::// c o o r d i n a t e s t r a n s f e r r e d. //::
Blackout's optics barely flicker as he reads the update text that scrolls across his HUD. It's dark, the clouds are thick, and there's almost no visibility.
It's exactly as he wants it.
::// w e ' v e t r a n s f e r r e d a 3 d m a p o f t h e t a r g e t . t h e t o w e r i s s u p p o r t e d b y t h r e e m a i n b e a m s . t a r g e t t h o s e. //::
The tyton scoffs silently, scarred lips curling. This isn't his first rodeo, and yet, the console jockeys always felt it necessary to tell him precisely what to do and how to do it. Oh well. He supposes it's the only opportunity the idiots get to boss anyone around, much less a member of the Decepticon Heavy Brigade.
::// b l a c k o u t ? d o y o u c o p y ? //::
::// g o i n g d a r k . //::
He has everything he needs. Activating heavily modified cloaking systems, Blackout simply disappears from radar -- not that anyone would have been looking for one mech in the first place. The enemy is looking for an army, a horde, a swarm of Decepticons to come their way if anyone does at all. Single mechs are usually neutrals trying to survive in the nearly apocalyptic Cybetronain scenery, which makes this a brilliant place to hide a weapons depot.
The Autobots even have it disguised. It's just one, small, damaged tower that managed to remain upright in the battle that previously pounded the area to a pulp. As Blackout approaches the target, the Caribbean blue biolights that seem to cover every inch of the tyton's frame go out, though he can't do much more than dim the energy feathers adoring his wings. It's because of that birdlike modification that he can get this close to his objective sites without alerting anyone because, to be fair, helicopters are extremely noisy.
Blackout stays in the clouds until the last possible moment. Once he is directly above his target, the tyton suddenly clamps his wings in and dives in silence as lightning brightens the sky for a single moment. The thunder that results makes his armor vibrate, but no sound reaches the Decepticon's audios. The buzzing of the atmosphere is enough to nearly drive him to distraction, but he gains a fresh bloom of focus when the top of the tower comes into view, melting out of the gloom.
He knows his job. Dual sonic canons activate and charge with a sharp hissing whine, blue-white energy lighting up the wide barrels in Blackout's forearms as he drops like a stone alongside the skyscraper. The skies open, stinging rains as cold as ice cascading down in great, icy curtains, but it matters little. The atmosphere here is surprisingly clean; the rain should only be a little acidic.
The ground is coming at him at a frightening pace, but the deaf mute holds his nerve. He will hit the support beams and be gone before anyone in the unfortunate place knows their fate is sealed. He has to be gone quickly, as there’s no telling what sort of weapons stockpile the Autobots are hiding in there.
That’s close enough. Steeling himself, Blackout opens his wings and braces hard against the crushing pull of gravity, yanking himself out of the dive mere meters above the cracked street. The tyton overlays the map he was given with what he is seeing in real time, picking out the first beam’s location and firing.
::// o n e a w a y //::
Blue flames erupt behind him as Blackout throws himself into a hard bank, slingshotting around the base of the tower, cutting through the punishing rain like an axe passes through sand. Carmine optics slit in both effort and concentration; he is a very heavy mech to be flying heedless like this. There’s the second beam.
Fire.
::// t w o a w a y. //::
He can’t keep the track he’s on; the turn is too sharp for him to make, and he’s heading straight for the fallen remains of some other destroyed ruin. Blackout changes his course and bullets straight upwards, momentum bleeding out the higher he goes until there is no more to spare. Drifting to a momentary halt, the Brigadier curves his back and drops again, righting himself into a more sedate, controlled descent. Dust and glass are already littering the charged atmosphere, adding to the chaos of rain, thunder, lightning, and explosions. The third and final pillar lights up in red across the deaf mute’s HUD.
The blast shreds it in a violent display of power.
::// t h r e e a w a y . //::
Banking the opposite way, Blackout pumps his wings to gain as much speed as possible, augmenting his momentum as much as he can to flee the tower as it buckles. He can’t hear the cacophony of destruction he is leaving behind, but as he flies, Blackout ducks his helm to get a quick visual check of the target to confirm it’s collapse.
::// o b j e c t i v e r e a c h e d . t h e t o w e r is i m p l o d i n g. //::
There’s a pause on the other end. ::// b l a c k o u t w a i t //::
::// w h a t //::
::// n e w i n t e l i s c o m i n g i n . t a r g e t i s b o g u s . t a r g e t i s b o g u s . :://
Blackout scowls and tilts his head, glancing back again, optics blinking rapidly against the pounding rain and screaming gales. There’s no ordinance going up. ::// t h i s m i s s i o n w a s c o n f i r m e d . ::// Did he just waste his time and energy blowing up and empty slagging building?
::// c o n f i r m a t i o n w a s i n c o r r e c t , b r i g a d i e r. :://
A flash of teeth and Blackout pulls up, wings beating to keep him aloft as he turns. The skyscraper is gone, having collapsed under it’s own weight. ::// w h a t t h e s l a g d i d i d r o p o r d i n a n c e o n? //::
::// i n f o r m a t i o n n o w s u g g e s t s i t m i g h t h a v e b e e n a n i n f i r m a r y. :://
The tyton huffs, optics widening a degree. There’s no sport in killing the already dying. ::// w h a t a w a s t e :://
::// b l a c k o u t //::
::// w h a t //::
::// i n t e l t h i n k s i t m i g h t h a v e b e e n a p e d i a t r i c i n f i r m a r y. //::
His spark suddenly bottoms out and feels like it could stop at any second. Black dread bubbles up thick like tar, closing his throat, choking him of any rational thought.
He can’t breathe. They have to be wrong. They have to be wrong.
The tyton scrambles, bolting back the way he came, flying as hard and fast as he can. There’s no way anyone in their right might would put a sparkle hospital in the middle of a warzone. The intel has to be bad.
It isn’t a warzone anymore, is it? the black voice says, whispering only for Blackout to hear. He ignores it, flashing back towards ground zero as the sky splits with light.
It’s brilliant. A perfect place to hide a refuge. The war machine has come and gone; the Decepticons have no reason to come back.
The rubble is spread out, now, encompassing a huge area. It’s an absolute disaster zone. Despite the rain and wind, smoke and dust billow into the air, whipped into a froth by the storm raging above him. Blackout pants hard, landing on a somewhat flat spot, carmine optics darting about to survey his surroundings.
They have to be wrong.
Please be wrong.
He digs. Heavy claws throw the ruins about as though the shattered walls and thick steel supports weigh nothing. Killing adults is one thing, though the idea of bombing a hospital leaves a sour taste in the brigadier’s mouth. But the young? No. Blackout likes to believe that even the worst of them, a category he tends to include himself in, wouldn’t kill babies.
We don’t kill babies.
I don’t kill babies.
Frantically, he searches. Blackout looks for any sign of anything that had been living, desperate to find, perhaps, the shattered corpses of some manner of military personnel instead of nurses, medics, and patients. For several agonizing minutes, he doesn’t find anything at all. But then he does.
The tyton jerks upright, yanking his hands back to his own chest as though he’d been electrocuted.
::// b l a c k o u t, y o u h a v e a u t o b o t s o n y o u r s i x . s m a l l g r o u p , b u t i t h i n k y o u s h o u l d l e a v e. //::
The rain is punishing and cold, stinging his joints, seeping into gaps in his armor and eating at the soft insulation surrounding his wiring, but Blackout feels none of it. He doesn’t feel the biting wind or the pounding sleet, even as it burns his optics and cascades down his face.
::// b l a c k o u t ? c o p y ? g e t o u t o f t h e r e ! //::
They weren’t wrong. The intel wasn’t wrong.
Blackout’s hands shake uncontrollably as he falls to his knees and reaches out into the hole he’d dug. Gently, every so gently, he slips a claw beneath the tiniest hand he’s ever seen and lifts it, searching for any signs of life.
But there are none.
The war machine did return. It sent you.
Even his sobs are silent. The massive mech’s frame quakes as the wintry gales kick up, but he stays, holding the hand of someone whose life he never meant to take. There are so many things Blackout is willing to do in the name of war, but this he will never forgive himself for.
A plasma bolt explodes in the rubble to his right, and the tyton jerks around. A squad of ten or so Autobots are weapons hot and coming for him, climbing the ruins.
I didn’t mean to do this, he wants to cry. I didn’t mean it! Please help them. Please help me.
But the words won’t come out. A shot lands, striking him square in the chest, causing Blackout to stumble and nearly fall. Trembling, he scrubs his arm across his face and stands his ground, cannons charging with that fateful, horrible whine. The enemy stops and aims, laser sites crawling over the tyton’s frame. He pauses.
No more death. Not today.
Another plasma bolt slams into his shoulder and the tyton uses the momentum to turn and run, wings flaring to carry him away into the dark.
