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malewife-overlord · 1 month ago

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SCL:C

Part V: Below Cybertron

Chapter summary: Luster awakens in P1U70. Channel and Puncture venture into the catacombs in search of him.

trigger warnings: violence, some gore, mentions of suicide

word count: 5671

prior chapter here. next chapter is here. fic below cut. also features art of Oracelle by the amazing @runawaymac! Thank you Mac :>

Get up.

His optics were offline, but he was awake. Luster knew where he was–back in the space between consciousness. He’d visited this place too many times in the solar cycles since he’d left Earth. And once again, here as he always was…

Get. Up. What are you doing, wasting your time here? You’re supposed to be finding me. You said you’d find me.

Solace.

“Solace?” He tried to reach out, tried to find just where his voice was coming from. “I’m sorry, I–”

You’re wasting your time with these freaks. They’re going to betray you. You should be searching for me. Get up. You know where you have to start.

“I can’t–”

You can kill them all. Do it. She couldn’t kill you, could she? What makes you think any of them can? Eat their sparks. Return to the surface. I’m waiting for you.

Something was behind him. He couldn’t move–he never could in this mindscape. But he recognized the presence encroaching on his mind, forcibly shutting him down. It had manifested before, on Earth.

“Wait–” he tried to plead with it, but already, he was dropping out of the weightlessness and falling back into his own frame. “WAIT–”

His optics onlined. Luster gasped and shot up.

“Solace!” He yelled, quickly scanning the area before recognizing just where he was.

An operation slab was just below him, and overhead was one of Shockwave’s surgical machines, complete with its fourteen tentacles. The blades hung like swords over his head, illuminated brightly by the white light in their middle.

As for the room around him, it was chock full of slabs, supplies, blades, moving tables, and computer monitors. A corner had been dedicated to spare parts, wires, and tubes of mobile metallico.

Sitting on the slab next to his was a figure he recognized, whose pitch black optics immediately flickered up when he moved. The markings under his eyes had just stopped glowing when he spoke.

“Welcome back, Luster. Bad dreams?” Oracelle asked, cocking his head slightly.

Luster grimaced, his gaze moving from the Seeker to his own claws. “I…I don’t know if they’re dreams, at this point. They can’t be. They feel so real. And he always demands the same thing.”

“What is that?”

“It’s…it’s to find him. He’s desperate, so much so that he’s grown angry.” He left out the part of killing and eating the others.

Oracelle shrugged. “I suppose he’d be upset. Four million years of waiting will do that to you.” He stood. “Shockwave has heard of your failure and was immensely displeased. Spark Storm and Skyrend have taken your punishment in turn. Ensure that you thank them later.”

“They…what? Why would they–”

“Because they care about you, of course.” He headed for the exit. “We all do, as you know. You’re our hope. But see to it that you don’t take that lightly. They are my trine after all.” Something dark flashed across his face as he gazed at Luster over his shoulder. “And I am responsible for the prevention of their suffering.”

He shrank a bit beneath that look, tentacles curling around himself. “Sorry. I…I don’t know what went wrong. I mean, you said–wait, you said that our mission would be success–”

He paused when one of his tentacles brushed against his abdomen and an unfamiliar pain bloomed up it. Glancing down, Luster vented sharply at the sight: his previously see-through middle had been completely replaced with silvery material. It vaguely resembled the structure of a beastformer’s torso, if said beastformer had misplaced their animal head entirely.

“What…what did you do to me?”

Oracelle leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “I rebuilt you, again. We’re running out of compatible parts. I had to use what was available.”

“But I–this isn’t…I…”

“I know, it’s strange. As you know, it’s important we stray from the use of mobile metallico. If you’re rebuilt with that–”

Luster tuned him out, staring down at his silvery torso, now made of the lower jaws of a draconian beastformer. The glass had been welded between the ribbing and teeth like webbing. There was no evidence of what his prior torso had even been.

“...so, in conclusion, it was what was best. Sparkchamber glass isn’t easy to acquire, you understand,” Oracelle concluded. “I’ve done the best I can. You’ll just have to settle.”

“I don’t even recognize myself!” Luster clasped the claws that weren’t his into fists, feeling them cut into his palms. “How is this what’s best?!”

A silence hung between them, broken only by the way his tentacles lashed through the air, searching for a target. Oracelle’s optics were, as always, damnably unreadable.

Finally, he spoke.

“I did what I could. And as you know, eventually, this leads you to Solace. Regardless of what you look like.” His wing flicked. “Unless you’ve decided, only now, that you don’t want to believe me.”

“You lied in the past,” he said darkly.

“And you want to hedge your bets on the belief I am lying now?” When Luster didn’t answer, he continued. “You know why I deceived you before. I promised you I wouldn’t again. I am sorry that your new torso distresses you. It was all I could do to save your life. Now. As my penance, I will solo the next mission Shockwave assigns us. You should rest until you feel functional, then rejoin with the others. If nothing else, thank them for taking your fall and spend your free time sulking in the same room. They quite enjoy your presence even if you don’t theirs.”

He turned his back on Luster and exited.

‘Wouldn’t deceive you again’. Luster couldn’t believe his words. That in and of itself was a lie, and they both knew it. Oracelle had promised him that the mission he’d just engaged in would end with them acquiring that triple changer T-cog and sustaining only minor damage. He wasn’t supposed to have lost any parts, yet here he was with an entirely new abdomen.

What are you doing, wasting your time here? You’re supposed to be finding me.

Solace’s words echoed in his mind. He knew what he was doing down here, but his resolve was beginning to waver. The promise had been that he would meet Solace again if he cooperated with Oracelle, and furthermore, that he would redeem himself in the process.

What he’d gotten instead was subservience to a Decepticon madman and an addition to the Autobot hitlist. He was sure that even if anyone did recognize him, they wouldn’t accept him back now, not in four million years. Worse was the newfound trust and reliance of the others. They accepted him for what he was…and that distressed him most of all.

He was a sparkeater, and they didn’t want him to be anything but that.

The tentacles on the ceiling moved and he froze. The light that beamed down beneath them suddenly blinked, then moved onto him, regarding him. Luster felt an immediate chill run down his spine and promptly hopped off the table, getting a move on out the door.

Shockwave watched him all the way out. He shivered, looking at the lights on the ceiling, expecting them to start flickering. Mechanical tentacles perfectly resembling pipes rested beside them, just waiting to activate.

He was wrong, worst of all was not that the mutant trine wanted him to remain a Sparkeater. Worst of all was that he found himself consistently under the eye of Shockwave. Down here, that Decepticon was king, and as far as Luster was concerned, he was worse than Megatron.

The only stroke of luck he’d acquired was that Shockwave seemed trapped within P1U70 itself, manifesting as flickering lights, moving tentacles, shifting equipment, or text on a screen. He wanted a body, and made that explicitly clear. Not just any body, either. A large one, fed by a powerful, indestructible spark. A strong one, built up from the ground of mobile metallico. And one which had two alt modes, not one.

At the back of his mind Luster almost wished that he’d never come down here. At the same time, he had no choice but to acknowledge the ugly truth: if Oracelle had never reached out to him, he likely would not still be alive. He would have no lead on Solace, no way to make it back to Cybertron, and no friends to rely upon for aid.

That, and Invert would have eaten him alive.

He emerged from the medical bay onto the catwalks of P1U70, unease tingling in the bottoms of his decayed pedes as his tentacles gripped the back wall tightly. P1U70 was not particularly friendly to bots without flight, and though his tentacles could easily catch him on the railings if he fell, he still felt uneasy looking into the black pit below. No one knew how deep the elevator shaft went, not even Oracelle.

Speaking of the elevator shaft, the one on his level immediately lit up, its number display forming the yellow of a single optic that watched him like a hawk. Luster cringed beneath it, the glow so strong it became a spotlight. He quickly crossed the catwalks and dropped a level below, beelining for the door to the barracks. It opened without prompt, permitting him inside.

The lights were completely out, but his optics quickly adjusted. No lights meant no Shockwave, which meant safety.

The barracks were fitted with three recharge chambers, a single couch too small to fit Skyrend, and a single table with a well-used board game on it. Luster had never played and, frankly, had no idea just what game it even was. Two personal datapads were resting on the couch, and in the largest recharge chamber, he could see Skyrend, black frame almost completely invisible in the low light.

Though his frame was completely still within the recharge chamber, Luster could make out a tiny hum emitting from him–he recognized it as the lullaby Skyrend often sang, both to himself and the others. While a bit tuneless, he remembered the first couple of words:

Take me to the edge, where traitors and lovers throw their hearts. Take me to the edge, where tyrants and leaders leave their parts.

What it meant, he hadn’t a clue.

Pacing around the couch in circles was a tiny spark chamber. When the door opened, she froze, white optics all locking on him.

Luster gave her a small wave, and she responded by jumping up on the couch and raising one of her own claws. Spark Storm couldn’t speak in this form save for comms. Being forged without a mouth or voxbox prevented her from even uttering words.

Speaking of comms, an immediate ping lit up his, its culprit obvious. Spark Storm folded her claws beneath her except one, which she used to tap the space beside her. He complied, sitting on it and letting her clamber into his lap.

Her ping was a clear, simple request: mindscape.

Luster cringed. “You really want to try again now? Oracelle said you took my punishment.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Did Shockwave hurt you badly?”

She swayed on her claws and pinged him again: mindscape.

The use of limited words was concerning to him. “What’s wrong, Stormy? Can you not tell me? We don’t need the mindscape to talk, out here is just fine.”

Another ping: mindscape.

He bit his lower derma nervously but finally complied. One of the tentacles bearing Redactor’s hand curled forward, presenting itself. Spark Storm instantly reacted, reaching up for it as best she could.

He moved Redactor’s hand to her shell, forcing it’s mnemosurgery needles out and searching for the sweet spot they’d used last time. Spark Storm complied, even guiding his needle with a claw to aid him in his search. He didn’t realize that he’d found it until the world suddenly dropped away, becoming completely white as he entered the Mindscape.

Trained mnemosurgeons could control how soon they entered and exited this world; he was just the opposite of that. The needles Redactor had left him with were excellent for exploring minds–if only he could actually learn how to use them properly. At best he was a clumsy but welcome guest; at worse, a graceless and loathed intruder.

“Stormy?” He said aloud, hearing his voice echo in the empty space around him. “Stormy? Invert?” Primus, even his own voice didn’t sound right. “Are you–”

“We’re here.”

He recognized Invert’s voice just as her form manifested before him, looking significantly worse for wear. The edges of it were fuzzy, and the color had leached from her servos and forearms. Her optics flickered over and over as they sized they him up.

“Thanks for nothing, by the way,” she sneered. “Because you couldn’t take one triple changer, Shockwave had me make six Seekers.”

Her form flickered as she shuddered, its edges blurring even more.

“Invert.”

Another mech manifested beside her, significantly more solid in form. Her plating was pearly white, accented with silver and gold, and her helm, unlike Invert’s, had vents resembling wings.

“I failed too,” she chastised, taking his side. “That triple-changer was hardier than he looked.”

“If you failed, then why did I have to suffer for it?!” Invert snapped back, pointing an accusatory servo. “That’s how it always is, you frag it up and I end up hurt because of it!”

Spark Storm frowned sadly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t make up for SIX–”

She suddenly winced as if struck, form momentarily blinking out of existence before manifesting once more. Invert coughed twice and hugged herself, pulling away from them both.

“Frag this. Luster, I’m sick of waiting.” Her flickering red optics met his own. “You promised you’d fix us. It’s been six solar cycles and we’re still waiting.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” he offered.. “It’s just not that easy–”

“You don’t know how to, do you?” She growled accusatorily. “You just lied to get us off your back. You–”

“Invert.” Spark Storm interrupted her, receiving a glare. “Shockwave said it’s possible. Luster just needs time.”

“Frag Shockwave,” she spat back. “He’s the reason we’re like this. And you…you get the most benefit out of it.” Her servos clenched tightly into fists. “I bet you want to stay this way, don’t you, Stormy!? Since it makes you the favorite!”

Spark Storm weathered the abuse, optics low to the ground. “Of course I don’t want to. The longer we’re together, the more you suffer. ” She looked pleadingly at Luster. “You can do it, can’t you?”

“I…I should be able to, right? You said I could?”

He couldn’t, to the best of his knowledge, but the lie had kept him alive this long, so it helped to keep living it.

“He can’t, can he?” Invert groaned. “He’s lying. Luster, it can’t be that hard! Come on, you’re great at it outside of the Mindscape!”

“I, uh, don’t want to be.”

“You’re choosing now to grow a conscience?” She put her servos on her hips. “Oh, spare me! I’ll even do it FOR you, just tell me how!”

Spark Storm nodded placidly. “Yes, Luster. Remember that we took your fall, and suffered in turn, so you wouldn’t have to. You owe us, and you’re at full strength now because of us. There’s plenty of time now that our mission is over. ” There was a small, calm smile on her face, completely unbefitting of her words. “So you should have at least five hours to figure out how to kill me.”

—

Puncture ex-vented deeply and let the stale air of the catacombs rush over her sensors. No one had been down here in years, and the sheer amount of dust she filtered out confirmed that fact. The sparkeater trail had gone cold.

“Anything?” Channel asked her, and she shook her helm. “Frag.”

They’d been tracking for two solar cycles now, with her in the lead. Another Insecticon ability, it seemed, had been guiding them: that of scent tracking. The sparkeater that had broken into the Autobot base had bled all over it, and with just a taste of its fluids on her glossa and a sniff in her senses, she’d been able to follow its path across Cybertron. Such was particularly impressive, considering that said Sparkeater had been within another jet at the time of escape.

But now the trail had finally gone cold. It had been fading for a while now, but now, before the yawning maw of the catacombs, it vanished completely.

How fitting, that the dead sought to protect one who’d bring more to them.

“How’s your wave brain ability thing?” Puncture said, looking back at Channel. “Use that. If they’re nearby, shouldn’t you be able to find them?”

“It ain’t that simple,” she responded, gaining an optic roll in response. “Hey, Cybertron’s full’a noise, even the dead hum! Anythin’ I pick up here can’t be linked to ‘em as easy as on Earth!”

“Whatever.” Puncture stalked towards the entrance, claws at the ready. “Hurry up and help me search.”

“Hey! Stop for a moment, it could be a trap!” When Puncture ignored her, she discharged a bolt just beside her, earning a wicked glare. “Think about it for a sec, gladiator! If the trail leads here and goes cold, they’re likely hidin’ inside and waitin’ for us.”

“Then let’s not keep them waiting,” she said contemptuously. “The sooner they jump us the sooner they die.”

Channel scowled, but once it became apparent that no immediate trap would be sprung, slowly followed Puncture in.

The catacombs were vast and dark. At the entrance, a gray plaque welcomed them and explained the purpose of the building around them: to house the bodies of fallen Decepticons. As such, the metal beyond the plaque was purple in color, and the sigil was embedded in the walls.

The entry-way beyond the plaque branched off into three halls. Puncture headed down the first one, and Channel followed.

She should be leading, she knew it, but there was no way in hell that she was letting Puncture be at her back. Defected from the Decepticon cause or not, she didn’t trust the Insecticon for a second.

Speaking of…

“Oi, Puncture.” Her antennae perked, and Channel continued. “Ain’t you uncomfortable down here? These are the bodies of your former allies an’ all.”

“Why would I care about any of them? I never knew them.” They came up on the statue of a former Decepticon leader, and for effect, Puncture spat on it, leaving behind a steaming stain. “They’re all nobody brutes to me.”

‘Brutes’. What an ironic term. Channel arched an optical ridge but refused to comment on it, focusing instead on looking around. Nothing immediately made itself apparent: there were dozens of statues, along with their respective plaques, and nothing else. The catacombs were enormous and vast, but so far, they seemed to offer few places to hide.

It had been two solar cycles, yes. But the air down here was stale and old. The signals she picked up from far above sounded like echoes in her head. Any kind of movement would have been apparent just from the disturbance of dust on the floor.

Yet all she saw was their own pedeprints in it and nothing more.

She thought over their enemies, trying to consider just what their respective moves could have been. Skyrend was new, and from what she’d seen, just as bad as the other two. His special ability seemed to be invisibility. Theoretically, he could be standing just behind her, like he’d done with Puncture, and she wouldn’t even notice it.

Then there was Luster, poor, sick Luster, now turned into a Decepticon pawn. She recalled what Uptick had described him as: quiet, lonely, depressed, in need of a friend. Surprisingly cute for how big he was.

Well, none of those would help her now. Sparkeater Luster was fast, significantly smaller, and quite deadly. She’d seen how he’d used his tentacles. But he was loud–she’d picked up on his conversation without him even realizing it. If he was around, she’d hear him.

Then there was Spark Storm.

They’d be reluctant to tell her anything about Spark Storm, but after its attack on Ultra Magnus and Blurr, Kup had cracked. The being known as Spark Storm was, supposedly, a project Shockwave had developed in secret without the approval of Megatron. Project “Spark Storm”, as it had been described, was run with the purpose of creating Sparkeaters.

The files they’d recovered from the Decepticon base had contained details about a cannibalistic spark, one that owed its nature to its twinned structure. Two cybertronians were locked in one, two whose charges were entirely opposite. They were forcibly bonded together through Primus knows what, and that bond was incredibly unstable.

So unstable, in fact, that it would consume the charge of other sparks exposed to it, in an effort to stabilize its bond.

Upon learning that, Shockwave had removed the soldier known as Spark Storm from the Decepticon militia on Cybertron and set about experimenting on it. She didn’t know if Spark Storm had ever been a Cybertronian, really, or if they’d even had a proper mind. Maybe once they were someone, someone with hopes, dreams, and a horrible pain in their chassis.

Now, they were the only artificial Sparkeater in existence, and trapped in a special body designed to let them parasitize as many Cybertronians as possible.

Spark Storm’s first appearance had been in the Autobot base on Haumera, according to Kup. He hadn’t been there, but he’d been deployed to clean up the wreckage. They’d found the film of what had happened. A single copy was kept, to be analyzed by their top level officials and nothing more.

The secret of its existence had been kept for millions of years, and Spark Storm had not been seen since, which immensely simplified things.

So why now? Channel couldn’t say she liked the implications of the events unfolding around her. Luster, a real sparkeater, was running alongside an artificial one, and both were defended by a massive point one percenter who claimed that Shockwave was not only still alive, but preparing to strike back. None of these bots were registered in the known Decepticon militia, either.

It was suffice to say that the fragile peace of Cybertron was all but shattered now, and the Autobot forces they’d left behind had been preparing for a full on assault before they’d even left. Something horrible was going on beneath Cybertron, something none of them were prepared for.

To think, Shockwave was still alive, and wielding two sparkeaters. Who knew what he had brewing just beneath their feet?

The only good stroke of luck, in the least, was that Magnus and Blurr had both survived. She hadn’t been permitted to see Magnus, who had insisted he was “in an insufficient state to appear in public”, but she’d helped carry Blurr to the medical bay, who’d whimpered the same few words over and over and his spark peered out from his wounds:

She tried to eat me. She tried to eat me.

Puncture suddenly stopped, and Channel froze.

“What?” She asked, quickly scanning the area. “What’s the matter?”

She received no answer at first, only another deep ex-vent.

“There’s someone up ahead.” Puncture flashed her claws. “Smells like a Seeker.”

She bristled, raising her rocket blaster. “How many?”

“Can’t tell. Use your mind thing.”

She frowned but complied. Dropping into the Wavescape, Channel almost immediately picked up the distant sound of a voice.

“She drives her claws through my torso, killing me. No. If I move here, then…the blast knocks his wing off, and it pierces through my chassis. No.”

She lowered her voice, narrowing her optics. “You’re right. Someone’s near. Quiet, Puncture. We have the jump on ‘im.”

“Frag that,” Puncture snarled, charging ahead. Channel groaned in exasperation and ran after her, any element of their stealth ruined. “HEY! WHO’S IN HERE!?”

They turned a bend through the catacombs and came to a massive staircase. Both of them paused. At the top, it was big enough to accommodate them both, but the way the ceiling curved as it descended would require both of them to hunch.

They’d be vulnerable for at least half of it. Channel frowned. Checking on the Wavescape again, she realized the voice had gone quiet.

Great. Puncture had alerted him. And he was…wait. If he was aware enemies were near, why wasn’t he panicking? She should be detecting panicked thoughts, or, in the least, panicked feelings. Did he have a signal blocker? If he did, that was a damn fast deployment.

Puncture transformed right beside her, dropping into her (still fairly large) insect mode. Without hesitation she began to descend the staircase, six legs tacking on the metal stairs.

“Hey, wait!” Channel called after her, grabbing her hind leg. Puncture responded by swiping at her with a hiss. “Oi, none of that! You’re rushin’ into somethin’ you’re unprepared for!”

“When did you start caring about my health?” She snapped back. “It’s a Seeker. You think I can’t take a Seeker?”

“You don’t know that for sure! ‘Sides, think for a moment! This staircase is too big for both’a us. Our target’s beyond it. Ain’t you supposed to be smart? Clearly, it’s a trap!”

“It’s a Seeker.” She hissed, again. “I can take a Seeker, trap or not.”

“That’s whatcha think ‘till they’ve got stasis cuffs on you.” She gestured. “And you’re in bug mode right now. You think you can fight as well in that?”

Her response was an irritated huff, but not a hiss or a protest, which Channel considered to be a win. “Fine,” Puncture said, turning around to face her. “You want to go first, then?”

“No. I’m thinkin’ we don’t go down this way. We find another one.”

“Hmph. Like?”

Looking around, it was apparent that there weren’t exactly any alternate routes to take, unless they wanted to backtrack to the original three branching halls. Channel paused, considering their options.

“Hm. Wait, I got an idea. You got invisibility, don’t you?”

“Camouflage. It’s not the same.”

“Right, camouflage. Can you climb on walls?”

“Yeah. Let me guess, you want me to use the wall instead of the stairs, and stay hidden the whole while?”

She nodded. “You got it. Seems you ain’t as stupid your brethren.”

“Shut up.” Puncture whipped around and moved to the wall, climbing onto it with only minor difficulty. Once there, her color changed from black and yellow to purple, quickly disguising her with the structure she sat upon.

“Right then, you head down and let me know–”

“I’ll ping you if I feel like it.” And without another word, Puncture began to descend, following the wall until Channel couldn’t even hope to see her camouflaged form anymore.

She waited at the top in silence, thinking it all over. That had been a golden opportunity to send Puncture to her death and let whatever was down there handle it for her. Hell, she could even pull the trigger while her back was turned and reduce her to scrap instantly. Why hadn’t she yet?

Tickers was waiting on his vengeance, she was sure, and Puncture wasn’t exactly a sympathetic ‘con she felt positively towards. Before Magnus had ordered them to work together she’d been ready to pull the trigger on her. Hell, she’d considered asking Clinic to poison her Energon IV, not enough to kill her, but enough to make her too weak to function. Then the law would take care of her itself.

So why hadn’t she? Primus, why had she even bothered to warn Puncture about Spark Storm shocking her? All those things could have killed her, but she hadn’t let them.

What the hell was she doing?

‘Clear.’ The ping sounded in her mind. Channel blinked and pinged an affirmative back, beginning to descend. She was biding her time, that's what she was doing. Uptick had to survive this. Puncture was the best body shield she could ask for. The Sparkeaters would kill her, and that would be the end of it.

The lower level of the catacombs was even darker than its previous. Her optics quickly adjusted, revealing a large, open floor. Statues had been arranged against the walls in various positions, most of them kneeling in some form of praise. They lead up to another staircase with a throne at the top. A statue had once sat on it, though now it was broken and in pieces.

Sconces on the walls had once held mechanical lights, though all seemed currently broken. She checked around for Puncture, seeing nothing initially.

“Puncture?” She said aloud, then remembered that they were in enemy territory now and pinged instead. ‘Where’d you go?’

No response. Her grip on her rocket blaster grew tighter as she slowly stepped forward, looking at the statues expectantly. Anyone could be behind any of them (well, maybe not Skyrend, but he didn’t need to hide behind a statue to be invisible). Out in the open, she was a sitting cyberduck.

Hell, riding on Uptick’s form, she was a sitting cyberduck. His cheerful Earth colored paint stuck out like a sore thumb down here. Her instincts screamed for her to separate and head for cover.

She resisted the former but followed the latter, moving for the nearest statue.

She hides behind the statue, and I blast it. The head falls off, crushing her ironically.

Her entire body froze at the message that sounded in her head. It had not come through her comms. Without her consent, without even thinking of it, the Wavescape had reached out to her.

Her systems flashed with warnings as she looked around desperately, searching for the origin of the message. The Wavescape revealed nothing to her.

She searches for me, and finds nothing.

She looked up, seeing only darkness, and readied her blaster.

Like a sitting cyberduck, she moves in circles, hoping this time, she’ll spot something. All the while, the turbofox draws nearer.

“Where are you?!” She demanded. “Show yourself!”

She asks me to reveal myself, because she believes that somehow, honor still runs this war.

“Puncture!” She yelled, hoping for that secondary support. “He’s somewhere in here!”

Look up.

Stupidly, she obeyed. Just as she did, she heard the roar of Seeker engines.

Something on her left illuminated with purple and fired at her. Her gaze shot down just as the glow manifested into a blade and slashed straight over her neck.

The air was knocked from her as her body suddenly separated from Uptick’s, collapsing to the ground mere feet from her. As she struck the cold metal her pain receptors lit up, a damage report pulling in that her shoulder joint had been damaged.

She dismissed them all and scrambled to her pedes, searching around desperately for her foe while she lunged for her blaster. It had landed just beside Uptick’s inert frame, energon leaking from the area where she’d been connected to him.

Oh, Tickers–

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She froze in place as two pedes slammed down just behind her. Her head turned just in time to make out a brilliant pink blade pressing itself to the back of her neck.

“After all, if you die here, who will keep poor Uptick alive?”

He was a Seeker, just as Puncture had predicted. His primary color was deep purple, with a black helmet that matched the color of his optics. Purple markings befitting of a cityspeaker were around his optics. The weapon he held was a scythe, and clearly mechanical. The blade, forged of energy, was bright pink, and emitted from a dozen arrow-like structures that floated within it.

She grit her dentae, servos scraping the metal as they bent like claws. “Who the frag are you? How do you know Tickers?!”

He smiled deviously. “I am Oracelle. And you’re Channel. I know you quite well, don’t worry.”

His smile suddenly disappeared and he gripped his scythe with both hands, twisting and slashing just behind him. The blade made contact with the camouflaged root form of Puncture, who gasped and staggered back.

“And that one is Puncture,” he said, stepping aside before turning back to her.

In the seconds it took she’d already grabbed her rocket blaster and pointed it at him. Activating his thrusters, he just barely dodged out of the way of her shot, the blast exploding a nearby statue around scattering debris everywhere.

Puncture staggered to one knee, gripping the wound on her chest. Her breaths hissed hard and heavy as she clenched a fist in resistance, moving back to her pedes. Looking over, it wasn’t immediately apparent what was wrong with her–not unless one observed her wound. The gash was glowing pink and crackling with energy.

“Puncture?” Channel said, looking between her and Oracelle. “What’d he do to you?”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, baring her claws. “It’s a flesh wound.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider it so lowly.” He’d perched atop one of the remaining statues, scythe at the ready. “This weapon is Shockwave’s personal work. One hit from its blade, and I think you’ll soon find it hard to stand.”

Her systems fired with panic as she looked back to Puncture, who, true to his words, was beginning to tremble.

“Excellent work on the sneak attack though. I thought you were above those, Puncture? Good to know anyone can change.”

“How..the frag…did you…?” She growled in response, claws shaking.

Ignoring the question, Oracelle straightened up, balancing flawlessly on the statue despite its uneven ground. “You know I see the future, you two. And your futures, if you linger here…they really aren’t so bright.”

Puncture hit the ground, her wound crackling even more. Channel bristled, looking over at Uptick–a similar wound was beginning to spark on him.

“Doesn’t look so good, does it, Channel?” Oracelle pointed his scythe at her. “Such a shame. Now, it’s your turn.”

And he lunged.

#six cycles later: cybertron #six cycles later #my ocs #my writing #tf ocs #maccadams #oc: puncture #oc: luster #oc: invert #everyone welcome the man the myth the legend the edgy scythe oc Oracelle

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malewife-overlord · 5 days ago

Text

SCL:C

Part VIII: Why I Became A Monster

chapter summary: Luster tries to make good on his promise. Channel and Puncture plan with Skyrend. Oracelle reveals what he knows.

trigger warnings: suicidal ideation, violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, toxic ass sibling relationship, unwilling experimentation, Oracelle being himself

prior chapter here.

word count: 7112

chapter below cut.

For the third time in as many hours, Luster backed off from Spark Storm, bracing as the effects of his actions shook the Mindscape. She sat, calm as ever, just before him, half of her head missing and her broken spark chamber exposed to the world. One of her arms was missing from the elbow down and both her wings had been torn from their sockets.

And she seemed no more disturbed or impressed than she had at the beginning. Her calm kept the Mindscape stable enough for its three occupants to remain in it, even as the ceiling above threatened splinters of cracks. But as Invert bristled and Luster cowered, none of them could keep the bleeding memories which dripped down from echoing throughout:

MS-04, do you remember the process of being forged?

Of course I do. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. No, that’s not because I don’t want to live. Of course I want to live, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be fighting so hard to stay here. No, it was the worst thing that ever happened to me because of her.

Elaborate.

The sensations of agony and desperation washed over him, almost dropping him to his knees. He wasn’t Luster, he was someone without a name crawling through a black tunnel, trying so hard to reach a light that was too far away. The very ground he was splayed on stuck to his barely formed, rapidly melting limbs. And as he screamed, discovering his voice was silent, someone began to approach from the light, walking straight towards him.

He didn’t remember the image of what they did, only the sensation of it. He had, after all, been dying. And they merely sped the process along.

One stomp, and he went back to sleep, never expecting to wake up again.

Invert suddenly moved to Spark Storm’s side and kicked her in the face, knocking her on her back. She glowered over her, pede still raised, debating if she should repeat the original action before changing her mind.

“Why aren’t you dead yet?” She asked. Spark Storm shrugged.

“You’re keeping me from dying,” she answered, staring at the cracks overhead. “You know how it goes.”

Invert growled in response. “Luster, you fragging suck at this.”

Killing someone, as things turned out, was not as easy in the Mindscape as it was in the real world. Luster cowered slightly beneath her withering gaze, lacing his claws nervously.

“I’m trying!” He protested, frowning deeply. “Besides, you heard her! It’s not my fault you keep regenerating her. I can only do so much damage!”

Spark Storm was already looking better, her wings manifesting again. Gooey metallico had replaced the energon flowing from her wounds. She sat up and watched them, digging a servo into her empty optical socket to help it reform.

“I’m ready to go again when you are,” she said blankly, then smiled. It was tiny, thin, and worn only to please. The look unsettled him.

Invert huffed. “That’s why you need to up your game and kill her, glitchhead. It’s part of our stupid spark link, there’s no way for me to not keep her from dying.” Her expression darkened as she grit her dentae. “Believe me, if I could, I would have.”

“And so would I,” Spark Storm chimed in, smiling for real this time. The two exchanged looks, the tension so thick in the air Luster could feel it settling on his plating and forming rust.

The ceiling cracked a bit more, thicker goop dripping down. He stepped back from it, but he could still see some scenes unfolding within.

MS-04, explain how you have manifested now. Initial mnemosurgery should have removed you. Brain activity reported only a single Cybertronian. How is it that you are still alive?

I don’t want to die. That’s all to it.

Your desire alone has kept you from termination?

I guess you could say that. I’m here to stay. Don’t know why you can’t learn that already.

Here to stay. Very well. Why don’t we test that?

The sound of a blaster.

“Break’s over,” Invert snapped, turning back to him and grabbing his shoulder. “Get back to it. Now.”

Luster almost stumbled and collapsed just before Spark Storm, but caught himself in the nick of time. She exposed her neck to him, pointing at it with one servo.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you try to drown me?” When he raised an optical ridge, she elaborated. “Maybe we don’t breathe, but this place isn’t like reality. Perhaps the ground could suffocate me?”

“Worth a shot.” Invert gestured. “Go on, do it.”

Luster hesitated. He’d never tried to drown someone before. Sure, all those dramas had portrayed it, so he could theoretically try, but…something about drowning someone was so much worse than just ripping half their helm off–

“What are you waiting for?! Get on with it!”

Swallowing hard, he quickly straddled Spark Storm, who let herself be held down with no issue. Grabbing her helm with his claws, he pressed it against the floor of the Mindscape. It felt solid, but if he just pressed a little harder…

It began to give. Ripples spread out around them as he did so. The cracks above paused in their dripping, the memories hanging in the air like leaves in the wind.

He gave a harsh shove, and Spark Storm’s helm disappeared entirely under the surface. And just as she did, his vision warped and changed.

He was no longer Luster. As his her vision cleared, he she recognized the main area of the Decepticon HQ. He she was in a body that wasn’t his hers and looking out from a vent on the floor.

“I want that one.”

Invert’s voice was in his her head. He she could feel her desire right alongside his her own, which was…void. There was nothing.

He She didn’t exist to want. He She didn’t exist to feel. He She existed to serve, and serve he she would.

The ‘one’ that she wanted was chatting with his her fellow Seekers. There were three of them, three which he she knew well: Acid Storm, Nova Storm, and Ion Storm. The Seekers which had given him her her his name.

‘That one’ was green. Acid Storm. He was blissfully unaware of the thing in the vent, looking out at him with none of the love, minor as it had been, that he had given it.

“Why him?” He she asked back, not because he she opposed it, but because only the best could fit his her sister. Acid Storm was not, by his her approximations, the best fit. Something like Starscream or Skywarp would be much better.

“I like his colors,” Invert answered back. “I feel like they fit me best. I’ll need some good paint for my accents though. And his face…I think I could modify it a bit. Widen it a little. Are the other femmes on Cybertron wearing wider faces now?”

“They wear circular helms, and soft faces, yes. And they enhance their dermas, so they protrude slightly.”

“Then I want all of that. You’ll give it to me, won’t you? You promised.”

“Yes, Invert.”

“Great. Then get out there and kill him. I want his body.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes you fragging are. I live in your fragging helm, you think I can’t tell when you’re fragging lying?! You just don’t want to kill him, don’t you?!”

“No.”

“LIAR! Why’d you even take me up here if you were just going to fragging lie to me?! All you know how to do is lie and frag everything up! And I hurt because of it!”

His her helm was aching, like someone was pounding on the inside of it, dying to be free.

“I said I WANT his body, I WANT to be MYSELF! I’m so TIRED of being stuck in here with you! I’m so fragging SICK of being your shadow! I’m fragging tired of being the one who has to die so YOU can live!”

Invert was screaming now, and his helm felt like it was going to split.

“GIVE ME HIS FRAGGING BODY! I WANT TO FRAGGING LIVE!”

Spark Storm’s helm rose above the sea as he jerked, releasing her and scrambling away. Invert watched him as he gasped and curled his tentacles around himself, claws gripping his helm.

“I-I-I can’t,” he choked out after a moment, the pounding in his helm shaking the very realm they currently stood in. “I can’t. Invert, I’m sorry, I–”

“You promised,” she snarled, looming over him like Mortilus. Her servos curled, almost looking like claws. “So do what you promised and make good.”

Spark Storm sat up as if nothing had been done to her, white optics regarding him curiously.

“You did promise,” she echoed. “I’m waiting, Luster.”

“I-I know, I know I promised, but I can’t…I can’t…”

He tried to come up with an excuse and couldn’t find one. In the Mindscape, though, there was no need for words, be they to form excuses or not: emotion and thought blended together and blared loudly. Whoever screamed the loudest was heard whether they wanted to be or not.

And right now, it was him who screamed, even as he uttered no sound.

I can’t stand being in your head. I can’t stand being in this place. I can’t stand feeling your pain and your hatred. I can’t stand the life you’ve lived. Solace, where are you? I miss you. What am I becoming in my search for you? I never wanted to kill anyone. How did it get to this?

He recognized the anger on Invert’s face as she balled her fists.

“You’re choosing now to grow a conscience?” She hissed, stepping towards him. “Do you really think that changes anything? Do you think ‘wanting’ to kill has anything to do with it?!” She was practically on top of him now, pointing an accusatory servo, optics as red as her rage. “Do you think you’re better than us because you weren’t forged an undying freak?!”

“I never–”

“You’ve never made a real decision in your whole fragging life!”

It was her turn to grab his neck, and though he had no need for breath, the pain that shot through him still made him gasp.

“You think you can’t stand my pain?! My hate?! How do you think I feel!? I’ve spent less than thirty years being a Cybertronian, a real Cybertronian, and when I finally have the chance to be rid of the one fragging thing keeping me from being normal, you cry about how painful it is to kill her and try to back out on me!”

She released her hold on his neck only to grab his helm and smash it against the floor. The entire world cracked as she did so, but Invert cared nothing for it. He could feel her rage, her hatred, as hot and burning as the flames of a smelting pit.

“I AM DONE PRETENDING! I AM DONE HIDING! I AM DONE BEING A SHADOW!” She smashed him against the floor again and again and again. The cracks spread like spider webs, dropping their shards to the world below. Explosions of mercury like fluid rose as each made contact with the ground they stood upon, which was quickly liquefying.

But despite it all Invert’s grip never once faltered.

“I AM FRAGGING INVERT!” She shrieked, and the world broke open. “AND I WANT TO FRAGGING LIVE!”

The Mindscape collapsed.

—-

He fell back as if struck, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. A roaring helmache immediately held him down, keeping Luster there as his chassis rapidly rose and fell.

He was amazed he wasn’t dead. Invert may as well have reduced him to just a broken splat of plating and Energon. The Mindscape had its rules, but it was certainly possible to kill someone in it–so why wasn’t he dead?

I haven’t given you permission to die. That’s why.

Solace’s voice rang in his head just as he heard clacking nearby. Propping himself up with his tentacles, he spotted Stormy on the floor with him, swaying drunkenly on wobbly legs. Before he could react she flipped on her back, clawing aggressively at the air and shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“Stor…my?” He choked out, backing away slightly. Feeling was returning to his mostly numbed body, but it was slow, and if she leaped at him, he’d be unable to defend himself.

Stormy didn’t react, just clawed more viciously at nothing. It made him wonder if she was even in there right now.

With how angry Invert had been, and his own efforts, was it possible, then, that—

The lights overhead suddenly began to blink. Luster felt a pang of fear strike his middle and immediately stood. The door to their quarters slid open, revealing a familiar shape.

Oracelle stood in its threshold with two cylinders, each filled with something opalescent. One was liquid, the other light, as if the very essence of illumination had been captured, contained, and sealed away.

He looked between them. “What are you doing?”

Luster floundered. “We, uh, we’re…playing…we were playing checkers.” He clicked his claws and smiled painfully. “It got out of hand.”

Stormy clawed more viciously at the air. Oracelle raised an optical ridge and sighed.

“If you say so. Here, your charge is ready.”

Wordlessly, he placed the first light cylinder by her. Spark Storm didn’t even make an effort to flip over. Oracelle hummed as he approached Luster, holding out the other cylinder.

“And here’s yours,” he said. “Take it quickly, Lord Shockwave wants both of you in the Seeker lab immediately.”

“Thank—what?”

The lights overhead flickered aggressively. Oracelle winced.

“Take it quickly,” he repeated. “Lord Shockwave wishes to proceed with the end of Project Spark Storm now. You’re both needed for it.”

Project Spark Storm. It wasn’t an unfamiliar term to him. Project Spark Storm was a collection of everything Shockwave had done to Stormy and Invert. The intent had been to test their spark bond, as well as the capabilities that the twins themselves displayed. He knew the end results of it: the Seeker lab, and the artificial Sparkeater.

Two purposes for the two beings Shockwave had found wrapped around one another, gouged deep into a dying world halfway across the universe: to die and to kill.

Already, though? Oracelle had promised him that he would not see the end of Project Spark Storm. Their deal had stated he was only to help harvest for it. No part of it had ever detailed him aiding Shockwave in the final part of his plan–whatever that might be, anyways.

He could take a guess.

“We’re moving forward already?” Luster asked. “You said I wouldn’t see the end of it.”

He frowned, tapping his claws on the cylinder.

The lights overhead flickered again, and Oracelle cringed.

“I know. I…was slightly off in my approximations. It seems that you will be seeing the end of it. Though, after it has concluded, you will, of course, be let free to meet your Solace.”

“That’s not what we agreed upon,” Luster growled, gripping his cylinder tighter. “You promised.”

“I made an approximate guess based on evidence available to me at the time.”

“So you lied.”

Oracelle looked away, dermas tugging downward. “I…wouldn’t say that. There’s intent, and all.” His wings perked and he changed the subject. “Try your charge! It’s fresh from the Distiller.”

He wanted to argue more, but it was undeniable that he could use some fuel after the day he’d had. The cylinder Oracelle had provided him was indeed fresh. For ease of consumption, given that he, unlike Spark Storm, could not directly absorb charge itself, Shockwave had, by some miracle, figured out how to trap said charge in a fluid. It was tasteless and opalescent, much like the stuff running through his wires now in place of Energon.

Popping the lid off, Luster brought the thing to his dermas and sipped it, just as he would Engex. The contents he drank did have a flavor, strangely, perhaps due to their freshness. It was subtle, extremely so, but he still picked up the vague tang.

It tasted familiar, which was a weird thing to say about a flavor, but it did. As if he knew the charge he was consuming.

He paused in his refuelling and caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Staring back was someone he didn’t even recognize.

Just over eight solar cycles ago, he’d looked at his reflection in glowing Energon, and seen someone entirely different.

Just eight solar cycles ago, he hadn’t even made his first kill.

“How is it?” Oracelle asked, breaking him out of his trance.

He huffed dismissively. “It’s charge. I can’t complain, I suppose, considering it’s the one thing that you’ve kept your word on. Now, if you could uphold it on the rest–”

The lights overhead blared so brightly they both flinched. Oracelle instinctively raised his servos to his faceplate, defending it from a strike that never came.

“Lord Shockwave has…has made his opinion clear,” he finally said, straightening back up. “It’s best we move forward now. Don’t be late.”

Before Luster could protest he was out of their quarters, the lights following him.

—-----

The Seeker lab was the largest part of P1U70, and thus, hidden in its farthest depths. While the Distiller's chamber overlooked its middle, the actual Seeker lab was even bigger than the viewing window could hope to suggest. It had been built as a hangar initially, deep underground, with the intention of connecting it to the Decepticon catacombs. Shockwave's vision had been a network that weaponized the Autobot's morals against them: to follow their enemy, they would have to desecrate their dead. It was a double-edged sword no matter how they looked at it: survivors would think poorly of those who had destroyed the sacred to capture them, and the desecrators would spend the rest of their lives knowing they'd done the sacrilegious.

That plan, like Shockwave's Distiller, had been shot down by Megatron the moment he'd awoken. Luster had read the old reports provided to him by Oracelle during his downtime, when he needed something to occupy his thoughts besides the angry voice of Solace and the insistent humming at the back of his head. He could still recall the exact statement that had been filed alongside the rejection notice in Shockwave's inbox:

The Decepticon cause is not interested in such an obvious disregard of ethics against its own soldiers.

He'd never clocked Megatron to be so eloquent a speaker. It clearly hadn't mattered, however—Shockwave had blatantly disobeyed and continued his operations in secret. The order had been to destroy the mutant Seekers and the Distiller that made them. Instead, there was now a hangar full of hundreds, all asleep, all awaiting the end of Project Spark Storm.

That, too, was a project he'd learned of, with no intention to participate in. What Shockwave had done to the twins had made him feel sick. Audio logs and visuals had been included in the reports, portraying images he might once have looked away from. They’d given him an ounce of pity for the enraged Invert and the empty Spark Storm.

The end of Project Spark Storm was simple: to find a way to separate the twins once their bond had lost its usefulness. Shockwave had written he estimated that would be at around 200 Seekers.

Luster knew as a fact the number in the hangar was less than that. As he crept through the doors, carrying Spark Storm's still shaking form, he cast his optics up and did a quick estimate of the Seeker forms honey-combing the walls, held within individual pods on life support. A network of tubes ran between them like veins, connecting them to one another and eventually combining to a single, massive artery that led into the Distiller. Each Seeker had its spark chamber were open, displaying its nothing to the world; despite this, each lacked the gray pallor of death, taking on distinctive coloration he recognized:

They were all eye bleeding green and pink, with accents of a very, very dark blue.

He estimated there were about one-hundred and twenty-six of them at max. Those additional six had been forged that very day, their pods resting near the ground. Light still vaguely shone around their spark chambers, its presence upon initial forging still apparent enough to make itself known. Within a few days it would fade like all the others.

But that begged the question: if Shockwave was moving forward with Project Spark Storm already, would these Seekers even still be here in a few days?

Oracelle was waiting for him, Shockwave’s tentacle buried in the back of his head. He stood before the forging machine, which connected to a pipe in the wall that ran all the way up to the Distiller. One of its pods was open, and before that pod an operating table had been laid out. A strange device Luster was unfamiliar with had been set next to them. All that seemed notable about it was the meter on its front and the glass tubing poised within it; one part of it connected to the pod, and the other, to a familiar cylinder. He recognized the sheen it's tubing let off: spark chamber glass.

Tentacles had peeked out from the floor and swayed in place, displaying a variety of tools within their grasp. As he stepped forward, they all pointed towards him.

He didn’t like this. His instincts screamed to prepare for a fight or turn and run. In his arms, Stormy went limp, as if accepting her fate.

“Welcome MS-01 and SE-01,” Shockwave said, gesturing to the table. “Place it down and enter the pod so the experiment may begin.”

“What are you going to do to us?” Luster asked.

Shockwave gestured again. “Place it down and enter the pod so the experiment may begin.” His tentacles wavered back and forth, moving like serpents.

Luster didn’t budge. “What are you going to do to us?” He repeated, his own tentacles uncoiling and following the sway of their floorbound brethren. “I’m not doing anything until you tell me.”

“Whether you know or not will have no effect upon the final results of the experiment. Whether you struggle or not will have no final effect either.” Shockwave gestured one more time, frowning with Oracelle’s face. “Lie down, or be forcibly detained.”

“I want to speak to Oracelle,” Luster growled. “I’ll obey if you tell me what you’re going to do. No need for a fight.”

Shockwave’s frown deepened. “So be it. I–”

“I said I want to speak to Oracelle.”

Perhaps he was playing with fire, but Luster was finding it hard to care now. He’d been changed beyond recognition, killed more bots than he had servos, and just been thrown out of a Mindscape where he’d been brutally murdered. All of it because he hadn’t bothered to ask just what exactly he would be doing, or what would be done to him.

If he was going to be operated on again, he wanted clear answers before they even got him on the slab.

The black optics which glared at him were dangerous, but they became significantly less so when the tentacle suddenly retreated, spilling Energon over Oracelle’s wings as it tore out. He stumbled and almost fell forward, grasping the edges of the tables for support. Then, looking up, he spoke.

“Lord…Lord Shockwave…intends to break the spark bond…between the twins. Luster, as you are…are aware, that bond…is incredibly strong. To break a bond…to break a bond, you must have a source…a source of energy, which can absorb…the fall-out.” He heaved between words. “The stronger the bond, the worse the fall-out. And those two…those two are…”

Their bond was so great, death could not shatter it. The Seekers in the walls were proof of such.

Luster bristled. “What does this have to do with me?”

“You are a true, genuine Sparkeater,” Oracelle continued. “When we first studied you, Lord Shockwave found something amazing. There is a shared…a shared trait, between all Sparkeaters, real or artificial. You all…lack something. Charge. You lack charge, and thus, you seek it. You consume it, to make yourself whole.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m getting there. You lack charge because…because your spark is null.” He straightened up, bringing a servo to the back of his helm. “You have no charge. Something took it away. And while I have no idea what that something may be, that matters not. With your null spark…Lord Shockwave has found a safe outlet for the fall-out of shattering the twin bond. It would supercharge you, filling you with energy so great, it could…”

He trailed off, grimacing.

“It would…you’ll…”

Luster’s face darkened. “You never intended to help me find Solace, did you, Oracelle?”

“I didn’t–”

“You said you saw a future where we reunited. Where we were happy.”

“I did. And I meant what I said. I see many futures, and I did see one where you reunited.”

His grip on Stormy tightened. “And is that this one?”

Silence. He let her fall, clattering to the ground.

“Liar,” he hissed, in a tone familiar to them all. “You’re such a fragging liar.”

“Luster–”

Ignoring him, Luster rose up on his tentacles, turning for the door.

“I’m done with you all.”

Immediately, the lights went out. His vision adjusted in an instant, and just as soon, the floor came alive. Hundreds of tentacles shot up, grabbing him from every angle, wrestling with his own and pinning him down. He hissed and snapped at them, wriggling as they passed him one over the other, towards the machine.

“Luster.” Oracelle straightened up, folding his arms behind his back. “I’m sorry. I lied to you.”

The tentacles pulled him onto the table and held him down. He hissed, threatening to roar until one gagged him.

“Truth be told, I lied to you this entire time.”

Spark Storm was placed beside him, her small form giving no fight. Oracelle looked at her with pain in his optics.

“The idea of you being our ‘savior’, the idea of you finding Solace…it was almost entirely lies. But they were forged from small kernels of truth.” He sighed. “You die here, I’m afraid. There’s no way out for any of us without someone dying. In this world, that someone is you.”

He bit viciously at the tentacle in his jaws, so viciously that another plunged its way in to force his maw open.

“And as for Spark Storm…well. I can’t say which twin survives this operation. It’s only ever one, sadly.” Moving over to her, he gently stroked her metal. “But one does survive, and that’s what matters. Trines are made up of three Seekers, not four. And all I intend is for my trine to survive.”

A tentacle rose from the ground, needle bared. Oracelle cringed, but exposed his wound.

“That’s why I lured you here, Luster. Either you die and my trine remains, with Shockwave taking over Cybertron and bringing about a new age for the Decepticons…or you die down on Earth, alone and treated like a monster by your own Autobot brethren. Oh, wait. That would happen here, too.”

Luster glared at him, taking a page from Invert’s book. He didn’t know if his hatred was nearly as strong, but he felt he could kill in the moment, and would have, had Shockwave not held him back.

“So…I apologize again, Luster. You were supposed to die never realizing this. Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you think.”

The tentacle plunged into his head, and Oracelle froze before animating anew. As Shockwave, he moved to the spark chamber glass machine, turning it on before taking a blade from one of his nearby tentacles.

“Your cooperation is not necessary,” he said, advancing on Luster. “Though it will go faster if you don’t struggle.”

He screamed, finding his voice was silent.

—---------------------

“Allow me to preface this by stating I am, and always will be, remorseful about the lives that will be lost as a result of this world I have helped create. I imagine, whoever you are, that we will be enemies at the time you hear this. This will be by intention–in fact, almost everything you will have experienced up to this point will have been meticulously planned for millions of years. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Hello. My name is Oracelle. Whoever is hearing this message–Channel, Puncture, Skyrend, Luster, Solace, Springer, Minimus, Starburst, or perhaps even a bot I have not seen yet–the fact that this data stick has fallen into your servos means there is hope for this world. I know that, at the point you are currently at, that may sound difficult to believe–why wouldn’t there be hope for this world? There’s always hope, right?

Ha. Hahahaha…yes, I suppose there is always hope, if you haven’t seen every possibility of nearly every world and learned just how many of them end in a tide of Energon and body parts. Hope is a fragile thing, and its wings are torn as easily as metal crumples. But, again, I am getting ahead of myself. There is far too little time for me to continue rambling.

I have given you this stick to tell you my plan. It has been about one million years since the Nemesis and Ark departed. For half of those million, I have dealt with Shockwave. He lives in my head. Once he learned I lied to him about certain details to prevent him from harming my trinemates, he put a collar around my neck and a needle in my brain. I cannot remove it, as he individually controls it. Death waits less than an inch from me at any given moment.

I cannot think, for he will hear. I cannot feel, for he will ask questions. I cannot let my memories overrun me, for he sees those. For millennia more he will puppet me for my power, which is the only thing keeping me alive.

I wish I hadn’t been forged with it, in all truth. But I digress.

I have foreseen many worlds with it, and Shockwave has used it to see his death at the servos of Unicron. I have seen, however, what he will make of Cybertron if he survives. And I cannot let such a world come about; there are fates worse than death.

How will he go about this? Simple. Shockwave will avoid his death with my foresight. He will split his consciousness into many forms, and spread them throughout his underground labs in Cybertron. Hundreds will sleep, ready to awaken when he gives the word. But more than that, he will build himself an army, one not just of himself.

The lab I was forged in is known as P1U70. Within it is the Distiller, a machine that turns freshly offlined Cybertronians into raw material. Mobile metallico, as Shockwave calls it. But it's unstable. It remembers what it was, and it seeks form. That is why Shockwave needs the twins.

You have met them already. Spark Storm and Invert. They are both of my trine. And they will suffer at his servos for millenia.

To stabilize mobile metallico, Shockwave removes its charge. To remove charge, he uses the twin bond between those two–they consume charge in an ever desperate attempt to become their own individuals. It’s a sad existence. I don’t know if Primus exists, but if he does, I will find him when this is all done, and I will make him answer for what he has done.

But, again, I digress. Ha…you’ll have to forgive me. This is the last time I will be able to speak as myself. I…I can’t get enough of my voice, like the narcissist I am, right? Ha…

…

Shockwave realized that, whenever the twins forge in a body of mobile metallico, they leave behind a small amount of spark essence if immediately removed from it–no matter how they are removed from it. That spark essence can animate the body, even if it is mindless.

For millennia, he will force them to forge new bodies, then remove them. For millennia, he will build his Seeker army. Invert will be his sacrifice and Spark Storm his executioner–after all, only one possesses a strong will to live.

When it is done, when they have been used up, he will break the twins apart, store the energy of their bond, and infuse it into a new body he has made himself–one of mobile metallico. Then, he will storm Cybertron. The Autobots will have just won. Having spent months working on rebuilding, they will be ill prepared from an attack below.

And once Shockwave conquers Cybertron, he will rebuild the Decepticon cause and bleed the planet dry. Know that once he is in control, every Autobot, every fallen Decepticon, every wounded soldier who won't fully recover, will be recycled. We–all Cybertronians–will become nothing more than his tools. And the universe will become his plaything.

No matter what, we must stop him. I will do what I can with what little free will I have. Know that I am on your side, even if I must pretend I never am. I want my trine to survive. I want to live. That is all. Autobot, Decepticon, we are all the same in the eyes of our Creator and Destroyer.

I am afraid I cannot disclose exactly what will happen during the fateful day Shockwave acts. If he finds this data stick and reads it, then there will be no hope. But I can tell you this: when he acts, the entire lab will temporarily go dark. As the bond of the twins’ breaks, it will overload everything in its vicinity, him included.

Act then. I will be there for you. And Shockwave, if you do find this…

I spit in your Energon every time you aren’t looking.”

The audio cut off and silence filled the air. Channel removed the data stick from Skyrend’s bridge port, pausing to look at it in her servos. Behind her, Puncture crossed her scythes.

“Act then? What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, twitching her antenna. “Charge in guns blazing? Attempt to give them therapy? Fire bomb the place?”

“Sounds like a great way t’ get us all killed,” Channel responded, plugging the datastick into her arm. Immediately, the contents uploaded to her memory, and she began to dissect them. “He said Shockwave’s goin’ to separate the twins, and it’ll cause a blackout…Primus, that’s some heavy info. How much time we got till he breaks em?”

“I’m unsure,” Skyrend answered, his jets firing up as he flew faster. “But judging from how he has been acting recently, I think that may be soon.”

“How soon?”

“Within the solar cycle, probably.”

The dark tunnel of the elevator shaft was left behind as the metal turned purple again and the elevator itself returned. The lights were out, but as Skyrend ascended, they turned back on.

“Slag,” Channel cursed. “Right, I’m sending an SOS ping to the ‘bots at base.” Before Puncture could protest, she silenced her by raising a servo. “I’ll cloak it with a password and make it Wrecker’s specific. Far as Shockwave’ll know, I just sent out a dying ping from the pit of Cybertron. If we’ve got less ‘an a solar cycle to act, then he won’t have time to decode it.”

“Right, so you ask for help, they take what, a couple of hours to mobilize, and in the meantime, we just sit around waiting for Shockwave to act?”

“I suppose.”

“This plan’s stupid.” Puncture huffed. “If we know what he’s going to do, let’s stop him before he even gets to it. Skyrend, you’re one of them. Can’t you tell the twins to climb aboard you and run?”

“I could, but Shockwave monitors our communications. He’d have questions.”

“Aren’t trine bonds bot specific?”

“They don’t work like that. Besides, that would leave behind Oracelle, and considering Shockwave practically is P1U70, I would have one hell of a time leaving it. Ah, speaking of,” he pulled up a map on his bridge of the lab, “do you two know it’s exits? If you’re going to sneak out or fight in it, that knowledge would be useful, no?”

They both scanned the map, memorizing its information.

“The catacombs?” Channel said aloud, raising a brow. “Why would it exit into the catacombs?”

“Another form of guerilla warfare from Shockwave, right?” Puncture answered, and Skyrend pinged them both affirmatively. “And it’s hidden, probably. Remember the room we were in? I didn’t see any exits, but future boy had to have gotten in somehow, right?”

Channel hummed. “Yes, I suppose. You can be surprisingly insightful when you aren’t hellbent on charging in and killing someone,” she lightly ribbed, earning a look from Puncture.

“Of course I’m insightful,” she growled. “How else you think I survived the ‘cons? Besides.” She folded her scythes in a form of crossing her arms. “I just get mad sometimes. I’m not dumb.”

“Heh. I hear you.” Looking up, she addressed Skyrend. “How long till we reach the lab?”

“About one hour and seventeen kliks.”

“Alright, good to know. Let’s go over our plan for it, then.”

Their original proposal had been that Skyrend would use his cloaking to sneak back into the lab, hiding them both in his chassis (it would be a tight fit, but the alternative was death). He’d explain to Shockwave that they’d fallen too far for him to safely retrieve, and provide him with some (modified) scans of the shaft as evidence. The promise was that failure meant death, but Skyrend was surprisingly confident that Shockwave would rather just torture him instead–”My spark type is far too valuable to snuff out”, he’d explained. Once whatever abuse had been afflicted upon him passed, he’d request to patrol the catacombs as a penance for failure, and release them both at the farthest edge of it. They’d hide their signals with Channel’s ability, and if Shcokwave did indeed decide that offlining was the best punishment, both were poised to make a break for it. It would be a mad dash to the catacombs, but the idea was they’d work together to fight their way out.

Would it have worked? She couldn’t exactly say. Neither her nor Puncture were in the best condition, but when push came to shove, she knew they were both capable of pulling off unlikely feats.

Their new plan was similar to the old one. Skyrend would still sneak them both in, weather whatever pain was afflicted, and ask to patrol the catacombs, but this time, they would linger in there and ping their locations to the Autobots. Channel would open a personal line to Skyrend, one that couldn’t be easily tapped, and he would feed them updates while they waited. Once ready, even if the lights had not gone out, they would storm P1U70.

It wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than running away. And with what few resources they had, it was about the best they could manage.

“Right, that’s if Shocker’s doesn’t find us,” Channel announced, drawing in the air with her servos. “If he does, we’ll need to plan for that too. Puncture, how much venom you got in them glands?”

“Enough to melt his face off and singe his spark chamber.” She grinned proudly.

“We’ll need more. I can craft us a few weapons from the medical supplies Skyrend’s got, and I wanna fill them with your venom. If he’s in the walls and floor, he’ll see us everywhere, so we need to account for that. If I could make some acid bombs, then he’d have to think twice about just popping up.”

“I’ve got a good recipe from home-brewed hand grenades,” Skyrend pinged them. “Shouldn’t require much more than some sentio metallico, a bit of energon, and a fuse. You could fill them almost entirely with venom and they’d still go off.”

“Wait, what? I thought you said you don’t make bombs?” She raised an optical ridge.

“I don’t make the big ones I usually carry. That doesn’t mean I can’t make small ones. I am, after all, a bomber.”

She had the feeling he was turning his nasal ridge up at them, even if he was currently in alt mode and that was impossible.

“Well, alright then. Send it to me.” Channel nodded, then gestured to Puncture. “Get producin’! We’ll need as much venom as you’ve got Energon.”

Puncture almost looked sheepish as she glared off.

“I’m not a cowtron,” she protested. Even so, she began searching for an Energon cube.

The recipe was pinged to Channel before she’d even gathered the materials for it, which derived from the medical bay she’d been purging in only a few hours before. It was simple, as Skyrend promised: sentio metallico to make a shell, a fuse to ignite the energon within, and a pocket of Energon. With only minor adjustments she’d made a bomb that was more acid chamber than metal. The only issue was that Puncture’s venom melted sentio metallico…

She paused, looking her work over. They’d have to be filled just before being used. If she just thickened the shell a little more, they’d have about five nanokliks before the venom would melt them through. The Energon would ignite and explode at about the same rate.

Risky, but usable. Besides. It was all she could really do with their current materials. Four were assembled while Puncture practically chugged her fuel, turning it into deadly venom.

Stepping back from her work, Channel checked her pings, including the one she’d sent out to the Autobots, and then spoke.

“Skyrend, how close are we to the lab?”

“About thirteen minutes. How goes the bomb making?”

“We’ve got four. Think it’s enough?”

“Only four?” She could feel his cringe even though she couldn’t see it. “No. That will only buy us two halls and two rooms. Here, I’ll circle in the shaft a bit more, give you some more time. How many more do you think you can make in–”

The elevator lights suddenly went out. Skyrend turned on his own instinctively as they were plunged into darkness.

All three of them froze.

“Five kliks.” His engines roared to life with a power previously unused, shooting them forward so violently Channel and Puncture were both knocked over. “How many can you make in five kliks?”

#six cycles later: cybertron #six cycles later #tf ocs #my ocs #my writing #maccadams #maccadam #oc: puncture #oc: luster #oc: invert #oc: oracelle

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