Fic
Title: Borealis 67/85: Thunderwing - Part I
Author: tainry
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing(s): Ensemble
Warnings: Unwholesomeness
Summary: Wherein Thunderwing ponders his purpose, Mez makes friends, Earth receives a warning, Starscream brings the party, Beachcomber has a qualm, and the big jets get pwnd.
Notes: Um. Sorry?
~2300 words.
BOREALIS: Thunderwing - part I
2031 - January
The chase had been incomprehensible at first. Why did they flee? He had been created for them; his spark, his body meant to join with theirs. Every astrosecond apart, every micrometer of distance away from them increased his agony. Nothing about his systems functioned properly without his trine. He had come to recognize the pursuit as a test. He altered his engines again, ignoring the pain, for another factor's worth of speed.
The slightest brush of their signatures against his was exquisite torture. Behind an asteroid gravity suddenly bent and twisted - ah! Clever Skywarp was about to... and they were gone. Thunderwing howled silently, delighted and bereft. He was learning such wonderful tricks of hiding and treachery and deceit from them. They were so beautiful. Now he must begin the search anew. Skywarp could not take them very far, but any direction was possible, and they would try to hide, altering their shield characteristics or concealing themselves behind strange ores, or running perilously close to pulsars or neutron stars.
Obeying Galvatron was written into the most basic of his core programming. That one imperative before everything else, gladly and completely followed. And Galvatron had made him for Starscream and Skywarp, to complete their trine. He was for no other purpose. The screams and energy blasts crashing against his shields and armor were of no consequence. Thunderwing's defensive subroutines countered them easily, leaving his main CPUs free to contemplate the splendor and perfection of Starscream's wings and mind, and the convoluted, hidden talents of Skywarp. Their eventual union would be so much the more triumphant for having been delayed. He would be so worthy of them, even if it took a hundred thousand years. The truest, most beautiful love was that between those with wings. All others were but pallid, shallow reflections.
He could feel how they wanted him, their stifled longing clear in their fields whenever he got close. He could feel the rapid flutter of their sparks in his own. It spurred him on, made him dizzy like the finest high-grade, which he had never tasted but he possessed the memory files from Galvatron. During the long reaches of his pursuit, Thunderwing amused himself with imagining what he would do to Starscream and Skywarp when he at last proved himself and caught them. Those fierce, singular sparks unmistakable for anything else in the universe; he would always find them, always know them. He wanted only them forever.
The pain never ceased. He would share that with them, too. He reconfigured his sensors, using the frequencies that had worked best last time, boosting the signal strength, trying new combinations when that yielded no result. Every small change stabbed, every input was interpreted as pain. The constant transformation in his unquiet body was agony, but that seemed just to him, that was how life was supposed to be. Galvatron had made him so, he embraced it.
He would embrace them as well. Galvatron had programmed him with their preferences and most secret pleasures. They liked to be opened forcibly. They liked to be bitten and clawed. They did it to each other all the time. He would share everything with them.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Mez swaggered down the corridor, kicking Shadowside out of his way. Now he would have to find somewhere new to hide for recharge, since Shadowside’s favorite tactic was cutting the fuel lines of recharging mechs, but that was fine.
“Just because you fancy yourself on the way to being Turmoil’s Second!” Shadowside snarled. The power vacuum left when Deadlock had - thank the Unmaker - disappeared a few vorns ago was only unsteadily occupied by Countdown. A competent brute; very strong but not quite smart enough to really make Turmoil happy.
“Hm?” Mez asked casually, pressing his photon cannon to Shadowside’s helm. “What was that?” Mez’s recent history was well known aboard Turmoil’s ship. There being only one survivor in a Decepticon crash wasn’t uncommon. Mez had put the bodies of his former compatriots to good use; the body he had now was unusually flush with new parts and weaponry, and Excoriation - Turmoil’s CMO/Chief Torturer - had declared Mez’s nanocells to be of a peculiar lineage that was uncannily good at swift self-repair.
“Nothing,” said Shadowside, smiling. “Forget it.”
“Shut your valves, both of you,” Iceneedle said, shoving them apart. “Mez, get your aft up to the bridge. Shadowside, down to the engine room. We’re turning this crate around. New orders.”
“Thought Turmoil wanted a refit at Chaar,” Mez said, heading for the bow as ordered.
Taking a little side trip, Iceneedle tight-beamed. Thunderwing wrecked half Chaar again. If we and Bludgeon and Jhiaxus can’t kill it out here in space we’re to kill Starscream and Skywarp instead.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - May
Elita! They’ve entered the Milky Way wormhole, Verthandi reported via long-range subspace. Launching transmitter now.
Very good, Verthandi. Thank you, Elita replied. Primus help them. Prime’s spooky tactician had foreseen this possibility. Elita hoped the combined forces of Ultra Magnus, Kup, Silverbolt and Prime would be enough to stop Thunderwing before Earth became yet another planet destroyed in this relentless war.
…
Two weeks later.
Message from the Nornir, Prime, Borealis sent, pulling a high-g turn around the nearest star and arrowing back to Sol. Crap. Prowl was right - Screamer’s bringing his buddy our way. If they take the most direct route I calculate their ETA at twenty-two Earth days.
Understood, Little Bird. Rendezvous with Skyfire at Jupiter.
Woohoo!
Heh.
…
The first thing up on the screens at NEST headquarters when Lennox arrived in the morning was Optimus Prime.
“No offence, Optimus, but I’m guessing this isn’t good news,” Lennox said.
“It is not. Starscream, Skywarp and Thunderwing will arrive in this system in a minimum of twenty-two days. I’m sending the deltas and the Aerials out to intercept them outside the Oort. If that fails we will have an ambush set up on Mars. It is my intention to stop Thunderwing there.”
Lennox raked a hand through his hair. "I understand." What Optimus hadn't said, Lennox knew, was that the Autobots would stop Thunderwing at Mars - or they would fight to the last mech trying. As Optimus cut the connection, Lennox stared at the blank monitor for a moment. “Get me Commander Bowen on Mars.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - June
Starscream.
Hello, Prime. I have a present for you.
Please bring it to Mars. We can more easily receive it there.
Oh Prime, don't you want me to send it directly to you at home? Think how convenient it would be. You and your little insect friends dying together like good comrades should.
Starscream, think. If it kills all of us, who will stop it from hunting you for the rest of your life?
What makes you think it's hunting me? How do you know anyth... Never mind. Starscream needed to kill someone. Soon. He could decide later whether to make Shockwave figure out whom, or claim that pleasure for himself. After months of flight and hiding, Starcream was too weary for his usual games. Not that it would do for Prime to know that. Very well. I suppose you’re cowering in that wretched labyrinth.
That will do, yes.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
In June of 2031 Mars and Earth were quite close to one another, though not quite in conjunction. The people of Earth watched the bright, near planet with greater trepidation now than ever before in their history, old Halloween radio broadcasts notwithstanding. This time it wasn’t a hoax, or the fevered imaginations of early astronomers.
The proximity was convenient for the Autobots. Those whose vehicle modes could not make the interplanetary jump shed their chameleon mesh and folded themselves into cometary protoforms.
In Japan, millions of children - and adults - watched their phones and holo screens as Railspike, Rapid Run and Midnight Express waded out to sea so that their thrusters would do no harm as they took off. Wedge led the Build Team to a fallow field near Kochenevo, Novosibirsk Provence, Russia; their takeoff observed with far less enthusiasm than had been the total solar eclipse of twenty-three years previous.
Bumblebee dropped Sam and Mikaela and the children off at Sam’s parents’ home in Tranquility. “The gestalts are all going,” he told his family. “I probably won’t even get to shoot anything.”
“Then stay here with us,” Dani insisted, for the umpteenth time.
“All the Autobots but a few are going,” Bee explained. Again. “Just in case. We have to make sure Thunderwing doesn’t come here.”
“Hot Spot’s team isn’t going are they?” Judy asked. “They can’t, they’re…” She stopped herself before saying ours. Humanity didn’t own the Protectobots of course. But they belonged on Earth, Optimus Prime had ensparked them for this world.
Bee chuckled ruefully. “Prime meant for them to stay. But then they combined and Defensor launched into this huge speech about how their programming was to protect the Earth and how could they do that if Prime left them behind to do nothing but sit on their hands.” Defensor had gone on to say that he could pin Superion in three throws out of five, which prompted a great deal of yelling over the radio from the Aerials. “Vector and Safeguard are still in stasis. The minicons and Glyph are staying with them.” Wheeljack hadn’t made up his mind yet. Someone should guard the growth tanks, and Atrandom had said she would remain as backup if Wheeljack did. Catscan and Lifeline intended to go, but would set up a medical unit at a safe-ish distance from the anticipated battle.
Bee knelt low and hugged Dani and then Sam and Mikaela, and - to his surprise - Judy ran at him for a hug too. “We’re just going to Mars, not far, and only for a week or two maybe.” He let Judy go and stood. “Besides, I honestly think there isn’t anyone as good at combat in space as Skyfire. He and the Aerials and Borealis will probably end this before the rest of us see any action.”
…
"So we're just going to trap this ‘thing’. A fully-sparked, thinking being, and execute him in cold blood. Without trying to talk to him, or figure out what's wrong."
"Beachcomber." Seaspray put his hands on Beachcomber’s shoulders. The geologist shouldn’t go, he thought. There wouldn’t be much he could do anyway, and the whole thing was making him unhappy. Perceptor wouldn’t have to worry about protecting him that way either.
"No,” Beachcomber said, shrugging Seaspray off. “I think we need to be clear about this."
Prime nodded and knelt, offering arm cables. "Beachcomber, you're right. Come closer. Glyph, you too, my skeptical friend." The two small mechs approached and seated the cables.
After a swift scan to ensure no humans were in the hangar, Prime opened his chest. If you wish, I can share what I felt when Galvatron kindled Thunderwing. And if you give me a moment I might be able to let you feel his spark through mine.
“Very well,” Glyph said, opening her side of the link fearlessly.
Beside her, Beachcomber stared at his feet. He knew he should trust Prime, he really did. This was going to be bad. This whole situation was bad. He didn’t like the way Perceptor had disassembled, cleaned, reassembled and recalibrated his light cannon. But he had to know.
Prime highlighted the memory file, stripped of emotional and physical layers. Glyph opened it, Beachcomber a wary nanosecond behind.
There was a kind of spark sickness, documented in only a handful of cases through the vast reaches of Cybertronian history, where the elements lost their balance, subatomic forces decaying unnaturally fast, spitting out rare, corrosive particle waves. The mechs so afflicted displayed ravenous, psychotic appetites, dying after a few short years of cannibalistic death and mayhem. This was worse. This had been done on purpose.
The blue-white radiance of Prime’s spark enveloped them. Beachcomber steadied himself, following Glyph through a dimensionless wrenching, to a not-space where his sense of self blurred and somewhere a part of him had a voice and cried out because there it was, fast and utterly malevolent, approaching, writhing like a cancer, necrotic and foul.
Prime caught them as they collapsed, holding them close to his body.
"Not...not execution," Glyph choked. "Euthanasia."
Beachcomber curled against Prime, trembling. Why? Why would the Allspark make something… allow someone like that to be made? And Prime could feel that sickness, that malformation of spirit all the time. How could he bear it?
“You are correct to ask. The Allspark is more than a tool, clever tool that it might seem. But it is also far better than I am at holding firm to the ideal of freedom, of choice.” Prime held out a cable, watching the faces of his people. "Doubt is good. Questioning me is good." Reassure me, his tone said, that this war, my failure, has not changed us so completely. "Does anyone else wish to experience this?"
Tracks stepped forward, and First Aid.
Seaspray helped Beachcomber stand and half-carried him down the stem corridor. “Come on, let’s find Miles.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
What… what…the hell… was that? Borealis rebooted her peripherals again, nothing was working right. Someone’s hand drifted by her face. She dimly thought she should catch it but her arms wouldn’t move. Did she have arms in this mode? What mode was she in?
Slaaag, said Air Raid, sounding like Borealis felt. I thought getting null-rayed was bad.
My hand, Fireflight said in a small, piteous voice. Why did my hand come off?
We…we mistransformed, Flight, Silverbolt groaned. Starscream and Skywarp had streaked by like neutrinos, narrow and fast and not touching anything, and then Thunderwing had come. And done something. Some kind of spherical pulse weapon. Whatever it was had gone right through their shields and armor and protoforms and knocked Superion out of gestalt. From the look of things it had fragged up the deltas as well.
Warrrrrrn… Prri…iiiime… Skyfire managed before his optics flickered out.
Part II
Part III
Table of Contents
.
Author: tainry
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money.
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing(s): Ensemble
Warnings: Unwholesomeness
Summary: Wherein Thunderwing ponders his purpose, Mez makes friends, Earth receives a warning, Starscream brings the party, Beachcomber has a qualm, and the big jets get pwnd.
Notes: Um. Sorry?
~2300 words.
BOREALIS: Thunderwing - part I
2031 - January
The chase had been incomprehensible at first. Why did they flee? He had been created for them; his spark, his body meant to join with theirs. Every astrosecond apart, every micrometer of distance away from them increased his agony. Nothing about his systems functioned properly without his trine. He had come to recognize the pursuit as a test. He altered his engines again, ignoring the pain, for another factor's worth of speed.
The slightest brush of their signatures against his was exquisite torture. Behind an asteroid gravity suddenly bent and twisted - ah! Clever Skywarp was about to... and they were gone. Thunderwing howled silently, delighted and bereft. He was learning such wonderful tricks of hiding and treachery and deceit from them. They were so beautiful. Now he must begin the search anew. Skywarp could not take them very far, but any direction was possible, and they would try to hide, altering their shield characteristics or concealing themselves behind strange ores, or running perilously close to pulsars or neutron stars.
Obeying Galvatron was written into the most basic of his core programming. That one imperative before everything else, gladly and completely followed. And Galvatron had made him for Starscream and Skywarp, to complete their trine. He was for no other purpose. The screams and energy blasts crashing against his shields and armor were of no consequence. Thunderwing's defensive subroutines countered them easily, leaving his main CPUs free to contemplate the splendor and perfection of Starscream's wings and mind, and the convoluted, hidden talents of Skywarp. Their eventual union would be so much the more triumphant for having been delayed. He would be so worthy of them, even if it took a hundred thousand years. The truest, most beautiful love was that between those with wings. All others were but pallid, shallow reflections.
He could feel how they wanted him, their stifled longing clear in their fields whenever he got close. He could feel the rapid flutter of their sparks in his own. It spurred him on, made him dizzy like the finest high-grade, which he had never tasted but he possessed the memory files from Galvatron. During the long reaches of his pursuit, Thunderwing amused himself with imagining what he would do to Starscream and Skywarp when he at last proved himself and caught them. Those fierce, singular sparks unmistakable for anything else in the universe; he would always find them, always know them. He wanted only them forever.
The pain never ceased. He would share that with them, too. He reconfigured his sensors, using the frequencies that had worked best last time, boosting the signal strength, trying new combinations when that yielded no result. Every small change stabbed, every input was interpreted as pain. The constant transformation in his unquiet body was agony, but that seemed just to him, that was how life was supposed to be. Galvatron had made him so, he embraced it.
He would embrace them as well. Galvatron had programmed him with their preferences and most secret pleasures. They liked to be opened forcibly. They liked to be bitten and clawed. They did it to each other all the time. He would share everything with them.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
Mez swaggered down the corridor, kicking Shadowside out of his way. Now he would have to find somewhere new to hide for recharge, since Shadowside’s favorite tactic was cutting the fuel lines of recharging mechs, but that was fine.
“Just because you fancy yourself on the way to being Turmoil’s Second!” Shadowside snarled. The power vacuum left when Deadlock had - thank the Unmaker - disappeared a few vorns ago was only unsteadily occupied by Countdown. A competent brute; very strong but not quite smart enough to really make Turmoil happy.
“Hm?” Mez asked casually, pressing his photon cannon to Shadowside’s helm. “What was that?” Mez’s recent history was well known aboard Turmoil’s ship. There being only one survivor in a Decepticon crash wasn’t uncommon. Mez had put the bodies of his former compatriots to good use; the body he had now was unusually flush with new parts and weaponry, and Excoriation - Turmoil’s CMO/Chief Torturer - had declared Mez’s nanocells to be of a peculiar lineage that was uncannily good at swift self-repair.
“Nothing,” said Shadowside, smiling. “Forget it.”
“Shut your valves, both of you,” Iceneedle said, shoving them apart. “Mez, get your aft up to the bridge. Shadowside, down to the engine room. We’re turning this crate around. New orders.”
“Thought Turmoil wanted a refit at Chaar,” Mez said, heading for the bow as ordered.
Taking a little side trip, Iceneedle tight-beamed. Thunderwing wrecked half Chaar again. If we and Bludgeon and Jhiaxus can’t kill it out here in space we’re to kill Starscream and Skywarp instead.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - May
Elita! They’ve entered the Milky Way wormhole, Verthandi reported via long-range subspace. Launching transmitter now.
Very good, Verthandi. Thank you, Elita replied. Primus help them. Prime’s spooky tactician had foreseen this possibility. Elita hoped the combined forces of Ultra Magnus, Kup, Silverbolt and Prime would be enough to stop Thunderwing before Earth became yet another planet destroyed in this relentless war.
…
Two weeks later.
Message from the Nornir, Prime, Borealis sent, pulling a high-g turn around the nearest star and arrowing back to Sol. Crap. Prowl was right - Screamer’s bringing his buddy our way. If they take the most direct route I calculate their ETA at twenty-two Earth days.
Understood, Little Bird. Rendezvous with Skyfire at Jupiter.
Woohoo!
Heh.
…
The first thing up on the screens at NEST headquarters when Lennox arrived in the morning was Optimus Prime.
“No offence, Optimus, but I’m guessing this isn’t good news,” Lennox said.
“It is not. Starscream, Skywarp and Thunderwing will arrive in this system in a minimum of twenty-two days. I’m sending the deltas and the Aerials out to intercept them outside the Oort. If that fails we will have an ambush set up on Mars. It is my intention to stop Thunderwing there.”
Lennox raked a hand through his hair. "I understand." What Optimus hadn't said, Lennox knew, was that the Autobots would stop Thunderwing at Mars - or they would fight to the last mech trying. As Optimus cut the connection, Lennox stared at the blank monitor for a moment. “Get me Commander Bowen on Mars.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
2031 - June
Starscream.
Hello, Prime. I have a present for you.
Please bring it to Mars. We can more easily receive it there.
Oh Prime, don't you want me to send it directly to you at home? Think how convenient it would be. You and your little insect friends dying together like good comrades should.
Starscream, think. If it kills all of us, who will stop it from hunting you for the rest of your life?
What makes you think it's hunting me? How do you know anyth... Never mind. Starscream needed to kill someone. Soon. He could decide later whether to make Shockwave figure out whom, or claim that pleasure for himself. After months of flight and hiding, Starcream was too weary for his usual games. Not that it would do for Prime to know that. Very well. I suppose you’re cowering in that wretched labyrinth.
That will do, yes.
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
In June of 2031 Mars and Earth were quite close to one another, though not quite in conjunction. The people of Earth watched the bright, near planet with greater trepidation now than ever before in their history, old Halloween radio broadcasts notwithstanding. This time it wasn’t a hoax, or the fevered imaginations of early astronomers.
The proximity was convenient for the Autobots. Those whose vehicle modes could not make the interplanetary jump shed their chameleon mesh and folded themselves into cometary protoforms.
In Japan, millions of children - and adults - watched their phones and holo screens as Railspike, Rapid Run and Midnight Express waded out to sea so that their thrusters would do no harm as they took off. Wedge led the Build Team to a fallow field near Kochenevo, Novosibirsk Provence, Russia; their takeoff observed with far less enthusiasm than had been the total solar eclipse of twenty-three years previous.
Bumblebee dropped Sam and Mikaela and the children off at Sam’s parents’ home in Tranquility. “The gestalts are all going,” he told his family. “I probably won’t even get to shoot anything.”
“Then stay here with us,” Dani insisted, for the umpteenth time.
“All the Autobots but a few are going,” Bee explained. Again. “Just in case. We have to make sure Thunderwing doesn’t come here.”
“Hot Spot’s team isn’t going are they?” Judy asked. “They can’t, they’re…” She stopped herself before saying ours. Humanity didn’t own the Protectobots of course. But they belonged on Earth, Optimus Prime had ensparked them for this world.
Bee chuckled ruefully. “Prime meant for them to stay. But then they combined and Defensor launched into this huge speech about how their programming was to protect the Earth and how could they do that if Prime left them behind to do nothing but sit on their hands.” Defensor had gone on to say that he could pin Superion in three throws out of five, which prompted a great deal of yelling over the radio from the Aerials. “Vector and Safeguard are still in stasis. The minicons and Glyph are staying with them.” Wheeljack hadn’t made up his mind yet. Someone should guard the growth tanks, and Atrandom had said she would remain as backup if Wheeljack did. Catscan and Lifeline intended to go, but would set up a medical unit at a safe-ish distance from the anticipated battle.
Bee knelt low and hugged Dani and then Sam and Mikaela, and - to his surprise - Judy ran at him for a hug too. “We’re just going to Mars, not far, and only for a week or two maybe.” He let Judy go and stood. “Besides, I honestly think there isn’t anyone as good at combat in space as Skyfire. He and the Aerials and Borealis will probably end this before the rest of us see any action.”
…
"So we're just going to trap this ‘thing’. A fully-sparked, thinking being, and execute him in cold blood. Without trying to talk to him, or figure out what's wrong."
"Beachcomber." Seaspray put his hands on Beachcomber’s shoulders. The geologist shouldn’t go, he thought. There wouldn’t be much he could do anyway, and the whole thing was making him unhappy. Perceptor wouldn’t have to worry about protecting him that way either.
"No,” Beachcomber said, shrugging Seaspray off. “I think we need to be clear about this."
Prime nodded and knelt, offering arm cables. "Beachcomber, you're right. Come closer. Glyph, you too, my skeptical friend." The two small mechs approached and seated the cables.
After a swift scan to ensure no humans were in the hangar, Prime opened his chest. If you wish, I can share what I felt when Galvatron kindled Thunderwing. And if you give me a moment I might be able to let you feel his spark through mine.
“Very well,” Glyph said, opening her side of the link fearlessly.
Beside her, Beachcomber stared at his feet. He knew he should trust Prime, he really did. This was going to be bad. This whole situation was bad. He didn’t like the way Perceptor had disassembled, cleaned, reassembled and recalibrated his light cannon. But he had to know.
Prime highlighted the memory file, stripped of emotional and physical layers. Glyph opened it, Beachcomber a wary nanosecond behind.
There was a kind of spark sickness, documented in only a handful of cases through the vast reaches of Cybertronian history, where the elements lost their balance, subatomic forces decaying unnaturally fast, spitting out rare, corrosive particle waves. The mechs so afflicted displayed ravenous, psychotic appetites, dying after a few short years of cannibalistic death and mayhem. This was worse. This had been done on purpose.
The blue-white radiance of Prime’s spark enveloped them. Beachcomber steadied himself, following Glyph through a dimensionless wrenching, to a not-space where his sense of self blurred and somewhere a part of him had a voice and cried out because there it was, fast and utterly malevolent, approaching, writhing like a cancer, necrotic and foul.
Prime caught them as they collapsed, holding them close to his body.
"Not...not execution," Glyph choked. "Euthanasia."
Beachcomber curled against Prime, trembling. Why? Why would the Allspark make something… allow someone like that to be made? And Prime could feel that sickness, that malformation of spirit all the time. How could he bear it?
“You are correct to ask. The Allspark is more than a tool, clever tool that it might seem. But it is also far better than I am at holding firm to the ideal of freedom, of choice.” Prime held out a cable, watching the faces of his people. "Doubt is good. Questioning me is good." Reassure me, his tone said, that this war, my failure, has not changed us so completely. "Does anyone else wish to experience this?"
Tracks stepped forward, and First Aid.
Seaspray helped Beachcomber stand and half-carried him down the stem corridor. “Come on, let’s find Miles.”
<{>~~~<(o)>~~~<}>
What… what…the hell… was that? Borealis rebooted her peripherals again, nothing was working right. Someone’s hand drifted by her face. She dimly thought she should catch it but her arms wouldn’t move. Did she have arms in this mode? What mode was she in?
Slaaag, said Air Raid, sounding like Borealis felt. I thought getting null-rayed was bad.
My hand, Fireflight said in a small, piteous voice. Why did my hand come off?
We…we mistransformed, Flight, Silverbolt groaned. Starscream and Skywarp had streaked by like neutrinos, narrow and fast and not touching anything, and then Thunderwing had come. And done something. Some kind of spherical pulse weapon. Whatever it was had gone right through their shields and armor and protoforms and knocked Superion out of gestalt. From the look of things it had fragged up the deltas as well.
Warrrrrrn… Prri…iiiime… Skyfire managed before his optics flickered out.
Part II
Part III
Table of Contents
.