Ep1.5 – Vent – Closed
Jul 15, 2013 23:12:56 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2013 23:12:56 GMT -5
Sideswipe had a long and colorful history of being beaten up.
It was a fact. Sideswipe and inevitable extreme violence had gone hand in hand for millions of years and had been the running theme of his life even before the war broke out and put him and his brother on the frontlines of almost every major battle in Cybertronian history. In his time, Sideswipe had become a connoisseur of violence, a godsdamned expert in his fucking field and his field was two things: killing people and surviving when people tried to kill him back. The dearth of medics and doctors who’d put him back together over the years agreed that for a mech that got torn apart with the frequency that he did it was a statistical anomaly that he was still alive at all. They credited to either his spark-link to his brother keeping him alive when he should, by all rights, have snuffed or just buckets of Primus-given luck.
Buckets of Primus-given luck was mostly why he wasn’t dead with his face eaten off by an Insecticon.
The Order of Solus was settling in. Cleaver had them on as enforcers, real muscle finally. They were set up at the base in shifts, their main ship off in parts unknown. Whether it was in orbit or just parked somewhere, Sideswipe didn’t know and didn’t want to know because that was tactical fucking knowledge that made him responsible for things that weren’t his problem. The Order could watch themselves. He’d been tasked mostly with helping keep the peace around the base – a task that was far more doable with armed and dangerous blade-class as back up.
He was not, however, currently on duty.
Sideswipe was waiting just inside the cave entrance, arms folded over the still-scarred armor across his chest, waiting for the distant spark for the ground bridge half a mile out. Optimus Prime finally had lifted the restriction to the Neutral Base.
It was a fact. Sideswipe and inevitable extreme violence had gone hand in hand for millions of years and had been the running theme of his life even before the war broke out and put him and his brother on the frontlines of almost every major battle in Cybertronian history. In his time, Sideswipe had become a connoisseur of violence, a godsdamned expert in his fucking field and his field was two things: killing people and surviving when people tried to kill him back. The dearth of medics and doctors who’d put him back together over the years agreed that for a mech that got torn apart with the frequency that he did it was a statistical anomaly that he was still alive at all. They credited to either his spark-link to his brother keeping him alive when he should, by all rights, have snuffed or just buckets of Primus-given luck.
Buckets of Primus-given luck was mostly why he wasn’t dead with his face eaten off by an Insecticon.
The Order of Solus was settling in. Cleaver had them on as enforcers, real muscle finally. They were set up at the base in shifts, their main ship off in parts unknown. Whether it was in orbit or just parked somewhere, Sideswipe didn’t know and didn’t want to know because that was tactical fucking knowledge that made him responsible for things that weren’t his problem. The Order could watch themselves. He’d been tasked mostly with helping keep the peace around the base – a task that was far more doable with armed and dangerous blade-class as back up.
He was not, however, currently on duty.
Sideswipe was waiting just inside the cave entrance, arms folded over the still-scarred armor across his chest, waiting for the distant spark for the ground bridge half a mile out. Optimus Prime finally had lifted the restriction to the Neutral Base.