Fic! Renewal, Part Ten
Title: Renewal
Series: Transformers Movie 2007, now with just a pinch of RotF
Rating: PG (violence)
Characters: Ironhide, Motormaster;
Chromia, Elita (before she got her "1"), Cliffjumper, Magnus (before he became Ultra), Sunstorm
Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to horsetechie, beckyh2112, and padisharlupine for their involvement in the Seeker Brothers Quest arc in the former TFBlogs RPG, and the fantastic Dreamtime storylines that resulted. | There is a flashback here that is a follow-up to the one-shot ficlet "P.O.W." | Please forgive any geographical inaccuracies. Google Search is my friend, but I wholly embrace the "fictional" part of fan fiction. ^^;
Special Thanks also to padisharlupine for beta reading this chapter and helping to clear up a trouble spot. :)
Special Note for Lonegamer8: Not quite Aokigahara, but you had the correct hemisphere. =)
Renewal - Part Ten
The ship docked at Melbourne in the early morning. It would be a while before the mid cargo was removed, so Ironhide merely flexed his treads and waited. He really wanted to break the chains holding him in his parking space and transform to work out the kinks he had felt setting in over the past week on top of the other two weeks of inactivity, but he was too close now to give himself away. Another hour or two, and then he and his escort would be on the way to her hotel where they would go over the schedule again. The technicalities of their vacation had been covered by the government, all they had to do was keep secret that an Autobot had crossed international borders not in pursuit of a Decepticon.
As it so happened, he had to wait an extra day to charge his fuel reserves. Even though he hadn't moved, he'd had to keep certain systems online, and sitting in the dark for so long lent nothing to the solar power converters. At least he was able to sneak away that night and find a hiding place to transform. His joints creaked loudly and he had to bang on his right leg's upper panels to get them to slide completely into place. He was alert for anyone who may have heard, although when he was certain no one was coming he tested his joints a little more. Once satisfied, he stood and was content to look out at the star-filled sky.
An hour before dawn he returned to the hotel, parking exactly where he had been before. They would go sightseeing that day, allowing his converters to start on full capacity storage, then part ways that evening. By the time the sun was setting Ironhide had decided he would like to tour the city more when he returned.
He went north, a three day journey ahead of him. He did most of his driving at night and found areas to walk around or park and collect a solar charge during the day. Ratchet's modifications were turning out to be an excellent idea. He never once experienced fatigue and felt better than he had in decades. With miles of uninhabitable land all around he had no worries of being seen, either.
He arrived at his destination two hours before sunrise. His holomatter driver was already in place. There were groups of tourists here and there. When he stopped to park, his driver got comfortable with a nondescript book. If anyone tried to be companionable or just plain curious -- and happened to be tall enough to look inside -- they would see a backpack and camping supplies in the passenger seat.
When dawn approached he projected his driver getting out and, although remaining close to the truck, had a camera at the ready. However, Ironhide joined the other spectators with his vehicle mode sensors as the sun began to rise and Uluru flared with breathtaking color. From the darkness of night it emerged, dull crimson at first then becoming a brilliant bright red the higher the sun rose.
Again he spent the daylight hours parked, remembering to have his driver appear to eat and drink, and wander to the free standing facilities every few hours. Meanwhile, he listened to the other tourists conversing. Much of it was about the land, the natural monument, the two names, the cultural significance, and where they had each come from and why they had wanted to see the great wonder. Some of their reasons were like his own.
At sunset the glorious show of color repeated. Bright red again, then fading slowly, yet a glow seemed to remain around the great rock formation. As the stream of visitors thinned, some headed for the nearby hotels, others to their chosen campgrounds, Ironhide shifted into gear and began to drive the circuit around Ayer's Rock, searching for a certain spot.
There was a way inside. As night fully settled, Uluru giving off the faintest of violet light, he found it.
~*~
Uneven tunnels and caves of assorted sizes turned out to be a maze going nowhere. There was no apparent continuity to it, and his internal map, edited as he went along, indicated overlapping or perpendicular tunnels when that was not how he was traversing them. He thought he had been prepared for anything that might happen, but the maze had been unexpected; of course, the deepest place inside the monolith was legend and scientific theory. No geologists or non-Aborigne had gone that way.
It was also unlike any cave environment he had experienced, and he had explored countless ones on so many worlds. The air was cool and felt clean cycling through his ventilation system. No matter how close the walls came he felt like he was in open space. It didn't click with his logic center, yet at the same time it seemed right. He knew not where precisely he was going; he trusted his steps to guide him.
At some point he lost track of time. His fuel cells were still at a more than adequate level yet he decided to sit for a little while. He came across a small side cavern that looked like a good spot and transformed to park for an hour or two. He reviewed his internal map, certain he could find his way back despite the knots in his marked trail. He drifted off down the datastream that formed one tunnel's dimensions then entered full recharge mode.
However, it felt all too soon that he woke, and a sudden wary instinct kicked in. The same walls surrounded him, the one entrance to the cave laying dark and empty. He watched carefully for moving shadows as he turned on his headlights. There was nothing by the opening nor immediately near in the tunnel beyond. He changed to robot mode and returned to the maze, again trying to map it all, and ending up confounded by the geology.
Once more time escaped him as he moved, leaving him unsure how long it had been since he first left the small cave to when he arrived at a large cavern that had numerous tunnel openings at uneven intervals piercing it, various sized stalagmites and stalactites scattered throughout. He looked around, matching each entrance with its opposite across the way, and muttered aloud, "Earth's nature is fond of games."
His voice rumbled about the cave and down the tunnels in repetitive echoes. With a quieter grumble he started toward the opposite side of the tunnel he had exited, keeping close to the wall in order to bounce a quick scan down each one.
As he reached the halfway point he noticed there were indentations in the wall. Shining his lights across them revealed that they were actually markings, familiar and... He stopped and peered in disbelief at an impossible engraving. It was the top three quarters of the Autobot symbol atop the lower half of the Decepticon emblem. The other markings became clear. Ancient Cybertronian. He quickly scanned them and packaged the data to send to the Ark and Autobase. Yet before transmitting he reached up to trace the fingers of his left hand over a line of symbols. He was reminded of the first time Chromia had brought him to one of the temples on Cybertron, after his liberation from the war plant...
Suddenly he heard a noise that came from within the wall. He hastily drew his hand back in case he had accidentally triggered a trap -- foolish of him to have touched it in the first place. He berated himself for not scanning deeper first. The noise repeated, and he considered the possibility of a tunnel running parallel to the wall that his scan bounces hadn't reached. He leaned a little closer to try to pick it up better and define what material was involved.
Something flat and metal cleaved through the rock just beside his head, barely missing a horn. Ironhide quickly pulled back as another vertical strike broke away the stone where his other side had just been. He grunted and staggered back on the uneven floor in surprise. Next a massive fist punched through the middle, sending chunks of stone flying. Ironhide guarded his face with his arms and tried to catch a glimpse of the figure in the darkness behind the wall -- someone who was now kicking away the lower part of it, the carvings disappearing into the rubble in almost an exact replay of one particular battle at the Temple of Nova Cronum on Cybertron.
He steadied himself, the illumination from his headlights gleaming off the object that had cut through the wall. A long sword, gripped in the hand of a mech who was taller than him. Ironhide rumbled in double annoyance, first at the interruption and second at the fact that a Decepticon had inexplicably found him here.
He also hoped that it was only a Decepticon instead of several. One Stunticon was more than enough.
Motormaster climbed out of the hole he had made, needing to lean over to get through, and when he straightened up his head almost brushed the ceiling. That led Ironhide rule out Menasor even if the other Stunticons were around. He also wasn't wearing the additional armor used to form the gestault -- which would make it slightly less difficult to fight him. Motormaster stepped toward the Autobot, slapping the flat of the sword's blade against his palm. "So this is where you crawled off to, hey, Ironhide? Not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."
"I am not lost," Ironhide shot back before he could stop the words. "What are you doing here?"
"We have been looking for you. You are missing the great wave of change out there. Skirmishes on all fronts, destruction as far as the optic can scan, defectors that know who the winning side will be. We own the skies and land and even the sea. You are a worthy soldier, Ironhide, built for the exact same cause. You know it's in your programming, it's in your codes." Motormaster leaned in close. Ironhide didn't so much as blink. "Hardwired. You will never be able to delete and purge it, and you can't fulfill your designated function wandering around like an unformatted drone." He gestured around the cavern for emphasis. "So decide. Be what you were built to be. Or be lost for eternity."
"I already said... I am NOT lost!" Ironhide's optics flared and he shoved the Decepticon backward toward the hole in the wall. He crouched immediately afterward and took stock of his tactical options. Caves had never been his favorite terrain. Explosions tended to trigger cave-ins.
Motormaster's head struck the top section he'd had to duck under earlier, but it didn't slow him down. He was right back to his feet three seconds later. "Then I shall finish what I began with your optic!"
It was Nova Cronum all over again.
As Ironhide stood up straight to face the challenge, right in front of his visual sensors he saw the walls of the Temple of Nova Cronum rise up from the cavern's floor, lifting high and taking the cavern's ceiling with them, creating a much more massive and open space. The stalactites disappeared with the distance, and the stalagmites were absorbed downward into the floor as it smoothed out into metal tiles. The tiles were imprinted with aspects from each side of the Allspark.
He would have attributed the sight to a battle simulation hologram, perhaps projected by Motormaster -- or any hidden Decepticon that was with him -- but it was far too vivid. The smells and the innate energy surrounding the place were real.
He darted a quick glance around, and when he looked toward where Motormaster had been standing, the Decepticon was gone. He hastily spun, but there was no sign of him.
Something new then happened to the floor. Ironhide blinked and peered, trying to make it out. Various liquidy gray shapes were rising, like a flow of molten metal into a mold. Some stayed fluid and darkened into spatters of oil or became the lighter color of lubricant. Rubble from destroyed walls and broken pieces of plating formed, too. Ironhide recalled that on that day Motormaster hadn't been the only one to break through a wall, and there had been many Cybertronians inside who did not have any defensive capabilities. They would have been wiped out if there hadn't been a team of warriors visiting.
Ironhide felt himself being pulled backward, an indefinable feeling akin to floating but on an ethereal level. He saw the walls repair themselves, the other debris fading until the floor was pristine.
His memory of what was to come faded with it. At that moment he was entering the Temple for the first time, and all of the initial feelings were fresh and new.
He gazed up at the sigil-covered lintel, feeling a sense of awe that he hadn't known he possessed. He had never seen anything like it before. Up until three days ago he had only seen the inside of a battle manufacturing plant -- aside from an unscheduled trip to a warehouse one night.
"Ironhide, this way." Chromia stood by a statue of one of their ancestors, beckoning to him, yet her tone was soft, respectful of this new experience and not intending to rush him.
He nodded and followed, glancing up at the statue as he passed. He couldn't help wondering how the ancients transformed and what type of weapons they were armed with. Their exostructures, or at least this one's, did not appear to accommodate either one. There was a name on the plinth but it was in the ancient language, not included in his database. He glanced at Chromia as they walked together down a wide passageway with a high ceiling. "Can you read it?" He gestured to the walls and the next statue in the line of six.
"No. I wish I could. I believe our ancestors had plans for our future that did not include civil war and planetary conquest." She stopped and touched the wall. "These may even be messages meant to be passed from one generation to the next, but the knowledge to read them went with the Primes who left to explore other worlds, and soon even their descendants forgot. Our current Prime says we should continue to guard them. One day someone might be able to translate them."
Ironhide grunted, an attempt at agreement with the possibility, but not able to make the information factor in his processor. Data that no one could analyze was useless. The building itself could make a decent fortress, he decided, and the secondary goal could be to protect the carvings. He forced himself to keep that comment to himself and tried to see the statues of the ancients as his own forebears.
He emitted a few involuntary, frustrated utterances as he stopped before another statue. He could feel Chromia's gaze on him. He jerked his head around, expecting to see pity, but instead she looked patient, understanding. He felt an undefined twinge in his spark and hastily looked upward again. For three days she had been gently prodding him to explain what exactly had led him to start the riot at the manufacturing plant. He knew she wanted him to say something like a change of spark, but he was uncertain what a change of spark was supposed to feel like. He had thought of it as the logical thing to do after seeing how many war machines like himself were being built, and picturing all of them versus two lone, but brave intel agents.
He grunted again, half-heartedly, and started walking once more. Up ahead were voices, one that he identified as Elita, and three others that he didn't know. Two young males and one older male awaited on the other side of a trio of pillars. He intended to size up the younger bots first, but his attention was drawn to the presence that came from the older one, a tall mech decorated in iridescent orange and yellow, his white forearms and lower legs standing out amongst the grayish limbs of everyone else. His head was black with orange detailing, and every plate on his body had a glyph on it.
He turned with a pleased expression as the two approached. "Chromia, I am glad you have returned."
She nodded in deference. "Thank you." She gestured to her ward. "This is Ironhide, who led the riot." She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, this is Sunstorm, high priest of this Temple."
Ironhide genuflected, a response he figured was suitable when he didn't know what a high priest was; obviously of a higher station than the others, requiring the respect toward a General perhaps.
Sunstorm's tone was patient. "Rise, Ironhide. There is no need for subservience here. I have been told of your circumstances and I encourage you to look beyond your boundaries while here -- and to wherever you travel."
The black mech stood and nodded. "Thank you."
Elita spoke next. "Our other comrades," she said by way of introduction, motioning first to the short bot with red armor then to the other, who was Ironhide's height and had light blue armor. "Cliffjumper and Magnus. They have been with us from the start, and are among the upcoming generation who are aware of the growing rift." Magnus gave Ironhide a nod.
Cliffjumper slammed one fist into his open palm. "I have always warned that Megatron was a traitor to our world. He has always been suspicious and now look what he is doing!"
Magnus put a heavy hand on the shorter mech's shoulder. Cliffjumper shut his mouth but there was a fire in his optics. Ironhide decided to not underestimate him simply because of his size. "We have intel on a potential site," Magnus said to Chromia, keeping his voice low. "I think we should act on it. Longarm was very certain of it."
"Our bot on the inside," Elita provided for Ironhide. She looked around at the others. "Let us convene in the meeting room. Not everyone here is involved." She nodded to Sunstorm, who dipped his head in return then took his leave past another set of columns.
Ironhide dimmed his optics and stepped toward the nearest wall, intending to take up a silent station until their meeting ended. Chromia's hand on his arm brought him to a halt. "I would like for you to join us."
"I do not belong among the commanders. I only do what they say."
Her fingers tightened. "You know that is not true, not any longer. You can be one of us. Your spark is free, not contained by battle programming. I know you can feel it, Ironhide." She released his arm and held his gaze with her stern optics.
What he did feel was that same twinge in his spark again. He leaned toward her, mouth open to say something, but then he slowly shut it because he didn't know what the words were.
After a very long pause wherein they merely matched stares, he gave an awkward grunt of assent and they finally moved on to join the others.
~*~
The intel involved a weapons research lab which was purported to contain the schematics for some unnecessarily powerful new armament formats. They discussed ideas on how to confirm it for certain, then how to get in, steal the schematics to find the weaknesses, then purge the information to hinder the operation -- if the weapons weren't already in production.
Ironhide constructed several strategies but did not share them. Despite what Chromia had said he still felt that it was his place to wait for an order. If he was assigned to lead a unit it would be different, but here it was obvious who the leaders were: Chromia and Magnus, and no others were needed. Cliffjumper was outspoken and made his personal opinions clear, but he deferred to Magnus. Elita made suggestions and would revise them based on feedback from the two. Ironhide decided that they were a good team.
He was unsure how he factored in.
At length they called a recess so everyone could take some recharge time and then they would see who else they could bring on board. Ironhide silently followed Chromia to the private chambers offered to Temple visitors, keeping his gaze on the floor to help suppress the urge to look at her. She, however, kept glancing over at him; now she seemed unable to produce the right words.
When they arrived at an open room she continued to study him and neither one entered to leave the other to go to the next room. He was waiting for her to concede that he should stay in there when the operation commenced. As the silence continued, he shifted his shoulders and began to turn and enter the room. Fingers briefly touched his arm but pulled back in haste. He looked at her, mildly frustrated. From her optics it seemed the gesture meant something to her. To him it was just something to get his attention.
"Get some rest," she finally said, her voice dull. Ironhide noted how she lowered her gaze as she walked away. He tilted his head, processing the possible significance. Perhaps disappointed in herself for not thinking of anything else to say?
"You, as well," he called. His words didn't sound like they should have; he merely felt that he should say something.
Chromia turned back to him, her optics searching him again.
He wished he could give her whatever she was expecting, but he just didn't know, and so he stared blankly back at her. From her face it seemed that maybe she didn't really know, either.
The mutually uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of an engine coming from the direction of the main hall. Elita's lithe hover alt mode came around the corner at full speed. She gracefully transformed and halted her momentum with a slide, halting before Ironhide. "Chromia, it was a trick! Longarm just sent a message that he had been misled! They are actually on the offensive, and the target is this Temple!" Her optics flashed once in a pained expression. "I think they know we make quarter here."
Chromia made a noise of discomfort, then grunted with determination. "Come then, both of you." She broke into a run down the way Elita had come, one hand going to the side of her head as she contacted Magnus and Cliffjumper.
The five met up in the main chamber. Other visitors and priests were rushing about. Chromia was glancing over their heads, putting together a defense plan. "Magnus, Elita, take the north entrance. Cliffjumper, east. I'll take the south courtyard. Ironhide, cover the west corridor near where the civilians are taking shelter. Everyone, make sure they do not get into this inner sanctum." As the other three ran off to their positions, she stared hard at Ironhide then pointed toward where she wanted him to go. He formed up one of his cannons and nodded. She trusted him to act on his own. He would find a way to fulfill the assignment to her specifications.
There were only two ways to get to the west corridor: through the main chamber or off the side of the north entrance. The attackers would have to get past Elita and Magnus first. The corridor itself had been built in modern times, created to honor the ancients with works of art and writings that conveyed the hope that the artists had for the messages that may have been passed down.
Ironhide situated himself halfway through the corridor at the bend that was designed to follow a corner of the main chamber. If the invaders made it past the north entrance he could easily take them down from that position. If they came in through the other entrances he would be able to hear the noise in the main chamber.
It was not long before the sound of a fight at the north entrance reached him. He tensed his arms and waited for the first sign of anyone coming his way. His only warning of what was actually to come ended up being Elita's voice shouting over his internal comm frequency. "There are too many!!"
He had time to form up his other cannon before about twenty of the attacking mechs swarmed into the corridor. He fired a pulse blast into the first row and a missile into the middle.
The rest kept coming.
He loosed another missile toward the back of the swarm then quickly retreated. He dashed out of the corridor, pivoted, then aimed both cannons at the ceiling and fired. The roof of the corridor collapsed, burying the invaders in rubble. Without looking back he ran toward the doorway leading out to the north entrance. With the other way in blocked, Elita and Magnus would be overrun in no time.
He reached the doorway just as the two came charging in. "Close the doors!" Magnus bellowed, pointing to the massive slab beside Ironhide. Magnus went for the opposite one. Elita stood in the middle, shooting at their pursuers. As he hauled on the door, Ironhide saw the wave of incoming. He stared for a moment longer than necessary.
"Who are they?" he wondered out loud.
Elita's gun arm clicked. "Decepticons." She cycled in another round of bullets and kept firing until the exact second the doors were shut.
Magnus went running for an alcove. "I will go topside."
"I will back up Cliffjumper," Elita called after him. She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, guard that door. If anyone tries to get in, stop them. But keep watch to the south, too. Chromia might fall back."
He saluted, but she was already running for the east entrance. He glanced toward the passageway that led to the room where the others were hiding. Some of the debris from the corridor had fallen toward it. He considered clearing it in case they had to escape another way.
Suddenly a great impact struck the main doors. Ironhide grunted, pulse cannon whirring in preparation to cool the ready charge. He kept his distance from the doors, leaving plenty of room to launch a barrage if needed. He heard a sputtering pattern of shots and guessed that Magnus had reached his new position above the invaders.
Ironhide squeezed his hands into fists, anxious to do something.
Then his attention was drawn to the columns behind him due to the cacophony of another group of Decepticons. Chromia came weaving through the columns, twisting as she went to keep shooting, taking more than one down before clearing the pillars.
"Your left!!" Ironhide bellowed, seeing a Decepticon close in on her. Chromia jerked to that side and shot the mech in the face, then whirled back to the incoming wave. Ironhide cycled a missile into place and fell in beside her, scanning the horde. He recognized some of the mechs from the war plant -- when he went one way, these particular mechs went another.
He and Chromia didn't even look at each other. They went straight into a counteroffensive. Ironhide peppered the invaders with missiles. Chromia blasted the ones who were merely knocked over by the missile explosions. They began to move in concert -- when Ironhide turned to fire at a closing enemy, Chromia crouched at the exact nanosecond he fired so that the shot sailed over her head without singeing her. Back up a second later, she stretched her weapon arm right along his chest to blast two more off their feet. They spun, back to back, as the remaining Decepticons tried to surround them.
Tried.
With a flurry of moves a master battle tactician could only hope to execute, they took out the attackers.
Then they both froze, listening, waiting for another wave. Chromia turned toward the north doors, tapping her comm. "Magnus, status!"
Meanwhile, Ironhide had one hand over his chest, rumbling quietly. The twinge again.
"Clear," came Magnus' response. "I think they are regrouping to hit the east entrance next. I am going to stay up here and check for certain."
"Affirmative." Chromia then turned to the side passage. "We have to evacuate the Temple. The north entrance is clear for now."
Ironhide hastily lowered his hand and nodded. "Do it. I will cover you."
She nodded as well, then made a run for the passage's opening and contacted Sunstorm on the way.
Moments later the group of visitors and priests came rushing out. Chromia and Sunstorm opened the doors wide enough for them to get out while Ironhide kept watch on the south and east sides.
He hadn't expected the west wall to explode out into the chamber, about where the blockage of the corridor must have ended. Several escapees were struck by flying debris and fell. Ironhide and Chromia rushed to shield the rest as more of the wall flew. Sunstorm tried to usher them out all the faster.
The mech who had demolished the wall was taller than either of the warriors. As he ducked his head to clear the hole he had made, the deep rumble of his engine heralded the crash of walls being destroyed to the south. More debris flew, from missiles or energy blasts, or even brute strength.
Such as with the huge gray and purple Decepticon before them. Ironhide stared, first at the emblem on the mech's chest, then up at his face. He knew him, too. An overseer at the war plant. Ironhide had trained under him.
The Decepticon's gaze fell on the black mech and he chortled once, smugly. "So, Ironhide, this is where you crawled off to. It is not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."
Ironhide growled. "I am not lost."
"No? You do not belong here of all places -- at least not standing with these Autobots. You have a designated function hardwired into your programming. You belong with us, you were built for the same cause."
Ironhide clenched his fists, rumbling in anger. Those were the facts he had not wanted to process, but they ran through his CPU at all times.
Chromia stepped between them, disregarding the other Decepticons in the room. "No, Motormaster. He belongs with me." She raised her cannon and blasted him square in the chest, the pulse itself seeming more powerful and brighter than ever before.
Motormaster fell with an infuriated shout. The other Decepticons leapt in for a new assault. Ironhide and Chromia were soon working in sync again to take them out. However, this group was much more durable than the first wave. Just as Motormaster was quickly back on his feet with little more than a scorch mark, these Decepticons took an energy blast and kept coming. At one point Ironhide was too hemmed in to shoot. He finally resorted to punching the closest mech in the face with all his strength. Face plating cracked and bits fell away as the Decepticon staggered back. With a determined rumble Ironhide set about punching and kicking everyone within reach. Chromia followed suit. A new perfectly timed flurry of actions ensued from the two powerhouses.
It was abruptly halted by Motormaster wading past his cohorts and grabbing Ironhide by the shoulders, swinging him away from Chromia, up into the air, then slamming him down onto his back. He immediately followed up by stomping on Ironhide's right hip, shattering his armor and eliciting a howl of pain. Motormaster half-laughed, half-growled, and lowered one of the slim weapons on his forearm to the black mech's face, the end pressed against the structure over Ironhide's right optic. Chromia whirled to shoot him, but he dug his heel into the exposed mechanisms of the downed bot's hip, drawing another -- albeit angry mixed with pain this time -- cry from Ironhide and staying Chromia's hand.
"This is a waste. You and she would be useful additions to the rising of the Decepticons. But I can see where your allegiance lies. How weak of you and your spark." He sneered and triggered the weapon. An incendiary acid engulfed the side of Ironhide's face and began to melt his plating. As he howled and spasmed at the hip, violently shaking his head to try to dislodge some of the acid, his other optic caught sight of Chromia throwing herself at Motormaster, her bellow of rage momentarily drowning out all other sound.
The next and last thing he heard before the internal warnings of his damage overloaded his processor were battle cries from Elita and Cliffjumper.
When sound and sight shut off, the last thing he felt was a hand on his chest, a touch that pierced straight down to his spark chamber.
He knew without doubt that it was Chromia.
To Be Continued
Series: Transformers Movie 2007, now with just a pinch of RotF
Rating: PG (violence)
Characters: Ironhide, Motormaster;
Chromia, Elita (before she got her "1"), Cliffjumper, Magnus (before he became Ultra), Sunstorm
Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to horsetechie, beckyh2112, and padisharlupine for their involvement in the Seeker Brothers Quest arc in the former TFBlogs RPG, and the fantastic Dreamtime storylines that resulted. | There is a flashback here that is a follow-up to the one-shot ficlet "P.O.W." | Please forgive any geographical inaccuracies. Google Search is my friend, but I wholly embrace the "fictional" part of fan fiction. ^^;
Special Thanks also to padisharlupine for beta reading this chapter and helping to clear up a trouble spot. :)
Special Note for Lonegamer8: Not quite Aokigahara, but you had the correct hemisphere. =)
Renewal - Part Ten
The ship docked at Melbourne in the early morning. It would be a while before the mid cargo was removed, so Ironhide merely flexed his treads and waited. He really wanted to break the chains holding him in his parking space and transform to work out the kinks he had felt setting in over the past week on top of the other two weeks of inactivity, but he was too close now to give himself away. Another hour or two, and then he and his escort would be on the way to her hotel where they would go over the schedule again. The technicalities of their vacation had been covered by the government, all they had to do was keep secret that an Autobot had crossed international borders not in pursuit of a Decepticon.
As it so happened, he had to wait an extra day to charge his fuel reserves. Even though he hadn't moved, he'd had to keep certain systems online, and sitting in the dark for so long lent nothing to the solar power converters. At least he was able to sneak away that night and find a hiding place to transform. His joints creaked loudly and he had to bang on his right leg's upper panels to get them to slide completely into place. He was alert for anyone who may have heard, although when he was certain no one was coming he tested his joints a little more. Once satisfied, he stood and was content to look out at the star-filled sky.
An hour before dawn he returned to the hotel, parking exactly where he had been before. They would go sightseeing that day, allowing his converters to start on full capacity storage, then part ways that evening. By the time the sun was setting Ironhide had decided he would like to tour the city more when he returned.
He went north, a three day journey ahead of him. He did most of his driving at night and found areas to walk around or park and collect a solar charge during the day. Ratchet's modifications were turning out to be an excellent idea. He never once experienced fatigue and felt better than he had in decades. With miles of uninhabitable land all around he had no worries of being seen, either.
He arrived at his destination two hours before sunrise. His holomatter driver was already in place. There were groups of tourists here and there. When he stopped to park, his driver got comfortable with a nondescript book. If anyone tried to be companionable or just plain curious -- and happened to be tall enough to look inside -- they would see a backpack and camping supplies in the passenger seat.
When dawn approached he projected his driver getting out and, although remaining close to the truck, had a camera at the ready. However, Ironhide joined the other spectators with his vehicle mode sensors as the sun began to rise and Uluru flared with breathtaking color. From the darkness of night it emerged, dull crimson at first then becoming a brilliant bright red the higher the sun rose.
Again he spent the daylight hours parked, remembering to have his driver appear to eat and drink, and wander to the free standing facilities every few hours. Meanwhile, he listened to the other tourists conversing. Much of it was about the land, the natural monument, the two names, the cultural significance, and where they had each come from and why they had wanted to see the great wonder. Some of their reasons were like his own.
At sunset the glorious show of color repeated. Bright red again, then fading slowly, yet a glow seemed to remain around the great rock formation. As the stream of visitors thinned, some headed for the nearby hotels, others to their chosen campgrounds, Ironhide shifted into gear and began to drive the circuit around Ayer's Rock, searching for a certain spot.
There was a way inside. As night fully settled, Uluru giving off the faintest of violet light, he found it.
~*~
Uneven tunnels and caves of assorted sizes turned out to be a maze going nowhere. There was no apparent continuity to it, and his internal map, edited as he went along, indicated overlapping or perpendicular tunnels when that was not how he was traversing them. He thought he had been prepared for anything that might happen, but the maze had been unexpected; of course, the deepest place inside the monolith was legend and scientific theory. No geologists or non-Aborigne had gone that way.
It was also unlike any cave environment he had experienced, and he had explored countless ones on so many worlds. The air was cool and felt clean cycling through his ventilation system. No matter how close the walls came he felt like he was in open space. It didn't click with his logic center, yet at the same time it seemed right. He knew not where precisely he was going; he trusted his steps to guide him.
At some point he lost track of time. His fuel cells were still at a more than adequate level yet he decided to sit for a little while. He came across a small side cavern that looked like a good spot and transformed to park for an hour or two. He reviewed his internal map, certain he could find his way back despite the knots in his marked trail. He drifted off down the datastream that formed one tunnel's dimensions then entered full recharge mode.
However, it felt all too soon that he woke, and a sudden wary instinct kicked in. The same walls surrounded him, the one entrance to the cave laying dark and empty. He watched carefully for moving shadows as he turned on his headlights. There was nothing by the opening nor immediately near in the tunnel beyond. He changed to robot mode and returned to the maze, again trying to map it all, and ending up confounded by the geology.
Once more time escaped him as he moved, leaving him unsure how long it had been since he first left the small cave to when he arrived at a large cavern that had numerous tunnel openings at uneven intervals piercing it, various sized stalagmites and stalactites scattered throughout. He looked around, matching each entrance with its opposite across the way, and muttered aloud, "Earth's nature is fond of games."
His voice rumbled about the cave and down the tunnels in repetitive echoes. With a quieter grumble he started toward the opposite side of the tunnel he had exited, keeping close to the wall in order to bounce a quick scan down each one.
As he reached the halfway point he noticed there were indentations in the wall. Shining his lights across them revealed that they were actually markings, familiar and... He stopped and peered in disbelief at an impossible engraving. It was the top three quarters of the Autobot symbol atop the lower half of the Decepticon emblem. The other markings became clear. Ancient Cybertronian. He quickly scanned them and packaged the data to send to the Ark and Autobase. Yet before transmitting he reached up to trace the fingers of his left hand over a line of symbols. He was reminded of the first time Chromia had brought him to one of the temples on Cybertron, after his liberation from the war plant...
Suddenly he heard a noise that came from within the wall. He hastily drew his hand back in case he had accidentally triggered a trap -- foolish of him to have touched it in the first place. He berated himself for not scanning deeper first. The noise repeated, and he considered the possibility of a tunnel running parallel to the wall that his scan bounces hadn't reached. He leaned a little closer to try to pick it up better and define what material was involved.
Something flat and metal cleaved through the rock just beside his head, barely missing a horn. Ironhide quickly pulled back as another vertical strike broke away the stone where his other side had just been. He grunted and staggered back on the uneven floor in surprise. Next a massive fist punched through the middle, sending chunks of stone flying. Ironhide guarded his face with his arms and tried to catch a glimpse of the figure in the darkness behind the wall -- someone who was now kicking away the lower part of it, the carvings disappearing into the rubble in almost an exact replay of one particular battle at the Temple of Nova Cronum on Cybertron.
He steadied himself, the illumination from his headlights gleaming off the object that had cut through the wall. A long sword, gripped in the hand of a mech who was taller than him. Ironhide rumbled in double annoyance, first at the interruption and second at the fact that a Decepticon had inexplicably found him here.
He also hoped that it was only a Decepticon instead of several. One Stunticon was more than enough.
Motormaster climbed out of the hole he had made, needing to lean over to get through, and when he straightened up his head almost brushed the ceiling. That led Ironhide rule out Menasor even if the other Stunticons were around. He also wasn't wearing the additional armor used to form the gestault -- which would make it slightly less difficult to fight him. Motormaster stepped toward the Autobot, slapping the flat of the sword's blade against his palm. "So this is where you crawled off to, hey, Ironhide? Not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."
"I am not lost," Ironhide shot back before he could stop the words. "What are you doing here?"
"We have been looking for you. You are missing the great wave of change out there. Skirmishes on all fronts, destruction as far as the optic can scan, defectors that know who the winning side will be. We own the skies and land and even the sea. You are a worthy soldier, Ironhide, built for the exact same cause. You know it's in your programming, it's in your codes." Motormaster leaned in close. Ironhide didn't so much as blink. "Hardwired. You will never be able to delete and purge it, and you can't fulfill your designated function wandering around like an unformatted drone." He gestured around the cavern for emphasis. "So decide. Be what you were built to be. Or be lost for eternity."
"I already said... I am NOT lost!" Ironhide's optics flared and he shoved the Decepticon backward toward the hole in the wall. He crouched immediately afterward and took stock of his tactical options. Caves had never been his favorite terrain. Explosions tended to trigger cave-ins.
Motormaster's head struck the top section he'd had to duck under earlier, but it didn't slow him down. He was right back to his feet three seconds later. "Then I shall finish what I began with your optic!"
It was Nova Cronum all over again.
As Ironhide stood up straight to face the challenge, right in front of his visual sensors he saw the walls of the Temple of Nova Cronum rise up from the cavern's floor, lifting high and taking the cavern's ceiling with them, creating a much more massive and open space. The stalactites disappeared with the distance, and the stalagmites were absorbed downward into the floor as it smoothed out into metal tiles. The tiles were imprinted with aspects from each side of the Allspark.
He would have attributed the sight to a battle simulation hologram, perhaps projected by Motormaster -- or any hidden Decepticon that was with him -- but it was far too vivid. The smells and the innate energy surrounding the place were real.
He darted a quick glance around, and when he looked toward where Motormaster had been standing, the Decepticon was gone. He hastily spun, but there was no sign of him.
Something new then happened to the floor. Ironhide blinked and peered, trying to make it out. Various liquidy gray shapes were rising, like a flow of molten metal into a mold. Some stayed fluid and darkened into spatters of oil or became the lighter color of lubricant. Rubble from destroyed walls and broken pieces of plating formed, too. Ironhide recalled that on that day Motormaster hadn't been the only one to break through a wall, and there had been many Cybertronians inside who did not have any defensive capabilities. They would have been wiped out if there hadn't been a team of warriors visiting.
Ironhide felt himself being pulled backward, an indefinable feeling akin to floating but on an ethereal level. He saw the walls repair themselves, the other debris fading until the floor was pristine.
His memory of what was to come faded with it. At that moment he was entering the Temple for the first time, and all of the initial feelings were fresh and new.
He gazed up at the sigil-covered lintel, feeling a sense of awe that he hadn't known he possessed. He had never seen anything like it before. Up until three days ago he had only seen the inside of a battle manufacturing plant -- aside from an unscheduled trip to a warehouse one night.
"Ironhide, this way." Chromia stood by a statue of one of their ancestors, beckoning to him, yet her tone was soft, respectful of this new experience and not intending to rush him.
He nodded and followed, glancing up at the statue as he passed. He couldn't help wondering how the ancients transformed and what type of weapons they were armed with. Their exostructures, or at least this one's, did not appear to accommodate either one. There was a name on the plinth but it was in the ancient language, not included in his database. He glanced at Chromia as they walked together down a wide passageway with a high ceiling. "Can you read it?" He gestured to the walls and the next statue in the line of six.
"No. I wish I could. I believe our ancestors had plans for our future that did not include civil war and planetary conquest." She stopped and touched the wall. "These may even be messages meant to be passed from one generation to the next, but the knowledge to read them went with the Primes who left to explore other worlds, and soon even their descendants forgot. Our current Prime says we should continue to guard them. One day someone might be able to translate them."
Ironhide grunted, an attempt at agreement with the possibility, but not able to make the information factor in his processor. Data that no one could analyze was useless. The building itself could make a decent fortress, he decided, and the secondary goal could be to protect the carvings. He forced himself to keep that comment to himself and tried to see the statues of the ancients as his own forebears.
He emitted a few involuntary, frustrated utterances as he stopped before another statue. He could feel Chromia's gaze on him. He jerked his head around, expecting to see pity, but instead she looked patient, understanding. He felt an undefined twinge in his spark and hastily looked upward again. For three days she had been gently prodding him to explain what exactly had led him to start the riot at the manufacturing plant. He knew she wanted him to say something like a change of spark, but he was uncertain what a change of spark was supposed to feel like. He had thought of it as the logical thing to do after seeing how many war machines like himself were being built, and picturing all of them versus two lone, but brave intel agents.
He grunted again, half-heartedly, and started walking once more. Up ahead were voices, one that he identified as Elita, and three others that he didn't know. Two young males and one older male awaited on the other side of a trio of pillars. He intended to size up the younger bots first, but his attention was drawn to the presence that came from the older one, a tall mech decorated in iridescent orange and yellow, his white forearms and lower legs standing out amongst the grayish limbs of everyone else. His head was black with orange detailing, and every plate on his body had a glyph on it.
He turned with a pleased expression as the two approached. "Chromia, I am glad you have returned."
She nodded in deference. "Thank you." She gestured to her ward. "This is Ironhide, who led the riot." She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, this is Sunstorm, high priest of this Temple."
Ironhide genuflected, a response he figured was suitable when he didn't know what a high priest was; obviously of a higher station than the others, requiring the respect toward a General perhaps.
Sunstorm's tone was patient. "Rise, Ironhide. There is no need for subservience here. I have been told of your circumstances and I encourage you to look beyond your boundaries while here -- and to wherever you travel."
The black mech stood and nodded. "Thank you."
Elita spoke next. "Our other comrades," she said by way of introduction, motioning first to the short bot with red armor then to the other, who was Ironhide's height and had light blue armor. "Cliffjumper and Magnus. They have been with us from the start, and are among the upcoming generation who are aware of the growing rift." Magnus gave Ironhide a nod.
Cliffjumper slammed one fist into his open palm. "I have always warned that Megatron was a traitor to our world. He has always been suspicious and now look what he is doing!"
Magnus put a heavy hand on the shorter mech's shoulder. Cliffjumper shut his mouth but there was a fire in his optics. Ironhide decided to not underestimate him simply because of his size. "We have intel on a potential site," Magnus said to Chromia, keeping his voice low. "I think we should act on it. Longarm was very certain of it."
"Our bot on the inside," Elita provided for Ironhide. She looked around at the others. "Let us convene in the meeting room. Not everyone here is involved." She nodded to Sunstorm, who dipped his head in return then took his leave past another set of columns.
Ironhide dimmed his optics and stepped toward the nearest wall, intending to take up a silent station until their meeting ended. Chromia's hand on his arm brought him to a halt. "I would like for you to join us."
"I do not belong among the commanders. I only do what they say."
Her fingers tightened. "You know that is not true, not any longer. You can be one of us. Your spark is free, not contained by battle programming. I know you can feel it, Ironhide." She released his arm and held his gaze with her stern optics.
What he did feel was that same twinge in his spark again. He leaned toward her, mouth open to say something, but then he slowly shut it because he didn't know what the words were.
After a very long pause wherein they merely matched stares, he gave an awkward grunt of assent and they finally moved on to join the others.
~*~
The intel involved a weapons research lab which was purported to contain the schematics for some unnecessarily powerful new armament formats. They discussed ideas on how to confirm it for certain, then how to get in, steal the schematics to find the weaknesses, then purge the information to hinder the operation -- if the weapons weren't already in production.
Ironhide constructed several strategies but did not share them. Despite what Chromia had said he still felt that it was his place to wait for an order. If he was assigned to lead a unit it would be different, but here it was obvious who the leaders were: Chromia and Magnus, and no others were needed. Cliffjumper was outspoken and made his personal opinions clear, but he deferred to Magnus. Elita made suggestions and would revise them based on feedback from the two. Ironhide decided that they were a good team.
He was unsure how he factored in.
At length they called a recess so everyone could take some recharge time and then they would see who else they could bring on board. Ironhide silently followed Chromia to the private chambers offered to Temple visitors, keeping his gaze on the floor to help suppress the urge to look at her. She, however, kept glancing over at him; now she seemed unable to produce the right words.
When they arrived at an open room she continued to study him and neither one entered to leave the other to go to the next room. He was waiting for her to concede that he should stay in there when the operation commenced. As the silence continued, he shifted his shoulders and began to turn and enter the room. Fingers briefly touched his arm but pulled back in haste. He looked at her, mildly frustrated. From her optics it seemed the gesture meant something to her. To him it was just something to get his attention.
"Get some rest," she finally said, her voice dull. Ironhide noted how she lowered her gaze as she walked away. He tilted his head, processing the possible significance. Perhaps disappointed in herself for not thinking of anything else to say?
"You, as well," he called. His words didn't sound like they should have; he merely felt that he should say something.
Chromia turned back to him, her optics searching him again.
He wished he could give her whatever she was expecting, but he just didn't know, and so he stared blankly back at her. From her face it seemed that maybe she didn't really know, either.
The mutually uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of an engine coming from the direction of the main hall. Elita's lithe hover alt mode came around the corner at full speed. She gracefully transformed and halted her momentum with a slide, halting before Ironhide. "Chromia, it was a trick! Longarm just sent a message that he had been misled! They are actually on the offensive, and the target is this Temple!" Her optics flashed once in a pained expression. "I think they know we make quarter here."
Chromia made a noise of discomfort, then grunted with determination. "Come then, both of you." She broke into a run down the way Elita had come, one hand going to the side of her head as she contacted Magnus and Cliffjumper.
The five met up in the main chamber. Other visitors and priests were rushing about. Chromia was glancing over their heads, putting together a defense plan. "Magnus, Elita, take the north entrance. Cliffjumper, east. I'll take the south courtyard. Ironhide, cover the west corridor near where the civilians are taking shelter. Everyone, make sure they do not get into this inner sanctum." As the other three ran off to their positions, she stared hard at Ironhide then pointed toward where she wanted him to go. He formed up one of his cannons and nodded. She trusted him to act on his own. He would find a way to fulfill the assignment to her specifications.
There were only two ways to get to the west corridor: through the main chamber or off the side of the north entrance. The attackers would have to get past Elita and Magnus first. The corridor itself had been built in modern times, created to honor the ancients with works of art and writings that conveyed the hope that the artists had for the messages that may have been passed down.
Ironhide situated himself halfway through the corridor at the bend that was designed to follow a corner of the main chamber. If the invaders made it past the north entrance he could easily take them down from that position. If they came in through the other entrances he would be able to hear the noise in the main chamber.
It was not long before the sound of a fight at the north entrance reached him. He tensed his arms and waited for the first sign of anyone coming his way. His only warning of what was actually to come ended up being Elita's voice shouting over his internal comm frequency. "There are too many!!"
He had time to form up his other cannon before about twenty of the attacking mechs swarmed into the corridor. He fired a pulse blast into the first row and a missile into the middle.
The rest kept coming.
He loosed another missile toward the back of the swarm then quickly retreated. He dashed out of the corridor, pivoted, then aimed both cannons at the ceiling and fired. The roof of the corridor collapsed, burying the invaders in rubble. Without looking back he ran toward the doorway leading out to the north entrance. With the other way in blocked, Elita and Magnus would be overrun in no time.
He reached the doorway just as the two came charging in. "Close the doors!" Magnus bellowed, pointing to the massive slab beside Ironhide. Magnus went for the opposite one. Elita stood in the middle, shooting at their pursuers. As he hauled on the door, Ironhide saw the wave of incoming. He stared for a moment longer than necessary.
"Who are they?" he wondered out loud.
Elita's gun arm clicked. "Decepticons." She cycled in another round of bullets and kept firing until the exact second the doors were shut.
Magnus went running for an alcove. "I will go topside."
"I will back up Cliffjumper," Elita called after him. She turned to the black mech. "Ironhide, guard that door. If anyone tries to get in, stop them. But keep watch to the south, too. Chromia might fall back."
He saluted, but she was already running for the east entrance. He glanced toward the passageway that led to the room where the others were hiding. Some of the debris from the corridor had fallen toward it. He considered clearing it in case they had to escape another way.
Suddenly a great impact struck the main doors. Ironhide grunted, pulse cannon whirring in preparation to cool the ready charge. He kept his distance from the doors, leaving plenty of room to launch a barrage if needed. He heard a sputtering pattern of shots and guessed that Magnus had reached his new position above the invaders.
Ironhide squeezed his hands into fists, anxious to do something.
Then his attention was drawn to the columns behind him due to the cacophony of another group of Decepticons. Chromia came weaving through the columns, twisting as she went to keep shooting, taking more than one down before clearing the pillars.
"Your left!!" Ironhide bellowed, seeing a Decepticon close in on her. Chromia jerked to that side and shot the mech in the face, then whirled back to the incoming wave. Ironhide cycled a missile into place and fell in beside her, scanning the horde. He recognized some of the mechs from the war plant -- when he went one way, these particular mechs went another.
He and Chromia didn't even look at each other. They went straight into a counteroffensive. Ironhide peppered the invaders with missiles. Chromia blasted the ones who were merely knocked over by the missile explosions. They began to move in concert -- when Ironhide turned to fire at a closing enemy, Chromia crouched at the exact nanosecond he fired so that the shot sailed over her head without singeing her. Back up a second later, she stretched her weapon arm right along his chest to blast two more off their feet. They spun, back to back, as the remaining Decepticons tried to surround them.
Tried.
With a flurry of moves a master battle tactician could only hope to execute, they took out the attackers.
Then they both froze, listening, waiting for another wave. Chromia turned toward the north doors, tapping her comm. "Magnus, status!"
Meanwhile, Ironhide had one hand over his chest, rumbling quietly. The twinge again.
"Clear," came Magnus' response. "I think they are regrouping to hit the east entrance next. I am going to stay up here and check for certain."
"Affirmative." Chromia then turned to the side passage. "We have to evacuate the Temple. The north entrance is clear for now."
Ironhide hastily lowered his hand and nodded. "Do it. I will cover you."
She nodded as well, then made a run for the passage's opening and contacted Sunstorm on the way.
Moments later the group of visitors and priests came rushing out. Chromia and Sunstorm opened the doors wide enough for them to get out while Ironhide kept watch on the south and east sides.
He hadn't expected the west wall to explode out into the chamber, about where the blockage of the corridor must have ended. Several escapees were struck by flying debris and fell. Ironhide and Chromia rushed to shield the rest as more of the wall flew. Sunstorm tried to usher them out all the faster.
The mech who had demolished the wall was taller than either of the warriors. As he ducked his head to clear the hole he had made, the deep rumble of his engine heralded the crash of walls being destroyed to the south. More debris flew, from missiles or energy blasts, or even brute strength.
Such as with the huge gray and purple Decepticon before them. Ironhide stared, first at the emblem on the mech's chest, then up at his face. He knew him, too. An overseer at the war plant. Ironhide had trained under him.
The Decepticon's gaze fell on the black mech and he chortled once, smugly. "So, Ironhide, this is where you crawled off to. It is not very fitting for a warrior to lose himself."
Ironhide growled. "I am not lost."
"No? You do not belong here of all places -- at least not standing with these Autobots. You have a designated function hardwired into your programming. You belong with us, you were built for the same cause."
Ironhide clenched his fists, rumbling in anger. Those were the facts he had not wanted to process, but they ran through his CPU at all times.
Chromia stepped between them, disregarding the other Decepticons in the room. "No, Motormaster. He belongs with me." She raised her cannon and blasted him square in the chest, the pulse itself seeming more powerful and brighter than ever before.
Motormaster fell with an infuriated shout. The other Decepticons leapt in for a new assault. Ironhide and Chromia were soon working in sync again to take them out. However, this group was much more durable than the first wave. Just as Motormaster was quickly back on his feet with little more than a scorch mark, these Decepticons took an energy blast and kept coming. At one point Ironhide was too hemmed in to shoot. He finally resorted to punching the closest mech in the face with all his strength. Face plating cracked and bits fell away as the Decepticon staggered back. With a determined rumble Ironhide set about punching and kicking everyone within reach. Chromia followed suit. A new perfectly timed flurry of actions ensued from the two powerhouses.
It was abruptly halted by Motormaster wading past his cohorts and grabbing Ironhide by the shoulders, swinging him away from Chromia, up into the air, then slamming him down onto his back. He immediately followed up by stomping on Ironhide's right hip, shattering his armor and eliciting a howl of pain. Motormaster half-laughed, half-growled, and lowered one of the slim weapons on his forearm to the black mech's face, the end pressed against the structure over Ironhide's right optic. Chromia whirled to shoot him, but he dug his heel into the exposed mechanisms of the downed bot's hip, drawing another -- albeit angry mixed with pain this time -- cry from Ironhide and staying Chromia's hand.
"This is a waste. You and she would be useful additions to the rising of the Decepticons. But I can see where your allegiance lies. How weak of you and your spark." He sneered and triggered the weapon. An incendiary acid engulfed the side of Ironhide's face and began to melt his plating. As he howled and spasmed at the hip, violently shaking his head to try to dislodge some of the acid, his other optic caught sight of Chromia throwing herself at Motormaster, her bellow of rage momentarily drowning out all other sound.
The next and last thing he heard before the internal warnings of his damage overloaded his processor were battle cries from Elita and Cliffjumper.
When sound and sight shut off, the last thing he felt was a hand on his chest, a touch that pierced straight down to his spark chamber.
He knew without doubt that it was Chromia.
To Be Continued