I think I'll start watching Supernatural again, now that it isn't giving me nightmares and making me crawl so my reflection isn't visible to the bathroom mirrors..... what? I did no such thing...
Two days ago, he’d be on terra firma, a rifle slung over his shoulder as he crouched near his symbiotes and gave out their orders. Two days ago, he’d sent the group off and had begun his climb into what had been a towering apartment complex. Two days ago, he’d limited his vision to what he could see in his scope and laid low, listening to everything and waiting.
It had been two days of no comm contact and watching Decepticons gather under his perch and he hadn’t dared recharge or refuel. Not until the symbiotes came back safe and not until the job was done. Fuel and recharge were transitive when he was in his nest. All he had up here was the wait, the sounds, and the shot.
Blaster shifted his leg a little, pausing when he heard the scrape of paint against floor. Satisfied once the noise was determined to be minimal, he moved it again, tucking it under his other leg to continue his wait. It had only been two days. He had waited much longer before, but something in the air felt different. Steeljaw had checked in two hours ago over the symbiotic bond, alerting Blaster of the shift into phase two. Stripes had remained silent. Blaster knew the mech could more than handle himself, but…the dead air had set his nerves on fire.
Something moved to the left. He tilted his scope, searching for the action. There it was, two ‘Cons dragging a frame in between them. This would be his chance. The commander would emerge to inspect the prisoner and he’d take his shot, collect his symbiotes, and vanish into the wastes. That was when the mech held between the pair started stuggling and Blaster recognized the frame’s distinctive paintjob.
Stripes—!
The world slowed as Blaster took aim, sighting the helms of one of the ‘Cons, the trio below him bucking and writhing as they tried to subdue the struggling feline. Vent, squeeze the trigger—
His shot pierced through the ‘Con’s helm as his fellow fired off his own into Stripes’ spark chamber. He’d been warned, the backlash of a symbiote’s pain would affect him too. No one could have begun to describe the white hot rush through his spark, the tearing void consuming the bond and mirroring the pain of an extinguishing spark on his own. His audios roared with static and his optics went offline, the pain wracking through him even as he tried to override the feelings, complete his mission.
A sob tore from his vocals as he forced his optics online, engine stuttering as he pressed the scope back to his face. The commander was outside, bent over his downed subordinate, searching for the shot. Blaster’s optics met his through the scope, the rending yawn of nothing surrounding his spark.
The shot tore through the Decepticon’s forehelm, his face vanishing as circuitry and energon spattered the wall of debris behind him. It hurt to turn, even as the last mech spun around, searching out where the sniper was, optics wildly seeking a muzzle flash, the glint of light off a scope. His finger compressed before the mech could take a last step.
He vented, sagging against the cold floor as the fire ran its course. He could hear Steeljaw prowling below, his presence prodding against Blaster’s spark with desperate queries. He shook it off, opening the comm after a half-hearted survey of the airwaves. The patrol wouldn’t be back for another twenty minutes. They had time.
-Go get Stripes.-
The order acknowledged, Blaster dragged himself away from the edge, rolling onto his side as he tore his rifle down to the basic and stowed the components. The burning was ebbing, a steady throb in his chest as he started his descent. Mission complete, good job team.
Two days ago, he’d been ordering his symbiotes into the fray. Two days ago, he’d climbed into his nest and waited to become God.
