Ep. 1.5 - Nevada - "An Ill Wind" - Open

[Deleted]

<< Set around the end of Month One, a few days after Dusk's arrival! >>

---

He gazed down at the rolling mountains that extended for miles in all directions beneath the cliff he stood upon and wondered just how much this was going to hurt.

Oh, he'd been injured in the past. It was a hard thing to avoid when your species had been at war for millions of years. But this time there would be, well...

A bit of a twist.

The real kicker was that this was an otherwise beautiful day. Bright and sunny, the air scented with pine cones and white bursage. The Spring Mountains were a gorgeous sky island, a range of lush hills and forests surrounded by the arid Mojave and its creosote brush. Here, the afternoon sunlight filtered down through towering ponderosa pines, sparkling between the needles that made up their dense green canopies. Motes of dust and tiny insects drifted through the beams. Tiny pink and white wild roses lay scattered amidst the underbrush, fed upon by fluttering hordes of butterflies.

A quiet day. A beautiful day. Why did he have to spoil it with these kinds of antics. Whyyy.

The robot resisted the urge to claw at the sky. Instead he grimaced and looked down at the pistol in his hand.

Because he had hit a dead end, that's why. Because he was determined to either see this through or die trying. And because he was clearly a desperate moron who lacked any semblance of a better plan.

Scrub-jays jeered at him from the upper branches of the trees. The robot squinted up at them in annoyance. The blue pests had been hounding his campsite for months now, noisy robber birds who filched his energon chips and tapped at the windows of his ship. It figured that the little bastards would show up now to make this whole experience even more of a godawful hassle.

"If I survive this," he growled at them, "I'm making omelettes out of your young."

The robot lifted the pistol and hoped like hell that any campers on the mountains were off bothering nature somewhere far, far away.

Flocks of screaming jays flew up from the trees and scattered across the sky.

---

It was a beautiful day. Which made it all the more of a shame when a panicked voice broke over the invisible airwaves.

This particular Autobot emergency frequency was one of many old ones, mostly unused since prior to the Exodus. On Earth, it likely did not see common use. As its name implied it was used only for broadcasting and for monitoring emergencies, and for little else.

Now, it crackled.

"To any Autobots that may be monitoring this frequency! I am an Autobot- a former Autobot. And I need medical assistance. I was attacked by a Decepticon patrol, by those- those flying Eradicons somewhere over the Spring Mountains. I got away, but I was injured. I can provide co-ordinates. I know I don't deserve it. I know I- I can't ask anyone to trust me or forgive me for what I did. But please- I need help. From anyone who hears this who can spare it!"

[Deleted]

It was a beautiful day on Earth. The sun was warm on his hood, the native bird population were in song and the gritty stubble of mountainous road felt so good beneath his wheels after a long stint cooped up on the Nemesis. After working straight orns of mining duties back-to-back with double repair shifts Atracchus had honestly never been happier to see his name on the patrol shift register, and he’d been counting down to this day. Now there was nothing but himself and the road, the sides teeming with swathes of brilliantly hued organic life. It was mesmerising, really. He could drive for hours through the lolloping countryside, without a single care in the world.

::Atracchus.::

He sighed inwardly, and opened up his comm to fully receive the transmission. The curt voice of the Vehicon air captain cut across his thoughts. ::We’ve been called to investigate grid 315/E7. Rendezvous at these co-ordinates immediately.:: The co-ordinates packet pinged on his HUD. Atracchus conveyed accepted-received-acknowledged before he made a vicious u-turn (with perhaps a lot more throttle than he absolutely needed) and barrelled down the road he had just come. He was steadily picking up speed when all of a sudden, he ground to a crunching halt.

A large flock of birds scattering, up on the mountainside. Something had disturbed them.

He re-opened his comm-link to the captain, Archetryx. ::There’s been a possible disturbance in this sector. Requesting permission to investigate the site further.::

Archetryx’s line remained open, but was silent for a few moments as she considered his proposal. That help would be some time coming from grid 315/E7 was an understanding both jet and car shared. ::Permission granted. If you feel it necessary.:: Her words took on a hard edge. ::Do not make any foolish mistakes, Atracchus. I will NOT be there to pick up your charred and blasted pieces if you do.::

::Yes sir.:: He altered his destination’s co-ordinates and a new route sprung immediately to mind. Wheels churned the dirt as he made for the closest turn off that would take him up the mountain.

-----------------------------------------------

When he finally reached the edge of the potential event Atracchus came to a gentle stop, as quietly as he could. After satisfying protocols that no sign of human life was present he transformed, his sensors primed and weapons systems warming up, but not deployed. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to. He hadn’t detected any human activity, but there were many possible explanations for the cause of the birds’ disturbance. Cats, perhaps –

Atracchus’s left hand retracted back on itself and spun up into a blaster as he literally stumbled upon the other Cybertronian. It said something about his battle-wizened coding that he noticed the pistol in the mech’s hand a half-klik before he registered the large angry-looking injury that had been sustained.

The Basic was a deep bass, an intimidating tone that was as cold as it was uncompromising. << Drop your weapon, slowly. Back. Away. >> He adjusted his shot, and focused more clearly on the mech before him. Flier class, fresh injury most likely caused by a blaster shot. Required urgent medical attention. No obvious insignia on his plating. The ground at his feet was undisturbed, which meant he hadn’t crashed.

Atracchus’ right blaster flared online and slowly covered the circle of trees at their backs, turning his head briefly to survey the arc his gun covered.

His attention flicked back to the unidentifiable mech. His inflections this time were a shade less severe, and carried a questioning note. << Who did this to you? >>

[Deleted]

The strange robot spooked and whirled around at the sound of Atracchus' approach, the soft crunch of heavy footsteps in the underbrush. The relieved smile on his face vanished when he saw that the mech that had answered his hails was not an Autobot, but rather a Vehicon.

A real Vehicon too. Not a pretend one. With a real blaster. Two of them.

He swallowed.

"Okay, okay," he said. He rotated his pistol until it was pointed harmlessly at the sky, taking care to keep his movements in plain sight. He crouched and laid the weapon on the ground before he took a big step backwards, his black hands raised like a cornered gunslinger.

In the dappled sunlight that fell through the trees his injury was easy to see. Scorch marks seared down his left arm, tapering nearly down to the wrist joint. Amidst the char was some nasty looking blaster damage, two shots that had peppered into his armour and left smoking holes in the metal plating. Another shot had clipped his shoulder. All of the damage seeped fluid in dark trails.

The mech was a generic looking flier, tall and grey, with a dark face. His orange optics followed Atracchus nervously as the Vehicon scanned the trees.

"Man, all I need now is a blindfold and this could either be an execution or a Pepsi Challenge," he said. "Uh, seriously though - who did this to me? Yeah, it was an Autobot. I mean, I think the guy was an Autobot. It was a strange flier anyway, some white jet. Didn't recognise it. Chased me around a bit and shot me in the side when I transformed and tried to drop into the trees to hide."

Without lowering his hands he balled one of them into a fist and shook it at the sky.

"Rawr. Autobots, huh? Do they suck or what. May I put my hands down? Getting a bit light-headed here."

[Deleted]

Atracchus was used to the sporadic, and often hyperactive natures, that many of the air-class models seemed to share, but even he raised a slight visor ridge at the mech’s irregular speech patterns. How…delightfully uninformative. Atracchus extended the range of his sensory systems, hoping somewhat optimistically that the mystery flier would allow hirself to be detected first before simply shooting them out from the sky without warning. He then answered the flier’s request by spinning his blaster's gears a little hotter. A universally accepted negative.

He weighed up in his mind whether or not to contact Archetryx for backup. The situation had suddenly become that much more dangerous for him: or, rather, for the both of them. But there was nothing to suggest that the mystery aggressor was still in the area. In fact, that flier could be anywhere by now – including near grid 317/E7. He opened an internal comm. link to Archetryx.

<< Captain: there is possible evidence that a flier alt has passed through this area. Location is currently unknown. >>

<< Understood. What is your status? >>

<< There is no immediate danger here, as far as I can tell. I will investigate further. >>

<< Good. Report to our location as soon as you’ve finished. >>

The comm. cut out with a click inside his processor. Atracchus turned his attention back to the injured flier that stood in front of him, and studied him for several long clicks. The Decepticons had a very…rigid code regarding prisoners, neutrals, or anything that did not align with the purple insignia or its inevitable total victory. He hadn’t divulged this particular scenario to Archetryx because he didn’t want to open that barrel of tox-en just yet. It would be fairer to assess the situation, and this mech’s intentions, further, before he made that call.

Finally, his ruptured voice mod whirred and bopped on again.

<< What was hir’s reason for attacking you? >>

[Deleted]

In response to the ominous whine from the blasters, the strange flier lifted his hands higher. There was a resigned expression on his face, as is this was not an unusual occurrence for him. 

He waited politely while Attacchus spoke over his internal comm. On closer inspection he was quite scruffy looking, his grey paint worn and his frame notched with many small nicks and scratches.  His face was likewise battered, his lip split at the corner as if he had been struck.  With a rake. 

He watched the Vehicon closely when Atracchus turned back to him. 

"What was his reason for attacking me?" he said.  "Well, he was an Aerialbot. Those idiots will shoot at anything in the air that looks like it might be a Deception, especially the Vos assholes. And to be fair, uh..."

He trailed off with a grimace.  "There is a slim chance that he might have recognized me from Cybertron.  I once was a Decepticon. Seeker class. I 'disappeared' shortly before the Exodus."

Without lowering his hands he tweaked his fingers around the unspoken quotation marks. "Got the ident and codes to back it up too."

[Deleted]

<< No, you’re not. >>

The words left his processor with barely a secondary check. This mech was clearly a civilian class model. If he was wrong, this was the first Seeker he had ever met who would have owned up to being one of the notoriously proud air-warrior class while armed only with a pistol. Who would have tolerated such questioning from a Vehicon this long without lifting him by the scruff of the neck and dumping him at thirty thousand feet. And this was certainly the first Seeker the Well had ever sparked who couldn’t positively identify an Aerialbot the first time asked, Primus alive.

Atracchus hummed in irritation. It irritated him that this mech thought he was too stupid to expose such a pitifully blatant lie. That he was too blind and ignorant to the world around him. That this otherwise lovely day, his first day off base in a long time, had been tainted by this mech’s pathetic games. His plates still felt the knots from the previous orn's hard labour. He was not surprised to have been underestimated by other fully sparked non-Vehicons, but the baldness of the attempt was offensive. Even a drone would have had trouble with such a story.

Atracchus was a fairly patient and forgiving mech at the best of times. But with this joker, and off the rotations he'd just had, he felt his good will evaporating rather quickly.

<< You will stop lying. >> he said, his field spiking and fritzing in an uncomfortable fashion against the flier’s own. << State your designation, function and faction, or lack thereof. And how exactly you came to sustain these injuries. >>

He fired his second blaster up and pointed that at the hapless mech too. << If you wish to pursue this current avenue, I will ensure that your identification codes, along with your up-to-date medical and deployment records, are received by Soundwave directly. >>

And because he was still annoyed: << Or did you weld your wings on too? >>

[Deleted]

The flier sniffed.

"I was shot down at the end of the war, mate - just before the Exodus," he said. He regarded Atracchus squarely; despite his raised hands and the blasters pointed at him there was no hesitation in his manner, no unease. He spoke plainly and directly. "Back then we were getting desperate for targets, sending raids out against anything Intelligence could scrounge up. Gone were the halcyon days of glorious air battles and massive bombing offenses, eh? The 'Endless' Retaliation may have ground the Autobots through a shredder, but it drained us badly of our supplies as well. It all devolved into a pitiable scrap in the end, two factions scavenging for resources and sniping at one another across an invisible line in the rubble. Ha!"

Looking offended, he snorted. "Anyway, it happened during a two-ship bombing raid of a suspected ammunition cache. I was flying ahead of the main sortie as an FAC - a Forward Air Controller. That was my function. But Central Intelligence sent me bad information about the position of the cache's defensive gun and I went down somewhere near the border of the Iacon ruins. I was too badly damaged to get back to Polyhex on my own, and no one was sent out to retrieve me. You know how it goes - do they send out a search party to retrieve a single Vehicon trooper who is one step away from being permanently off-lined?"

With a meaningful look he shrugged one shoulder. "I limped to a non-aligned chopshop and paid the ill-tempered little medic there to hammer what was left of my original frame into something a hobo wouldn't spit at, with what I like to colourfully refer to as 'theoretical shanix.' After hurrying out of there before he figured out that my credit was bunk I tracked down this mangy Neutral who was rumoured to be secretly ferrying people off the planet, Neuts and Autobots and Decepticons alike, and arranged to be smuggled off Cybertron in an escape craft that I will only describe as being dodgy at best. I would take you to see it, but unless you enjoy wreckage and about one hundred and twenty-one ATMs of crushing oceanic depths, I can't say I recommend it."

"So, there you have it. In summary: my designation is Tempest, and as for function and faction I am a proud Decepticon deserter. While I anticipate that there is a better than fair chance that this will all end poorly for me, I can only hope that someone up there listening will take pity on my poor ass and see that I'm not neatly lined up in front of a firing squad. And I hope you were recording this, because if I have to repeat this whole miserable story to a third party I will weep openly. As for codes..."

He narrowed one optic thoughtfully. The ping would hit Atracchus a fraction of a second later, transmitting data: Decepticon codes. Out of date ones, but genuine nonetheless.

[Deleted]

Atracchus was silent. This mech’s demeanour had changed far too much for his liking; from the nervous, stumbling flier to bored, highly strung Seeker (or so he claimed)…and one of the most disconcerning factors was that this transformation appeared to have come about as a direct response to having a blaster pointed at him. Atracchus had never held someone up at blaster point before in all of his four million-odd years, but he was under the impression that the exact opposite was meant to happen.

The fact that he was initially so unsure of his attacker’s identity and could not even positively list them as an Autobot, and then changing his stance to Aerialbot without so much as a by-your-leave only served to raise more flags of contradiction. The only evidence that this phantom Cybertronian even happened to exist was the mangled mess of the mech’s shoulder. If it weren’t for that, Atracchus would have already taken him prisoner and let the higher-ups sort out the rest. Now there was this tangled mess of misdirection and deceit, of self-serving self-pity worthy of any politician, which needed to be sorted through to uncover the few grains of truth that existed. Identity codes could be real, but they were so easily reappropriated. Atracchus even had a couple of sets within his processor, all to cover other Vehicons (particularly Earhart) from shift absences and minor infringements. All Atracchus wanted to know from this bot was, where was this third Cybertronian?

<< Debriefing must occur in real time where the proximity of the Decepticon permits. >> Atracchus intoned automatically.

<< The trouble I’m having with your story, Tempest, is that the large scale of frame alterations you proposed took place, especially so late into the war – >>

He paused. Head cocked almost imperceptibly to his left to receive the transmission, he bolted upright a few kliks later.

<< Autobot air personnel has been sighted. >> His tone was urgent. << Light grey military model, currently eighty-six kliks north-east of our position. >>

He waved a blaster forward hurriedly, indicating the woodland behind the Cybertronian. << We need to move. NOW! >>

Of course, there was no such ‘bot homing in on their position. As far as Atracchus knew, there was no such flier in the laughably underbotted Autobot airteam on Earth. Now was the chance to see what ‘Tempest’ would give away.

[Deleted]

Tempest's optics popped.

"Wait, what- there is?" he blurted. He looked around in alarm as he allowed himself to be ushered into the trees, where the tall pines offered thick shelter from any prowler both on the ground or in the air. He held his injured arm as he stepped into cover, dark fluid seeping from between his fingers.

Dead needles and underbrush crackled beneath his feet as he crunched into the underbrush. Within the trees all was dappled sunlight and shadows, the rock carpeted in leaves and soft green ferns. However, despite his initial startled reaction, a moment later Tempest was chuckling to himself as he trudged deeper into the brush. He turning around to face Atracchus squarely.

"Ahh!" he said, his copper optics agleam. He grinned and slyly tapped the side of his helm, then pointed at the Vehicon. "Johnny, I gotta give you credit - you're a far sight more clever than most Vehicons I've met. That was pretty good. That was real good. You almost got me, and I haven't been got in a while now. Except two things: for starters, the only flier the Autobots theoretically have right now is white. And secondly..."

His grin widened as he tapped his head again. "Long-range radar, mate. Standard part of the avionics package for any flier built with a military airframe. The white flier that nailed me flew south. I'm picking up nobody to the north at this moment. Just clear blue skies, CAVOK as far as the eye can see."

Tempest spread his good hand. He smiled. "I know. I'm a shifty guy. I dig it. You gotta do your job. I get that. If you want, I'll be your prisoner. Take me to the other Decepticons and pawn me off onto somebody higher up the chain of command. I know how that goes too. Make me their problem. They can check my old file, if it hasn't been destroyed along with everything else in the war. I'll go quietly. Happily! I've been a deserter for a long time. Being a prisoner would be a refreshing change in scenery."

[Deleted]

There it was. That unmistakable, unconscious click of surprise in ‘Tempest’s voice that brought another possibility to light. When the prisoner had turned around Atracchus did not pay attention to his words, but used their much closer proximity to inspect the horrible gaping wound on his shoulder.

Burn marks.

Atracchus carefully weighed up his options. There was no other mech. The flier had done nothing but lie through his denta for almost the entire time they had spoken, and while he may not be as clever as he’d thought to not get caught, Atracchus knew that he was not nearly as sharp enough as he would need to be to interrogate the truth from such a slippery mech.

He could take this mech back to the Decepticon warship, where he would be incarcerated and interrogated by perhaps more persuasive mechs, but the only truth Atracchus knew he had spoken was this desire to become a Decepticon prisoner – which didn’t make any sense, ex-Decepticon or not. All Atracchus could divine was that there was an agenda lurking beneath the worn and scabbed grey surface, and he would feel responsible if anything were to happen as a result of this mech’s treachery.

Or, he could shoot the flier here and now. Kill him in the tangled scrub with only the birds to witness the injustice, and probably none to mourn him. Log it as an unco-operative and dangerous mech who could not be restrained and leave the matter to rust as it lay. But Atracchus was no murderer. He had taken lives in the heat of battle, and that would remain the only time he would ever justify the need to extinguish a spark’s light.

Atracchus scrutinised the hard, victorious light of the flier’s optics for a moment. Then, a co-ordinates packet for the Neutral base, in Africa, pinged on the flier’s HUD screen. One of the Vehicon’s blasters retracted on itself and, reaching into his opened chest cavity, pulled out a packet of mesh patches, which he tossed to the other mech.

<<You are free to go.>>

And with that he turned, and started to walk back the way he had come.

[Deleted]

Behind Atracchus, the grey jet fumbled to catch the mesh patches. For a moment he stared at them in dumb surprise, and ran his thumb lightly over the precious medical packet.

A Decepticon with a decent spark. He never thought he would see the day.

And now, the Vehicon was walking away. Live and let live.

He smiled.

He hated a lot of things - being shot at, customs officials, spiders - but he loved Earth. Truly, he did. And he loved a good story. When he had first arrived on the planet he had spent a little time simply drinking in the culture, inhaling it, until his avatar could walk it in borrowed feet. One of his favourite stories he had heard was of a rabbit, foolish and arrogant, who had found himself tangled in a sticky predicament and about to be eaten. But he had kept his head and begged not to be thrown to an even worse fate, only to reveal it was one he could tread safely when his recalcitrant captor had pitched him to it.

This had been a little different, a little reversed - Tempest could not have made it through that worse fate without being exposed, not with dreadful mechs like Soundwave aboard the Nemesis - but it had worked nonetheless.

I was born and bred in the briar patch, Brer Fox.

"Thank you!" he shouted. He lifted the packet, wincing when his injured arm was strained at the motion. "And please, tell Lord Megatron that should he ever need another mech in his ranks, that Tempest's hatred for the Autobots has not been dulled by time. I would like nothing more than to see those bastards torn from all semblance of comfort and scattered. I'll do whatever it takes to see Megatron accomplish that."

There was an odd noise behind Atracchus then - a soft vip. And then nothing. Just birdsong.

[Deleted]

The flier’s parting words did not deter the Vehicon from his path as he made his way through the scrub. Any ‘Con so keen to rip Autobots to shreds would have jumped him right there and demanded to be taken back to the flagship, to serve their Master within the ranks. No: this mech was grateful. Mostly mocking, but the relief was there all the same.

What did made Atracchus pause was the slight current against the small of his back – a pressure with no source, no reason to exist in the otherwise vacant air beneath the canopy. A small sound – and the pressure was gone. Atracchus whipped around, but where the mysterious flier had once stood there was nothing.

A chill running up his backstrut, the Vehicon hurriedly spun both his blasters up hot and surveyed the area. But there was no surprise attack, no militia dropped on his head or a horde of scraplets rampaging out of the dark, shadowy places. Just…nothing.

The forest stood there, as it had since time memoratum. A soft wind made the branches crackle, leaves rustling in concert and sunbeams shifting like light underwater. The sound of birds gently wove their way back into his audials again as well as the shuffling of his feet, moving the Vehicon warily through the moist leaf litter of the forest floor. The cheery, unassuming scene of this once pleasant day seemed much more ominous now.

After what seemed like a pump-stalling eternity, a fully battle-ready, alert Atracchus made its way back to the road. It wasn’t until he’d transformed and felt all four tyres hitting the road that he started to even slightly relax. He left this troubling encounter behind for now, all too happy to allow directional protocols steer himself towards grid 315/E7, and away from this unsettling disquiet that had entered his mind.


((That’s a wrap? ;] ))

[Deleted]

(( C'est fini! XD And thank you and Atracchus both for game, so much <3 ))