CHAPTER FOUR
--The past--
It had been a whole two days and Skids still wasn't sure how this plan was going to work.
It had sounded simple at first: he and his partner would let themselves get captured by the Decepticons and be taken to Grindcore. Once there, they would find a way to shut down the prison's defenses, allowing Thunderclash's forces to dive in and "bring the rain."
But with the two of them in separate cells, Skids was no longer sure how he and his partner were going to accomplish this without being in contact with one another. Then again, the chief surely had to have been prepared for such a scenario. Maybe his partner had been given directions he hadn't and he was just extra muscle.
Skids wasn't sure how he felt about that. With skills like his, he figured he would be in the fore run for a mission like this.
Sighing to himself, the special agent looked around his cells. Other than the graffiti on the walls, the only thing of note was a giant white electron microscope. He wasn't sure why the Decepticons would have such a thing in a cell, but given all the other things he had seen so far at this god-forsaken prison, he decided not to question it.
Huffing in exasperation, Skids sat himself against the wall and absent-mindedly placed a hand on the microscope, causing it to yell out.
"Don't hurt me!"
Skids cried out and jumped to his feet, assuming a defensive position. Upon realizing that the microscope was more than just that, he relaxed himself and regarded the device. "You're a bot."
"No, I'm just your average talking microscope," was the sarcastic reply. "Yes, of course I'm a bot. The Decepticons like to have their fun and thought keeping me in my alt mode would be hilarious."
"Ah. Yeah, they seem to have a rather sick sense of humor." Skids knelt down before the microscope, rubbing his chin as he studied it. "How long have you been here?"
"I... spark, I've lost track of the time. Since the Fall of K'th Kinsere."
"K'th Kinsere?" Skids blinked in surprise. "That was over seven hundred years ago."
"Oh. Well, there you have it. I guess even our caretakers have forgotten about me -- otherwise, I'd likely have been tortured to death by now."
Silence fell between the two for a moment. Then, the microscope said, "Are you still there?"
"Hmm? Yeah, I'm just working."
"Working--?" Suddenly, the microscope yelped. "Hey! What are you doing?!"
"Sorry." Standing up, Skids took a step back from the microscope. "Go ahead and transform."
"Transform? But... the inhibitor spike...."
"Don't worry, I took care of it."
The microscope did nothing at first. Then, with some hesitation, it rearranged its parts and took on the form of a white and blue mech. He wobbled for a minute as he stood on legs that had gone unused for seven centuries. After finally righting himself, he adjusted the yellow spectacles that covered his optics as he looked at Skids.
"Remarkable. How did you manage that? Those things aren't exactly made to be removable."
"I saw one up close and figured out how they worked," Skids said, holding up the offending item that he had extracted. "I'm an outlier. That's my trick: I can easily adapt or adopt skills just by seeing them at play."
"Fascinating," the mech said. "Best keep that to yourself though. If the commandant were to hear about your skills, he would--"
He was abruptly cut off by the sound of music, emitting from a speaker situated overhead. The mech grimaced. "Speak of the devil."
"That music," Skids murmured, listening closely to the notes. "I recognize this piece."
"I should hope so, if that Matrix tattoo on your cheek is anything to go by. It's the song of the Citadel of Light. The ode to Prima. The Empyrean Suite."
--Present--
"Bored." Tonk. "Bored." Tonk. "Bored." Tonk.
Cyclonus gritted his teeth, red optics flashing. "Would you please shut up?"
Whirl craned his head up to look at the ex-Herald. "I'm sorry. Did I invite you to join me up here?"
"No. I was already up here. You're the one who joined me."
"Oh yeah." Laying his head back down, Whirl continued to hit it against the metal hull he was stretched out upon. "You know, nothing's stopping you from leaving. Not just here but, like, in general."
Cyclonus said nothing, returning his gaze to the open expanse of stars that surrounded them.
"I mean, what exactly is keeping you with us? You've had plenty of opportunities to stay behind on whatever planet we dropped off at. Hedonia, Earth, even old Cybertron, but you stayed with us anyway."
The silence continued. So did Whirl with the head hitting. Cyclonus prayed that he would eventually get a concussion from doing so.
"Unless...." Whirl stopped for a moment, staring up at the stars. "Unless you're waiting until you kill me."
Cyclonus did not reply, nor did he meet Whirl's gaze as the Wrecker turned his head to him.
"That's still our thing, right? The whole 'I'm gonna kill you one day' thing. Of course, that was all you. I didn't actually agree to it. So doesn't that kind of make it unofficial?"
Cyclonus sighed but still did not give Whirl the satisfaction of answering him. After a moment, the spindly blue mech sat up, turning around fully to look at his purple companion.
"Tell you what. How about we call the whole thing off right now and you can leave to wherever you darn well please. Then, if anyone asks where you had gone, I can tell them you tried to kill me and I scared you away with my unvincible Wrecker skills. That way, Rodimus will have a reason to never welcome you back and I'll be Cyclonus-free. That sound fair?"
Without warning Cyclonus suddenly got to his feet. Whirl did the same, readying himself in a fighting stance.
"Oh, you'd rather do it for reals? Fine by me. Give me your best shot, gramps."
Cyclonus raised a finger to silence him, a disquieted look on his face. "I hear voices," he murmured.
"Um, we're in space," Whirl said. "You can't hear anything in space -- unless it's on your personal radio."
"I know. That's what I'm saying. I'm picking up something on my line. Something... familiar." Cyclonus raised his gaze to the stars, an alien feeling in his spark. It felt frightingly similar to the foolish concept known as hope. Quietly, to himself, at a volume Whirl could not hear, the former Herald of Unicron said, "Scourge?"
--The past--
"I'm Quark, by the way."
"Hmm?" Skids looked up from the floor. "Oh. Skids. Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise." The white mech sat down next to Skids, folding his arms over his lap. "So how did you wind up here?"
Skids thought twice before answering. Although Quark was a fellow Autobot, he couldn't deem him trustworthy enough to let in on his mission. Quickly, he thought up a cover story.
"I was on Dalos One trying to defuse an anti-personal mine."
Quark raised an optic. "Anti-personal mine?"
"Yeah, they're... well, they're mines that are, er, alive. The 'Cons take an Autobot's head -- brain module and all -- and wire them up to explosive components. In order to diffuse them, you have to shut their brain off. But you also have to keep them from panicking or having any sort of emotional response. Otherwise... boom."
"How barbaric," Quark said bitterly.
Suddenly, a voice came from outside the cell. "Barbaric, yes, but then, would you expect any less from us?"
Both mechs froze in shock, staring at the door. The sounds of footsteps could be heard, getting closer and closer. Quark quickly returned to his original spot and transformed to his microscope form.
"It's him!" he hissed. "It's the commandant!"
"That voice," Skids murmured. "I know that voice. It's--"
The door raised up and the commandant of Grindcore stepped into the cell, his hulking frame barely fitting through the doorway. Stopping before Skids, the commandant looked upon the Autobot through the eyes of his mask, which was shaped to resemble the Decepticon insignia he also bore on his chest.
Extending a hand to Skids, the commandant said, "Hello, Skids. It's been a long time."
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