CHAPTER TWO
--The Lost Light--
"Radio silence. That's all I'm getting."
Ultra Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Can we not go on one mission without something going wrong?"
"Well, what did you expect from bringing a Decepticon along?" Blaster said wryly. "I'm pretty sure the Nova Cronum Neocybex Dictionary has 'Decepticon' as a synonym for trouble."
"It doesn't," Magnus muttered.
"So what do we do?" Drift asked. "Do we send in a rescue team or what?"
"We wait," Magnus said, after a moment of contemplation. "They could be in an area where communication is not possible. Let's give them thirty minutes before heading down there."
Drift folded his arms. "I say twenty. Like Blaster said, a Decepticon in a team of Autobots can only mean trouble--"
"Ironic statement of the cycle, right there," Blaster interjected.
"--So I'm more willing to bet that they've walked into some sort of trap. The sooner we find out for sure -- whether from Rodimus or not -- the better."
Magnus sighed reluctantly. "Very well. Twenty minutes it is. Then we decide whether or not to panic."
--Elsewhere--
Right away, Rodimus knew he was living a nightmare.
The first thing that tipped him off was the location: Ki-Aleta. The planet that was allegedly home to the fabled relic known as the Magnificence. The last time he set foot on that planet had been over a hundred years ago and he had since sworn to never visit it again.
Second were the bots he was with: Backbeat, Download, and Gizmo. Three of the bots assigned to his unit. For all intents and purposes, there was no way he could be seeing them all here together (unless someone was pranking him with a time machine briefcase).
And third, of course, were the first words that came out of Gizmo's mouth as the white mech looked to him.
"Hot Rod, the holomatter projector is up and running."
Rodimus cringed at this. Hot Rod. Hate that.
When he did not immediately respond to Gizmo, Rodimus felt a slap on the back from Backbeat. "Hey, Cybertron to Hot Rod," the brown bot said. "You reading us?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah. Loud and clear," Rodimus said, fumbling for words. "On to the next stage of the plan. Does everyone know the plan?"
All three mechs nodded.
"Well, I don't believe you. Let's run through it one last time to make sure. Download?"
Rolling his optics, Download said, "Gizmo's set up the holomatter avatars to distract the Omega Guardians at the bunker. Once Backbeat's finished creating the tunnel, you and I will go through it to get into the bunker. Then we get the Magnificence -- if it's there -- and get out of there."
"Correct," Rodimus said. "All right. Good. Glad we have that all clear."
"Um, not everything's clear," Gizmo said, suddenly looking concerned as he fiddled with the projector. "The weather's jamming transmissions. The avatars are shorting out."
Rodimus felt his spark skip a pulse. This was it. This was where everything went down.
The ground shook. All four Autobots looked towards the distance.
The Omega Guardians were on their way.
* * *
Everywhere she looked, bright colors flashed and bots of all sorts of shapes and sizes danced to upbeat music. Sights toke these took her way back to her earlier years back on Caminus. Back then, she didn't know about concepts like war or death. But were was one thing she had felt back then that she still felt to this day.
Melancholy.
And here, she felt it worse than ever before.
Naughty Nautica. That's what they used to call her. Naughty Nautica -- for being less interested in the performing arts than expected of most Camiens. If it weren't for the few bots who accepted her for who she was, she would have forever been a social outcast. And that was exactly the case here.
Lights shone everywhere except for where she sat. Those she had once thought her friends had long since abandoned her. And all she could hear over the blaring music was that stupid name.
Naughty Nautica. Naughty Nautica.
She held her head in her hands and silently screamed.
Slag off, dreams.
* * *
This had to be, in Whirl's opinion, the lamest nightmare ever.
Sure, to the average mech, the things he was seeing now would come as frightening: seeing bots with multiple spindly arms and freakishly large grins, cackling at you as they tore off your face and hands, while voices in your head taunted and mocked you.
But he was used to this. This was his life. If this was supposed to be torture, then he could not wait to wake up so he could show whoever was doing this what torture was really all about. The only problem was actually waking up.
The trouble with dreams was that you almost never had control over them; they simply just happened. But Whirl was the assertive type. If he couldn't have his way, then there was chaos to pay.
As the scene of his empurata procedure replayed again for the nth time, Whirl took control of the one aspect of the dream that he could: his voice.
"Tell me," he said to the two Heavies as they dragged him towards what was dubbed the Mutilation Chamber. "What's black and purple all over?"
Neither of them gave him a response. Not that he was expecting one.
"I'll give you a hint: it has something to do with a friend of mine. He's big, green, and angry. Incredible, too. You wouldn't like him when he's angry."
Still nothing. He really hoped this was going to work.
"What if I told you that this friend of mine is standing right behind that door, ready to hand you your exhaust pipes?"
"I'm sure," grunted the Heavy known as Anvil.
Whirl grinned with the face he had so long missed. "Good...."
The chamber door slid open and standing there, armed to the teeth, was Roadbuster.
"Because so am I."
* * *
Ratchet could not decide whether or not it was time panic.
No more than a minute ago, he had been with Rodimus and the others, exploring the horrors within the Decepticon-captured Garrus-16 facility. The next thing he knew, he was being dragged away into the darkness, not even getting the chance to cry out for help.
Where he was no, he had no clue; the room was pitch-black and he could hardly move. He could hear what sounded like movement and was almost certain that who or whatever it was with him was larger than the average Cybertronian.
Suddenly, a bright light went on, shining directly into his face. Once his optics had adjusted to it, Ratchet saw who exactly was with him. And it was the very last person he ever wanted to see again for the rest of his life.
"Pharma?" he exclaimed in a mix of disdain and incredulity.
The rogue Autobot greeted him with a wicked grin. "Long time no see, Ratchet. How's life been treating you?"
Ratchet scowled at him. "At the moment? Horribly."
Pharma feigned a wince. "Ouch. Tongue still sharp as a scalpel. We ought to do something about that little attitude of yours. Thankfully, my friend is lots of laughs."
As if on cue, a large shape slithered into Ratchet's perspective. Built with a serpentine form, the gold and orange Decepticon looked down at the restrained medic with menacing eyes, dangerous-looking medical tools, and a mile-wide grin.
The shrill laughter was the last thing Ratchet heard before darkness consumed him once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment