#SIDESWIPE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

typewritingyip · 18 hours ago

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The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Four - EM

Part Forty Three

Warnings: Mentions of Vomit, Gore, and Death

———

Electromagnetic fields, EM Fields, are generally a physical field that vary in time and space. Representing the electric and magnetic influences generated by or changed by electric charges.

For humans, they produce low frequency magnetic fields that induce the circulating currents within the human body. The strength of the currents depends on the exterior magnetic fields hey may interact with.

These are all described through Maxwell's equations and Lorentz force law. Both depict the functions of the electromagnetic field, creating a concrete base for understanding.

Unlike with Cybertronians, for humans, the field is imperceivable and can not be readily manipulated without external stimuli. Not used for emotional or communication expression.

The lack of connection there is startling if not entirely unnerving for the Cybertronian population, the lack of a field often translates to the lack of care if not down to the religious perspective of the lack of a spark or soul.

Electromagnetic fields are important in the art of expression for Cybertronians, for humans its important in the art of function and survival.

—

All the walls around them were filling with smoke and he hadn’t been more grateful for the oxygen tanks below his feet in any other moment, well, other than when he was on planets with toxic atmospheres but that hardly counted. They weren’t initially designed for that, let alone expected thirty years ago.

No, he was only thankful for the over engineered suit when it would prevent him from dying or choking or taking any bit of pain really. Otherwise he wished he was back on the beach in Florida, waiting for an attack to send him running, but just enjoying the sunshine of his home instead. It was hard to not think about in moments like this one, where he’d rather be.

He’d even rather be back in North Iacon, freezing his ass off, with his unit. The mechs he was coming to care for and see as more than just aliens, more than something that he had to live through to get to the goal. They were all great in their own ways, but he found working with them easier and a lot less deadly. More like when he and Sunny would work in tandem, less like this mess. It had taken far longer than it had for the others for him to see the benefits of working with Cybertronian’s over humans. He’d just about give anything to have any of his unit by his side instead.

Now, Sideswipe was moving through the alleyways with Jazz, still clutching his hand as the sounds of explosions followed them along with the heatwave from them. Their comms which had finally cleared before the Seekers had started bombing were now again full of static, unable to reach any of the others. Elita cut off again as her pings bounced, unbeknownst to Sideswipe. They were cut up from everyone by each other, speakers the only thing that seemed to still function for communication.

Deep down, he knew Sunny was fine but his anxiety had been tearing at his nerves all day. Every ping that he got from Elita, which he had silenced grated at what little nerve he was maintaining and now with his brother out of his eyesight, it was hard not to spiral.

Clutching Jazz’s hand helped though, the older pilot returning the grasp without so much as a word. Likely needing it to ground himself as well.

It was a relief that Jazz remained silent, if he didn’t Simon knew he would probably just freeze. The memories of losing his parents just being kept at bay, the day's weight trying to drag him down through the symptoms of overuse. Send him through a cascade of unwanted memories.

Seeing the bar certainly wouldn’t help, but it was where their backup was supposedly going to be. If they got back there and there was no one there waiting to back them up, then he really would lose it. Backup was supposed to have been here hours ago, at least, it felt like hours. He probably wasn’t the only one who’d lost track of time from the bombing to now. So much had happened and all he wanted to do now was finish the fight before sleeping.

They stumbled as more explosions boomed behind them, both men swearing as they ran into the narrowing walls of the alleyways. Building swaying against the maelstrom and ground shaking like an earthquake. More dust and smoke filled the space they were in, making only their visors visible through it all. Not even what had once been their brightly colored paint was visible, sandblasted down to primer grey for the most part. Only flecks of blue or red seemed to remain. He could tell, deep down, that this was bad. For more than one reason.

Sideswipe knew that if he wasn’t holding tightly to Jazz’s hand, it would be likely that he’d have somehow backtracked to where the explosions were happening, just from the sheer stupidity he felt in the moment. That and his lack of a sense of direction. Something him and Sunny were cursed with from both parents, neither had been good with maps or directions either.

Both crashed to the ground as the ground and buildings around them shook again, Sideswipe pulled Jazz into the crash position for pilots and waited for it to stop. They both were breathing heavily, the only thing either could hear over the chaos.

“Are the bombs supposed to be this bad?” His voice shook as the ground did, hands pressed to Jazz’s shoulders as they both crouched in crash position. His eyes kept scanning the monitors in front of him for anything, “I don’t know, the attacks that have happened on Cybertron have never been this bad before. That and the times where I’ve seen us bomb something, I usually was on a shuttle above it all.” Jazz’s voice almost wavered at the end, his hands pressed to his helm, waiting.

He took a breath, “That and there was an executioner, they’re tough to handle.” Nodding a bit, Sides bent his head down as debris rained down on them, “Yeah, Hound didn’t look great when I last had eyes on him.” Humming, Jazz shrugged slightly even as he winced when glass smashed against the ground, “Hound will be fine, if any of us can handle something like that on our own, it’s him. Or me.” It almost made him chuckle. Almost.

Instead, he just kept hold of Jazz, scanning his monitors for anything that would show when this would let up. Slowly, the smoke dissipated and the ground stopped shaking, he felt like he was able to breathe again.

Nodding a bit, Jazz sighed, “Alright, just keep hold of my shoulders and we’ll keep moving.” Both standing slowly on slightly shaky legs, the adrenaline starting to wear thin and fear trying to take hold, “Yeah, yeah, sounds like a good idea.” And they started back down the alleyways, moving slow and keeping their eyes out for anything.

He hated the quiet, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything either. So they kept moving quietly. Only relieved when the alleyways open up to the remains of their bar.

—

To be perfectly honest, he didn’t think about it at first, just figured that whoever was coming would be happy to see them alive. Or at least relieved to know that they were functioning enough, alive was a bit of a stretch at the moment. Especially with hos his mind and heart raced uncontrollably.

He was waving with his remaining arm, a smile strained even behind the layers hiding it from the approaching Cybertronians, “Hey, we're over here!” Several sets of eyes landed on them and then they were diving for cover as gunfire sprayed across their alley.

”Why are they shooting at us?” Breakdown pulled him down to the ground and he glanced up as more gunfire struck the walls around them, “Do I look like I know?” He moves back up the alleyway the best that he could, breathing heavily, “Is your cannon back up and running?”

With a shake of his head, Breakdown looks that way and Sunny swears, with a deep sigh he shifts his suit to a crouch, “Alright then, Ill,” He stops as more gunfire rips across another alleyway across from them and his heart starts to race again. It could be anyone over there, any of the pilots. Sideswipe.

Nodding quickly, he stands and ducks to avoid a few more shots coming his way, “Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Adjusting his oxygen mask, he took a few slow and deep breaths, “What, you are going to run in there like Rambo?” Shrugging, Sunny stares, “Well, someone has to get them to stop shooting at us.” He went from a near standstill to a sprint, ducking under and rolling to avoid the blaster fire.

His suit collided with the edge of the collapsed building, pressing his back to it as blaster fire went over his head. Panting, he looked back to Breakdown who was huddled at the back of the alley, then looked towards where the others shots had been placed. He could just make out the sandblasted frames of two suits, but he couldn’t tell who it was.

For a moment, he thought he heard familiar shouting, but more blaster fire went over his head, trying to blow out his eardrums, “Alright then.” He goes over the top of the rubble and runs for a few meters before taking cover again when there is a boom from a cannon.

“Become a pilot, they said, it will keep you from going to prison, they said.” Trying to catch his breath, he glances in the direction that Bluestreak would normally be, trying to spot the reflection from his scope. His heart clenched painfully when he remembered, taking a breath, “Fine then.” And back over he went, making it a few feet before falling into a hole.

Leaning his head back against the side, he groaned, rolling his shoulders. It took him a second to pop back up, scanning and snagging a photo before going back down to see who was there.

It took a moment to load, but the scowl on his face intensified when part of his own unit came into view, then his heart jumped into his throat.

Crashing into the hole next to him, was the sandblasted suit of his brother, “Why is everyone trying to kill us today?” He wanted to laugh, he really did, but he also wanted to cry, “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t recognize us without our paint?” Finally looking down at himself, most of his yellow was gone, same as Side’s red.

They were grey and his mouth went dry. They looked like walking, talking, corpses, “Fuck.” Popping his head back up, he tried to wave, “Hey!” He ducked back down when more shots were fired at them, “Oh, bright idea Sunny. Yes, shout at them so they know where to shoot.”

Shooting his brother a glare, he tried to say something as the ground started to shake again. Sideswipe was on top of him in an instant, getting them both into crash position. His head spun as everything swayed and he tried not to throw up again, his stomach turning over uneasily.

“I was trying to get Ironhide’s attention so that they’ll stop shooting us.” Glancing back, he watched the building sway and the nausea returned, “They won’t shoot till everything stops moving, we need to get in front of them before that.” Humming, Sideswipe kept his hold on his shoulders.

The pair of them crouched in the hole, waiting until the swaying started to subside then shared a look. Even if they could only see each other's suits, it was enough for them, visors shifted shade just enough, “Alright Sunny, your plan.” Then they went up and over.

It would take a few seconds for the Cybertronians to recover, long enough to get close enough to shout, “Stop fucking shooting us! For the love of god!” Though that is not what he would have said.

Only one more shot managed to singe his suit before Ironhide was screaming, “Hold your fire, goddamnit!” Then running towards them. Another unexpected event happened as Ironhide nearly collided with him, taking his shoulders, “Just, hold still Sunstreaker.” The fear in his voice almost broke the damn that he was barely holding together.

Taking a breath, Sunny rests his hand on Ironhide’s arm, “I’m okay, I’m not hurt.” The scoff was one he felt in his soul, “You're missing your arm Civi! You're greyer than the empty spark of Unicron!” Laughing weakly, he nodded, “Yeah, my paint sorta came off when the building fell on us.” But he was relieved, leaning into Ironhide.

Ironhide held his weight, “You look like a corpse.” Sighing, he nodded again, “I know, I know. But I’m not one yet, believe me you’d know. Though those assholes didn’t exactly help prevent me from becoming one.” Chuckling weakly, Ironhide shrugs, “Hey, you all look like dark energon posed zombies.” Sideswipe leaned in, “That’s an actual thing here?” With a shrug, Ironhide shook his head a bit.

“Depends on who you ask.” But he leveled his gaze at Sides next, “Just so you know, Elita is pissed.” Nodding slowly, Sideswipe gestured towards his head, cracked visor now fully on display, “Comms kept failing.” Ironhide hummed, sounded doubtful.

Leaning his head against Ironhide's shoulder, Sunstreaker was able to hold it together for another second or two, before crying.

He was soaked in sweat, had thrown up down the front of his assistance suit, there was blood trickling down from his forehead and implants, was in the process of fighting off a panic attack, was missing an arm, and could finally breathe as his unit raced towards where they’d spent the day fighting.

Broken wasn’t even the first word he’d use to describe how he felt. This felt worse than his first day as a pilot. Ironhide held him up, holding him close, “Blue’s coming up now, you’re going to be fine. Mostly. I don’t think that Knockout is particularly happy.” And it managed to make him laugh slightly.

—

Sunshine had never felt so good, not in all the years of the war and not even before the war had it felt this nice. For a moment, he didn’t even think about the sun fading his paint. Just enjoyed being above ground.

Though hauling Megatron’s unconscious frame up from underground was not a fun time, especially less fun with the Prime’s fretting. He was a leader of the people, who was brutal in a fight, but the minute that Megatron got an injury even if it was so much as a scratch, it was as if the entire universe revolved around it.

He longed for the silence that the two had sustained over the last quartex or more but that was none of his business. Now, while getting Megatron settled in one of the evacuation shuttles, did he finally turn to the chaos.

For a moment, he thought and hoped it wouldn’t be so bad, that they’d have managed to not injure themselves any further than what had been sustained in the building collapse. How wrong he had been.

Sideswipe looked mostly the same, dented and scraped plating with missing paint and a slightly cracked visor that would not take much to fill. Though his bracers were shattered and didn’t leave much behind, he would only take a hand full of cycles to repair.

Jazz had missing plating and was also missing the same amount of paint as all of the pilots were missing, his visor had a small chunk taken out of it and any weapons he had been carrying were clearly long gone. Though Prowl was practically smothering him, so it was hard to tell what all needed to be repaired. Smothering in Prowl’s sense meant clutching his shoulders and holding him at arms length for scans.

Sunstreaker looked like he’d crawled out of the pit that morning, the gaudy yellow all but gone and minus one servo. It was daunting to stare at the mech who was still being held up by Ironhide, though Bluestreak had taken up place to his back, holding the missing limb as if it were the lifeline that would sustain Sunstreaker’s spark. It would be a while before any of the worrying mechs let him take a look at the odd mech.

He didn’t want to look at Breakdown, it made his spark feel like it could fray in two, the large mech was hanging on by a thread probably with the brutal treatment he’d received to his frame.

Looking at him though, he looked mostly the same as he had when heading towards the danger in the first place. Though each step made his helm wobble precariously and it sent Knockout into a near panic. They all were making him a horrible mix of angry and fearful.

These pilots were the embodiment of those awful dark-energon like zombies he’d seen during the war, of course these ones were still alive, still his allies, but they looked like walking corpses.

Moving over slowly, he reached Breakdown first, servos cradling his helm carefully, “You look like you just climbed from the pit.” Chuckling and shrugging, Breakdown shakes his head, sending it wobbling, “It feels as if I have.” He had to suppress the pained noise trying to escape his vocalizer.

None of them should be alive, or standing, let alone talking or even laughing. His spark spun rapidly, he clutched Breakdown tightly, “Come on, you’re going to get on the evacuation shuttle. You’re hurt.” Trying to wave him off, Breakdown shakes his head, “I’m fine, this is hardly anything.” It pained him.

“This is not the time to argue, shuttle, now.” He didn’t let go, taking hold of Breakdown’s arm and practically dragging him towards the shuttle, swearing when the mech who was supposed to be unconscious came lumbering out with the fretting prime at his heels.

He was still leaking slightly from his arm, face screwed up in pain but walked around and started to look around slowly, “Where are the Quintessons?” Optimus’s hand rested on his shoulder, “Under control, come sit back down.” A growl tore through Megatron’s throat, “And where is Hound? The other humans are here, so where is he?”

That was who was missing.

He’d been so worried about Breakdown who looked just shy of death to not notice how Hound was missing and Mirage had disappeared. Mirage disappearing was so normal to him that he hadn’t properly noticed.

Looking around slowly, everyone seemed to be realizing that Hound was nowhere in sight and neither was Mirage.

“Well, fuck.” It was Jazz’s voice that cut through the quiet, “I saw him just before the bombs hit, he was fighting that executioner.” And his lines went cold. Executioners were nothing to scoff at, let alone handle one on one.

Sure, the human pilots were extremely skilled in what they did, able to handle dozens of scouts by themselves, but this was different. This was an executioner. If Hound wasn’t dead, it would be a miracle.

—

He was stumbling down one of the many alleyways in the area, roasting in his suit as the plates slowly faded from a near glow and covered in the green blood of the enemies, though some of it had boiled off and left an even worse residue. Leaning against one of the walls, he closes his eyes to get his water pouch, drinking from it desperately.

Time was seeming to drag, each step more painful than the last. His whole body ached and felt like a bruise. He was probably going to have dozens of bruises across his body after today, thrown about every which way. Now, he couldn’t tell if it was the suit causing him pain or how much he’d been thrown around in the suit that day.

It had been years since he’d seen a fight like that, been in a fight like that even, close quarters and desperate. He could almost smell the stink of it. Had it been Savannah or Atlanta that he’d last fought that hard. He couldn’t remember at the moment, his head pounding. Sighing, he sets down the water pouch and opens his eyes to the empty alleyway.

Shaking off the feeling the best he could, he started walking again, looking around and keeping an eye out for anything out of place. Or at least anything out of place caused by the enemy and not the seekers above. He had to find the others, wherever they were.

His comms were still busted, the bombs and things having knocked out the signal for the time being. Each time he cued his microphone, the feedback was murder, so he walked in silence.

No pilots in his ears, talking. No music around him. Just the distant sound of explosions and seekers in the distance. Normally, he’d be fine with the quiet, it a reminder of the few moments of peace he’d get back home but right now in this moment it was unnerving.

Turning down the next alley, he distantly wondered why Iacn’s buildings were built so close, why these walkways even existed when they could transform but then again they had cars on earth but not every road was well made for them. Sighing, he drags a hand down his face while moving into a slightly better lit street.

Something in the corner of his vision caught his eyes and he nearly froze, but instead, he kept moving like whatever was there wasn’t. Then he took up the barrel for his gun from his leg and hurled it at, nothing. There was nothing there and for the briefest of seconds he felt stupid. Like he was truly losing it.

That was until Mirage shouted and appeared, rubbing his nose painfully, “God, Hound, I come in peace, I swear.” The poor mech looked horrible, a dent in the side of his head couldn’t possibly be comfortable, leaving his optics a bit dim. He swayed slightly after the hit but regained his posture with a practiced ease.

Chuckling weakly, Hound shakes his head, “The hell are you doing here?” He moves forward and carefully raises his hands as if to grasp Mirage to keep him from falling, even as his heart rate picks back up, he holds back “You weren’t with the others, so I was worried.” Nodding slowly, Hound glances back, “Uh, yeah. I got busy.” He chuckled slightly and shook his head.

It was ridiculous, he should have evacuated with the others, not gone around to kill off as many Quintessons as he possibly could before the area was carpet bombed.

Mirage nodded a bit, sighing deeply, “God, I was terrified. All the others were there, looking like death and you just weren’t. Of course, you look horrible, but I think Breakdown has your arm.” Hound was pretty sure he’d never heard Mirage talk so much in his life, “Uh huh. Alright, let's go, come on.” Gesturing, he starts to move around Mirage to keep going to the decimated bar.

“Hound, I—,” Mirage didn’t finish the sentence, yelping as his hand rested on the broken shoulder of his suit, “What? What? Did a wire zap you?” Turning to look at his shoulder, he frowned, there shouldn’t have been anything there to cause Mirage pain, but then again this day had been so crazy he wouldn’t put this past being the icing on this melting ice cream cake.

Shaking his head a bit, Mirage carefully rested his hand back on Hound’s shoulder. His optics cycling wide and bright, a light smile taking over his face, “I can feel you.” Chuckling lightly, Hound tilted his head, “What?” Then Mirage was hugging him, “I can feel you. Your field.”

It took a long moment for him to understand what Mirage meant, his field, that thing that humans didn’t seem to have but all Cybertronians did. Well, he knew humans had one, it was just incredibly small. At least according to Prowl, the only time the mech could feel it was when Jazz was sitting against his plating.

Now, Mirage was feeling it through his suit, somehow. That wasn’t worrying or anything, “How? What, what does it feel like?” His voice was tight, fear gripping his throat. Mirage hummed, “It’s like it's stuck to your plating, but it's there. Really there.” He pulled back a bit and they shared a look.

Mirage’s smile was still soft, “Come on, you're exhausted.” It twisted his stomach, that Mirage could tell that even when his adrenaline was still running high. When he couldn’t tell how tired he was just yet.

Nodding, they moved quietly through the alleyways back towards the collapsed bar. Hound wasn’t entirely sure how to feel, how he should feel, but he kept hold of Mirage’s hand. The thrown barrel left on the ground.

———

A/N

I just finished this chapter at like, 10:45 tonight, I wanted to finish it hours ago and just kept going. I think the next part probably wont be 4k words if I am being honest.

So, I am off to actually finish up doing what I needed to do today, I just really wanted to write this chapter for you all.

Also official new POV with Knockout being added into the couple mix.