Danger Falls
TF:Averse. Follow up story to Danger Looms. Chap one of...three? o_o Hmm, depends on how well I can plan out the tangled mess of cobwebs known as my ideas >w>;
Title: Danger Falls
Characters: Soundwave, Ravage, Laserbeak, Ratbat, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe
Rating: T (for the twins violent imaginations o_o;)
Summary: Plan moving with all the success and discretion he had anticipated, Soundwave knows exactly what is necessary for the next phase to run just as smooth....and he may have found just that in two long-forgotten twins.
[A B.I.G. thank you to my beta reader, Starfire201, for helping me with this chap =3]
Transformers © Hasbro
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The rhythmic ricochet of metal against metal pattered into existence, mingling with the electro-static hums and bleeps stagnant within the hangar. Soundwave remained still; visor rigidly fixated onto the LCD monitor, but shifted a servo to activate the entry hatch. A brief clack of metallic claws complemented by the whirr of a transformation sounded from behind him.
“Report.” his own sonorous tempo seemed to blend eerily well into the other noises of the room.
The hiss of a panel sliding open and gasping shut indicated that Ravage had reached into his subspace. “The necessary parts were successfully retrieved, master.” came the hollow reply.
Soundwave, finally tearing his optic band from the screen’s images, turned to pluck the miniature box from a black servo. He didn’t bother to examine its contents, knowing full well that the likelihood of Ravage obtaining the incorrect items was almost as improbable as him taking or damaging them.
The Scion gave a brief buzzing noise of acknowledgement, triggering a concise nod from the spy. Soundwave tucked the container into his own subspace and turned to replay the video on the monitor; something very interesting Laserbeak had recovered less than a mega-cycle ago. The bird-bot was currently perched menacingly atop the gargantuan computer system, red optics dimmed in a mild state of recharge.
Since obtaining the Quintesson’s array of data-codes and system-reconfiguration blueprints, Soundwave definitely hadn’t dithered in utilising this to his advantage; namely by upgrading both Ratbat and Laserbeak. Ratbat’s sensors had been substantially heightened, enabling the keytar to easily track other fuel-carrying beings, both inside and out of battle. Meanwhile, Laserbeak had been given a whole new array of recording technology, including adaptable optical and audial sensors for outlying objects.
“Ratbat: report.” his visor drilled into the co-ordinates displayed along the lower region of the monitor. A pulsating torrent of wind supplemented by a low keening screech announced the bat-bots presence. Being well in-tuned with his creations by now, Soundwave caught the inquiring intone of the keytar’s greeting. He also felt the burning optics of a now fully alert Laserbeak and attentive Ravage awaiting their master’s command.
“Destination: planetoid 0980811. Mission objective: retrieve split-spark inhabitants.” he brought up a blurred yet still discernible image of a distorted-looking mech. Ravage’s own optics narrowed in scrutiny. It appeared as though it were a single mech…but the peculiar mismatched limbs and what looked like a second helm told the spy otherwise.
‘Inhabitants…as in more than one….Split-spark….Could it be that…?’
His optics widened as realisation hit. It wasn’t one mech, it was two….twins. Doubtless, one had been damaged beyond repair (or there were no necessary spare parts handy) so was forced to be integrated with their sibling's armour. Ravage switched his gaze back to Soundwave at the sound of his tenor.
“Subjects' status: bitter, unaligned, easily influenced.” the mech had uploaded what looked like a brief run-down of the twins in question; information Laserbeak had attained from his observations no doubt. Soundwave turned to face his subordinates, “Probability of necessary force: 40%. Remain hidden until then.” The ‘Cons all gave a brief show of their understanding: a squawk, a shrill, and a rumble.
With a hum, the mech uploaded the co-ordinates from the computer’s database. He turned and nodded for the rest to make for the shuttle, taking up position at the spacecraft's entrance. Ratbat brutally tore at the air with rough wing-beats while Laserbeak smoothly glided from his perch and dove after him. Ravage simultaneously leapt and transformed, but froze at the sound of Soundwave’s drone.
“Ravage: remove evidence.” the mech commanded, moving through the hatch with clanging pede-steps.
With a comprehending rumble, the cat-bot gave his hooked tail a single flick; the briefest of sparks hissing before a dull EMP burst throbbed from its end. He waited until the dying whine of a CPU unit brushed his audios before he slunk through the shuttled entryway with no more than a whisper of metal on metal.
- - - - -
“What do you think?” a hulking figure spoke within the depths of a dark cavern. What had been one soon became two sets of brilliant blue optics. The added light cast a veil of indigo about the walls of the cave, only to dim once again as they narrowed in displeasure.
“That’s a femme’s arm.” a second voice deadpanned.
“So?”
“So?! What do ya mean ‘so’?! It’s for femmes! Femmes. I’m a mech, I need mech arms!” the voice growled, optics blazing with aggravation.
“We’ve been searching through this overgrown scrapheap for the last fifteen vorns! Don’t ya think it’s about time ya stopped being so picky?!” the first voice barked with equal levels of irritation.
“Picky?! All I want is my own slagging body! A mech's body!” he snarled, violently spinning on his heel to make for the cave’s exit.
“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one! You seriously give a whole new meaning to the term ‘free-loader’ you know that?” was the vehement response. Both sets of optics narrowed as they emerged from the cave and into the blinding shine of a nearby sun.
“Slag.” they hissed in unison, unenthusiastically trudging towards the nearest junk pile. Their form froze in mid-step, halting as something caught the corner of one of their optics. The black helm tilted quizzically as the other moved their body towards the slab of strangely clean metal. Clean reflective metal. Oh.
…Slag… this won’t end well…
Blue optics glared with what could only be described as ominous fury at the image reflected back at them. A warped, rust speckled, mismatched, repulsive shadow of what they had once been…What he had once been. The fiery optics shuttered and intakes quickened their ventilations.
Slag….Slag!....SLAG!
With an animalistic roar, a powerful yellow fist smashed point-blank into the bulk and sent it souring up and across the gargantuan junkyard. Sideswipe cast a sidelong glance at his brother but remained wholly silent, knowing at times like these it was best to let his twin vent.
“I hate those slaggers.” Sunstreaker growled, optics searing into the ground.
Sideswipe furrowed his optic ridges in query, ‘Who? The Decepticons?’ He chose to ask through their twin bond rather than aloud; doing this better served to both placate his twin and allow Sideswipe to comfort him without looking like a priss. He felt a wash of depression, guilt and righteous fury wade back in response.
“Decepticons! Autobots! Everyone!” he yelled, punching a hole into a nearby mound. The pieces went flying in all directions and Sideswipe flinched his helm as the debris brushed his faceplates.
“But mostly…” Sunstreaker hissed, crushing an offline helm underfoot, “The slag-eating, son of a glitch, Pit-spawned Elite Guard.” Sideswipe narrowed his optics; that was one sentiment that he could definitely say he shared.
‘I’ll have to agree with you on that one bro.’ he thought, sending a pulse of understanding resentment and a brush of comfort. Sunstreaker continued to mutter dangerously, but returned his brother's consoling with a wave of thanks and guilt.
Sideswipe, deciding to lighten the mood, pulled a crooked grin. “Come on Sunshine,” he teased, earning a half-sparked glare from his twin, “Let’s go get some energon. We can keep looking after-” He froze mid-sentence, as did his brother. Both sets of optics narrowed, frame tensing.
‘You picked up that heat-signature right?’ Sideswipe enquired, flexing his servos in anticipation.
‘What, do you think I’m a retardicon? Of course I did!’ came the impatient response.
“Show yourself.” Sunstreaker hissed as he retrieved two rustic laser-canons from their subspace, tossing one into Sideswipe’s waiting hand. Both twins had their optics trained on each breadth of the area, more than ready (and entirely willing) for a fight if necessary.
“Hostility: unnecessary.” the voice itself sent warning alerts off in each of their processors. Servos tightened around laser handles when solid pede-steps edged into audio range. The broad frame of a blue and black mech emerged from around the nearest junk pile. Instantly, there were two things the twins took note of: the insignia and the visor band.
‘Decepticon.’
Sideswipe glared. “What do you want, ‘Con?! Unless it’s an aft-kicking you better get the frag out of here before we use you for spare parts!” he emphasised this by charging his weapon. This probably would have had a more menacing effect had the gun been anything other than primordial; rather than a droning hum, it emitted more of an unhealthy splutter. The black helm winced awkwardly. Sunstreaker rolled his optics but quickly switched back to glaring at the ‘Con. Soundwave merely looked on calmly.
“Negative. Desire merely to discuss issues of interest for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.” he took a sliver of enjoyment in how both their optics widened in shock.
“Wha- How the slag do you know our names?!” Sunstreaker growled. This mech was really starting to get on his nerves; particularly his infuriatingly deadpan cadence.
“Knowledge of twins is thorough. Former Elite Guards. Damaged in battle. Left to offline. Forced to integrate parts in order to surv-”
“SHUT UP!” Sunstreaker stared in mild surprise at his twin. Seldom was it that the black-helmed prankster was the first to really lose it….But then again, things had changed considerably from their time in isolation. Their left arm, Sideswipe’s, trembled in barely restrained fury.
“Shut the slag up, you stupid ‘Con! Don’t talk about us like we’re some kind of fact! Something that came and went! Do you have any idea what we’ve really been through?! How long we’ve been stuck out here?!” he roared, barely restrained from mauling the ‘Con by his atypically calmer twin.
“Two vorns in boot camp. One in battle. Twenty ‘offline’.” the monotone smoothly droned. Sideswipe flinched back in shock while Sunstreaker gave the mech a calculated stare; though still very much a glare. So, they really had given up searching for them….Figures.
“What do you want?” his voice was lathed in icy coolness, but a layer of malicious fury lay bubbling beneath the surface. He’d get back at the Elite Guard, even if it was the last thing he slagging did.
Soundwave picked up on their change in attitude and ploughed on. “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker’s desire: revenge.” he assessed.
“More than you can ever know.” the yellow helm hissed, optics trained on the far-away stars.
Sideswipe hesitated, but only for a klik. “Definitely.”
Behind his mask, Soundwave smirked. “Current success probability: 0%.” Both sets of optics blazed, but remained silent. The mech continued, “Vital for success: newer, superior bodies.”
Sunstreaker snorted while Sideswipe scoffed, “What do ya think we’ve been doing for the last twenty vorns? Crying?!” Not that they’d ever admit it. Ever. Even under pain of death.
“Resources of planetoid: insufficient.” Soundwave stated. “Offer: access to new bodies and capacity to achieve revenge.”
Both twins’ optics widened. Sideswipe looked stunned while Sunstreaker remained sceptical.
“Wait a nanosecond.” his optics glowered fearlessly into the ‘Cons glowing visor. “You’re saying that you can get us off of this scrap-heap and give us new bodies, yeah?”
Soundwave simply droned, “Affirmative.”
The yellow helm’s optics narrowed to slits, “What’s in it for you, Decepticon?”
Soundwave instantly marked the yellow one as the more observant of the two, though also the more bitter; easily turned ruthless. In turn, he noted the more dependent, yet somewhat unhinged aura of the black one which, coupled with his lesser processor power, could effortlessly be warped into accessible insanity.
With an almost imperceptible glint to his visor, the Scion easily responded, “Fondness for Elite Guard: uncommon in Decepticon ranks.”
Sunstreaker scowled, “Yeah, but why us?” Sideswipe glanced between the two, unable to decide on what to say…or even what he wanted.
“Requirements for new upgrades: mech twins with split spark. Decepticons with said requirements: zero. Autobot twins: too heavily guarded.” he paused before adding, “Sunstreaker and Sideswipe: ideal for purpose. Allegiance: unconfirmed. Upgrades: necessary. Desire for revenge: immense.”
Both twins gazed at the ‘Con searchingly, but found it hard to pinpoint a flaw in his argument…Maybe they’d been sharing each other’s thoughts for too long…Maybe they had gradually lost their grasp on sanity from their long period in isolation. Whatever the reason, neither twin was able to restrain the repeated loop of dreamlike imagery from hijacking their processors. Their hands tearing through every last Elite Guard's chassis….ripping off their arms…bashing in their helms…watching as the light slowly leaked from their optics and what was left of them bled into a dim grey.
Sunstreaker reluctantly tore his processor from his imaginings, almost grudgingly asking, “We still haven’t heard what you get out of all of this.”
Soundwave allowed a formulated air of hostility to bleed into his voice, “Personal vendetta against certain Elite Guards.” Which, in a sense, was true. Soundwave wasn’t one to forget past grudges and he was definitely not opposed to the permanent deactivation of that band of irksome Autobots and their techno-organic pet.
His answer seemed to satisfy the twins, as they both gave brief nods of understanding.
“Decision?”
They turned to meet optics, a silent thought was exchanged and they turned back.
“We’ll do it.” Sunstreaker forcefully stated.
Optic band flickering in satisfaction, the Scion merely droned, “Acknowledged.”
He turned on the spot and made straight for the shuttle, “Request: follow.” Only the briefest of hesitation was made before the cautious dragging of pedes sounded from behind him. Soundwave smirked.