The dark waters slowly smoothed out as the disturbances ceased. No more falling debris, no more fighting robots, the crashed breakaway barge that had ponderously slid off the embankment with a metallic shriek had sank and settled under the dark waters. The few remaining lights tried but couldn't lit up the disturbed ocean, couldn't lit up all the jagged shapes in its depths. On the wharf and all over the tower secret service agents crawled, combing the place for the remains of the aliens. The Cybertronian tech on the tower was their greatest catch, so they mostly ignored the beached and sank barge amidst the dark green seawater, lapping gently now.
A few agents were ordered there too and dutifully, they swept the bay for signs of alien tech, for unexplained radiation and anything that could or would interest their superiors. They all knew that one of the aliens have escaped and that two should be dead in the midst of the flooded drydock, but to get in there and get those out they awaited for specialized equipment and divers. And it wasn't a hurry – after all, dead robots didn't go anywhere.
One of the jagged shapes in the bottom moved. Slowly, carefully, staying out of the small patches of lighted waters, collecting pieces as it went, it moved purposefully towards the broken seawall. It stopped frequently as an agent overhead swept their flashlights over the water or leaned over the edge to peer into the darkness. It itched to yank the fools into the water, to crush them, squeeze out their disgusting fluids... but it knew that that would be foolish and borderline suicidal with the sheer number of them and their weapons.
And Shatter was not a fool. She was a survivor right now and she intended to stay alive. Revenge could come later – and it would come in time. Revenge on the little insects with whom she had to play nice, who took Cybetronian knowledge and who planned to kill them as soon as their uneasy collaboration was at an end. She firmly ignored that it was her intention as well. She was a Cybertronian, therefore superior to these puny organics. They could serve her purpose, but she would never serve them.
Superior, even half dismantled. The runaway barge did a lot of damage, even to somemech as strong and sturdy as she was. Shatter collected the most important pieces she had lost when the barge crashed into her and squashed her against the wall. She was thankful that they had come across aquatic planets before, so most of her systems were properly insulated. Without it, she might not have survived at all. Cybertronians were a strong and durable race, Decepticons especially so, but electricity and water mixed like... well, electricity and water. Even now she had shorts and had to lock down a few systems for water damage. The pain, she ignored. You do get to learn that in the Decepticon army. Showing weakness is for Autobots.
Shatter cast a last look back at the wharf, now teeming with humans. It was fortunate that they needed special equipment for underwater search, but it appeared that they had brought it at last. Funny that, she mused, that her species was more comfortable underwater than these noisy organics. But well, no matter. It was time to slip away. She kicked off from the ruined metallic floodgate and sank into the open ocean. She couldn't swim of course, but the darkness, the water and the pressure didn't disturb her either. As soon as she hit the silty bottom she started to walk – plod really in the soft silt that she hated on principle because it would be Pit to clean out of her joints later.
She moved several hics before daring to approach the shore again in the dim light of the dawn. The shore was rocky and deserted – perfect for hiding and repairing herself. And get out of the accursed water – it had far more life in it that Shatter liked around here. Organic life, disgusting and annoyingly curious. She had to kill a few of them, but that invited several predators to the scene and though they were no more threat than humans, Shatter hated them on principle.
She found a secluded place among some of the larger cliffs and dumped her cargo onto some flattish rocks to dry out and laid out as well, flaring her remaining plating as much as it went. The water that flooded out of her washed out some dripping energon as well. Patching would be useless before she was dry, so she ignored it as much as she could. The sun, she learned was strong here, it would dry her frame out fast and she could soak up some of its energy too.
The warmth, the quiet of the lapping waves and her tiredness caught up with her. Shatter snarled but she couldn't fight off the exhaustion any more and well... nomech was around to see a weak moment or two. She viciously snarled as she imagined stepping on that blasted human girl while she shot B-127 in the spark. They deserved to see each other die for fouling her plans. The Decepticon plans. A mere scout, a minibot at that! Unicron's ball bearings, she swore jerking painfully - she had got beaten by a minibot! It was such a shameful concept, it pained her more than the actual damage. A minibot with nary a designation! Because she hesitated for one klik, one blasted klik before killing him!
Shatter entertained herself with plans and scenarios of how she could get a revenge for that while she sunned and her plating and frame dried out. Then came the harder part. She was no medic, but every Decepticon, especially rangers, hunters out on the fringes like her knew basic first aid and her own frame. Triplechangers were notoriously complex and hard to repair, but if she fixed the car form only now, maybe she could store the rest and repair her jet form completely later. It would be more useful to hide as well, cars were abundant on this world while jets much less so.
Hide for now, see what was going on with Blitzwing – Dropkick was surely dead, she saw that clearly with her own optics and wasn't that a shock as well? – and if there was any more Decepticons on this planet. Con units operated independently from each other and while she knew about Blitzwing, she wasn't aware that he was also on this planet or what his objective was. Then, she had to find another way to contact Command to notify them what she had learned. It was such an important news, she might get a pass for it for failing to get rid of B-127. Or so she hoped. The Air Commander's punishments for failed missions were... legendary.
The next sunrise saw a battered, dented, dark red Plymouth Satellite slowly roll out on the beachside dirt road and smoothly drove onto the freeway. Like she did in all her life. Pit, she wasn't even the most aggressive traveller on the road, she mused as another muscle car passed her with loud and obnoxious horn blaring and she itched to transform there and then to teach it a lesson. Then she remembered that it was not the car but the human driving it and she wanted to kill it even more. But she couldn't. Not yet without revealing herself and the neighborhood was probably teeming with the human military by now.
She needed to get away and safety to make new plans.
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