A Vision Softly Creeping [fic post]

[hunter_for_hire]

Title: A Vision Softly Creeping (Part 1 of 4)
Authors: toyzintheattik  , karanseraph 
'Verse: tf_ic_prompts, TFA
Characters: TFA Lockdown, TFA Slipstream, TFA Yoketron, A tribal village chief, a pair of tribal warriors
Rating: PG-13 (will change in later parts)
Notes: This story is based on the current plot happening with Lockdown and Slipstream in the tf_ic verse, but is being posted as a fic because it incorporates characters outside of the RP verse. Thank you mods for letting us post in this format.

The story picks up immediately after this and this.

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"Lockdown." The eastern accent resonated with its signature smooth confidence. "Why didn't you tell me about him?"

Straight to the spark of the matter. This was always how he liked to open their discussions. The former ninja would be foolish to expect anything less from the old seer, and he would be even more foolish not to answer him truthfully.

"What good would it have done?" Lockdown grumbled. Just because he was relenting to tell the truth didn't mean he had to deliver it cordially. "Wouldnta changed anythin'."

"I may have been able to help you."

"You wouldnta taken my word over his."

"Of this you are certain?"

Lockdown had no response. He was not certain.

"How quick you are to judge me." The Sensei continued, his tone projecting his infinite patience and humiliating insight. "Or perhaps I should say misjudge."

"I was ashamed." Lockdown sighed in confession. "You had warned me and I didn't listen."

"And what had you believed the consequences would have been for shunning my advice? Did you think I would have turned my back on you?"

Again, Lockdown had no response.

"Lockdown, if I had turned away every student who, at one point or another, did not listen to me," Yoketron paused briefly to allow a small chuckle. "I would not have any students."

The former ninja would like to share in his Sensei's amusement, but a sharp pain in his spark prevented a smile from forming. He was surprised that the memory of the betrayal--the reason he rejected his Autobot brand--could still cut so deep, and even in the afterlife.

"He went on to hurt others." All amusement had left the aged ninja's tone. "Used them as he used you. Always to further his agenda. If you had not run. If you had told me what had happened, we may have had a case to present to the council, and we may have been able to stop him from doing anymore harm."

Lockdown winced, the pain increasing. "Ya think I don't know that!?" The seer's words penetrated deep. Because they were true. Lockdown wasn't unaware of paths he could have taken in his past. He wasn't blind to the possibility that alternate decisions would have completely shifted the course of his existence, specifically preventing the cold-blooded slaughter of the greatest Cybertronian he had ever shared company with. This must be the Pit. Where else would he be subjected to guilt trips from the last mech he had ever wanted to label as a quarry.  "Ya think I ain't tormented by hindsight on a regular basis!?"

"Then tell me now, young one." Yoketron spoke firmly, yet he addressed his former student with a distant compassion. "Tell me how it felt to be betrayed by one who held your trust."

"Stop it!" The hunter hollered almost pleadingly. He can't take stomach anymore guilt. And it wasn't like Master Yoketron to hand it out so steadily. Something wasn't right. The pain in his chest was far too mortal. "Who are you!? Th'spark's goin' on!? Why ain't I offline!?

"Because, Lockdown, regardless of the damage you willingly and regularly subject your chassis to, and regardless of the lies you consistently tell your processor, your spark is not ready to enter the Well."

"Well when will it be ready!? Th'spark else I gotta do?"

The seer paused, taken aback by this mech's defeatist questions. "Since when, has one of the strongest and most stubborn sparks I have ever met, been anticipating death as if it were some kind of trophy?" He didn't pause to give the hunter time to respond. "Am I to understand that you are giving up?"

Lockdown scowled, ready to lash out a string of curses. Yoketron always had a way of making him feel three servos tall. "There ain't nothing here for me Master! And I don't mean just huntin', but anything! I tried to fit in, tried to make amends and alliances, and friends. I followed where my spark led...twice! And all it did was bring hurt. I tried to love but this prison of a place won't let me. Soon as I get close to findin' peace, something interferes, be it an outside force or something brewin' inside me that I can't control."

"You can't or you won't."

Lockdown was appalled. "Can't!"

"Of this you are certain?"

"Yes!"

"And that is why you wish to be deactivated?"

"I--" the former-ninja cut off, sighing a futile growl before allowing himself a moment to calm down. He should know by now that shouting at Yoketron like some bratty sparkling never solved anything."I don't know how else to leave, Master. I figure if this place can sustain bots that are supposed to be offline, then who's to say a spark can actually die here. Perhaps death is a one way ticket to restorin' normalcy."

"Perhaps."

Lockdown tensed, a sudden sharp pain twisting his spark. It was raw physical pain, unlike the heavy pain of sparkache.

Yoketron didn't appear concerned for his former student's deteriorating condition. "What you are feeling is the spark's final attempts to heal itself. It is not pleasant."

"Wha--" This statement caught Lockdown off guard.

"You are dying, Lockdown. Your spark was stabbed fatally and now, just like your stubborn processor, it refuses to accept its fate."

The hunter was speechless once again. He didn't understand the complete u-turn of Yoketron's words. Only moments ago, he was being lectured on defeatism and told it wasn't yet his time. Could the old coot at least get his story straight? That wasn't much to ask. Lockdown could feel a processor ache coming on.

"The blade which penetrated your spark..." The seer continued but his voice began changing, filling with static to the point where Lockdown had to activate his translator to understand. "It was an enchanted blade."

"You..." An enlightening conscientious began washing over the hunter, the mention of a blade acutely triggering his memory. "You ain't Yoketron."

There was no response.

Little at a time, Lockdown allowed his senses to awaken. His optics began taking in a muted light, the kind masked by curtains. He could smell herbs, infused with oil and energon, and feel the steam of the brew accumlating on his faceplates. He must be in an enclosure, and still online. Which meant Yoketron was just a dream.

Or was he? The now-mysterious voice certainly had a valid explanation for why the hunter's spark chamber felt like it had housed a warzone. It felt like very much like it had been fatally stabbed.

"Who is Yoketron." The statement was worded like a question, but it didn't sound like a question to Lockdown. "Anyhow, as I was saying, I cast a spell on the blade the moment you boorishly attacked my warriors...again. I had to put a stop to it. No more second chances."

Lockdown listened to the familiar alien vocals, recognizing them as the tribal chief's. He became confused. The very real words picked up where his dream had left off. What the frag was going on? As his optics took in more light, shapes and textures began forming around him. Woven tapestries hung above and around him, burning coals filled his olfactory senses, and the smooth warmth of animal hides hugged his aching form.

"The enchantment is the only known counter-toxin to the poison that was in you." The voice kept mutating, and Lockdown's translator kept adjusting to accommodate its alien frequency. "Most beings do not survive the injection."

The pieces all fell into place. The chief had spared the hunter's life again...

Or had he.

"Injection?" Lockdown coughed, almost insulted by the seer's choice of words. "Why you clean ran me through. Again!"

The chief stood at a cauldron dangling over smoldering coals, bathed in steam, stirring a concoction that must be the source of what Lockdown was smelling. "You were treated mercifully." He spoke calmly, managing to suppress a budding irritation, keeping his focus on the contents of the pot. He wore a bone mask, fashioned from the skull of a great, antlered alpha-beast, and he was draped in skins and feathers, mostly organic but a few metallic trinkets hung from his regal garb. "For a second time."

Lockdown attempted to sit up. Regardless of whether or not he had deserved to be attacked, the hunter did not want to be lectured while lying on his back, especially not on the floor of some stuffy little hut. "I came to ya for help." His voiced was strained as curling his torso proved acutely painful.

"I know why you came." The chief poured a ladle-full of steaming liquid into a chipped pottery bowl then turned and knelt onto a colorfully woven floor mat next to Lockdown, who could only manage to perch onto his elbows. The tribal monarch did not hand the injured mech the bowl as the mech's only hand was clutching at the cloth of the energon-stained bandage wrapped diagonally across his chest.

"This will help with the pain." He set the bowl on the strip of bare floor between them. The headdressed being towered over the broken piecemeal Cybertronian.

"This blade you stuck in me..." Lockdown vented heavily between phrases. He could feel his energon levels dropping with each cycle of air. It was a chore just to speak and he could only lift his glance to the seer for brief moments. "It...rid me of the...whatever it was?"

"The possession."

"Right." Lockdown held the makeshift gaze of his 'healer' this time, as much as possible. The only visage he could focus on was the hollow sockets in the animal skull representing a face. The alien being seemed to be nothing more than a concentration of energy, shape-shifted  into a bipedal form.

"It would have only consumed you, feeding on your amoral desires. I did what I had to do." Lockdown almost detected sympathy in the translated words. "The darkness must not be allowed to thrive."

"So by killin' me, you kill it." The more Lockdown spoke about his mortality, the more it sunk in. This was really it.

"No." The chief replied.

"No?"

"You are still alive, for the time being. But IT is gone."

"How much longer I got?" The hunter whispered, fearing the answer his intuition was leaning toward.

"You tell me. You have already survived longer than I had anticipated."

Lockdown sunk back, upper body heavy on his shaky elbows. He could barely move. And he could feel the AllSpark energy of his life-force dwindle with each passing moment, lingering like the residual rays of twilight. He couldn't possibly weather a trip back to the settlement. Which meant he would never see Slipstream again. Or Prowl, or Sari or Annie...or any of his new friends. Their last memories would be of the monster, not the mech.

At least his promise to Slipstream wasn't broken. She would never see the monster again.

"Not long." Lockdown conceded, staring blindly at the tapestry across from him. He never imagined he would have the burden of a deathbed. He had always figured he'd go quickly in a battle, or go down with his ship--get the jump on Death, rather than sit in a prison of reflective thought while he waited for her to show. He couldn't think of a worse way to go.

He exvented a long stream of air, about to give his sore elbow plating some relief and lay back down to accept his fate, but both he and the chief were disrupted by a ruckus brewing outside. A couple of villagers were urgently calling out for the chief.

The chief instantly rose, making for the door and displaying obvious concern, especially when a third voice was heard in the fray. The hunter's aching chest tightened when hearing the voice, he knew exactly who the raspy ranting belonged to.

It was Slipstream.