence of Stylor, or his own resilience, or both, he held back.
“I don’t really know what else to tell you, Skold. Obviously, Sixshot would not have brought you here if she thought the mnemosurgery could bring these memories back, and she might not have even known they were suppressed like that in the first place.”
“…Shockwave…”
“…”
“…I…”
Skold suddenly broke away and rushed off, moving into the words beyond the ledge at the top of the cliff.
“Skold!”
Ch: Damn!
St: What do you think she’s going to do?
Ch: Agh! I have no idea. She could give our position away, or do nothing, or…”
St: …Or?
Ch: …
St: You’re hoping that she’ll help us.
Ch: …No. That’s silly. That’s way too optimistic.
St: I don’t think so.
St: You did something pretty major for her there.
Ch: Well, only one way to find out right?
Chapter 5: Launch
Chapter Text
Chapter 5
Chromedome made his way further into the Nebulan woods. He had the sword drawn at all times now; he’d just about adjusted to the difference in his movement speed compared to his perception speed. High above the tree cover, the Decepticon starship waited in the clouds above. Occasionally, he and Stylor would spot, hidden amongst the foliage, metal wiring and tubing that ran into the ground for an unknown purpose. Following the tubes were their only hint on where to go; even if it was a trap, the end of the mission laid where the Decepticons were, leaving Chromedome’s hands tied on what he could do.
Ch: Haven’t seen anyone in the sky. Have you seen anything?
St: Considering that what you see is what I see, probably not.
Ch: I’m going to have to reprimand Brainstorm and Sparkplug on not coming up with the idea of taking advantage of both beings’ eyes in the binary bond.
St: That does seem like an oversight, doesn’t it?
Ch: Brainstorm would never admit it. His intellect is matched only by his ego.
St: What’s that saying? Genius and eccentricity are two sides of the same coin?
Ch: Something like that, though I thought it was insanity.
St: It might have been. Insane doesn’t always mean bad.
Ch: Yeah, well, the word still doesn’t inspire confidence.
Their proximity to the Decepticon ship increased every time they looked up. A clearing, large enough for the craft above them to land in, came into view. Chromedome skirted the tree line, circling around the edge of the clearing to spot any sign of the Decepticons; nothing jumped out.
St: Are you going to step out there?
Ch: No way! Bombshell’s on this crew. It HAS to be trapped.
St: What about the thoughts? Maybe if we start listening for thoughts again, we’ll be able to figure out where they are as we keep circling.
Ch: That’s an idea. Alright, let’s try it.
Chromedome and Stylor focused in, trying to bring back the psychic sensation the bond had granted them. They didn’t expect to hear something so soon, or so close.
?: There you are, pretty…
St & Ch: !!!
It was too late. They heard the “thump” of a projectile being launched from an air-powered launcher, and then the sensation of thick, hissing air settling in around them. A mist-like cloud hung close to the ground, surrounding Chromedome and Stylor. The Autobot tensed up; memories of what had brought him here in the first place in panic as the mist forced its way into the vents. Stylor’s thoughts were snuffed out, as were Chromedome’s. Standing in place, their control of their shared body ceased to belong to them.
“Heh-heh-heh…Perfect!”
Emerging from the woods behind them, Bombshell and Sixshot calmly walked up to either side of Chromedome. Bombshell grabbed the inert Autobot by the shoulder and jostled him around.
“Just perfect, exactly as I designed it.”
Sixshot flicked Chromedome on the faceplate.
“Under your utter control?”
“Just like that, Commander! The cerebroshell’s control is absolute! WATCH!”
Chromedome’s limbs danced around like a puppet on a string. He swung the sword, jumped, spun, and stood at attention, all at the whim of someone other than himself or Stylor.
“The perfect drone, under our control indefinitely! He never stood a chance!”
Sixshot stepped up to Chromedome and looked him in the blank, unresponsive eyes.
“Just like that, you’re out of the fight. I’ll admit, I’m somewhat disappointed, Domey, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“A place to the whims of others, the influence of all besides yourself…it’s fitting. But you’ll make a good soldier, especially like this.”
“I can’t wait to see the look on the Prime’s face as his last hope comes charging at him, ready to lop his head off with a Great Sword!”
As Bombshell and Sixshot mused over their new prize, another pair of eyes watched them from a distance. Red, squinting, angry. A snap decision made on the height of emotion unleashed its fury on the two boisterous Decepticons.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
A massive, metal battering ram in the form of a robotic snapping turtle surged forth from the woods, nearly impaling both Decepticons in one fell swoop. Sixshot transformed into her jet form and flew away, privy and adaptive towards the attack from her warrior; Bombshell was left to deal with the rogue Predacon himself.
“SKOLD?! What is this?!”
He righted himself from the ground and held his arms out to either side, already beckoning the younger bot to approach for another round.
“Such traitorous fervor…what’s gotten into you?”
“I am no traitor. My loyalty has not changed. I am, and will always be, a Decepticon.”
“Then explain yourself.”
“I am fighting for a particular outcome: the freedom and power of our planet and race, what I was born to accomplish. But the matter of the lives I choose to take in achieving that goal is my decision to make, and nobody else’s.”
“And you think that to not be the case?”
“I KNOW it.”
“So what will you do? Lash out and try to take control yourself? Steer the Decepticons to your whim? You’re strong, but you’re no match for Megatron.”
“I don’t desire power. I want to quash those who would dilute the meaning of our cause and find the one who violated my free will. This Autobot can help me do that. Then, I’ll get back to doing what I was made to do: fighting for Cybertron. No badge will change, no cause will alter. All I need to do is take down those bots who pulled me here on lies and get them out of the picture before I continue.”
Bombshell laughed and clapped his hands.
“It seems you’re finally starting to think like a Decepticon! Might makes right! Good! Good! Shockwave will be proud of your progress!”
Skold’s reptilian nostrils flared.
“Did YOU know?!”
“I’m the only one here who does. Sixshot is merely here to kill; you know she cares not for the nuance of research and development. But I have a job to do. And it’s going WONDERFULLY.”
“You’ll find that will change VERY soon.”
“A field test, then!”
A shoulder mounted cannon appeared over Bombshell’s shoulder; he took a battle-ready stance.
“Let’s see how far you’ve come! And better yet…”
The puppet that was Chromedome adjusted his stance, raising the sword to bring it against Skold.
“…Let’s run TWO tests at the same time! AH-HA-HA!!! WONDERFUL!”
The sun hung low on the Nebulan horizon; the trek to the staging area for the Decepticon starship had been long and arduous, and now, three bots stood next to it, anxious for combat, if they were capable of being anxious on their own at all. Skold broke away into the clearing, stampeding through the grass. The red and orange rays of the distant star reflected off her shell; Bombshell and Chromedome gave pursuit.
Bombshell shifted into his own alt mode, a large insect like that of a gigantic rhinoceros beetle, and went in for close range entanglement at first. Chromedome circle around them, creating a threshold to trap Skold in. The Predacon moved with Blinding speed, outmaneuvering each attempted attack from the Insecticon’s horn. Chromedome’s Great Sword swung for her each time she drew close, only to be narrowly avoided by the swift warrior. She kicked the enslaved Autobot back towards the tree line. At the same time, Bombshell jumped back, putting distance between himself and Skold.
“Good! Nice and spry, fast, perceptive! Now, let’s see how tough that skin of your really is!”
Bombshell’s mounted cannon appeared on his faux carapace. Shells began flying through the air, arcing down towards the Predacon. Skold shifted back to her humanoid form and sprinted towards the Insecticon. Hopping from side to side, shells rained down around her, leaving craters in the clearing. The explosions gradually began to be replaced by hissing noises, and the accumulation of a large cloud of mist. The vapor forced its way into her face vents; she felt no different afterwards, and she continued her efforts against Bombshell.
“Perfect! No effect! Even the rust parasites would not be able to contaminate you!”
“The Autobots will never control you!”
Skold moved in closer and continued her assault, going in to rip off Bombshell’s protective carapace, starting with punches and them moving onto clawing motions as she danced around Bombshell. Finally, she got a decent grip, and ripped off a chunk of the faux chitin.
“RAAGGH! HA-HA!”
Bombshell reacted to each injury with paradoxical delight. Even as half his shell was torn away from him, he would not stop cackling, which only further angered Skold. He managed to free himself of her grasp one more time, and moved to the edge of the clearing.
“Now, the fight truly begins! FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE!”
A whirring noise shot through the air behind Skold. She turned, arms braced to block a hit, as the manic Chromedome rushed in at her with the Great Sword. The sun’s rays bounded off the blade, illuminating the oil stains upon it. As the blade landed hard against her scaled cuffs, it cut in, but did not sever either arm, the thick plating and multi-layered nanotube construction proving to be monstrously durable. Skold did not give heed to the bot dancing like a marionette; he was an enemy all the same in the long run. She struck him in the chest, weaving between his sword strikes like a boxer, only to be driven back as he gradually began reacting faster and faster than she was prepared for. Blurs of deadly composite steel whipped across her vision, the ancient weapon threatening to decapitate her with every strike that came even slightly close to landing. Little flashes of electric sparks started to appear across Chromedome’s body; she had no idea what they meant.
To keep up with him was to push herself to the brink; even if she was physically faster, stronger, tougher, the Autobot would not go down. She had never seen anything like it before, and in some way, it excited her to no end.
The energon in her hoses was pumping fast; she could feel her spark reverberating violently. She loved the thrill of battle; she could not deny it. Often, she found herself lost in the sheer energy of it all, losing focus on tactics to end up going for extravagant displays that would cost her an encounter. Such impulses often drew the ire of her superiors; here, however, there was no unnecessary flourish to anything she did. Every hit was intentional, every swing was aimed. Her eyes did not close once, not for pain, not for the mist, not to flinch. As angry as she was, Skold was built for war, and she reveled in it.
Chromedome brought the sword down again and again; Bombshell kept laughing. A decisive shakeup occurred: the piloted Autobot landed a significant blow on Skold’s right shoulder, creating a massive indent and blunting some of her control over that side of her body. She stumbled, then roared, jumping up toward the Autobot and grabbing him by one of the protrusions that extended off of his head. Planting her feet against him, she tore off the extension, sending sparks flying and making the hegemonized bot whine in anguish like a wounded animal. No organic bits came off with the chunk; she had missed the Nebulan inside his head, barely.
She recognized that in her current state, it wasn’t viable to win this fight and keep going. As strong as she was, as much as she hated admitting it, she still had room to grow. All she could do then and there was ensure that the one piloting Chromedome wouldn’t be the last one to walk away from the struggle. Skold tossed aside the chunk of Chromedome’s head and made a mad dash for Bombshell. The Insecticon actually seemed taken aback as this occurred. He aimed the cannon over his shoulder and fired shell after shell around her, trying to shoo her back to Chromedome. When that failed, he directed the Autobot after her, but Skold was still his superior in terms of speed; she would reach Bombshell before Chromedome reached her.
The laughter did not cease as the Predacon rushed him, driving her fists over and over into his visor and faceplate. She grabbed the cannon and ripped it clean off him. Through it all, he just kept laughing. Skold, driven to the brink by the obnoxious cackling, stamped her feet down into his chest, grabbed ahold of Bombshell’s arms, and tore them off his body with one violent motion. The Insecticon wailed in agony, still managing to twist it into that manic hysteria as the energy was sapped from him, most of his energon seeping out into the grass. With a final wheezing chuckle, his head turned over and he succumbed to the pain, entering stasis lock almost immediately. Skold had exhausted herself, putting too much anger and energy into her savaging of Bombshell. She turned to face the other attacker, only to be met with a brutal strike to the face and chest by the flat of Chromedome’s Great Sword.
The entire front of her body was crinkled up, her faceplate dented, paint and metal stripped off. She did not have the stamina to tank the blow; she fell onto her back, not dropping into stasis lock, but entering a low power recovery state, an analogue to “blacking out” as organics would call it. Chromedome raised the sword over his head, in a position to chop the head clean off the Predacon, and then stopped.
Ch: …Huh?
St: What happened?
Ch: I’m…not sure.
St: It feels a bit like what happened with Cyclonus.
Ch: …LOOKS like it, too.
St: Oh, my God!
The two looked down at the battered bodies of both Decepticons.
Ch: Did we do this?
St: We must have! I guess Skold wasn’t convinced after all…
Ch: I wouldn’t expect her to change her mind, anyway. It’s certainly not as shallow as ‘bot versus ‘con, as easy as it is to think about it that way.
St: If we do pull this off, what are we going to do with them?
Ch: There’s got to be holding pods onboard that starship…if we can commandeer it, we’ll just stuff them in there.
Chromedome looked out at the setting sun on the horizon, and followed the rays up to the Decepticon starship. It hung there in the sky, inert; it almost felt like a natural presence in the Nebulan environment as he looked at it this way.
Then it lurched. The engines roared. Within the span of nanoseconds, the ship was making a rapid descent towards the clearing. It was already at a suborbital height, having gotten lower than it was in Koraja, and the laser weapon turned in Chromedome’s direction. He watched, stupefied, as it got closer. Unsure of what to do next, he took the sword in hand, and a strange feeling washed over him. When he had drifted out during the fight against Cyclonus, he felt a very brief surge of energy flowing through his body, a feeling that vanished as soon as he came back to his senses. Now that same feeling was persisting across his entire body. He thought he felt an added weight somewhere in the back of his cranium. As he stroked his head, he winced when he felt the missing chunk of his helmet on the right side of his head. Any added internal weight would have to be coming from Stylor, he figured, so he dismissed it; perhaps he really was just imagining it.
What Chromedome was not imagining were the arcs of electricity jumping around the surface of his body. Reaching up to his visor, it felt like his eyes were fluidating, but no pseudofluid appeared in his peripheral vision, only more electricity. Air passed in his vents far easier than before; his spark felt like it was radiating around his entire body. Stylor remembered the fringes of a similar feeling, but could see though this surge more clearly. It felt as if it was being mediated, controlled by some independent factor within himself and Chromedome.
St: …Chromedome?
Ch: Yes?
St: Are we going to fight a spaceship?
Ch: Yes.
The Decepticon starship descending to hovering just above the clearing, the white, purple, and cyan paint being blotted out by the magnificent, gilded colors of the sun. Sixshot’s agitated voice boomed from the interior of the vessel through a loudspeaker.
“IF THIS IS HOW THIS IS GOING TO GO, SO BE IT.”
“WHO’S THAT DOWN THERE? CHROMEDOME?”
“AS IF YOU CAN STAND UP TO ME ON YOUR OWN. LET’S SEE HOW MUCH FURTHER THIS TROUNCES YOU!”
The laser weapon on the nose of the cruiser began to hum, getting louder by each nanocycle.
St & Ch: Here goes.
In that moment, there was no separate being between Stylor and Chromedome. Utterly united in their singular goal, survival, their minds lapsed into each other more fully than ever before. The consciousness that emerged piloted the body of Chromedome toward the starship, already weaving before the laser weapon fired. When it did, they did not dive to the side, or away from the ship, but towards it. Moving under the very edge of the laser just as it went off, the heat of the amplified electromagnetic radiation blackened the back of their chassis; there was no reaction, no cry of pain, only the stubborn persistence of two-become-one.
Their greatest shortcoming from the trials of that cycle, their relative sluggishness compared to their perception, was overcome by this wave of energy. With the speed of a fighter jet, they ran up the side of the craft, the sheer velocity keeping them on the smooth metal surface as they rounded the edge of the nose laser. Taking the Great Sword, they stabbed it into the section of the hull that connected it to the rest of the vessel and pushed it along with them as the kept running. Going the full circumference of the ship, Sixshot could only watch as they completed the circle. Pulling the sword free, the ship bowed forward, then flew skyward as the massive weapon fell from the nose, sparing and crashing into the ground below with a thunderous boom.
The starship continued its rapid ascent, a byproduct of the lessened weight of the ship combined with the hover engines. Gradually, it evened out, though Sixshot kept it climbing higher, adjusting the thrusters to do so. The duo in the body of Chromedome stood atop the vessel, sword in hand, staring at the disappearing ground below. Another hissing noise, the sound of creaking metal, and the roaring of a jet engine each pierced the air in a callous staccato; the final Decepticon soared into the air above the vessel as the duo turned their eyes to follow them.
Instead of coming down with a hail of missiles, Sixshot transformed into another of her many modes, a firearm capable of being held and fired by someone else or on her own. Maintaining her flight, likely through some unseen thruster, she opened fire on the duo, peppering them with a torrent of superheated plasma. They ran through the deluge of radiant matter, which melted partway through the hull of the ship. Sixshot transformed again, this time into a tank, and dropped like a brick right over them. If not for the contribution to their speed, the duo would certainly have been crushed, but as they were, they slid out of the zone covered by the shadow of the falling tank. Sixshot slammed into the hull with great force, briefly lifting the duo’s body from the craft with the force of the impact alone.
Sixshot’s main gun blasted, high explosive rounds careening toward the Autobot’s form at extreme speed. The duo stepped between each shot, moving closer to the Decepticon at a brisk walking pace. Sixshot transformed again, now into an off-roader, and sped right at the Autobot with an angry growl screaming out of her engine. The frustration having driven the action, she saw them raise the sword to bring it down on her as she approached. Another transformation, now into her own spacecraft, and she took off above the starship as it climbed even higher. The sky turned from a waning reddish orange into a deep black void covered with stars. Had the vessel not been accelerating upwards the duo’s shared body would probably have been thrown clear of the starship, but they kept their footing through the opposing force beneath them.
Sixshot attempted to dismount the Autobot, firing lasers out of two mounted cannons on her wings, as well as all the rockets she had on hand. The impressive volley was met beat for beat by the duo. The sword spun around on their fingertips, sending the laser bolts flying off into the void and slicing through the rockets, detonating them mere yards from their target. The force of each blast sent them sliding along the surface of the starship; they curved on their heels as they bounced around, as if skating on the hull. Sixshot came down and transformed once more time, this time into a wolf. The metal beast desperately clawed and gnashed at the Autobot, only to have her muzzle slapped away at lightning speed and each swipe blocked by the sword.
Sixshot recovered from the failed offensive and lunged for them. In return, the duo sliced into the hull of the spaceship, the mighty Great Sword cutting into a hole into the ship as they spun around. They dropped into the interior of the ship itself; Sixshot managed to fly into the hole instead of spiraling off into space. Sixshot transformed one last time, back into herself. She turned and stared daggers at the opponent who had bested her so far; she screeched angrily at the Autobot, her words finding no form in the vacuum of the breached starship.
Sixshot charged at Chromedome’s form, and the duo rushed her in turn, pulling the sword back. Sixshot deployed one of her cannons in a partial transformation, blocking a blow from the attacking Autobot. A whirlwind of strikes, afterimages being painted before the dueling Cybertronians against the backdrop of Nebulos. Half a minute of blows were exchanged between them before the speed, control, and temperament of the two-become-one edged the opposition out. With a feinting miss off to her left, the duo managed to make the infuriate Sixshot leave an opening as she went to strike them down. In turn, they levered the back of the blade upwards into her chin, the effortless attack making the metal bands on her neck snap off as she flew up and out of the hole, being dragged into the pull of the planet below. She plummeted to Nebulos, the friction and heat of reentry making her scream in silent agony.
The Autobot hooked themselves to the floor with the sword and climbed to the controls. With a might push on the control stick, the starship began to nose downward. In their hyper-focused state, finding the rich combination of thrusters to invert the thrusters and force reentry was a snap. As the ship began to pierce the atmosphere, a worry, and then a solution, formed in their mind. They swiped through the digital screen listing the ship’s controls and activated a series of emergency procedures. A translucent wall of bluish energy formed over the breach in the hull. The ship hit the harshest part of reentry; what would have torn it apart before was now patched over enough to keep it intact. Through the atmosphere and into the air above the clearing once more. Another rapid-fire series of adjustments on the digital screen, and the ship came to a lurching halt. It stepped above the clearing it had left only minutes prior, the destroyed laser weapon and the inert Bombshell and Skold, still visible outside on the ground. Air rushed back into the starship.
Chromedome felt his mind return to him.
Ch: …Woo…
Ch: We…we did it, Stylor…
Ch: Stylor?
“STYLOR?!”
Chapter 6: Orbit
Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Stylor awoke with a gasping breath.
“AGH! Gah…*cough* Errugh…”
“Oh, thank Primus, you’re alright.”
He was still inside of Chromedome’s head; the latter was laying down on the floor of what looked like the interior of a spaceship, which he quickly realized to be the Decepticon ship. A familiar face looked down at him and Chromedome.
“You alive in there?” Sparkplug asked.
“…What happened?”
“You were in space with no oxygen for about half a minute, as Chromedome tells me.”
“…Seriously? How am I alive?”
“You’re probably just mighty lucky, son. My boy Spike had some close calls, but never something like this.”
“It’s my fault,” Chromedome said with contrite, “All the talk about breathing, and then I almost suffocate you.”
“I’m pretty sure we made whatever choice we did together, Chromedome.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Nah…I’m here, and we WON, right?”
“Seems that way.”
Sparkplug stood up and moved back from the duo.
“Why don’t you stand up and take a walk, Stylor? Must be cramped in there.”
“Um…if I do…”
“Don’t worry about that.”
Sparkplug lifted up a tube running into Chromedome’s chest.
“It’s just a stabilizing current we clamped on to see if it would help you out any. It’ll keep him grounded.”
Chromedome nodded gently.
“Go ahead, Stylor.”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Stylor took a deep breath in and stretched. A portion of his armor was missing from the damage that had been done during their apparent scuffle with Skold. His face had turned beat red, and he felt woozy.
“Hoo…you sure I’m okay?”
Chromedome shrugged.
“We’ll get an organic medical unit on the ship for you before you get out of here.”
“Woof…That’s going to cost a lot. It sounds nice, but…”
“You…might not have to worry about that.”
“Huh?”
Sparkplug beamed at Stylor.
“Look around, son.”
Stylor examined the massive ship. Like Chromedome’s shuttle, it was sized for Cybertronians, with massive doors, chairs, central panels, and more. On the ceiling was a recently welded over hole, and the rest of the ship looked noticeably sparse. Peering over railings further up on the open upper floors of the vessel, it looked to be devoid of almost any paraphernalia or extra technology, holding only the essentials and a couple extras.
“Decepticons travel light?”
Chromedome spoke up.
“No, there were plenty of extra pieces of tech, luxury items, even weapons, all reclaimed for the Autobot cause. And I decided the best use for them…was to thank the one who ensured that I got this far.”
“…What did you do, Chromedome?”
“You were right, your debt was TREMENDOUS. There was a lot here, and we stripped it into different components to sell what we could through the online market here as fast as we could, but…you should make sure to balance your books to account for the fact that you are now a debt-free man.”
Stylor dropped to his knees, stunned. He shuffled around to face Chromedome’s body.
“I told you I was a statistician, didn’t I? I like working with numbers.”
Stylor ran up to the Autobot and hugged his shoulder tightly. Between sniffling breaths, he incessantly thanked Chromedome.
“O-oh…i-is this weird?”
“It’s…a little weird.”
“S-sorry-”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
Stylor released the hug.
“Ah…was there any left over?”
“A little bit. We were going to use some of it for the medical station, like we said, and food and water for you for the trip to Cybertron itself-if, you know…”
“I already said yes. You need me to, right?”
“For my own life, yes.”
“Then of course.”
“…And the rest, I’ll leave to you.”
Stylor was giddy.
“Oh…”
“Stylor?”
“Yes?”
“Stay away from the stock market.”
“Forget the stock market! I’ll open my practice again! Oh, consistent, good income…”
“I’ll get so many nice things! And I’ll get to live!”
“Heh-heh. Good. Just, uh, make sure you keep good track of your patients’ health and not just their wallet depth.”
“I think I did good with you, no? Speaking of…did you find what you were looking for here?”
“Come hop back on.”
Stylor jumped onto Chromedome’s body. Pulling the tube from his chest, Chromedome rose and walked over to a railing overlooking the rest of the interior of the vessel. Down on the floor below them were those containers from the shuttle, intact and ready to go. Alongside them were five massive pods filled with a bluish substance; contained within each one were each of the five Decepticons, in various states of physical distress. Greenlights flashed on and off slowly above the pods.
Ch: They’re all alive, if you’re wondering. Even Cyclonus. Sixshot was especially messed up, but once she’s restored, disarmed and interred, it’ll be good to see her have to deal with the frustration of imprisonment.
One of the containers was flipped open, a single canister of energon missing from the inside. In his mind, Stylor felt a twinge of discomfort from Chromedome as he looked down at the empty spot.
St: You did it, Chromedome.
Ch: I…
St: You did it.
Ch: I still have to get to Cybertron in time, and what if the missing one-
St: Chromedome. You did it.
Ch: I did it.
Ch: …We did it.
Sparkplug walked up behind the duo and cleared his throat.
“There is a problem, actually; I wanted both of you awake before I said it.”
Chromedome turned around, aghast.
“Don’t say that! Don’t say that now!”
“I was looking over the engines with the crew we hired-”
St: You used some of the money to hire a repair crew?!
Ch: Come on Stylor, you can excuse THAT.
St: Hmmph…
“-and those Nebulan boys tell me that something in the main engine, some necessary thing for a ship like this I guess, you see I do cars-”
Chromedome stared worriedly.
“Uh-so, there’s like this particle thing or something, used to generate the energy that drives the thing, and its…decayed? I think they used the word ‘decayed?’”
“Oh…oh no.”
Stylor piped up.
“What’s that mean?”
“It means we can’t get off world until we get a replacement fuel source for the particle emitter. Without a nuclear fuel source…we can’t get something like that soon! And the cost, with what we have left…”
Chromedome gripped his own shoulders anxiously.
“Oh, no, no, not like this!”
Stylor jumped off Chromedome’s neck without warning, holding his arms out to either side of him. He paused for a moment, and then sighed.
“Would californium work?”
Chromedome stood in stunned silence as Stylor lifted his necklace from underneath the armor and displayed it.
“Or do you need me to burn my suit, too?”
Optimus stood on the edge of the Outpost, staring off into the desert. He had arrived at a dead end. The Autobots suffering from the rust parasites had done a valiant job in holding on despite the severity of their condition, but they were reaching their limit. Their forces were spread too thin, stalling for the increasingly desperate hope that Chromedome’s kamikaze run to Earth would be a success. Bumblebee had been getting more and more cynical; they could barely summon the energy to do their rounds around the proximity of the Outpost. He himself had to find moments alone to let off his own frustration without impacting the morale of the rest of the Autobots. Out here, in the quiet of the desert, he felt at peace, even if just briefly. A gentle wind set in around him; he tried to let all the stress flow from his mind.
The billowing increased. It was getting fast, too fast. The Prime craned his neck upward, and all the stress came back. A Decepticon starship was descending directly on top of him.
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Optimus fled back towards the entrance of the Outpost in truck form. At the same time, a squad of bots rushed out and towards him. Bumblebee, Paragon, Hound, Ratchet, and Brainstorm all rushed to join him. In sync, they all changed out of their alt mods, each holding a blaster or a rifle of some variation. Bumblebee tossed Optimus his personal ion blaster; the Prime felt foolish for having left it behind at all. Shoulder to shoulder, they lined up and aimed their rifles at the now landing starship. Hound seemed especially distressed.
“How the hell did our AA not pick it out of the sky?!”
Bumblebee was the one who replied.
“A friendly signature appeared on the computer as it reentered the atmosphere. It used our identify-friend-foe code!”
“They know our bypass codes?!”
Optimus glanced over at Ratchet. The aging doctor was having to pull double time as defense, along with Brainstorm, to make up for the troop shortage.
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be out here for this.”
Ratchet shook his head and smirked, hiding the fear under his boisterous facial expression.
“No, Prime. I wouldn’t die anywhere else than fighting at your side!”
The six Autobots waited in silent anticipation. The starship looked like it had been subjected to some damage; something on the front, likely a weapon, had been destroyed in a scuffle. With a hissing noise, a ramp extended from underneath the ship’s hull. The clanking of footsteps moving down the ramp echoed out from the ship; with one last vent intake, the bots steadied their aim and placed their fingers on the triggers, ready to fire with even a single twitch.
From the ramp exited their ally, their last hope, Chromedome. He looked a bit different, with new shade of paint on his arms and body and a new visor color, and a massive Great Sword on his back. A chunk of his helmet was missing, as if it had been ripped off. The Autobots slowly lowered their weapons. Those who had mouths went slack jawed, stunned into complete silence as they stared at the returning mnemosurgeon. In his hand, he carried something cylindrical, colored dark pink. He stepped up to the stupefied Autobots, held up the cylinder, and pointed over his shoulder back at the ship. The message, though wordless, was clear.
They were saved.
Ratchet laughed excitedly as he snatched the vial of energon out of Chromedome’s hand and shoved it into Brainstorm’s grasp.
“Get this to First Aid and start the treatment of the most severe cases first! Remember the triage! And get the manufacturing started it you can from this sample as well! GO!”
Brainstorm nodded and took off for the Outpost in his alt mode. Ratchet pointed to Bumblebee, Hound, and Paragon.
“You three! Help me get the rest inside! NOW!”
Without another word, they all took off for the ramp; Chromedome lightly grabbed Paragon as he passed and turned to speak to him.
“Cyclonus is in there. Imprisoned. Injured.”
Paragon’s eyes widened. The color drained from them as he began shaking.
“I just thought you should know.”
Paragon slowly nodded, then continued traveling towards the ship, albeit much slower than before. Chromedome turned back to face the Prime. Optimus leaned his head forward.
“Chromedome?”
“All but one of the requested capsules of energon made to treat the rust parasites are here and accounted for, along with five prisoners in cyro-containment in varying levels of physical turmoil. Skold, Cyclonus, Swindle, Bombshell, and Sixshot. If they get cycled through treatment soon enough, they should be good for interrogation. There might be some espionage concerns we need to discuss later, as well.”
Chromedome righted his posture and pushed the last words out with a strained voice.
“Mission accomplished, sir.”
Optimus just stared back, the Prime himself at a loss for words. He looked his solo soldier over, new appearance and all, reading his emotional state as he stood there, deathly still.
“Put a pin in that bit about espionage; we will need to discuss that. Right now, I can tell…you’re wondering how many we’ve lost since you left, aren’t you?”
Chromedome looked the Prime in the eye, trying to keep himself from fluidating.
“A diversion came up that cost me a day’s worth of travel time. I accept responsibility for whomever we lost as a result. I was careless and-”
Optimus placed a hand on Chromedome’s shoulder; his faceplate twisted into the analogue of a gracious, radiant smile.
“Chromedome, we haven’t lost anyone yet, and now we won’t.”
Chromedome trembled as the words met his audio receptors. He abruptly hugged the Prime, burying his face into Prime’s shoulder as the fluidation came on completely. Optimus returned the gesture with no discomfort, patting a hand on Chromedome’s back as he pulled away. Chromedome dragged a finger across the bottom of his visor.
“Ah…oh...oh, thank…”
“Don’t worry about that lost vial. We’ll be able to make more now that we have the energon itself.”
“Yeah…Okay…”
“Excellent job, Chromedome! You’ve made me, made all of us proud!”
Chromedome nodded and gave a salute.
“Thank you, Prime!”
“…But, there’s someone else you should thank, as well.”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
Stylor split off from Chromedome and jumped into his open hand. He took a breath in and extended a hand to the Prime as Chromedome introduced him.
“This organic was vital in making sure the mission was a success.”
Stylor let out an exaggerated exhale.
“Ah! Good air! Hello, Prime! The name’s Stylor! Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Optimus Prime was taken aback at first, but quickly adjusted his tune, welcoming the Nebulan with a nod and a gentle handshake with both hands. As he did, Brainstorm flew back up to them from the Outpost.
“Manufacturing's going to be good to go soon! We-”
His eyes fell on the Nebulan in the hand of his binary bonded partner. Both just stared at each other for a moment as Brainstorm recognized his ideas from his time on Earth made manifest. He didn’t say anything to Stylor.
But he could not stop squealing with delight.
Cheers and earnest thank-yous filled the Outpost as bots approached and passed Chromedome. He acknowledged each of them and spoke to them as long as they needed, but in reality, he was only half-present. His eyes kept drifting back to the doors to Patient Release where the newly recovered kept emerging and reuniting with their friends and loved ones. Optimus had opted to let him keep the Great Sword; he had it standing up on the tip, spinning it around slowly like a gyroscope toy.
He wanted to be present in the moment, happy, for he knew what he had done with Stylor had already created a great deal of good. Soon, they would be able to push back and restart the process of trying to bring the war to a definitive end. But he couldn’t help it; he could only think of one bot right there and then. Until that was resolved, he would be paralyzed with this anxiety. Under the calm, welcoming exterior he was barely maintaining, he was a nervous wreck.
St: Hey.
Ch: …
St: He’s going to be excited to see you.
Ch: I’m excited to see him.
St: I’m proud of you.
Ch: I’m proud of you, too.
Stylor silently chuckled. Chromedome spun the sword faster. Air was exchanging through his face vents rapidly.
St: Breathe.
Ch: I…
St: Slowly.
Chromedome took a long intake, and let it cycle fully. It was soothing; only a little bit so, but enough to be felt. He closed his eyes and stopped spinning the sword.
He heard the doors open once more.
“DOMEY!”
He dropped the sword to the floor and dove to one knee. His circuits and servos were overloaded with elation. The minibot leapt into his arms and hugged him tight, pressing his red faceplate lovingly into Chromedome’s. The bots around them cheered and gave a round of applause; they had been doing so for every patient who walked out cured, but it was especially strong for Chromedome and Rewind. Whether it was for Chromedome’s role in saving them or not did not matter to either of them; all they needed in that moment was each other. Rewind pulled back from the nuzzling for a moment and looked Chromedome in the eyes. Both of them were fluidating; Rewind was giggling.
“What is it?”
“Hee-hee…I like the new visor. We’re matching, now!”
“Heh…I didn’t think about that. You like the matching colors?”
“I do…I do like it.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll keep it then.”
First Aid stepped out from the doors, moving past the two, and picked up the Great Sword from the floor.
“Hoo. That’s heavy.”
She turned to Chromedome and Rewind. The mnemosurgeon stood up, carrying the minibot on one arm. He took the sword from her and mounted it on his back.
“I think today’s been the best day of my medical career. You don’t often see recovery rates overtake death tolls in times like these.”
“I’m happy to hear that, First Aid.”
“I don’t want to be rude, but you’re kind of blocking the doorway.”
“Oh, that’s not rude at all, don’t worry. Let Brainstorm, Perceptor and I know when Wheeljack’s back on his feet, yeah?”
“Of course! Stay safe, you two!”
Chromedome and Rewind waved to First Aid and started walking away from Patient Release. Strolling through the Outpost together, the minibot up on the mnemosurgeon’s arm, Rewind put his head on Chromedome’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Chromedome’s neck.
“I heard about everything that you did.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ll be honest, I was angry when you left for Earth.”
“Really? Why?”
“I guess I had given up on myself. I thought these were going to be my last days, and instead of spending them as close together as we could, you had ran off to get yourself killed chasing some false hope. I know that sounds horrible, but…I just wanted to be next to you before I went.”
“…I’d probably say the same thing if our roles were reversed. Don’t worry about it, and don’t apologize. I should be the one who apologizes to you.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Why? Rewind, I almost got you killed! If you had stayed with Brainstorm, you would have been fine. Instead, you almost died, because I wanted you in my sight during a bombing run.”
“Domey…”
“It’s not okay! Don’t say that it’s okay! It-it’s just not-”
“Chromedome.”
Rewind only ever used his full name when he wanted to make it absolutely clear that he was being serious.
“…Yes?”
“Do you trust me?”
“With everything that I am.”
“Then why wouldn’t me saying it’s okay be enough for you?”
“I…it wouldn’t feel right to me.”
“I’m my own person, Chromedome, I know you respect that.”
“Of course!”
“Then listen…”
They had stopped at a window in the lower levels of the Outpost, looking out over a canyon that this section of the base had been built into.
“What happened to me would have happened to others anyway. I would be as good as dead no matter where I was if that attack led to us ultimately being overrun and defeated. Someone would have to have done what you did to save us no matter what, and if I was a good motivator for you to do this incredible thing, then…good. I say that’s good.”
“I…don’t want to sell this short, but I’d like to say that I was fighting for all Autobots. You included, of course; you’re at the top of the list, always. But…”
“That’s good, too. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you…thank you for holding on long enough for me to get back.”
“I waited four million years for you to get back from Earth. What was a week or so in comparison?”
“I’m lucky to have someone so patient.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I love you, Rewind.”
“I love you too, Domey.”
The lovers looked out into the Canyon; some bots in aerial alt modes flew by, racing each other through the canyon in their off time. One of them was Powerglide; Chromedome swore he saw him tilt knowingly towards the window as he passed.
“So, Domey, what did you have in mind for what to do next?”
“I was going to stick around until the medical center is back in order, help Brainstorm with something…I have some things I need operated on.”
“Injuries?”
“Something like that.”
Rewind reached up and brushed the broken part of Chromedome’s helmet.
“Are you going to be okay?”
Chromedome opened a compartment on his person and pulled out his still loose transformation cog.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Rewind winced.
“AAH! How did that happen?!”
“Impromptu surgery by a human.”
“WHAT?!”
“Oh, that’s not even- actually, now that I think about it, I should mention…I’m probably going to get the needles taken out while I’m under, as well.”
“…What? Really?”
“Yeah, I figure if I’m ever going to do it, this would be the time. I can contribute in other ways…and I know you don’t like it. So, I guess it’s my last apology to you? I know you probably don’t like that, but it’s important to you, I know, so-”
Rewind scrambled up Chromedome’s arm and embraced him. Though his Conjunx couldn’t see it, his visor was shut tight. He pressed his faceplate into Chromedome’s neck; his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Thank you.”
Chromedome put his free hand on Rewind’s back.
“Anything for you.”
“That’s very sweet, Chromedome.”
The third voice came from seemingly nowhere. Rewind detached from the hug and looked around, confused.
“What? Where did that come from? Who was that?”
“I…forgot you were there.”
“Bet you won’t make that mistake, again.”
Rewind pressed his hand against Chromedome’s head, bewildered.
“What is going ON?”
“If the cog got to you, you’re going to love this.”
“TSCHE-CHU-CHU-CHE-TSCHE”
“AH!”
Stylor stood atop Chromedome’s body and pointed a finger at the startled Rewind.
“Hey there! My name’s Stylor. I’ve heard a lot about you, Rewind.”
“Y-yeah?”
“You picked a good one.”
FIN
gestaltopinions on Chapter 1 Tue 11 Apr 2023 04:40PM UTC
Comment Actions