Chapter Text
“Knockout!” Starscream flew into the medbay, wings twittering impatiently. He never held a high opinion of being used as Megatron’s personal messenger. It was always a power play with the leader of the Decepticons. He could’ve easily asked Soundwave to contact the medical officer, but noo… Blah blah, ‘This is where you stand, Starscream.’ Blah blah, ‘You are just a servant to my will’ Blah blah.
Whatever.
Starscream being so completely over it didn’t change the fact that the warlord had a giant ion cannon and a tendency to not overlook coupe d’etats.
So here he was. Running errands.
He was an aerial commander for Primus’ sake.
“WHAT.” Knockout gritted out, being joint-deep in an injured Vehicon’s internal components.
Starscream raised an optic ridge at the state the medbay was in. The engine explosion was, evidently, not without victims. Every single medical berth had an occupant, and the resident medic and his assistant were hopping from patient to patient. Scorched plating, torn cabling, blinded optics, and debris-impaled components were of the many injuries.
“Looooord Megatron demands that you put project ‘Reg-En’ to good use.” He drawled, leaning nonchalantly against the wall despite the hurricane of movement in the medbay.
“I’m a little busy right now.” Knockout bit. “Can it wait?”
“Oh yeah. I’ll totally let him know right now.” Starscream spun on his heel, delighted that he had an excuse to project his master’s ire on someone else.
“Wait!” Knockout shouted, letting out a frustrated noise. “Breakdown, can you grab the canisters from the lab? You’re the only one other than me that knows how to use it.”
Starscream bristled a bit at that accusation. He was the Starscream, after all. Aerial genius and Vos Science Academy Salutatorian. He definitely knew how to use a dumb canister system. But there was a hint of something in Knockout’s voice that piqued his interest, almost like there was a secret between the medic and Breakdown he couldn’t admit outloud.
Interesting.
Breakdown blinked down at Knockout from the opposite side of the bay, servos full of medical supplies. “I..err…You sure you can handle this?”
“Yeah, Knockout~” Starscream repeatedly, voicebox sickenly sweet. “Can you handle it all alone~”
“OUT.” Knockout screeched, taking the time to whip his helm around and stare daggers at the flyer. “If I don’t hear your insipid voicebox ever again, Screamer, it’ll be too soon.”
Yada yada. Take a number. Starscream rolled his optics, moving out of the medbay.
“Is it Nemesis’ engine?” Breakdown questioned, not even giving Starscream a second glance.
Starscream sighed. He hated dealing with Breakdown. He could deal with Knockout, Airachnid, pit, even Soundwave before he could deal with the teal grounder. He was so straight forward and blunt, not to mention unwaveringly loyal to Megatron.
Did Megatron save Breakdown’s aft from that puny little human military? No. No! It was Starscream. Megatron wanted to kick him to the curb but Starscream was the one to heroically come to the mech’s rescue.
And all he asked for was a little spark of mutiny! That was all!
But no. Of course not. That wouldn’t make ‘sense’.
“Of course it’s about the engines.” Starscream sneered. “What else would it be?”
Breakdown narrowed his one yellow optic at the seeker.
“I don’t know. You were the one who destroyed it the other day.”
No one ever forgave on this warship. Starscream spun away, marching very pointedly in the other direction, leaving Breakdown to head to the lab by himself. He had to loyally report to his master, after all.
//////////////////////////////////////////
The trip back to Reclamation was fast. Sam practically flew into the recycling room, Vehicon vents heaving. He was starting to regret giving himself only two minutes to get here. By his estimate, it had been one minute already. That meant that this next part needed to be practically instantaneous.
Sam scoured the room, XL-080’s optics adjusting to the dark for him. He begged and pleaded that what he was looking for hadn’t been taken into the medbay to be used yet.
He tossed dismembered leg struts, chunks of plating, helms, and a very soaked part of a lone chassis until he finally landed upon what he came for. Heaving a sigh of relief, Sam grabbed the empty frame of the spark failed Vehicon. He dragged the frame to the other side of the room, far from any other parts that could possibly mess up the next couple of steps.
[ …You can’t be serious. ]
That was all XL-080’s consciousness sent as the Vehicon realized Sam was going to attempt jumping into a new vessel.
“Deadly.” Sam whispered back, feigning confidence. Inside, he was totally freaking out.
Please work. Please work. Sam mentally prayed, very studiously ignoring how morally ambiguous it was to possess someone after death. He didn’t know what was deemed ‘sacrilegious’ by Cybertronian standards, but Sam hoped that because the purpose of doing so would end up helping another person, it was a gray enough area.
But he totally could have been justifying the means by the ends.
Sam outstretched a servo, connecting the two Vehicons by touch. He didn’t want to blow up and throw the entire room in a hurricane like he did the lab. The quieter he did this, the better the chance that it would actually work.
Sam grunted in effort, mentally trying to project himself out of XL-080. Plating flared and an engine revved, but the most he did was just stand there. He planted both servos and tried again. No luck. It was like there was an invisible wall that he couldn’t get over.
[ You need a direct connection. ]
Sam rubbed his eyes–or tried to. He just kinda clanked XL-080’s visor. “That wasn’t an issue beforehand!”
[ That was energy to Vehicon contact. You only had one layer of armor to get through before you could reach my systems. Plus, I was caught off guard and my plating was helpfully flared enough for you to get through. Now, you have both of our plating to get through to, and one of us is a tanker with much thicker armor. Plus. It’s packed. It’s possible, but if you open up a line, it’ll be faster. ]
Sam pondered that. It did make sense.
“Okay.” He agreed. “Where do I open one up?”
[ Left side, right underneath the pauldron but near the chassis, there is a gap where the protoform peaks through. There should be a major line that snakes through the components. ]
Sam lifted the Vehicon’s arm up, guessing that between the ‘pauldron’ and ‘chassis’ was the Cybertronian equivalent of an armpit. Sure enough, there were a bunch of steel tubes. He extended one claw towards the largest one.
[ Not that one. That’s the coolant line. ]
Whoops. Mikaela probably would’ve been able to tell the difference. Sam moved to the second largest one, one that curled over on itself repeatedly.
[ …Are you kidding me? That’s obviously a suspension spring. ]
“Does it really matter which one I choose??” Sam snapped, feeling the press of time. “They all lead into his system!”
[ I thought you knew that you were doing! ]
“Obviously not! I can barely tell the parts of my own car, much less a fully functioning Cybertronian!”
[ AREN’T YOU TRYING TO REPAIR A FULLY FUNCTIONING CYBERTRONIAN? ]
Sam winced. Good point.
[ …Cut the middle line. It’s more flexible and less reinforced than the coolant lines. ]
Sam pinched the line, using a claw tip to slice into the line, fully expecting a blast of energon in the face.
Nothing.
Right. The Vehicon was dead. The energon probably congealed in his systems. Fun.
Feeling it was probably not best to cut a major line from Xl-080, Sam clenched his claws, the ends biting into the wrist joint of XL-080’s frame. Blue energon beaded out immediately. Sam pressed the two together.
“Alright, Witwicky.” He muttered to himself. “Let’s try this one more time.”
He pressed XL-080’s servo to the open line, trying to concentrate and feel the supposed shortcut.
It was different than before. Instead of a sudden burst of uncontrollable energy like a wave falling in on itself and taking debris with it, it was a controlled release from a dam. He pulled his energy from XL-080’s center–away from the Vehicon’s processor and chassis where he was tightly bundled before–and siphoned steadily down the Vehicon’s arm and tentatively through the servo.
When crossing the small gap between the two, Sam hesitated. There was a thrumming inside him. It said: Go. Go out and leave. Leave the body. Leave the Nemesis. Leave the world. It was a churning feeling that almost snagged him. The promise of sweet freedom and to be where he belonged.
But when it meant freedom it really meant to be dispersed out into the universe. To be scattered to the edges of everything, so thin that he wouldn’t feel anything.
It would’ve been easy. To just let go. He was captured before because he was so small and he didn’t have the will to spread his wings and fly free. But now…He could feel how much energy he had gathered up.
No one would be able to stop him. Sam felt strong enough to rip apart anyone who did.
He couldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t do that.
I’m needed. Sam told himself. Even if it’s just finding one person at a time who needs my help…I am needed. And that is enough.
He surged forward, jumping the gap easily and into the new frame of the fallen Vehicon.
It was a lot less seamless than the transition to XL-080. Before, there was a consciousness that held the reins steady while Sam jumped ship. This time, Sam jumped onto a caravan that had no control.
Limbs flailed around as energy coursed where it had previously run dry. An engine sputtered, components rattling as cold metal was suddenly hot. Sam tried to get to the helm as fast as possible–to where the processor was so he could gain control–but it was sloppy.
From an outsider’s perspective, it looked as if the fallen Vehicon had a seizure, claws twitching and thrashing in no recognizable pattern, tearing up its own plating and the floor it laid on indiscriminately. Back struts arched, moving in a contorted way.
It was straight out of a horror movie, and XL-080 had backed far away, vents gasping at the scene.
The tanker’s shoulder turret spun like it had a mind of its own, a green and blue ember burning deep inside as if it was searching for someone’s helm to blow off. XL-080 ducked as it passed over him, optics shooting towards the exit.
A screeching, rugged and primal sound escaped the tanker’s intake. It reverberated through the floor. Plating expanded and split apart, spilling mass amounts of steam from the now warm body of the fallen Vehicon.
XL-080 was frozen, visor locked onto the unlit faceplate of the fallen Vehicon. He couldn’t feel anything from the body, it was as if a vengeful monster had come back to life.
“Oh frag…” XL-080 squeaked. “Yu–AHEM–er…Is that you?”
XL-080 couldn’t hide his flinch as the Vehicon’s helm snapped towards the sound. The two slits in its fully covered helm flickered to life with a piercing vermillion light, bathing the cowering Vehicon in a murderous light.
“Holy hell. That was intense.” Sam coughed out, frame sagging naturally before staggering to a more organic pose. “All good now…I think. You wouldn’t believe how many pop ups there were before I could do anything.”
XL-080 let out a huge vent of relief, helm tilting back in exasperation. “Primus help me–I thought I was about to become a metal smear on the deck.”
Sam let out an involuntary laugh. “Yeah…You were about to. Instinctual ‘battle protocols’ really are no joke.”
“Let’s just get back–Wait. Did you just say I was about to??”
Sam seized XL-080, pinning his arm struts on either side as he heaved the entire Vehicon upwards. A distinct trickle of amusement leaked from his field.
“No time. Let’s go.”
Sam staggered forward, pulling XL-080 along as well. He almost toppled the both of them over, the fallen Vehicon’s body being at least three times heavier than XL-080’s thanks to the massive turret and the long treads mounted onto his arms. He planted his foot firmly though, lumbering forward with the increased velocity of a freight train.
XL-080 wasn’t far behind him.
“What are you doing?” XL-080 heaved. “Transform! We’ll get there much faster.”
“Can’t.” Sam grunted back, noticing the metallic accent he now had. “Don’t know how to.”
XL-080 did the distinct double take of someone who couldn’t believe they were stuck with someone so incompetent. But he didn’t argue, and the two of them flew through the halls.
//////////////////////////////////////////
Miraculously, the two of them hadn’t run into any other Vehicon by the time they got back to the barracks. It had definitely taken them longer than two minutes, but Sam hoped it wasn’t by much. By the looks of the dense group of Vehicons where the injured Vehicon had collapsed by the entrance, it looked like they still had time.
Sam barreled through the group, pushing against clawed resistance as the group let out shouts of indignation. Sam grunted.
“The pit?!”
“Who do you think you–”
“HE’S WITH ME!” XL-080 shouted shrilly from behind Sam. At the exclamation, the group opened up a lot more. Finally, Sam could see the injured Vehicon’s condition.
Extremities that had grayed before were completely colorless now. It had crept up towards the chassis, and the pool of energon below his frame had spread to three times the size it was before. Many servos from all sizes of Vehicons were clamped against the gashes to prevent more from leaking out. Three Vehicons were by his helm, trying to get the Vehicon to refuel from a cube of energon they found from somewhere.
But the Vehicon was unresponsive. Not a single part of his frame was moving, and his plating was held carelessly loose. His visor was dim, and his helm was tilted to the side.
Not good. Sam grimaced.
“I need room.” He barked, pushing through the freshly energon-coated Vehicons. He could hear the rattling of trembling frames, betraying the fresh-opticed Vehicons who were newly unbatched and newly traumatized.
“Trooper.” Another Vehicon seized XL-080, who was next to Sam, by the pauldron. “Did you bring him from another barracks? You didn’t even grab any medical supplies! What are you doing?”
Sam pressed his servos into a particularly deep chassis wound, thinking back to Knockout who had dipped his saw into XL-080 not even a day ago as he showed Megatron the healing capabilities of the Allspark. Not that the medic knew that then, of course.
“He’s better than medical supplies..” XL-080 assured the other Vehicon, who still looked wary.
Sam grit his teeth, splitting a line in his hand and trickling it into the Vehicon. He made sure to do it slowly, not wanting to overpower the Vehicon and shred his spark apart like he did to his universe’s Megatron all those years ago.
“What are they doing?” Came a mortified and bewildered voice from the resident peanut gallery.
At first, there was no reaction. And then the Vehicon arched upwards, voicebox screaming static.
Well. There goes the whole ‘painless’ repair.
“Hold him down!” Sam barked.
“Are you kidding me?!” The closest Vehicon shrieked. “It sounds like you’re killing him!”
Sam sent his best glare, purposefully lashing out his EM field with fury and determination. “He’s not going to die. Not today. But if you don’t get him under control, he’s going to bleed out even faster and I really won’t be able to do anything.”
And Sam wasn’t lying. The first thing he noticed when he got into this new frame was that there was very much a lack of another mind sharing it. He didn’t know if it was because the Vehicon’s spark had already jumped ship, or that the lack of fluids meant game over for any Cybertronian.
So much so that even the Allspark couldn’t do anything.
Sam didn’t want to test it.
The Vehicon balked, but XL-080 moved for him. Steady servos clamped down on the injured Vehicon’s pedes, steading Sam’s servos on his chassis in tandem. Other Vehicons followed his lead, securing the thrashing Vehicon’s limbs to the deck.
Sam’s visor light narrowed, his equivalent of squinting in concentration. He kept a stringent leash on the line of Allspark energy coursing through the Vehicon. He could feel the energy bumping into non-damaged systems, overloading and sparking the components.
“Come on.” Sam growled, nudging the energy to the side, branching it off into smaller, less volatile strands that explored the Vehicon’s body.
Sam had been honest when he told XL-080 that he really did not know the way around a Cybertronian’s body. Any medical knowledge was given to Mikaela, who had the automotive knowledge to make the transition to a more complex system easier.
Every day he wished she were here with him. But she wasn’t. And although Sam loathed to admit it, even if she was, Mikeala wouldn’t have access to the correct supplies and wouldn’t have enough time to deal with the Vehicon’s injuries before it was too late.
So Sam had to improvise. He didn’t know the Vehicon’s transmission from his control motor–or even if he had those parts–but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the part that was currently cut in half and leaking copious amounts of fluid into other fragile components was probably not good.
He soaked the damaged component in Allspark energy.
Do your thing. He urged it.
And it did. The energy flowed into the component, sealing the outer parts and knitting the broken lines together. It burned the leaked fluids before they caused more damage, and licked the internals before curiously turning around and searching for the next damaged part.
Sam coaxed it from one part to the other, moving from the vital region, which was thankfully the same as a human’s, and into the extremities. The internal damage was the slowest part, and as soon as the knocked components were back into place, the protoform knitted itself shut and the plating followed suit.
Some parts were so damaged that the only thing to do was to change it. Into what shape and for what purpose–Sam didn’t know. All he knew was that the Allspark shook its head in disdain at the design and suggested a much better one.
This ended up in several parts that were more arched, with intricate, etched designs on the outside. They formed small engravings of glyphs and art along the outside of the damaged component. These differed from the surrounding metal parts just like a Victorian handcarved bookcase differed from a blocky piece of mass-produced Ikea furniture. It was gorgeous in comparison, but evidently, very different.
Sam was so concentrated in his task, that he didn’t notice the eventing in relief from the injured Vehicon, and that the chassis gash he had pressed his servo into was practically gone. When he couldn’t find the next part to fix, he coaxed the energy back into his palm.
No traces. No residual energy. Nothing to track.
When it was done, it felt like it took hours. It was probably closer to a couple of minutes, but Sam still sagged back in relief and mental exhaustion. He never realized how much concentration that took. It was far more than anything he had done before. He had a feeling that if he had attempted something like that when he first got here, he wouldn’t have been able to.
…Would you look at that? Sam internally mused. Guess Cliffjumper was right about practice actually doing something.
“...You did it.”
Sam’s visor flickered back on, realizing the absolute silence that had suddenly permeated the barracks. It was XL-080 who had said something, visor still staring deep into Sam’s very being.
“...Told ya.” Sam did his best to give a cocky grin, before realizing he didn’t have a mouth to do so.
…Eh. Whatever. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t had a physical mouth his entire time in this universe anyways.
“What. The. Pit. Was. That.”
One of the Vehicons, who was just on the edge of the small clearing around the body of the now stable and repaired Vehicon, had spoken. They were a flyer, with a nervous-sounding voice.
“That,” Sam said flatly. “Was help.”
“That was incredible!” A smaller Vehicon, a miner by the looks of the double slitted mask, cried. “Can you imagine how much good this will do?! We don’t need any medical supplies or anything for a complete recovery.”
The group started to clamor, some looking distinctly afraid at what Sam did, and some looking very very excited at the prospect.
“Hey. Could you repair a completely severed leg strut?” One Vehicon butted in, getting into Sam’s face. Sam glanced down at the Vehicon, who had both leg struts intact. He didn’t know if that meant the Vehicon was planning on severing his leg or that he planned on doing something ‘unsavory’ towards someone else in the future.
“Who else knows about this? Is this something Barracks II has been hiding from us?!” Another demanded.
“Do you know how much it hurts to get treated? I usually get a bit scuffed up after my shifts and was wondering if the pain was worth visiting you over…”
“Hey! Do you think I could get your comm code?” Another interrupted. The idea set off an entire avalanche of troopers who wanted the same, pushing each other in order to get through.
While Sam and XL-080 tried to diffuse the situation, he caught bits and pieces from the small untrusting percentage of soldiers.
“I don’t like this.”
“No kidding. It seems like a test. I don’t know what for…But I wouldn’t blame Soundwave for setting up a loyalty test for the troops to see who would keep quiet about a potential traitor…”
Traitor? Sam internally sputtered. “Hey! What did you just say? Me? A traitor?! I just saved one of your afts!”
The negative group sneered collectively. “We didn’t ask you to. How about you stay in your own barracks and take your problems there?”
“Hey!” One of the supportive Vehicon’s shouted out. “Don’t scare him off! Some of us actually work dangerous shifts, ya slag head!”
“What did you just call me?!”
XL-080 and Sam shared a look as the group devolved from separate opinions to one large argument about whether or not Sam should stay or go.
“This isn’t good.” XL-080 muttered.
“I think that might be my cue to leave.” Sam muttered back, getting to his feet and using his bulk to push the pressing group of Decepticons back.
“Hey! Don’t go! We still need you.” One Vehicon cried, latching onto his forearm plating. The group surged forward, and suddenly servos were grasping onto Sam’s plating, pushing, pulling, pressing down, lifting up. Sam grunted and tried shoving them off, but they were always quick to recover.
I knew this was a bad idea. Sam thought with increasing dread. Just like Mission City. The Allspark only brings war.
“Let go! I’m not some toy to keep here.” He bit out.
“Please!” One Vehicon begged.
“You’re one of us.” Another said coldly. “Your loyalty is to the Decepticon cause. There’s nowhere else for you to go.”
Sam audibly laughed out loud at that. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find someplace far away to go to if you don’t let–”
“ENOUGH!”
The entire group froze at the commanding, baritone voice. A large figure broke through the crowd, forcing the Vehicons away from Sam, XL-080, and the unconscious repaired Vehicon still laying on the ground. It was one of the more uniquely-framed Vehicons, one with twin helicopter blades and double jointed legs. They were thinner than a normal Vehicon, but they had a group of much larger, oil-trucker-type Vehicons who followed them, pushing the smaller Vehicons to the side, using their giant canisters on their shoulders to their advantage.
As soon as the helicopter Vehicon’s visor landed on Sam, he felt the urge to shrink down. This Vehicon was a helm taller than even him, and their companions at least two helms taller than them. The staredown didn’t last long, and the Vehicon turned to face the larger group.
"No one is doing anything until we come to a consensus.”
Sam stared at the Vehicon’s frame as soon as their attention turned, and couldn’t help but notice the welds crudely crisscrossing their frame. Most of their weight was on their leg leg strut, but Sam doubted that the injury would make the Vehicon less dangerous.
A veteran. Sam realized, watching how quickly the other Vehicons deferred to the helicopter. Multiple Vehicon instigators cowered under their crimson gaze.
“Sorry H-135…” One Vehicon muttered.
“H?” Sam questioned XL-080. “I thought all of your designations started with ‘XL’...”
XL-080 shook his helm minutely, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. “‘XL’ is just for the standard base frame models like me and the flyers. All the others are have a letter based on their class: H for Hover class, M for Miner class, T for Transportation class, and W for–”
“And you!” H-135 spun, pointing straight at Sam. “What is with your abilities? Which barracks are you from? How do you know XL-080?”
“Uh er…” Sam stuttered eloquently. They know XL-080 by designation?
“Knockout!” XL-080 answered for him. “We met each other during an experiment Knockout was running…something with regenerative energy use.”
H-135 stared at XL-080.
“XL-322 can back me up.” XL-080 said confidently. “He was on patrol with me before Breakdown took me in.”
This answer seemed to satisfy H-135. He turned back to the group. “Let’s get one thing straight. We stick together. We are not giving up one of our own. He’s helping us, so we help him. Regardless of what barracks he is part of. Clear?”
There was a series of disgruntled murmurs. One of the oil tanker companions smashed their fists violently together. A bit more affirmative answers, but not much. Obviously Vehicons would listen and respect their older counterparts, but there wasn’t much leeway.
“If he becomes a problem!” H-135 announced. “I will take the responsibility and deal with it so all you…Stop. Worrying. About. High. Command. Are we clear?”
The entire barracks gave a bit more of an affirmative noise. H-135 seemed satisfied.
“Alright! Enough gawking! Everyone, go back to recharge. And can someone please take XL-763 with them?”
Sam watched as the mob of Vehicons reluctantly dispersed, one of the oil tankers gently scooping up the injured Vehicon–XL-763–with them. Sam vented a sigh of relief, and then briefly pondered the fact he had vents now.
“...Thanks.” Sam said towards H-135, who was still sticking around even as the others filed off towards their stations.
“Don’t thank me for anything.” H-135 gave Sam an appraising glance. “Blame their interrupted recharge. If there’s anything a Vehicon loves more than the Decepticon cause, it’s their recharge. Plus,”
And H-135 leaned down menacingly.
“You’re not off the hook. They expect you to take care of them, so don’t go disappearing on us to whatever side of the Nemesis you crawled out of. You’re a Barracks I ‘con now. I’ll remember your visor…”
A long stretch of silence followed. Sam realized the helicopter wanted a designation. He didn’t have a designation, and he didn’t think ‘Sam’ would suffice either.
“W-045.” XL-080 answered for him. “He’s from that recent delivery…the one of the earliest that left Cybertron but got lost in a wormhole.”
“You’re doing an awful lot of speaking for him, XL-080.” H-135 noticed pointedly.
“He doesn’t speak for me.” Sam insisted, ignoring the look XL-080 gave him in return. “...But he’s not wrong. The last couple of da–I mean, cycles have been hard adjustment.”
And wasn’t that the truth. It has felt like Sam hasn’t gotten a single ‘adjustment’ period since he landed here.
H-135 nodded his helm. “That’s normal. Welcome to the Nemesis, trooper. I’ll tell others your designation if they need you–”
“Actually, could you not?” Sam requested frantically, thinking that just in case there actually was a W-045 floating around the Nemesis, it was better to keep the number of mechs who knew his ‘designation’ to a minimum. That, and a nameless Vehicon was a lot harder to find than one with a known name and rumored ‘regenerative’ powers that so happened to coincidentally line up with their escaped subject. “It’s just…easier to remember a catchphrase when people actually need me. It’ll help distinguish between social and work calls.”
H-135 seemed to think about this.
Please believe me. Sam prayed.
“...Very well. What phrase would you like?”
Crap. Didn’t think that far. What would an injured Cybertronian say?
“They crashed.” Sam blurted. “And they need to step out for a bit.”
“They crashed. And need to go out.” H-135 murmured, most likely committing the phrase to memory. “...It’ll do.”
Sam sagged in relief, shooting a glance at XL-080, who had watched this entire exchange. It was surprising, honestly. Sam kinda expected the Vehicon to get the hell out of dodge when things got tough. Sam mentally adjusted his view of the Vehicon.
Sam silently mourned the chance of escape he just threw out the window. He didn’t know if he’d ‘stick’ around, not a huge fan of aiding the Decepticon cause. Hell, he didn’t even know their motives in this universe, but it was a universal constant that Decepticons killed Autobots, and Autobots killed Decepticons. Playing both sides was just a complete recipe for disaster.
But it wasn’t a big deal. At least he’ll have XL-080. The Vehicon usually had a job patrolling, so maybe tomorrow Sam would find the nearest escape hatch and make a clean getaway.
“By the way.” H-135 interrupted, turning away to leave. “Tomorrow I’ll make sure you have an assignment with me. Your frame isn’t made for surveillance.”
Ah. Shit. Of course. Old Witwicky luck was apparently a universal constant as well.
//////////////////////////////////////////
Deep in the center of the Nemesis’ communications console, Soundwave worked. Nemesis damage reports were filed neatly and sent to Megatron. Evacuation notices and paths were uploaded to the general Vehicon communication line. Locations of each member of the Decepticon High Command was constantly updated. Knockout was in the medbay. Breakdown was in the engine room. Starscream and Lord Megatron were on the bridge. Airachnid was in her temporary quarters, far away from the noise.
All of this data was filtered very efficiently. The console was the device that gathered all the information. Soundwave’s processor was the thing that sorted through everything.
Occasionally, when it became too much, Lazerbeak acted as a buffer and filtered the less important information such as the locations of each Vehicon, the various temperature fluctuations outside of the warship, and intercepted human communications from the planet below.
It was for this reason, that when one of the Nemesis’ engines exploded–due to the repair Vehicons adding too much fuel and not enough coolant, by the way–Soundwave didn’t immediately notice that one particular Vehicon of interest had deviated from schedule. That information Lazerbeak had deemed as “unimportant”.
But as the chaos died down, and Soundwave finally got enough processor space free to review the logs, he sorted through with great interest.
First of all, Soundwave wasn’t an idiot. He knew that when he visited the experimental lab after his feed was cut out, that something had obviously happened with the specimen. Knockout and Breakdown didn’t want to say anything, but that just meant they thought they could fix whatever they caused before Lord Megatron noticed.
Whatever had gone down, it was still on the Nemesis. Soundwave confirmed it with Lazerbeak’s scouting of the lab’s vents, which had locked down as intended. The only other way out was through the lab door. And last he checked, the only thing that left the lab was the Vehicon subject.
Said Vehicon’s frame was, coincidentally, the same as the one who had raced through the halls and into Reclamation the very next cycle. Not only that, but another Vehicon had left with him not soon after, racing back to Barracks I.
Soundwave rewound the footage, trying to see just when the other Vehicon, a tanker, had entered Reclamation. He couldn’t access the room’s footage, simply because Reclamation didn’t have a camera system in there yet. The key word was ‘yet’.
He assumed that the tanker Vehicon had entered the room at some point during the most recent shift, presumably to slack off. It wasn’t unheard of, many Vehicons snuck away for a couple of moments. It was within the acceptable perimeters, and often these Vehicons worked harder the next shift due to a sense of guilt. So really, it worked out.
But no tanker Vehicon entered Reclamation by themselves that previous shift. Or the one before that. Or the one before that one.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
It looked like Soundwave would have to take a little trip down to Barracks I.