Slingarm's grief seems to manifest itself in a waking nightmare. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to see the body before him.
'Please wake up...'
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Slingarm lay restless on his berth, tired eyes staring up at the ceiling of his new quarters. He was drained, his limbs sore and fingers numb, yet his mind was too busy to let him rest.
The image of the casket was still intensely vivid in his mind’s eye. The body inside had not been repaired, but the face had been reset, and the armor polished to preserve what little color was left. The ceremony was small, short, and simple. Once the coffin had been placed into the morgue, Slingarm, with his cat Gigus in his arms, headed straight for his room.
The medic turned his head to look at the desk next to his berth. The gray form of Gigus Maximus remained curled up in his cat bed, his metallic fur rising and falling as his old frame cycled cool air. Aside from the old cat’s snores and the faint rumble of the Immortal Sun’s engines, it was very quiet. He turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
The poor kid shouldn’t have died.
The last time Slingarm had seen Starhawk alive, he was being kicked out of the only home he’d ever known. Slingarm could do nothing but watch from the sidelines as the flier was knocked down and humiliated. There was a promise that they’d meet up again at some point to catch up.
His hopes of keeping that promise were dashed when his long lost brother just showed up out of nowhere. The first thing Bluntforce had said: “Starhawk is dead.”.
Slingarm’s immediate reaction was to punch the Wrecker in the face.
Apparently Starhawk had accidentally gotten himself sucked into a nasty situation. Slingarm didn’t know the details, but some Cons were retaliating against their loss against the Autobots, rounding up anyone they could to make examples of them. There were supposedly videos of the executions, but the medic didn’t want to see them.
The Immortal Sun showed up just a little too late. Bluntforce crashed into the scene when the Decepticon was holding the gun to Hawk’s forehead. He could only watch as the young mech’s frame crumpled onto the floor, splatters of energon and bits of his head scattered behind him.
And now they were all here. Slingarm sighed and rubbed at his eyes. It was obvious that sleep would not be coming right now. With a grunt, he got up from his berth. A few hours of wandering the halls might help pass the time and encourage his brain to finally let him sleep.
Slingarm briefly glanced over at Gigus as he walked towards the door. The old cat was still snoozing, unbothered by any noise made by the door as it slid open and the medic’s footsteps stepping out.
The halls were mostly empty, Slingarm only caught glimpses of some of the Immortal Sun’s crew as they went about their business. Most of the ship’s activity seemed concentrated up front for now, leaving the back half relatively uneventful and some of the hallways either dimly lit or shut off entirely to save on power.
Slingarm had to be thankful for that. He needed his space right now. As he wandered the remaining lit halls at a lazy pace, Slingarm let his mind also wander.
When Slingarm first met Starhawk, he was a selfish and proud young mech. He had no experience, no scars, no fear. Despite his faults, Slingarm liked him. He knew he wasn’t a bad kid, he just needed better people to guide him.
Slingarm didn’t get much of a chance to try. Maybe it was because he was reminiscing now, but the time he had with Hawk felt so very short. The old mech paused and rested his hands over his face, a heavy sigh escaping his vents.
He should’ve left with him. Who cares if the Prophetic Lancer would lose the only medic onboard, he should have prioritized the poor kid over that group of self righteous morons.
The medical students he took on weren’t so bad though, weren’t they? They were eager and excited to learn from him and make him proud. They were good kids.
Slingarm’s vocal box glitched and he pressed his palms into his face. He’d lost most of his students as well, if not all of them. All he had left was dear old Gigus. Oh but how much longer would the ancient cybercat last? With creaking joints and coughing vents and crackling purs, Gigus was so very old.
A distant thump pulled the medic from his thoughts. He lifted his head from his hands and looked back down the hall. Nobody was in sight. Perhaps it was another mech passing by.
Thunk.
There was something curious about the sound. Slingarm’s antennae perked curiously as he listened. The sounds were clumsy and slow like someone heavily intoxicated was stumbling to their room.
Perhaps that someone would appreciate his help. It would be a nice little distraction at least. He turned and made his approach, the clumsy thunks and scrapes getting louder as he got closer.
“Hhhhhhh…hkshhh…”
Slingarm paused. Sounded like a malfunctioning vocal box. All they were spitting out was static. Likely he’d need to bring this guy into the medi bay. He continued towards the sounds, his pace faster than before.
He approached a more dimly lit hall. In the back of his mind he noted how close he was to the morgue and his spark clenched painfully. He didn’t want to be here, he needed to hurry and find the mech and get them help. He needed to get away.
Slingarm’s spark pounded as he neared the other hallway, his tanks churned. Something wasn’t right, but what could that possibly be? The struggling mech was getting closer, he could hear their armor rattle as they stumbled down the hall. They sounded awful. They needed his help. He picked up his pace, almost running. His vision narrowed as he reached the other hallway, turning into it. There! He could see a figure!
He froze, feet rooted to the floor. The mech didn’t stop to stare at him, continuing to amble along. Flakes of black paint fell from his frame and he left behind a trail of coolant and oil, likely a damaged internal leaking or something was just not functioning right.
Considering that there was only one injury, Slingarm had to assume the latter. He felt nauseous as he stared at the large chunk of emptiness on the right side of the flier’s head. He could see his exposed brain module.
Oil streaks ran down his face, mouth hanging open in a silent scream. His frame groaned as he swayed on his feet. His eyes were black yet his hands reached out to him, as if he was looking right at him.
Slingarm was too shocked to speak, he was unable to move or look away as it shuffled towards him. Starhawk’s vocal box croaked and crackled, spitting more static.
“Eeeetchshhhh… ssshhhhhh… mn…” was he trying to speak?
“What?” Slingarm whispered in disbelief. More static spewed from the animated corpse, louder, almost desperate.
“HHHRRRRTZZZZ! SSHHHHK-AA-RTCH!” Coolant and oil dripped from Hawk’s chin. A flaky arm braced against the wall as he reached for the medic with the other hand, flailing and screaming like a lost child, “PSHHH-HTSZZZZT-SKDDDD!”
Slingarm’s frame shook and he placed his hands over his audials. He couldn’t listen anymore, he didn’t want to look anymore. This was wrong, very wrong, “stop it…”
The corpse took another taxing step, feet dragging, more coolant dripping onto the floor, more flakes of paint falling. It kept on screaming. It wouldn’t stop. Slingarm pressed his palms harder against his audials, coolant welling up in his optics.
“Stop it! Stop it, go away! You’re not real!” He finally shut his eyes, voice trembling, “you’re dead! You’re dead, I saw it! You’re not real!”
The corpse made a high pitched wail, the piercing shriek echoed off the walls and Slingarm flinched, eyes opening to again see the figure before him. It was so close.
“Why?” Slingarm hiccuped and lowered his hands from his audials, large drops of coolant running down his face and obscuring his vision, “why won’t you go away?”
Starhawk was still. He pushed off the wall and stepped forward, both hands again reaching for him. Was he being punished? He barely had any time to mourn. He wanted to throw up.
A small, anguished sound left Slingarm’s mouth as cold black fingers brushed against his face.
