"I swear, he sounds just like you."
"He does not! Besides, I'm not crazy like Ultimis, or secretive like Primis, and - okay, maybe I'd go ape like Director Eddie if my sister died, but I'd really rather not consider that."
Flint couldn't help but laugh as Smokescreen rapidly retorted his comment. Shooting some zombies, he tossed his partner a quick grin and responded, "Oh I know that. I'm just saying that your voice is oddly similar to Richtofen's, subtracting the German accent."
"If you want eh accent from me, then you should have just asked for my Mithrilian lilt, ochay?" Smokescreen teased, a smile evident in his metallic, borderline Persian accent that manifested so suddenly it sounded like he'd flicked a switch in his throat.
Flint shook his head as his ears rang, got hit by a zombie, then swiftly CQC-ed it to death again. "Heavens to Betsy, I never would have expected you to have that kind of accent."
There was a short pause, but it lasted long enough for Flint to mentally kick himself as he realized just what he had implied.
"Well, I did make sure to hide it at the Academy," he said casually, voice losing the accent as Flint decided to thoroughly kill one zombie. "Not many liked the reminder of where I was from, but hey, that's their problem."
"Yeah," Flint agreed grimly. As he wiped out a few more, he added, "And I wasn't trying to pick on your accent. Your voice just sounds so "all-American" normally that hearing something so exotic coming out of you is surprising."
"Wait, it qualifies as exotic?" Smokescreen asked, then followed up quickly, "Bogey on the right."
Turning, Flint swiftly killed the undead thing, then had to do so again with three others coming up on his left. "Yeah, an accent like yours is," he answered. "It aligns with the types of accents you'd hear in the Middle East and surrounding area. And if I'm being completely honest, it's really neat hearing it from you."
There was a slightly longer pause, and Flint took the chance to focus on wiping out the next few waves while his partner searched for audio clips. As he got to level twenty in Black Ops 6: Zombies, Smokescreen abruptly spoke up, "Oh scrap, those sound like some of the kids' I knew in my district! I mean, the accents were thicker back home, but the Middle East ones are basically dead ringers."
Flint grinned as he grabbed a Perk-A-Cola for the next wave. "Told ya. Accents like Wheeljack's are a dime a dozen, but yours is rarely heard 'round these parts," he assured.
"Thanks," he said eagerly, and Flint answered, "No prob."
Silence reigned for a few minutes, and Flint had just gotten to wave twenty-three when Smokescreen asked, "Midwesterners have accents, right?"
"Yup. Why do you ask?" he replied nonchalantly, killing another group of zombies.
"I haven't really heard you speak with one. It shines out here and there, but I'm just wondering why I haven't heard it," the young mech clarified, shifting slightly closer to Flint in the almost empty secondary recreational room.
Flint exhaled through his nose as he finished the level, then commented, "I really need to tell Arcee in no uncertain terms just how wrong she was about your observational skills."
"That doesn't answer my question, Flint," Smokescreen pressed lightly. "Come on, humor me before I question this zombie genre any more than I already am."
Flint chuckled at the purposeful joke, but it had little mirth. He swallowed for a moment, and thought as he killed a few more zombies. Once he had the words, he admitted quietly, "My dad wasn't Kansan."
Smokescreen didn't say anything, but the shadow from his moved doorwings was a hint to keep talking. He worked his jaw for a few seconds, then went on in a blank tone, "He was from out of state, but I never knew where specifically. My grandparents said my lack of accent was picked up from him, though if I get mad enough, the Kansan in me comes out."
Smokescreen's doorwings twitched again, before he hedged ever so softly, "You said he ran out on you and your mom?"
It was only from experience that he didn't flinch at the topic. However, it was still hard to discuss.
With another swallow, Flint paused the game, knowing it'd distract him too much. Taking a breath, he forced out, "It was when I was seven. I don't remember what prompted it, but I remember there were arguments between him and Mom. Something involving his work, I think - and how Mom had taken to drinking. Then one day, I just woke up and he wasn't there. I helped out more, my grandparents pitched in, but she drank herself to death six years later."
Flint leaned back into the couch, watching the shadow of Smokescreen's doorwings droop out of view. As silence descended, he glanced over at the beret beside him. Joining the military was his ticket out of his home, to get away from the past, but...was it really gone? His grandparents were in Topeka now, but it was still his home state. The same place where his father had chosen to abandon them, where his mother had decided it was easier to fall into the bottle than to care for him. His mother's parents might be the closest things to angels in his life, but even they couldn't wash out that stain.
Am I ever going to leave it behind? He wondered, the beret beside him morphing into the last bouquet of flowers he'd left at her headstone before enlisting.
"I think I saw my mother once."
The statement broke Flint out of his thoughts, and feeling his brows furrow, he twisted to look at the kid. His doorwings were at what he called "half mast" now, but his gaze was fixed on the part of the wall right above the TV screen.
"I thought your...caste ranking meant you couldn't see either of your parents," he questioned, careful to keep the instinctive venom out of his voice.
"It did. And we never had marital records to look at either," Smokescreen replied gently, still staring at that spot on the wall. "But there was this time, when I was....maybe a few thousand years old, that I got lost when I was trying to find Chromia. I ended up wandering the back alleys for a while, staying with the shadows to hide, but an addict saw me. He thought the package I had was Dust or Glow, but it was actually just some parts Roller needed for the bar. I bolted, but the guy was surprisingly fast, and when I tried going through an old building, he grabbed my leg and hauled me back. The crate was left behind, and I'm not sure what he did to me - all I remember is kicking him and getting hit once or twice - when a sword flew by overhead and ran into his upper chest all the way to the hilt."
Flint couldn't help but gape a little. What kind of mom (Besides better than mine) did he have to pull off that strike?
"The mech fell like weathered pillar, and I scrabbled up to see who did it," Smokescreen continued, finally managing to look at him. He blinked a lot, though, as he continued with an oddly thick voice, "It was a femme, her plating white as snow. I saw some red highlights across her frame, including her windshield, but...her faceplate was - almost exactly the same as mine."
Closing his mouth, Flint gave a slight nod of encouragement. Doorwings lifting up, Smokescreen went on, "I couldn't move, I was so stunned. For a little while we just stared at each other, until the femme picked up the crate and handed it to me. She never took her optics off me, and she made sure not to touch me, though I don't know why. I managed a thank you, and she nodded before she told me, 'Use the rooftops from now on.' I normally did, but I made sure to always use them after that.
"I told Chromia later, but..." Smokescreen trailed off and fidgeted with something below the platform, and Flint waited until he'd regained his composure to finish. When he was ready, his partner looked back at him, swallowed, and said tightly, "She said not to look into it, and definitely not to bring it up to others. She was right, of course: doing either one could get us, the femme, or even our guardians dead. But, I could never shake the feeling that she was a little resentful of her. Not for saving me, or for being seen by me only, but...kinda like Chromia held a bit of a grudge against her, if only because it was either that or do something stupid in retaliation against Functionism."
Flint considered the words, well aware that there was a double meaning there. Flicking the Xbox stick to keep the screen awake, he eventually looked back at Smokescreen, cleared his throat, and said thoughtfully, "I guess - I guess a lot of us direct personal issues like that at the parents who fail us, or who couldn't control the circumstances around their distance from us. Maybe there was more to it between my folks, and maybe your mom really wanted more time with her kids."
He glanced at the beret, then at the controller still in his hands. Noticing himself tremble slightly, he placed it atop his cap and, turning fully to his partner, Flint stated firmly, "Maybe we can never leave the past behind. Making peace with it is...difficult, to say the least."
"But that doesn't mean we can't or shouldn't try to," Smokescreen finished, cracking a smile that, while not reaching his optics fully, was completely sincere. Flint smiled back, and noted with a mild scoff, "Work in progress, am I right?"
"As all good things are," he reminded, and they both laughed.
"True that," Flint conceded, holding out a fist. As Smokescreen gently bumped a fist against his, he decided, "How 'bout we watch King of the Monsters with Miko after I beat this level?"
"Sounds good to me. She's been itching for something with us before you head out with the Joes this week," Smokescreen returned.
"Alright. Dead zombies, here we go," Flint decided, grinning as he simultaneously stretched his arms and cracked his fingers above his head.
"But you can't kill them since they're already dead!" Smokescreen chided with a laugh.
"What can I say? People are brain dead in the horror genre," he joked back.
Smokescreen lost it with laughter as Flint began the last level, and as they joked and teased each other, he almost forgot what had been bothering them.
Sometimes, he reflected later, as he grabbed his beret and hopped into Smokescreen's outstretched palm, It really helps to have someone who understands you and won't leave you alone with the dark thoughts.
As Miko squealed in excitement over Smokescreen's announcement, he was grateful that his friendship with Smokescreen wasn't just that, but that he knew his partner felt the same way.
After all, how else could they be such good friends unless they understood each other?
