"I wish I knew then what I know now."
Character/s: Nightbeat
Universe: IDW
Prompt: Prompt #5 (Scenario: One character witnesses something that shocks him)
Notes: Set sooometime in the war's early days.
Summary: Cases and situations, like most things, are not open and shut. They are messy, complicated, and you can never really fix anything, and panicking never helps.
There was a time, however, where he didn't quite know that was the case...
Disclaimer: Nightbeat does not belong to me, Transformers belongs to Hastak or whoever, IDW belongs to IDW. I'm not making money off this. :T
"Hello...?"
He knocked. He always knocked. It was a habit he couldn't quite shrug. Even if the neighbourhood had looked like it was a hive of villainy, he would still have knocked; it was something someone, along the line, had patiently ingrained into his processor until he Got It. And once he got hold of something, it usually had to be pried from his servos if someone else wanted him to stop it.
He knocked again, and there was no reply. He frowned, and hesitated for a moment.
This is okay, right...?
He took out his crowbar from some subspaced pocket and levered the door open.
Well, sort of. Once he'd given it a little leeway, the door crashed down of its own accord, off its hinges. Despite himself, he glanced down.
If robots could go pale, he would have.
There were desperate handprints, dragging down across the door, marking their owner's scrabble for the locks and possible freedom, and a splatter of fluid that was--
-probably terminal, as he'd just glanced up and seen the Cybertronian who had made them. He knew what Cybertronians were supposed to look like, as he was one.
They usually had more head.
If he was human, he would have taken a moment to violently throw up. As it was, he settled for a shudder, and part of his idealistic processor went off to cry in a corner. He hadn't been introduced to particularly violent crime scenes yet. Recordings didn't even come close.
Several other things in his processor went off on break once a voice spoke up from the darkness, grinning brokenly. Its owner was crouching over the other bot's body like a hulking shadow.
"She's been bad. Bad, bad, bad. She left. She'll never leave again..."
Internally, Nightbeat warred with himself, and eventually settled for a sort of horrified choking sound as he stepped backwards. The mech unfolded himself and moved forward.
"You've been bad, haven't you--"
--and the internal struggle was much briefer this time, as the young detective launched himself forward and swung the crowbar.
Later, he reflected, he'd been lucky. The mech had almost torn his head off and would have succeeded if not for a few lucky blows. As it was, the crazed mech was in custody now, and he was sitting in medbay.
It was his first experience with that sort of death.
It would not be the last.
Universe: IDW
Prompt: Prompt #5 (Scenario: One character witnesses something that shocks him)
Notes: Set sooometime in the war's early days.
Summary: Cases and situations, like most things, are not open and shut. They are messy, complicated, and you can never really fix anything, and panicking never helps.
There was a time, however, where he didn't quite know that was the case...
Disclaimer: Nightbeat does not belong to me, Transformers belongs to Hastak or whoever, IDW belongs to IDW. I'm not making money off this. :T
"Hello...?"
He knocked. He always knocked. It was a habit he couldn't quite shrug. Even if the neighbourhood had looked like it was a hive of villainy, he would still have knocked; it was something someone, along the line, had patiently ingrained into his processor until he Got It. And once he got hold of something, it usually had to be pried from his servos if someone else wanted him to stop it.
He knocked again, and there was no reply. He frowned, and hesitated for a moment.
This is okay, right...?
He took out his crowbar from some subspaced pocket and levered the door open.
Well, sort of. Once he'd given it a little leeway, the door crashed down of its own accord, off its hinges. Despite himself, he glanced down.
If robots could go pale, he would have.
There were desperate handprints, dragging down across the door, marking their owner's scrabble for the locks and possible freedom, and a splatter of fluid that was--
-probably terminal, as he'd just glanced up and seen the Cybertronian who had made them. He knew what Cybertronians were supposed to look like, as he was one.
They usually had more head.
If he was human, he would have taken a moment to violently throw up. As it was, he settled for a shudder, and part of his idealistic processor went off to cry in a corner. He hadn't been introduced to particularly violent crime scenes yet. Recordings didn't even come close.
Several other things in his processor went off on break once a voice spoke up from the darkness, grinning brokenly. Its owner was crouching over the other bot's body like a hulking shadow.
"She's been bad. Bad, bad, bad. She left. She'll never leave again..."
Internally, Nightbeat warred with himself, and eventually settled for a sort of horrified choking sound as he stepped backwards. The mech unfolded himself and moved forward.
"You've been bad, haven't you--"
--and the internal struggle was much briefer this time, as the young detective launched himself forward and swung the crowbar.
Later, he reflected, he'd been lucky. The mech had almost torn his head off and would have succeeded if not for a few lucky blows. As it was, the crazed mech was in custody now, and he was sitting in medbay.
It was his first experience with that sort of death.
It would not be the last.