CHAPTER EIGHT
--Carcer--
Skids stood before the door to the room where Rung and Ariel were, his hand centimeters from the control panel. It refused to go any further, no matter how much he willed it.
Oh, come the slag on. Skids fumed internally. Things just kept getting better and better for him.
"What's the matter, Skids?" Rapid Run's voice carried to his audio sensors as she approached him from behind. "Got cold feet all of a sudden?"
"Is this some kind of joke?" Skids growled. "Because it's not funny in the least."
"Oh, lighten up." Skids felt the Camien brush her hand against his shoulder, which was not a comforting gesture in the least. "I never got the chance to tell you about myself before you ran off like that."
"No offense, but I've kind of got more important things to attend to," Skids said through gritted teeth. "You can always tell me later."
"I don't think I'll ever have the time," Rapid Run replied. "So might as well get it over with now. Do you know when I was forged?"
"I really need to see Rung, Rapid Run. Please let me move again."
"Cycle 9814. That date mean anything to you?"
"That...." Skids blinked. "That was just last year. You mean to tell me you've only been online for a year?"
"Six months actually. I've had to have my documents faked to make myself appear older so I could get... well, anywhere up the ladder, really. I'm a very impatient femme, you see."
Six months. Skids frowned in consternation as he focused on these two words. Six months ago would have been when Unicron was vanquished and his Heralds were defeated, although he couldn't think of any connection that would have to Rapid Run's creation.
"There's something else about me that most people don't know," the Camien went on. "I have memories of events that I know happened well before I was forged. A lot of them aren't even of Caminus, but of other worlds -- planets I've never even been to.
"But there is one memory in particular -- one I remember every day -- that jut... haunts me. Chills me to my very core."
She leaned in to speak softly into Skids' ear.
"Tell me, Skids... have you ever been to Grindcore?"
Skids' optics went wide as a dam burst in his databanks and everything came flooding back in.
--The past--
Skids glared at the Decepticon commandant, who stared back impassively. A long, tense silence passed between the two until the latter finally spoke again.
"My, I sense a strong air of hostility. Is there something wrong, Skids? Are you not pleasantly surprised by my appearance?"
"You're a Decepticon," Skids said grimly.
"Am I?" The commandant looked down at himself, observing his dark color scheme and deadly armature. "Hmm. How interesting. Thank you for pointing that out."
"What do you want, Damus?" Skids asked, not at all in the mood for any games.
"Ah, straight to the point as always. That's the Skids I know." Damus chuckled as he folded his arms. "I have a favor to ask of you."
"The answer is no. Frag off."
"My, my, such hostility! Not quite the Skids I know now. Besides, you don't even know what the favor is."
"Knowing you Decepticons, I know it can't be anything good," Skids retorted. "Even if it's something as simple as fixing your engex distillery, I refuse to do anything for you disgusting, godforsaken savages."
Damus sighed dramatically. "How unfortunate. And here your partner was hoping you would stick out for him."
Skids blinked. "What...?"
Damus then stepped aside to reveal a crimson Decepticon standing behind him, holding a beaten up purple and yellow mech.
"Doubleface!" Skids cried out in alarm.
Doubleface only buzzed in response, his vocal processor damaged. Damus then turned back to Skids, a sadistic gleam in his optic.
"So... about that favor."
--Present--
Skids forced himself to come out of the memory, returning to the here and now. He was still frozen at the door, with Rapid Run standing dangerously close to him.
"How," he said, "can you remember Grindcore? How do you even know I was there?"
"Because I was right there with you," Rapid Run whispered to him. "I was with you all the way. Together we braved the fires of Vulcanus Minor, warded the seas of Hydrophena, and parted the clouds of Nimbus Six. From the living graves of Tenebris Necro to the spiraling nebulae of the Omni Expanse, I've been by your side."
"But... that wasn't you," Skids murmured. "That was--"
Six months ago he killed Rollbar, his partner after Doubleface.
Six months ago Rapid Run was forged, at the same time as Rollbar's death.
Rapid Run remembered everything Skids had been through with both Rollbar and Doubleface.
Rollbar had in actuality been the Unicron agent Sideways.
All of a sudden, Skids felt very stupid.
"So," he said, his voice very quiet. "I guess that gunshot to the head didn't do much good, did it?"
"Well, it certainly did the job," Rapid Run said. "But you see, I'm not the kind of being you can kill for good. Destroy one of my bodies and I'll simply find another one."
"But why bother this time?" Skids asked. "Unicron is gone. You Heralds no longer have a reason to exist as a group. I mean, Cyclonus has already moved on. Why can't you be like him?"
Rapid Run made a derisive sound. "Ugh, who would ever want to be like him? The only reason he was ever one of us was because Galvatron liked to play favorites. But I digress; you want to know why I'm telling you any of this, don't you?"
"It would certainly help me make sense of the past thirty minutes," Skids muttered.
Rapid Run chuckled. "Well, in that case, I only have two words for you."
Again, she leaned into his ear, and now more than ever did Skids wish he could move again so he could punch the Camien in the face.
"Unicron lives."
Skids was not given even a microsecond to digest what she had said before everything went black.
* * *
"Hey! Where do you guys keep your guns?"
The green and beige Carcerian guarding the armory jolted as he was awoken from his stasis nap. Standing before him was a spindly blue mech wearing an Autobot badge -- no doubt one of the Cybertronian visitors they received yesterday.
Readjusting his optics, the guard said, "Can I help you?"
"Sure you can," Whirl said. "You can show me where you keep your guns."
The guard frowned. "Why do you want to know?"
"My not-friend is getting into a fight with his not-friend outside. I want to join in but I can't fight without guns. Can you lend me some guns? Like, all of them?"
"Wait, back up: you say there's a fight going on outside? Like... a fight-fight?"
"Well, it sure was heating up like one, although I may have contributed to that a bit. So can I have some guns?"
Ignoring the request, the guard raised a hand to his comm. "Wingblade to all units. We appear to have a fight brewing on our premises. Dispatch to all exterior sectors."
"Aw, no, don't bring the authorities in!" Whirl whined. "That ruins all the fun. I just want some guns."
Wingblade raised his hand at him. "You shut up and come with--"
"Hey, your hand is a gun," Whirl said, eyeing the Carcerian's barrel-like hand. "Can I borrow it?"
Wingblade blinked. "What--?"
Without warning, Whirl tore off his arm from its socket with remarkable ease, eagerly running back down the way he had come. It took Wingblade a minute to register what had happened before he ran after the ex-Wrecker.
"Hey! Get back here! Get back!"
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