Sunny Side Screw-Up part 3
Bluestreak comes up with an entirely new way to be murdered, Sunstreaker gets drooled on and Sideswipe is not a medical professional.
Credit to @keferon for coming up with the OG AU!
———————————————————————
Tacnet Dilation: {^#%
Bluestreaks plating prickled with dings and dents from the spray of rocks torn up by his wheels.
He was redlining on nothing but fumes and fear. No matter how hard he pushed himself they were still right there.
Sprinting.
Impossibly fast for something on legs and not wheels.
Sunstreaker was on his right side, regardless of how frantically Bluestreak swerved, his distance to the yellow mecha remained the same. Like they were fragging magnetized together.
Close behind was Sideswipe, soaking up all of Bluestreaks peripheral awareness like a goddamn black hole.
The desert was scorching. He’d run out of coolant and Bluestreak had the horrifying revelation that he could feel something wet dripping out of his frame.
Bits of his internals were melting.
Comms weren’t working.
Tacnet wasn’t working.
His own voice wasn’t working.
The Earth was a fragmented blur that repeated in pattern every few miles.
Bluestreak tried something different and was rewarded by running over a large sharp rock he hadn’t seen coming. The ripping away of momentum was enough for Sideswipe to make the final lunge.
The red earth and blue sky streaked by at a diagonal across his vision.
Kicking futilely at the dirt, Bluestreak was wrestled sunwards, arms clamped in place behind his back.
He expected to feel his doorwings to be crushed and pinned, yet despite having his back pressed against Sideswipes front, Bluestreak felt nothing but empty air.
His scans weren’t making any sense. Mind numbing random waves crashed over his sensor net from the mecha beside him. Was it on purpose? It made everything go fuzzy around the edges in bright starbursts of feedback. He couldn’t understand it.
Giving up on reading his surroundings, Bluestreak started frantically pinging his doorwings for help.
He didn’t have time to think further. Swiftly, Sideswipe forced them both into a kneel as Sunstreaker swept towards them. Heavy claw attachments almost brushing the ground for how low the mecha crouched, stalking ever closer.
Bluestreak tried again to talk. To scream. But nothing was responding. He frame wouldn’t listen to him.
No one was coming.
No one could.
He was completely isolated. But not alone.
The blue tinge of Sideswipes visor hovered at the edge of Bluestreaks vision. The subtle weight of his head resting on his shoulder like a lover.
Bluestreak couldn’t turn his helm.
A servos breath away from his face, Sunstreaker’s visor hung in space.
Impassive.
Emotionless.
Alien.
Bluestreak tried to jerk. To kick. To make anything come out of his vocalizer. He wasn’t even venting anymore. He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped.
Despite the lack of facial features. The lack of fields. Bluestreak felt the moment they both shifted their focus down, where his spark was screaming on his behalf.
Pops of static was all that came out of his mouth. Numbly, Bluestreak was jostled, limbs still unresponsive.
Sunstreaker reached out a hand to his chassis.
And knocked.
Freezing, Bluestreaks doorwings locked in place as his optics rapidly jittered between the hunter and his goal. He croaked, body suddenly feeling ice cold.
I can’t.
The pressure on his shoulder kept up and the knocking came again. Slightly more insistent.
I can’t.
Desperately trying to shake his helm No, the praxian could barely twitch. Pleading with his mostly frozen face to stop stop stop.
The knock came harder.
A haze of errors colored his peripheral vision.
Tacnet Dilation: #==%
He kept calling for his brothers.
Tacnet Dilation: ^#=%
He didn’t feel well.
Tacnet Dilation: [===%
They wouldn’t hear him here.
The knocking stopped.
Before he could react, Bluestreak felt the press of a hand against his face.
The shift was quick enough his processor failed to manufacture a matching visual, disjointing the sensation from reality. The touch was soft enough and such a deviation from the thread of what was happening that Bluestreaks thoughts stuttered to a squealing stop.
Smashing out of defrag, he came online with a half cut off, “GUH.”
Leaning into his space, Sunstreaker was tightly holding him upright by the shoulder. His hand retreated from Bluestreaks face as the Praxian subconsciously crossed his arms over his spark. Shuddering.
Just in front of them, Sideswipe was exactly as they’d left him, about where Sunstreaker had ended up in Blues defrag.
A hand waved in front of his blank face, unconsciously drawing the Praxians focus back to the other twin.
The yellow mecha tilted his head at him and held up the “OK” symbol.
Optics wide and over bright, Bluestreak turned his fans back on full blast and shot out a couple small rocks and a cloud of dust. He checked his processor. His internal temperature had risen well above comfortable levels from sitting in the desert Sun without running his vents
Coughing, Bluestreak mimicked Sunstreakers gesture. Croaking out a rough, “I’m okay.”
Hesitantly the hunter mecha released his shoulder, nodding slowly.
Still recovering, Bluestreak took his time resetting his systems, stretching and cringing at the sound of a few transformation seams popping back into place.
“Okay so, forcing myself into defrag seemed like a great idea at the time. It’s technically the same as human sleeping. I think?” Bluestreak leaned back on his elbows while Sunstreaker watched him closely. “And there was no way I was going to pull off holding completely silent while conscious so I shut down everything but my proximity sensors and my comms-”
His face and doorwings dropped.
“Oh fucking slag my comms.”
Flinching, Bluestreak cringed and squinted internally as he checked his backlog.
Over thirty incoherent messages sent to Prowl and Smokescreen. Each.
The former was currently pinging him every 30 seconds in a tightly measured way that appeared professional (if not a bit mircomanage-y) to any outside observer, but that Bluestreak knew was Prowls way of pacing a hole through the floor.
Groaning into his servos, Bluestreak prepared to apologize for what was ultimately the fault of an overheated defrag with no recharge.
————
“Sideswipe.”
His idiot counterpart groaned in response over the radio.
“Sideswipe wake up.”
Something that vaguely started out as “Che ore” before devolving into mumbled nonsense was Sunstreakers only indication of intelligent life within the red mecha. How he slept through the cacophony the radio had been assaulted with earlier was beyond him.
“The mecha had a nightmare.”
Finally, Sunstreaker heard the telltale scratch of a microphone being readjusted. “Say again?”
“The mecha had a nightmare.”
There was a pregnant pause as his self appointed “Twin” tried to decipher what he’d just stated. The sound of a shitty cot creaking echoed across the connection as Sideswipe sat up.
“…so do you want me to sing him a lullaby or something?”
Sunstreaker was going to kick his ass for real next time.
For now, he settled for throwing a rock at Sideswipes mechas head, enjoying the slightly delayed sound of its impact through the radio.
“Ahem, you will behave in front of guests young man. No throwing stones in the garden!” Sides chided as he put on a ridiculous British nanny accent.
“Shut it you dumb bastard. Did you not hear what I said?”
The microphone shifted again as Sideswipe moved from his bunk to the pilots seat. “What, that the new guy had a nightmare? Yeah man, that’s kinda standard out here. Shit Sunny, it took you two weeks to get through the night without yelling in your sleep after our first drop.”
And it took you over two weeks to stop sleepwalking, fuckin hypocrite.
Sucking in air between his teeth, Sunstreaker measured out the last of his patience. “The mecha had a nightmare.”
It started out sensibly. Sunstreaker was on watch and invited Angel mech to sit with him. He had some plans to draw in the dirt to figure out a bit more of where the hell he came from, but then Angel curled up on himself and looked ready to puke.
Which, fine. The mecha was freakishly emotive but if this was some kind of super expensive prototype then sure why not. The pilot definitely shouldn’t have been out here and Sunstreaker had half a mind to politely tear whoever put them in there a new one.
Afterwards the mecha looked like it powered down and for the first time since they’d met, Angel went quiet.
Only slightly disappointed he couldn’t keep listening to him ramble, Sunstreaker resigned to keeping watch alone.
Then there was the thunk against his left shoulder.
Still appearing to be powered down, the mystery mech was leaning against his own.
Okay, he’d thought. This was clearly a fancy show model what with the face and weird design. It probably didn’t have the same locking mechanisms as a Hunter class so the pilot had to improvise to stay upright. Carefully, Sunstreaker maneuvered to get his arm around the smaller mecha, ensuring they remained stable.
Being untethered inside a falling mecha was a lot like crashing down in an overloaded elevator. A messy way to die.
Aside from looking like an awkward first date, nothing about this registered as too weird. It was just machines. Basically a couple of parked cars in the middle of the desert.
Normal.
And then a couple hours later, the “powered down” mecha squirmed, wriggled and shuffled around until it was using Sunstreakers lap as a pillow.
Significantly less normal.
“So then they started screaming and flailing?” Sunstreaker waited to answer that until Sideswipe finished reconnecting to their mecha, visor flickering back to life and limbs unlocking with a satisfying series of ka-clunks.
“Not exactly. Remember that weird popping interference we kept getting over the radio?” He got a simple hum in response, which was Sideswipe for “I’m taking something seriously for once.” The yellow pilot would never admit it, but he hated when chatty people got quiet. Set him on edge like nothing else.
Beside him, Angel was still uncharacteristically reserved, watching Sunstreaker and his partner with an exhausted wariness.
“Well the radio started freaking out at the same time his back panel wing things started flailing. Sounded like if a fax machine was being dragged to hell.”
A low whistle came over the speaker. Whoever said what they were both thinking first would have to deal with the other making sane counter arguments. And as much as Sunstreaker wanted to be the reasonable one, Sideswipe wasn’t giving him that option.
“The mecha is alive Sides.”
The nickname made the red pilot pause, faintly cursing over the connection.
The mecha in question brightened up a bit watching Sideswipe go through his warm up routine. A slow trickle of foreign words resurfacing to brush away the silence. Some of the tension Sunstreaker had been holding onto bleed off as the chatty mecha seemed to come back to himself.
“Alright, maybe this is an especially over integrated mecha and the brass are testing the effects of leaving someone plugged in overnight?” The red mecha slowly tested his range of movement, gradually speeding up until he was shadow boxing.
Mentally, Sunstreaker took note of the way the sand and dust lifted to swirl around the red mecha’s legs, noting the shapes for later reference while sketching.
Sunstreaker shook his head, “Wouldn’t test that without active observation.”
“Okay maybe it’s haunted?”
“Haunted.” He threw another rock at him.
Sideswipe pivoted to point a finger at him in their silent conversation. “You’ve heard the stories about Mecha 11, freaky shit happens.”
Aside from the radio, Angel didn’t behave much like a trapped soul. Too lively for one. Too friendly for another. If Sunstreaker had to pick a genre this most reminded him of it’d be…
“I think he’s an alien.”
Sideswipe wrapped up his routine and plopped down next to Angel. “An alien? Shaped like a mecha?”
Leaning into their space, he blatantly looked the smaller mecha over for signs of green ooze, tentacles and a general air of homicidal intent. Angel smiled nervously, wings turning forward and back at the same time a the radio fuzzed with interference again.
Neither commented on the static. Didn’t need to. Sideswipe sighed leaning back on his elbows. “I kinda get it. It’s not normal, but it’s nothing like what we saw in Yukon.”
“It’s not like Yukon. Just watch him okay?”
He could practically feel Sideswipe grinning, “Suuure, I’ll ask him which is the prettier earthling, me or you.”
Wordlessly, Sunstreaker set his mecha into a stationary position. Pulling out of the Drift almost put him out right in his seat, Still, Sunstreaker had enough willpower to crawl his way back into the travel cabin.
Sipping on a bottle of electrolyte water, Sunstreaker pulled out his sketch book, flipping past stark black scrawlings to a fresh page. The pilot began to lightly pencil in the contours of his current object of fascination. Giving his brain a chance to cool down and think.
He’s seen some shit during his time as a pilot.
It was no secret that Hunter class pilots would usually come back a little different. You spend days, maybe weeks alone in the most isolated places on earth. Tracking down the monsters that bleed across the planet from gashes between the stars.
What most folks didn’t know, and would hopefully never learn, is that when one of those creatures get to place down roots?
It starts changing things.
Hunter class weren’t just sent to put down aliens. They got sent to put down their mutilated victims too.
Squirrels melted into tree bark like screeching aphids. Seals with spines exposed, alien surveillance equipment hotwired into their nervous systems. Rivers ran with toxic sludge and anything alive got repurposed into either fuel or tools.
They found a town once. Way up north. So small and out of the way it wasn’t on any maps.
Their third hunter wanted to donate the “survivors” to R&D. Sides and him vetoed the bastard but he’d already contacted dispatch without telling them. Mr. Opportunity got the all clear to go in and collect what was left of town.
Something held them back. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or Sideswipe but neither moved closer.
They returned to dispatch alone. Every question of what became of the third hunter or the little town in the middle Yukon was met with ice and silence.
Rumors scattered, staff came up with their own answers, no one wanted to work with the “Terror Twins” anymore.
That was fine. Sunny and Sides always worked better as a pair anyways.
They’d seen some shit. The kind of shit you can’t just explain to a therapist because they could never understand.
Art helped. Got all of the horrible things inside his head on the outside. Sideswipe too, though he’d never say it out loud. The bastard never left him alone, and it was his best-worst trait.
Narrowing his eyes, Sunstreaker paused in his sketching at the faint sound of thunking against the top of his mecha.
Yanking down the wall mounted mic Sunstreaker yelled over the radio. “Are you fucking stacking rocks on my mecha again you bastard?”
The sound of snickering and another thunk was Sideswipes response. “C’mooon. It’s not like it’ll hurt you! Plus I got Roberto to crack a smile.”
“Wha- wait Roberto?”
The thunking continued. “Well yeah, he’s a robot. Robot sounds like Roberto. Knowing you, you probably named him something uber deep and meaningful like Hubert.”
Sunstreaker sputtered, shaking his head like a slapped dog, “Why the fuck would I call him Hubert?”
“Cause he’s the patron saint of Hunter’s you dumb bastard.” And before Sunstreaker could grumble about fuckin’ Catholic school kid, Sideswipe cut off his internal thoughts. “Wait.”
Sideswipes voice carried the timber of sudden epiphany. “Wait, did you name him-“
“No.” He swatted down the probe.
“You mentally named him some shit like Angel didn’t you?”
“No.” He said far too defensively to be anything other than a damning confession.
“Oh my god you did!” The yellow pilot could only groan as he listened to his partners cackling. Followed closely by the thundering cascade of all the rocks he’d been stacking tumbling down his mecha.
“Haha ha ha! I can’t even- I- Wait hold on.” Gasping for air, Sidswipe started to trail off.
“I swear to fucking god if my paint job-“
“No, no shut the fuck up he’s doing something.” The sudden drop of his makeshift twins normal tone had Sunstreaker scrambling back into the pilots seat.
“Doing what?” Fast as he could, Sunstreaker started the Drift boot up process, face set in a mask of intensely focused calm.
“He’s.. pointing his gun at a cloud?”
The Drift swallowed all sensation. It felt not unlike having a densely woven bag pulled over your head, only to have it ripped away to reveal the ground a hundred feet lower than it was before. Bursts of color exploded across his brain until Sunstreaker came online just in time to hear a booming ~KUFF~.
For once, Sideswipe was speechless. An aborted voice crack marked he was still breathing.
“…what the fuck did he just shoot?”
————
“Uh oh.”
Optics trained straight up, the sniper started walking backwards.
The quint corpse broke through the cloud cover and Bluestreak switched to running.
“Move move move move move move!” It didn’t take Tacnet much to calculate where that thing was impacting.
Going straight for the only just onlining yellow mecha, Bluestreak got a hold of one arm and yanked the stumbling hunter to his feet.
Meanwhile, Sideswipe finally caught on to the rapidly approaching problem.
Bluestreak had about one click to appreciate his spectacular fuck up of creating a poor-mechs orbital strike before two heavy bodies slammed him into the dirt.
Several tons of biomechanical monstrosity exploded in a shower of shrapnel and slag. The three of them bunked through the shockwave.
Blue-ish gray flaming viscera continued to rain down for a few extra clicks, the dull sound of it bouncing off of the hunters armor.
Bluestreak creaked.
Trapped under the combined weight of the two larger mecha, the Praxian had one arm free and used it to start slapping the twins heads.
With the drunken grace of a slumber party when one person needs to get up to use the bathroom, the hunters rolled off of the smaller mech.
Sharp and twisted pain radiated out from his back. He kept his ventilations even.
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
It was jammed out of place, still on the highest setting from scanning out as far as he could earlier. His sensor net was shrieking and everything on the left side of his perception was hyper detailed to the point he could practically taste the texture of the dirt.
It was dialed high enough to penetrate through the surface of the soil slightly, giving Bluestreak the nauseating sensation of all his surroundings on that side registering as a liquid.
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
“Okay okay okay okay okay okay okayokayokayokayokay.” He ran his mouth to keep it too busy to scream.
He stayed on the ground, face hidden from the aliens. He had to not shake. To not make any expression of pain.
He felt something wet leaking from where his right doorwing connected, trailing crosswise down his chassis.
“It’s just a dislocation and a tiny tear in a fuel line. Not even that noticeable!” He wasn’t even hurt in a way that’d require significant medical attention. It’s easy! It’s easy.
“Just- just don’t feel anything. You aren’t a person right now you’re a machine that can’t be injured, it’s just.. you know, damaged. You wouldn’t cringe because your shuttle got damaged would you? So don’t you dare make that face or they will kill you.”
He kept his face in the dirt. Memories of defrag glitched to the surface. The chase. The capture. Stuck on the knife’s edge of something terrible about to happen.
They wouldn’t find out if he can just hide his face a couple clicks longer. Throat too tight, optics over bright. A faint tremble held at bay by locking every joint in place.
Hands came down on his arms and shoulders and Bluestreak couldn’t scream.
Tacnet Dilation: 100%
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
The world wobbled 90 degrees and he was unsteadily pulled to his feet.
Locking his jaw, Bluestreak set himself into a parade rest. Optics lasered into the middle distance.
One set of hands stayed on him as the other mecha moved into his field of vision. With the limited gestures they had in common, Sideswipe pointed to Bluestreak and then an OK gesture with his other hand.
The question was implicit, “Yep. Yeppers. Neeever better. Almost bored in fact! I’ve had closer calls than that and really that shot doesn’t even break my top ten! I didn’t even use any ricochets or double KIH-“ He gasped, optics fritzing.
He’d felt a tug on his doorwing and Bluestreak clacked his jaw shut as he instinctively shoved Sunstreaker off of him.
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
Vorns of training kicked in just to kick the bucket as Bluestreaks servos snapped up then came up empty, as his rifle was still on the ground between the two mecha.
Tacnet Dilation: 200%
Even with the odds of certain death, the sniper was sorely tempted to dive for it anyways. Just to die with it in his servos.
The sun bore down like a vindictive parole officer, salivating over the prospect of eminent violence.
The hunters… raised their hands.
Placating.
Gaze rapidly darting from one twin to the other, Bluestreak held perfectly still, waiting for their next move.
Slowly, and not just because of Tacnet, Sunstreaker knelt, picking up his rifle with a pink stained hand. Raising just as slowly like Bluestreak would bolt if he didn’t, the yellow hunter held out the weapon handle first.
He took it quickly. Almost cradling it to his chest.
Tacnet Dilation: 125%
While Sunstreaker returned his rifle, Sideswipe was drawing in the dirt.
Eight crude, simple glyphs, made rougher for the material they were carved into.
Flipping through the miniature dictionary Prowl had been sending him in piecemeal over comms, Bluestreak quickly translated the message.
HOW HELP?
He stared at the words in the dirt.
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
Swallowing, and smiling thinly, he said “You guys don’t know how to relocate a doorwing do you?”
The twins looked on blankly and the praxian sighed, wiping a hand down his face. “Okay! Okay. It really can’t be that bad! I mean, it’s just incredibly painful and not actually life threatening so let’s give a shot! Who needs trained medical care anyways? Me? Psh- naaaw. Come here Sideswipe! I need someone to demo with.”
At the sound of his name, Sideswipe visibly jolted. “RIGHT. Right. I shouldn’t know your name! Ha haha haaaa. Oh I’m so going to die.”
Either it wasn’t that weird for Bluestreak to know his name, or the three of them were far enough beyond the bounds of normal for it to not matter anymore, because Sideswipe walked up to where Bluestreak wanted him.
Turning Sideswipe into position so his back was to them, Bluestreak waved for Sunstreaker to join him.
“Okay! So this joint,” the praxian pointed it out over his shoulder, “Can get forced out too far and then get stuck on the edge of my armor.”
He mimed the correct motions onto Sideswipes back, “What I need you to do is push up on my doorwing and twist it back in place like this.”
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
“Yes! Thank you processor, I am very aware of what’s gone wrong and I am working on it.” He hissed under his ventilations.
Turning back to Sunstreaker who was watching closely, the mecha faced him. “You got all that? Yes? Good? Great! I’m going to keep talking through this so just do what you need to while I try my best to disassociate here.”
Shaking out his servos and turning his back to Sunstreaker, the praxian manually locked Tacnet down to the lowest setting.
A hand settled in the middle of his back and Bluestreak resolutely stared forward. Processor blank.
A second hand closed around the dislocation and Bluestreak started involuntarily stepping in place.
Both hands vanished. Like a new build discovering the concept of rear view mirrors, Bluestreak haltingly looked behind him.
“What, what are you doing?” He faltered. Waving for his attention, Sideswipe opened a panel on his thigh, producing some kind of tool. It had the look of a tiny fire extinguisher, a rounded cylinder with hose and nozzle attached.
While still fiddling with it, Sideswipe waved Sunstreaker over.
Instantly, the yellow hunter stepped back, shaking his head side to side.
When it became clear his twin wasn’t coming any closer, the red hunter turned to him more fully. Palms up, shoulders raised, gesturing like he was trying to sell some questionable homebrewed high grade.
Sunstreaker responded by angrily pointing at Sideswipe, then Sideswipes unoccupied hand. Nonplussed, the antagonising mecha simply gestured to the tool in his other hand.
After a few tense clicks of staring each other down, Sideswipe straightened and pointed directly to Bluestreak, dropping his hands dramatically.
One more click passed with Sideswipe staring at Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker looking at Bluestreak, and Bluestreak watching them both.
Throwing back his head, Sunstreaker glared at the sky before rejoining his twin and breaking one of his own fingers.
“Why does every human I meet have such a casual relationship with body horror? I know that’s only three data points but that’s enough to form a pattern. Why. I am so confused and in so much pain right now I can’t- Just why??”
Completely indifferent to the sparking digit and Bluestreaks slack jawed commentary, Sunstreaker presented his broken pinky to his brother.
Pressing down on a lever of the tube, Sideswipe sprayed a misting foam onto the broken joint. Handing off the device to Sunstreakers working hand, Sideswipe proceeded to pop the no longer sparking finger back into place.
The red twin stepped back and threw his arms forward like a game show presenter.
He kicked Sunstreaker.
The yellow twin dispassionately jazz handed.
The praxians remaining doorwing twitched. “Is this what my brother went through? Oh Primus it is. But doubled. I mean, neither of you have dropped me off a building yet or forgot me in an elevator shaft but hoooly shit fucks I am never giving Prowl Slag about his human again. This is about what it was like meeting Jazz for the first time except I’m in your home.”
He vented harshly, turning his injury to the hunters.
“Everything you people do is confusing, disturbing and yet somehow weirdly charming.”
Clapping his servos with false enthusiasm, Bluestreak smiled brightly, “Okay fellas, let’s spray the mysterious alien substance into my open wound! Maybe I’ll get some cool powers out of this? Or an infection! Probably an infection.”
[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]
“…Please just get this over with as quickly as possible.” He mumbled as the yellow mecha moved into his line of sight.
Inexplicably, Sunstreaker took one of his servos between his hands. Firmly pressing in a way that didn’t hurt but captured Bluestreaks fluttering focus.
Bluestreak remembered something.
“Hey wait so you guys don’t need or use actual anesthetic right? So what is that stuff supposed to feeEEAL OH-KAY THATS COLD. That is COLD. Huuugh. Haha ha ha heeeuu-HYEK.” He articulated his feelings on the experience with expediency.
The electrical signals running through his second doorwing dimmed and weakened. The sudden drop in sensory input left Bluestreak off balance.
“Woah.” Resetting his functional doorwing, the praxian lowered its range to minimum, then offlined it completely.
The twins registered as indistinct fuzzy blobs to what was still functioning from his remaining doorwing. They switched places. Tensing again as he felt Sunstreakers hands return to position against his back, Bluestreak didn’t have time to over analyze what came next as Sideswipe was literally jumping for his attention.
Before he could rhetorically ask what the hunter was doing, Sideswipe picked up a couple rocks and started throwing them in the air in a series of high arches.
Failing to catch every last one.
Sideswipe looked down at the sad little stones with an expression that somehow looked forlorn.
Some string of sanity finally gave out under the tension that’d been building since his defrag, and Bluestreak started to break down laughing.
“What?! What was that? Was that juggling? Why the fuck are you juggling?! How did we get here? How did- I can’t- I can’t process this right now.” Bluestreak heaved and only when he was crouched with his head in his servos did he notice the repair pings were gone.
“I-“ He felt his relocated doorwing by servo, not believing his processor. “I didn’t even feel it.”
Slowly, Bluestreak pulled his dooorwings back online, cycling from the very bottom of his range to the top.
{{See? Just like pulling a tooth.}}
He got some garbled interference for a click, but couldn’t afford to investigate that right now. The smoldering corpse of the quint was a stark reminder of what he’d picked up earlier.
Gingerly, he raised them back to the highest range, memory compensating for the slowly melting numbness on his second sensor net.
Sunstreaker was checking in with him again, doing the tried and true OK? And a head tilt. Brow furrowed, Bluestreak returned the gesture and concentrated on his scan, “I need to check back on something real quick. Don’t worry. Yet.”
There.
A heavy mass was buried into the earth slightly beyond the horizon. A spattering of smaller dots swam through the air.
Rising, the sniper pointed to their most recent near death experience.
“Bad news first, that was a scout. A scout from a fragging massive nest judging by the sheer scale of what I’m scanning.” Compulsively, he counted his ammunition already knowing the number.
The twins returned to a flanking position on either side of the praxian. He’d failed completely in not showing pain, by all rights they should know he’s not one of them, and yet he was still here. Protected.
Maybe they were waiting for more information. Maybe they knew what he was but didn’t know what to do with him.
The humans were cut off from their command structure. All Bluestreak knew for certain was that whatever choices the twins made out here, it was their decision alone.
His wings felt staticky.
Dialing up his sensor net as high as it could go was giving Bluestreak an intimately detailed 3D mapping of the twins, the landscape and several cloud formations.
More importantly, Bluestreak was getting distant fuzzy pings off of larger objects that registered as at least partially metallic to his processor.
Two in fact!
One was the Quintesson nest he picked up earlier, the other was probably..
Shuttle 88%
“Oh.”
As Sunny and Sides investigated the downed quint, stomping through any intact organs to ensure its expiration, Bluestreak drummed his digits on his rifle.
“I could run.” The sniper spoke to himself.
“I could leave you two to fight on your own. But you might follow me. The shuttle probably has some damage I’d need to patch before take off. It’d take time.”
He looked over the horizon hiding his ship. “And you would catch up to me.”
Tacnet Dilation: 75%
“Unless I made sure you couldn’t.” Bluestreak forced his processor to focus on limbs instead of chests or heads.
“Shattered knees wouldn’t kill you. Wouldn’t even hurt you actually.” He shrugged, optics taking on a flinty look. Sharp and blank.
Far far in the distance, the loss of their scout registered with the hive. They buzzed faster around their progenitor
“But the Quints would.”
Unawares, the twins seemed satisfied with their pulverization. Turning their attention back to the Praxian, Sunstreaker raised a stoic thumbs up. Sideswipe raised two.
He should comm Prowl.
Optics tight, Bluestreak raised his own in solidarity. “My brother would tell me to kill you.”
“I would give him all the information I have on you two and the nest, and then he’d run the simulation.” Bluestreak monologued quietly to the hunters. “He would pause, he always pauses with this sort of thing, and then Prowl would order me to shoot you both.”
Returning to his side, the red mecha clapped Bluestreak on the shoulder. Excitedly waving to the quint, his gun and the sky above. He smiled back, “He’d make it an order to make it his responsibility. The others would forgive me. If it wasn’t my choice then it wasn’t my fault.”
Prowl always made a point of signing his orders, making it clear to anyone who searched that he decided the deaths of countless mechs.
Bluestreak was recorded by position, rather than name.
The tactician knew who their best sniper was, and utilized them accordingly.
It was always discreet.
Familiar.
“I am my brothers favorite executioner.” He quietly spoke.
Doorwings held high, Bluestreak was hyper aware of the hunter’s movements, yet it still startled him when Sunstreaker tapped his shoulder.
The yellow hunter pointed to the dusty ground where human glyphs were crudely etched into the surface. Bluestreak flipped through the dictionary again.
“How many? Where?”
He chewed the inside of his cheek.
[BLUESTREAK]: Prowl can you run a simulation on something for me?]
[BLUESTREAK]: What’s the match up for two Hunter class mecha against an established Quintesson factory hive?]
[PROWL]: One moment]
Stalling for time, Bluestreak walked in a circle pretending to be searching for clues, the mechas loosely trailing him.
He rambled to fill the silence.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrifying? Because you guys are terrifying. I mean, you’re actually really nice in person but on a sub processor level I’ve been fighting for my goddamn sanity here.”
Pretending to search through his scope, the sniper mentally catalogued his supplies. He had 31 rounds left on his person, 160 more in his subspace, along with 4 cubes of energon, a basic knife and the largest med case he could cram everything else around.
He pointed his rifle back down, “You’re kind. Scary as pit but legitimately kind. I can tell, you know, when people are faking it. I’m used to people being polite and all when I go on a streak but you guys actually notice when my tone changes or… or check in when I get quiet or you do something stupid just to make me laugh and I-“
[PROWL]: 13% chances of success, assuming both pilots are fully operational and are aware of the threat. The swarm of scouts are the most likely cause of defeat as Hunter class are not well equipped to deal with large numbers of small fast moving hostiles]
[PROWL]: Do you have any means of escape?]
Glancing over his shoulder, Bluestreak took stock of the pilots following his lead. For them, there was no such thing as escape. The quintessons had reached Earth and the humans had no other planet to retreat to. This was their Cybertron. This was their final frontier and the humans would fight to protect it to their very last.
The sniper mentally pinned the location of his shuttle.
[BLUESTREAK]: No]
He stopped, and the hunters stopped with him. Bluestreak raised a servo towards the horizon of death and spoke in patchwork English, “There. Many small. One large.”
[PROWL]: Understood. I’ll pull up what files I can and send it along. Exercise extreme caution]
[PROWL]: Please]
The hunters had already begun trekking in the direction of what was to date Bluestreaks worst plan ever.
[BLUESTREAK]: Will do. I’ll keep you updated as information comes in]
Swinging his peds as he walked, Bluestreak couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. “Someone told me once that your spark will know when you’re an about to die, and it will fill you with this serene sense of peace. Something about preparing to return to the Well or the Allspark or the loving and probably a little disappointed embrace of Primus. Hard to say. I wasn’t raised religious.”
He hopped forward to pull up in between the two hunters.
“And you know what? I’ve had a lot of near death experiences but not once would I ever have described it as serene.”
If he did have to pick a word, it’d probably be Loud.
“I think I can finally feel it. That sense of spark deep calm. Like it knows how I’ll die now.”
He smiled at the yellow star shining down, venting deeply.
“Prowl is going to Fucking kill me.”
———————————————————————
What the twins were saying during the freeze gel “demonstration”:
“Aight, let me break your finger."
"What? No!"
"C'mon! I need to do a demonstration."
"Then break your own finger asshole!"
"I can't. Because I'm using the freeze gel! Look do you want to reassure him or not?"
“..fine but I’m breaking my own finger.”
The twins are very aware that Bluestreak is not normal, but are going to find out shorty just how “not normal” Bluestreak really is.
Next time is Sniper time baby.
-SSTP
