Post by Deleted on May 17, 2017 21:15:19 GMT -5
The light thudding of Xero’s pedes against the metal flooring of the base heralded her entrance into the main room. The overhead lights shone off her black armor, catching the pink stripes that decorated it. As had become the norm, a warning flashed at the top right hand corner of her visuals. Energon readings were low, as they had been for a good while now. It was no secret among them that starvation was a real threat. The bare bit of energon she’d had with her during her crash had sustained her for a few days. Barely. The ration had truly only been meant for one, two at most, not weeks. A few vorns earlier, the morbid irony of the situation would have brought a small smirk to her lips. After millennia of being shot at, blown up, damaged almost to offlining, and somehow surviving despite a literal army attempting to kill every last one of them, they would die here, at an Autobot base, safely surrounded by comrades. During a truce with the Decepticons. Not a single shot fired.
Fate had a cruel sense of humor.
As she neared the command center, she pushed her darker thoughts aside. She had been given patrol duty, something that was becoming increasingly more difficult, but, was still undeniably necessary. Truce or no, the Decepticons were still active, and, if they discovered the base’s location, she had no doubt in her processor that they would seize the opportunity to attack as soon as hostilities resumed. Which they inevitably would. The animosity between the factions ran too deeply for a short ceasefire to deter it. Though, the fact that there was a ceasefire proved that they had made at least a short gain toward peace. Maybe, one day, Megatron would give himself to reason and the war would come to an end.
Unlikely. The war wouldn’t be over until his spark was extinguished.
The former commander paused, fully ready to transform but awaiting her designated partner. Skirmisher was not a bot she’d encountered yet, as he had arrived only two days earlier. Not that she had sought him out. Xero was not the most personable bot. Though she hated to admit it, the vorns of war and lost comrades had made her resistant to the formation of interpersonal relationships. The dark part of her that had come into being with the start of the war asked ‘why bother when it’s only a matter of time before they die too’? Despite this, she had been making an effort to at least behave in an overtly civil manner. She hadn’t thrown Hot Rod through a ground bridge and into Antarctica, yet. Though, in reality, she somehow doubted even that would stop his incessant chattering. He would most likely find a way to communicate with the native creatures there and irritate them until they sent him back.
A small sigh left her in the form of a venting of air. The influx of ‘teenagers’- a human term- had been troublesome indeed. She could only hope that Skirmisher didn’t fall into that age range.