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Useless stumbled out of the room of dead things and into a place that seemed huge and bright after it. "Goodness me!" Sunbeam exclaimed, blinking in the brightness. "It's the energon dispenser!" Useless had to reset his optics a couple of times to adjust to the sudden light and smacked into Deadjet as he stumbled forwards. Then he could see. They were in a corridor that sloped right and down into darkness and left to a ramp that turned back and up into slightly less darkness. Before them, mockingly bright, was the energon dispenser. "Those clinker-winged ball-bearing-breakers!" Gloryhog exclaimed, sounding as loud as a shout after the silence of the room of plaques and the silence of the dead things. "They did it on purpose! They put that thing right there so anyone who wanted to refuel would have to crawl through those - those -" He stopped and shuddered, looking over his shoulder at the door. "Well, smelt 'em," Useless gasped, running his air-filters fast to get rid of the foul old air of the ossuary, not wanting to admit to the same fear in the dark as Gloryhog. He went over to the dispenser and looked at it. It was of a totally unfamiliar design - no buttons, no cube-slot, no place to connect a cable. There was a single conical thing in the middle of it, under the broad light-panel that read "Energon Dispenser" in very clear lettering. "Deadjet, how the smelt do you use this thing?" Deadjet stood silent and still. Pariah nudged him. "Deadjet? "He ... isn't, is he?" Sunbeam wondered, shuffling a little closer to Useless. "He felt dead when I touched him." "He felt dead when I kicked him earlier, and he doesn't feel any different now," Pariah replied, giving Deadjet a sharp poke in the costa. He groaned. Useless suddenly felt like a complete idiot. "Deadjet, turn your radio on." "No." Deadjet's voice was weak now, slower than ever. Useless had a sudden revolting thought that Deadjet was indistinguishable from the bodies in the ossuary. What if they were all alive? What if it was full of Deadjets? What if they come out? "Can we lock that door?" he said without thinking. Pariah poked at the door-panel. "Odd. The locks are disabled." "What?" Sunbeam and Faintheart squeaked together. "It says here 'Locking System Override', and it just flashes when I push anything." "Oh smelt. We'd better hurry," Useless fretted. "Deadjet, turn your radio on and data-synch with me. Then you won't need to speak for a while." A pause. "Do it!" Deadjet shifted enough to look at him. His optics were barely lit above the black. The veins of rotten copper on his thigh were starting to split, exposing circuit-mesh beneath, and oozing fractures had appeared in his afterburners. Little chips were missing from his torso and the peeling that all of them suffered around the joints had turned to outright flaking. He looked like a zombie. Perhaps he is a zombie, Useless thought. He felt a flutter of radio contact, and synched with Deadjet. There was a burst of information - the map of the base, the instructions for the dispenser, more - and then silence. Deadjet went dead again. "We should have done that ages ago," Useless muttered. He knew exactly where he was now, and that the left-hand path led up to a branch off the main corridor, just across from the barrack-room door, and that the front door was only a little way up the slope from there. "All right! Now we're getting somewhere. Now, everyone, synch with me." "Why should we synch with you? You give me the data and I'll synch with everyone else," Gloryhog argued. "Why waste time?" Pariah snapped, still trying to pry Faintheart's hand off her arm. "Hey, I was the one who made this plan, I was the one who got us to the dispenser, just like I said I would!" "Smelt you did!" Useless snapped, facing Gloryhog but unwilling to step away from the dispenser, as if just standing in front of it gave him some control over the energon. "You keep your nosecone out of this, grey-face!" Gloryhog snapped. He took first one step towards Useless, away from the door to the vault of dead things, and then one step back, as if he couldn't decide which was more distasteful. "Grey-face? You're as grey as the rest of us!" Pariah seethed. "Stop wasting time and synch with the rest of us." Useless was about to agree, then noticed it wasn't true. Deadjet was dead-grey still, and Faintheart remained that dirty pale grey, but dim blue hints were creeping into his own armour. Sunbeam still clung to his faded yellowish tones, and Pariah was tinged with dim brownish-redness. Gloryhog had lost his brittle iridescence, descending into grey-blue darkness. "You do not give orders to me!" Gloryhog snapped, turning on her. He swung a fist at her, staggering her backwards. As he closed to elbow her in the face, she punched him in the side. Gloryhog grabbed her hair and yanked hard, pulling her down and sideways. Pariah shrieked and kicked him behind the knee, at the same time driving the heel of her hand into his face. They grappled, Gloryhog trying to get an arm-lock on Pariah as she tried to pry his fingers out of her hair. Then, with the brittle ripping of adhesive giving way, her hair came off in his hand. Gloryhog stared surprised at the clump of shiny wire in his hand. Pariah kicked him in the back of the knee again and he fell backwards onto his aft. "It came off!" he said in surprise. "I thought it was connected right into your brain." "It's decoration," Pariah said tersely, ripping off the clump on the other side of her helm with a sour expression. "It's held on with glue." "But - then - how does it work?" Gloryhog seemed quite stunned, and looked from the hair in his hand to Pariah, now pulling the hair from the back of her helm. "It doesn't do anything. It's just there to look pretty, and you've gone and wrecked it now." Glowering, she snatched her hair out of his hand and tossed all three clumps of it into her cockpit. Without it, there were only dark patches of dry, flaking adhesive on her helm to show the hair had ever been there. "It'll take me ages to get it all back on right." "Well, you didn't have to take the other bits off," Sunbeam offered. "What, and walk around one-third bald and two-thirds hairy? I'd look like an idiot!" "You looked like an idiot to start with," Useless said. "It looked like your brain-wiring was falling out." Pariah made a disparaging sound. "Are we going to data-synch or not?" she asked, glaring at Gloryhog. "Fine, fine, whatever," he grumbled, getting up and rubbing his knee. "I don't know why I let you lot tag along with me." "Oh, shut up and switch your radio on," Pariah groused, initiating radio contact. Sunbeam joined, Faintheart followed, Gloryhog engaged with a sullen blart of static, and Useless transmitted the data. "We're opposite the barrack-room!" Pariah exclaimed. "We went through all that when we could've gone out the door?" Gloryhog yelped. "What a bother," Sunbeam sighed. Shrugging, Useless turned back to the energon dispenser. He knew what he had to do to use it, he just didn't want to. Well, it's this or starve, he thought, which made it easier. He took hold of the nozzle and pulled, and it came away from the wall on a long cable. Grimacing, Useless pushed the nozzle into his mouth and down his ingestion conduit. The filter-thing Overhaul had installed came to life and whirred, and Useless felt revolted at the sensation of the thing buzzing away inside him. Then it grabbed the nozzle and locked onto it. He felt a gush of hot energon flood into his fueltank and heard Pariah laugh at the startled sound he made. [It's not funny!] he radioed. [Just you wait and see what it's like.] He tried not to count the quarts as he drank, knowing his allowance was small, but drank the lot anyway. The nozzle came loose and he pulled it of his throat, still grimacing. "Urgh." "Bad energon?" Sunbeam asked, touching his elbow. Useless wasn't sure if he sought to reassure or be reassured. "Energon's fine, but this thing is horrible." He passed it off to Sunbeam. "Drink everything you can. As soon as we're fuelled, we're leaving."
The thump from the door got Dullwretch's attention, enough to make him look up from the blank console. There had been some scratchy, scrapey noises from the door recently, but nobody told him to do anything, so he didn't. He just sat and sat without thinking. Sitting without thinking was his main occupation. It beat activity out by far. The door opened. Dullwretch looked up again. The door closed behind a shape that brought every seated reject to their feet and a few standing rejects to their knees. The Seeker at the door was beautiful. His pedes and his hands and the edges of his wings glowed with a deep warm colour like shaded places in afternoon sunlight, almost as if they were lit from within. His shins and his arms and his trim were of a soft colour Dullwretch didn't know a name for - a deep tone, like gold, yet softer, richer, thicker. It was the kind of golden-brown that Dullwretch felt he could almost swim in, could touch the colour with his hands and feel it soft and sticky between his fingers. Light seemed to flow out of it, a heady light that attracted the optics and held the gaze. The Seeker's thighs and his vents and his wings were a pale colour, not quite white - warm, like the rest of him, warm like sunlight, and soft. It was the warm-white of pale towers under sunlight, like a far horizon welcoming him home. Inside and through all of this warmth and light was the smile on his face, the soft smile - soft like his colours, warm like the light of him, touchable. It seemed it should be soft under the fingertips, and not soft with yielding weakness, but soft with welcome, soft-enfolding, soft-protecting. Soft, it said, soft to hide you, soft to hold you, soft to warm the life-pain away. Dullwretch wanted - suddenly, more than anything, more than everything, with a force of desire stronger than any faint feeling in his life before - to touch that smile, to bask in that light. Dullwretch was dimly aware that he was moving, stumbling towards the beautiful Seeker, and that others were moving with him. Knees weak and legs shaking, he stood before the Seeker whose smile promised bliss, wing to wing with others, trembling in hope and longing. He watched, struck dumb and still, as the soft-warm-smile curved up a little more. Soft-warm-welcome, it said, warmth and safety, come home to me now. An intense feeling seared through Dullwretch, out from his core to his wings and his face and his thrusters in a great longing ache, struck him to his knees, made him moan. He heard other soft cries, other rejects dropping to their knees, hands like his raised to the beautiful Seeker in longing, in hoping, in wanting. He looked up at the smile and the light that promised such wonderful things, and his gaze did not waver to see the knife in the Seeker's hand, nor did his smile so much as flicker as he felt the blade passing through his throat. Hot energon gushed out of his new smile, pouring down his chest, warm and sticking between his thighs. The shining one smiled on him and him alone, welcoming warmth, and as every so much less thing faded away, Dullwretch felt a soft bliss descending: the smile was just for him.
"What if the door's open?" Faintheart asked as they all stood at the bottom of the ramp. "Why would it be open?" Pariah asked, poking him in the side. Even with her tank half-full of good hot fuel the thought of being spotted by Brickhouse or Misdemeanour was daunting to the point of paralysis. "Someone'd better take a look," Useless said, peering around the edge of the corridor. "Get on it, scout," Gloryhog smirked. "Shut up, 'hog," Useless spat between his vents. "Pariah, you look." "Me? Why me?" she exclaimed, startled. Useless reached back and touched her on the arm. Because Sunbeam and Faintheart are too shaken and Gloryhog's unreliable. Do it yourself then. Together? Fine! Together they crept onto the ramp. It was dark, although nowhere near the sightless pitch of the ossuary, and Pariah felt awfully exposed. Backs pressed to opposite walls they crouched and crept up the shallow incline. The light outside the barrack-room flared over the edge of the ramp. Useless covered his optics for a moment and Pariah reset her visual array. It seemed terribly bright. They exchanged glances and continued to creep upwards. The door was shut. Pariah allowed her aura to flicker with relief. Useless looked back and beckoned to Sunbeam, peering nervously around the edge of the corridor. "Come on," Pariah hissed to the others. The six of them shuffled as quietly as they could towards the junction, optics fixed on the bloom of light and the closed door. The darkness remained still behind them, the gloom still ahead. The air was breathless, moveless. Pariah winced at every scraping of pede-edge on floor-plate. As quietly as they could they sidled up until Pariah felt her wingtip poke out into the corridor, and her aura flashed with alarm. Useless and Sunbeam stared. Faintheart looked around his vent at her, optics fear-wide. As slowly as she dared Pariah slid along the wall, poking her wingtip further and further into the light. There was no shout. No gunshot. No footstep. There was no brush of aura, no simmering edge of energy-field. They could be waiting around the corner. They could be waiting until I move. She wondered if she dared power up her Sigma cell. She froze, afraid, fuel-pump still in her chest. "Cowards, the lot of you," Gloryhog muttered at the back, and strode openly between them and out into the corridor. "See? Nobody's here." Faintheart rattled his vents and pointed at the floor. Gloryhog looked down, startled, and stumbled back into the tunnel. A thin trail of energon was leaking out from under the barrack-room door. "They're killing the others!" Faintheart whimpered. "Ssh! Don't let them hear us!" Pariah hissed as loudly as she dared. Useless nodded. [Quietly as you can, move. Up the corridor, and out. Now.] If they're in there, they're not out here, Pariah reasoned, and swung around the corner as fast as she dared. She didn't wait for the others, but every cautious footstep of hers and theirs behind her echoed like a gunshot. They must hear us, they must! She wanted to run but didn't dare. She risked a glance back. Useless was behind her and she could see Deadjet some way back ... and Faintheart lingering at the door? Come on, you great fool, she thought, turning back to the climb. She crossed the next junction and suddenly realised there could have been anything waiting in the turn-offs. Her fuel-pump hammered hard enough to crack as her battle systems tried to come online twenty microbreems ago. She had to stand to one side and let Useless past as she shut down the internal alarms. Sunbeam dipped his wings with something like respect as he passed her. Gloryhog ignored her, staring bitterly at Useless. She waited until Deadjet was past to check on Faintheart. He was following. Then they were moving again, climbing towards the second junction. Pariah expected Brickhouse to appear out of the dark at any moment, or for a shout to go up behind them, or for the sound of shots, or for the half-open door ahead to suddenly slam closed. [Why's the door open?] she asked. [Don't know,] Useless replied up at front. [Can't see anything.] Gloryhog said nothing. His feet were leaving little energon-spots on the floor with every step. In front of her Deadjet was dragging his feet, each step fractionally slower than the last. Pariah gave him a shove in the back. A large part of her didn't care what happened to him, as long as she was safe, but a part of her that felt new, or at least just recently awoken, suggested that he was more useful alive than dead. The light ahead pulled on them like a magnet. Pariah could see a scrap of sky appearing, and the scrap became a patch of golden sky bestrewn with tattered clouds. Each step seemed lighter as the darkness fell back until she was almost treading on thin air. Then Useless' dark back turned bright and he was through the door, then Sunbeam flared golden, Gloryhog blared colour, Deadjet got out of her way and she was through into the space and the sunlight. At last! "Out!" Sunbeam cried, jumping in the air in joy as the daylight bathed them. He spun around in a circle, sunlight flaring gold and orange on his wings, his face flickering, almost smiling. "Don't smile!" Useless yelped, bringing an arm up to cover his optics, but nothing happened. "What? Sunbeam, why didn't..." Sunbeam just shrugged, beaming happily up at the sky. "Ssh!" Gloryhog hissed, glaring darkly at Useless. Deadjet strode like an automaton into the sunlight and sat down heavily amongst the debris. Pariah scrambled up onto a pile of junk to look around. The base lay in a valley between two slope-sided cliffs. She could see the broken stumps of towers on the west ridge and could feel the wind that moaned between then. There ruins of some great building stood silently upon the east ridge. Behind them, to the north, the ridges merged into a single cliff, and Pariah could see the insides of rooms and corridors where the ground had broken, sliding down to form the low place where they were now. All around was debris and rubble from where the ground had subsided, down towards where the ridges stopped sharply and a broad, broken plain spiked with broken columns opened out. A soft breeze tumbled down the north slope, ruffling across their wings and teasing them with the smell of crude oil. Above, the sky was the colour of new bronze, Homestar bright as a drop of molten gold as it descended from zenith, and ragged brass-dark clouds scuttered quickly eastwards. In the distance, in the haze and the heat-shimmer, Pariah could just make out something glittering in the distance between two darker smears. "That's the City of Lanterns," Useless said, climbing up beside her. "Those dark places are hills - old cities, I guess. There aren't any names on the map." "If we flew, we could be there in less than three cycles," Pariah said, ready to jump into the air herself. "Can we all transform? Or do we fly like this?" She looked at Deadjet to see what he said, but he was sitting still as the dead. A whimper caught their attention. There was someone curled up in the ditch behind the pile they stood on - a pale standard-build with down-position wings - and he was balled up like a prisoner sobbing himself silly. "Who the smelt are you?" Useless exclaimed, almost falling off the heap of rubble in surprise. The reject flinched, almost kneeing himself in the chin in shock. "Hys-hys-hystericon sir!" His wide optics stared, wild with fright, and he sobbed as he spoke. "E-e-eee-veryone's dead! They're all dead! Everyone! Everyone! Thethe-thhheeey were dead in the corridors and in the repair bay and the bodies were all there and and and there was energon all over the-hee-eee -" He broke off into wailing and tried to burrow down into the rubble. "Where did he come from?" Gloryhog asked of no one. In the ditch Hystericon wobbled to his knees, wailed aloud, then clawed his way over the junk heap, clattering onto the ground. "Shut him up before he brings the base crew down on us!" "They-they-they're dead!" Hystericon wailed. "Aaa-aa-aall dead, everyone. The-the-there was a Sus-s-ss-Seeker aaa-ana-and they - they - they said -" He gulped to a stop and crawled down the path, away from the base, wings shaking in terror. "They-ey-ey-ey said hu-hu-Honeycream is here." "What?" Pariah yelled without thinking. "Honeycream?" "Oh dear," Sunbeam said softly. "What, Honey the Smile?" Gloryhog asked. "Smelt!" Useless swore. "They are all dead," said Faintheart. "Huh?" went Useless. "What?" Pariah asked again. Hystericon snivelled again, sobbed, made a hiccupping noise as if his fuel-pump was trying to run backwards, and then scrambled up, took two running steps and threw himself into the air. They watched, bemused, thoughts scattered, as the grey jet gained height and speed, heading towards Lantern City. Then his thrusters sputtered. He shuddered. "Oh no," Pariah said to herself. Hystericon's engines failed. Pariah heard him wail as he hung for a moment, sank nose-first, and began to dive. He was still wailing when he hit the ground. There was no ball of fire, no self-pyre - just a crunch, and the sight of his shattering, and the tinkle of a short rain of debris. "Not enough fuel," Deadjet groaned. "Everyone's dead?" Useless asked Faintheart. "Yes," Faintheart said, wringing his hands as if he was trying to get a stain off. "Now, now - hey," Gloryhog, closest to the door, turned around. "There's someone coming!" He looked at Pariah then both of them looked to Useless. "Err - hide?" he yelped, jumping down behind the debris-heap. Pariah jumped down too and found herself wing-overlapping-wing with Useless in the ditch behind the heap, both crouched down as small as they could. Pariah saw Gloryhog scramble up the slope of debris by the door and vanish around the lintel. Glancing to her right, she saw Sunbeam slip between two piles of scrap, and Faintheart was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he hadn't bolted or frozen. Deadjet was sitting perfectly still. Before she had a chance to call to him, or even move, she head footsteps at the door, and ducked down as flat as she could. The footsteps came on, steady and confidant. Out of the door, and she heard them clearly now. Whoever it was couldn't be Misdemeanour with feet that heavy, nor Brickhouse with feet that light. Overhaul? Someone else? She didn't know. The steps stopped - still for a moment - and then started again. Whoever it was now walked towards Deadjet. Pariah froze. She was desperate to risk a glance, to take a look, but her systems were locked up in terror. It's Honeycream. It's Sigma-damned Honeycream. We're all dead jets. Beside her, she felt Useless shift just a little. If he can do it, I can do it! With that, she forced herself to move, just a tiny bit, fraction-by-fraction raising her head. There was a Seeker leaning over Deadjet, a golden and off-white Seeker with energon spattered all over him. It dripped off his hands and ran down his feet, it trailed behind him in wet cables that went down into the base, and it especially ran off the long knife in his right hand. It is Honeycream. Oh Sigma, we're all going to die. He was leaning over Deadjet, facing away from them, and he was prodding Deadjet gently with a sticky purple finger. Then he straightened up and looked around. Pariah ducked down again. She suddenly realised that, if Honeycream took off here, he was bound to see them. And then we're dead. She had no idea what to do. Glancing at Useless, he gave her a worried glance and shook his head a little. Clueless as well as useless. Great Vector Sigma, we're all dead. Further down the slope, something rattled. She heard Honeycream take a few steps in the direction of the sound. First a few steps on firm ground - then another clatter in the distance - and then quick steps down the slope. Pariah waited, listening to the footsteps grow quieter and quieter, further and further away. Honeycream seemed to be tracking backwards and forwards across the lower slope, seeking the source of the now-ceased sounds. Finally, his steps grew completely inaudible in the distance. The silence opened out. There was no noise in the afternoon sunlight, not even the faintest susurration of distant engines from the City of Lanterns. Even the wind was silent, the little north breeze fluttering noiselessly across her back. Pariah remained still, hunched, watching as Homestar edged a little further towards the eastern hill. Was he gone? Was he back? Was he standing silently on the other side of the junk heap, waiting with the knife, waiting with the smile? Almost a whole joor passed in silence, waiting, fearing. Pariah no longer had to look upwards to see Homestar as it began to tip down the sky into mid-afternoon. Useless poked her with a finger. "I can't get up until you move," he whispered. "Your wing is on top of mine." "Idiot," she whispered back, but slowly edged herself up into a crouch. "It's quite safe," Gloryhog said above them. She looked up sharply. He was leaning over the edge of the door, flat against the rubble. "He's gone all the way down the slope, into that thicket of pipes there." He pointed. Standing up cautiously, Pariah could see the place he meant, a dark piece of low ground near the base of the eastern ridge where hundreds of thick pipes rose up out of the ground. She couldn't see any sign of Honeycream. "Are you sure?" she asked warily. "I've been watching him all the time," Gloryhog replied. "He's gone." "Phew," Useless said, rising up beside her. "Was that really Honeycream?" "Yup," Gloryhog said, carefree as an Autobot. "What, never seen the pictures?" "Seen, but never thought ... " Useless shuddered. "Honeycream. Is that why we're here? To be killed by him?" "He's a rogue," Pariah replied. "He must've come across the place by accident." "More likely followed someone here," Gloryhog shrugged. "If he comes back, we're all dead," Pariah said aloud. "You're a real fresh wind, aren't you?" Useless grumbled. Faintheart poked his head out from between two mounds of junk further down the slope. Pariah waved to him, casting worried glances into the pipe thicket. He hurried up to her side and grabbed her elbow clingingly. "I threw scrap," he said, vents gasping. "I saw him, and I threw bits of scrap down the slope." So that's what caused the noises, Pariah realised. "Good - good idea, Faintheart." "Hey, what did you mean, everyone's dead?" Useless asked the Hunter. "I - " He stopped and looked awkward. Down the slope, Sunbeam crawled out of a ditch and trotted up to them. "Go on," Pariah said, poking him in the turbofan. " I - I was built to be a repair technician," Faintheart said in a rush. "I'm good at the theory but the insides ... ugh ... I have this, umm, I can sense ... my Sigma power ... I - I could feel, at the door - the life-force, rushing out - they were dying. All of them." It was the longest thing Pariah had heard him say. "You're an empath?" Gloryhog laughed. "Not really," Faintheart said, wringing his hands again. "Only when ... when the life-force gets out." Useless shrugged. "Whatever. Let's get out of here." "Wait," Pariah said. "Deadjet's not moving." She slithered down the heap of debris, expecting Useless to follow. Gloryhog propped himself up on his elbows and ignored them, staring out at the pipe thicket. Pariah had no problem with him playing sentry, as long as he actually told them if he saw something. Deadjet sat motionless. There were spatters of energon flecking his chest, but no visible damage. "Dead? Deadjet, are you operational?" she asked, poking his side. If Deadjet's optics were on the glow was so weak it was invisible in the sunlight. He groaned, slow as time spent in fear, "Weak." She shook Deadjet's shoulder. "Come on, Deadjet, get up. Get up! What's wrong with you?" Faintheart let go of her elbow and, flinching, reached out to Deadjet's chest. Gingerly, he rested his right hand on the corpselike torso, walking his fingers over Deadjet's chest. Pariah looked up at him. His look of worry and fear was creased by a frown of concentration. Faintheart placed his left hand on Deadjet's forehead, palm across his brow. "He's starving," Faintheart said. "I mean, he's dying of it. He's run out of fuel completely." His aura flickered like a sine wave. "Fading ... he's almost ... nothing." He took his hands off Deadjet. Pariah could hear his wings shaking. "You can tell - just by touching him? - what, how much energon he has?" Without thinking, Pariah grabbed her elbow where he'd clung to her. Faintheart looked down at his dark hands, twisting his fingers together. "I was designed to repair Seekers. I - I know where - I can feel the ... breakages." "That's your gift?" Faintheart winced, and wouldn't look at her. "I - I suppose so." Sunbeam backed into him. Faintheart jumped and squeaked. Pariah looked over Sunbeam's wing and saw Gloryhog and Useless staring each other down like commander and lieutenant. "Not again," she cursed.
Useless stood king-of-the-hill atop the heap of debris, watching Gloryhog slowly, slowly creep forward as he crouched atop the base door. He glared at the liar as if he could drill holes in his face with the power of his gaze, curling his fingers around thin air as if he could grip the fabric of it and pull it out from under his rival. "Not again," Pariah groaned somewhere on his right. Useless didn't break his stare, nor did Gloryhog waver. "Idiots. You two stop that. We need to get out of here before Honeycream comes back." "I say we leave Gloryhog behind as a present for him," Useless said slowly, sinking his fingers into clear air. It had weight in his hands, it had thickness. He felt as if he could push his fingers through the air and into something else. "I'm going to twist your head off and take it with me to Polyhex," Gloryhog replied, fingers curling around a length of pipe. "I'm going to twist your arms off, 'hog, and force them down your ingestion conduit," Useless replied. The air in his hands felt almost solid now, soft like a warm plastic, yielding in his hands. "I know the Air Commander and he'll break you in half for even suggesting that," Gloryhog said. "You - " Gloryhog sprang, one arm outstretched, the other swinging a length of pipe. Useless moved a split-second after Gloryhog did, jumping off the debris and grabbing his rival in mid-air. The pipe swung over his shoulder, clonked on his back, and they fell sideways onto the path, their impact shaking the ground and sending a scree of debris sliding down all the slopes around. Useless felt a wing bend and spring straight, and drove his knee into Gloryhog's side. Gloryhog swore at him, grabbed him by the helm, trying to twist his head off. Useless punched him in the arms and kneed his sides, making loud ringing sounds. He distantly heard Sunbeam saying "Shouldn't we stop them?" "Let them sort it out between themselves," Pariah replied a thousand kilohister away. "I've had enough of their rubbish." Useless got a hand to Gloryhog's face and clawed, trying to jam his fingers into the liar's optics whilst trying to pull his right arm from underneath Gloryhog. Gloryhog twisted, trying to bite him, at the same time scrabbling at Useless' face. Useless hooked a leg around Gloryhog and rolled, trying to pin him down. Gloryhog kicked, rocking them both backwards and forwards, wings slapping the ground with a sound like dropped sheet metal. Useless got a thumb in his mouth and bit - Gloryhog yelled and punched him in the face with his free hand - Useless unpinned his right arm and tried to get an arm-lock on Gloryhog, but ended up grabbing his forearm. Gloryhog got his legs free and pulled himself to his knees, dragging Useless with him. Snarling, Useless tried to grab Gloryhog's throat. Gloryhog blocked, engines growling, and they grappled again. Then Useless felt fear. Deep-welled fear pooling through his mind, rushing upwards, and he saw the light in Gloryhog's optics. He's going to kill me, Useless thought. Like a rusted switch finally giving in to terrible force, something shifted inside him. His fingers gripped air, soft as plastic, malleable, it yielded and broke. Violent flames billowed, sky-blue, cold as death. He saw Gloryhog's sudden horror, the movement of shock that threw them both apart, Gloryhog scrambling away on his back leaving Useless on his knees. Gas-flame blue the fire bloomed around his hands, licking up towards his elbows, beautiful flames, shivering, spreading down his arms, so cold frost was forming on his chest. Useless stared at the fire, raising his hands up to his face to gaze at the dancing flames, sky-blue, ice-blue, shifting through a personal kaleidoscope, his own spectrum from deepest evening shades to a blue so pale it was almost white. "Useless!" The fire had reached his elbows, and little tongues of azure lapped at his shoulders. The cold was reaching inside him, down towards his core. He was shaking and didn't know how to stop. "Idiot! Something black whipped past his face, sucked the air away, lashed the flames in its path, dashed on and there was a deep boom somewhere on his left. Entirely distracted, Useless looked over to see a section of the west ridge suddenly collapse, sending walls and floors and girders and pillars tumbling down into the pits and heaps above the base. Then he stared at his hands. The flames were out. Useless stared at his hands, bereft and emptied. Slowly, his fingers curled up, feeling none of the warm, bendable, breakable air. His wings started to tremble. He slumped, sat backwards and curled up in a tight ball, wrapping his shaking wings around him. Hiding his face under his arms, he desperately bit down on his glossa and tried not to cry. Someone kicked him in the side. "Useless!" Pariah yelled in his audio, shaking him by the vents. "What was - what happened?" "He could have killed me!" Gloryhog shouted. He was curled up in the doorway, trying to hide inside it. "He could have killed me with that!" "Shut it!" Pariah snapped. "For Sigma's sake!" "He's mad!" Gloryhog yelled back. "He's as bad as Honeycream!" "I don't think so," Sunbeam said gently. "You keep your nosecone out of this, crawler," Gloryhog snarled arrogantly, although he didn't uncurl. Useless sighed, unclenching his mandenta. He felt sore in every joint, empty and shaken. It was there. It was there and it was eating me. I almost died. It came and I was going to die. It came and then it went away! It was gone, the flames just went out, gone. Something was wrong, something wasn't the same anymore. His wings shivered less, then stilled. His seized joints loosened a little. Pariah kicked him again. "Are you in there?" Slowly, sorely, Useless uncurled. "Yeah, I'm ... here." "What was that about?" Pariah asked, raw-wing nervous and constantly glancing between her vents at the pipe thicket. "It just went off ... and then it stopped," Useless said thickly as he stood up. He felt numb, stupid ... useless. "Stopped? Only because I distracted you," Pariah said, folding her arms. "We'd better get out of here before Honeycream decides that landslide wasn't natural." "That was you?" Gloryhog gagged. Pariah tried to shrug, nod and roll her head all at once. "Err ... excuse me?" Faintheart called. Useless looked at him blankly. "Deadjet is dying." "Good riddance," Gloryhog sneered. "Let's get out of here." "Shut up," Useless sighed, brushing his wings down more for comfort than cleanliness. "I'm fine, Pariah. I - it's just been a while since I could use that." Then he saw what had changed. His hands, unsheathed of flame, were still quite blue. Faded, yes, and scuffed and scraped, but a clear azure showed through the dents and the peeling, seeping through the long-drear grey. He looked down, and at his wings - quite blue. Even the fine tracing of brighter teal was there, the leaping etchings licking their way up from wrist to elbow. He turned to Pariah, and saw her dingy brownishness had darkened nearly into maroon, white trim and black highlights gaining gloss on limbs and wings. Past her, he saw Sunbeam, dawn-gold and sunset-orange as he'd been dipped in sky, and Faintheart, more platinum than pale, dark-faced, dark-handed. Then he turned back, and looked down at Gloryhog, dimmer and faded than when he'd first seen him, his highlights peeling and his iridescent blue almost black. "Who's in command here?" Useless asked softly. "You are," Gloryhog replied, lowering his wings and pulling them back. "You are ... who?" Useless said sweetly, spreading his wings out until the joints almost popped. Gloryhog sneered, a sparkle in his optic. "You are ... Useless." "I am not!" Pariah elbowed him in the costa. "Stop playing commander and lieutenant and let's get moving. We need to get out of here." "We are out," Useless replied. "No, I mean away from this base, before Honeycream comes back!" "He doesn't have a plan," Gloryhog said spitefully, pulling himself upright, back still pressed against the base door. "He never had a plan." "Shut up, 'hog!" Useless snapped. "I do have a plan. We're going to Lantern City." "How?" Pariah asked. "We can't fly," Gloryhog pointed out. "We don't have enough fuel." "Not to fly," Useless agreed. "We'll walk." "What? All that way?" Pariah yelped. "Well, got a better idea?" Useless asked them both bluntly. She subsided. Gloryhog looked away. "What about Deadjet?" Sunbeam asked. Useless wondered why he hadn't sidled up the way he usually did. "Faintheart says he's dying." "So?" Gloryhog asked. "He's perfectly suited for it." Useless frowned at that. The idea of just dumping Deadjet, who'd been of so much use to them so far, seemed ... not right. "No, we're taking him." "We can't carry him," Gloryhog said, and Useless had to admit he was right, albeit silently. "Besides, why take him? A good Decepticon never carries dead weight!" "Oh, forget that rubbish!" Useless snapped. "We've all tried to be good Decepticons, and look where it got us! Here! In the middle of nowhere, with barely any energon, no guns, no base, no nothing." Gloryhog looked away. "Do you know what we do have? Do you?" "Nothing," Gloryhog mumbled. "No!" Useless shouted, hearing his own voice echo. "We have a team. We're weak, yes, we're all weaklings and failures. On our own, we're hopeless. But we've gotten this far - we got here because Deadjet knew the way, and we had your confidence, and Pariah to yell at us when we got distracted, and me to push, and - and - we're Seekers and we're six and we make two Wings, and a jet can't fly without two wings." Pariah actually laughed. Useless glared at her, fuming. "That was pretty useless," she said with a smirk. "I liked it," Sunbeam said, finally sidling up to him. "I thought it was pretty, Useless." "I'm not useless," he said. "Let's stop being stupid and weak. Let's stop trying to be good Decepticons and failing because we're not strong enough. Let's just get out of here alive, by whatever means necessary. Isn't that what being the best Decepticon is? Life, by any means?" "I'm in," Pariah said with a shrug. "Me too," added Sunbeam, although he barely needed to. "I'll go with you," said Faintheart, although he was addressing Pariah. Useless turned to Gloryhog. "Well," he asked, "are you in?" Gloryhog hunched, wings stiff, staring down at his pedes. Useless extended a hand to him. "Come on," he said softly. "Four is good, but five is better." "You've got Deadjet," Gloryhog replied sullenly. "I want you to come with us," Useless said. "I need a lieutenant." "Forget the power-games!" Pariah interrupted. "Are we going to leave Deadjet to die or not? Because if we aren't, we need to do something now." "Well, what's wrong with him?" Useless asked. "He's out of fuel," Faintheart called, still standing over the corpselike jet. "He must've drunk all his allowance long ago," Pariah said thoughtfully. Useless nodded, agreeing. "Yes ... but we still have fuel." "What?" Pariah and Gloryhog yelled at once. "I'm not giving him my fuel!" Sunbeam exclaimed, startled. "Me neither!" said Faintheart. "There are two options here," Useless said, as firmly as he could, fixing Gloryhog with a look. "Either we rip Gloryhog's head off and give his fuel to Deadjet ... or we share." "What?" screamed Gloryhog. "Share?" exclaimed Pariah at the same moment. "What do you think we are, Autobots?" "Yes, share!" Useless shouted, waving his hands for emphasis. "I told you, we're stronger as a group, and the more of us there are, the stronger we'll be. With Deadjet or Gloryhog, we'll be five, but with both, we're six, and six is strong. I say we divide up our fuel reserves equally, then we'll all make it to the City of Lanterns together!" "Or starve in the attempt," Pariah retorted. "Sharing is weak." "If we don't share, we'll either waste energon trying to kill Gloryhog -" "You've wasted enough energon doing that already," Pariah interrupted. " - or we walk out of here a four. When did you ever hear about four Seekers doing something and surviving?" There was a long pause. Useless looked from face to face, seeking a response. "Well? Are we six or are we four?" Sunbeam held out a hand. "I'll do it if you will." Faintheart looked at Deadjet, then at Pariah. "I'm in if Pariah is." Pariah looked at Gloryhog. "I'll do it if he does." "Gloryhog?" Useless asked. "Just - just one thing," the darker Seeker said. "If I do this ... you call me by my real name." "Will you do the same for me?" Useless asked. "Yes," Gloryhog nodded. "I'll tell all my friends in the officer's mess your real name." "You - " "I'm in."
On top of the scarp, hidden below the broken towers, Misdemeanour punched her hands together until the space rang and Brickhouse winced at the sound. "A good speech, a good speech!" she chuckled to herself. She'd barely stopped laughing in delight since she saw the fight start, and picked up all that followed on the emergency transceiver's parabolic microphone. "Five of my rejects, five for the Empire! Brick, this is fantastic! And they did it all by themselves! Not a poke or a prod from us." Brickhouse shrugged. "Honeycream's still down there somewhere. They can't reach the City of Lanterns before night." "They'll make it," Misdemeanour beamed. "You're going to interfere?" Brickhouse asked, sounding worried. Misdemeanour cocked her head. "Well, we'll see what they do."
"So, how do we trade fuel?" Pariah asked. "We ... err ... " Useless faltered. "Smelt." "Serial chain fuel lines. Internal pressure will do the rest," Faintheart offered. "You can do that?" Useless asked quickly, before Gloryhog could start up again. Faintheart cringed. "Do I have to?" "Yes!" Pariah and Useless hollered together. "I hate being a tech," the Hunter whined, but poked Deadjet's torso until his canopy opened. Grimacing, he gingerly probed inside and pulled out two narrow tubes. "Who do I..." "I'll go first," Useless said as firmly as he could. Pariah rolled her head back in exasperation, and flicked her wings rudely. Useless opened his cockpit for Faintheart, who looked at his innards with such queasiness Useless had to find the tubes himself. He held them out to Faintheart. "If I connect you to him, he'll just drain everything out of you," the Hunter said. "We need to connect in serial chain. Everyone in a loop." "Ugh," Pariah grunted, but stepped up and offered her tubes. Sunbeam followed. Faintheart passed Deadjet's tubes to Useless, who stood holding them with an unpleasant feeling in his tanks as Faintheart pulled his own cabling out. "Pinch down on your cables, or the pressure drop will make the fuel pour out ... urgh ... onto the ground." Faintheart said rather distantly. Useless pinched both cables shut and waited as Faintheart connected one of his pipes to one of his own, then Useless' free cable to one of Pariah's, and her free cable to Sunbeam, who was left standing with an unconnected cable. Faintheart, still holding his free cable shut in one hand, got Deadjet's in his other hand. He managed to connect one to his free cable with some fumbling, then pinched down hard on Deadjet's free cable. "Urgh. If ... Sunbeam, keep your free cable shut, and then let go of all the others." Useless left go, and immediately felt the pressure in his fuel tank change. Fuel suddenly started to rush out of his tank, gurgling down the tubes into Deadjet. Pariah looked woozy. Sunbeam swayed slightly, but kept a firm grip on his free cable. "Come on, Gloryhog," Useless ordered. Scowling bitterly, Gloryhog stepped into the circle and held his tubes out to Faintheart, not looking at Useless. The Hunter connected them up, one to Sunbeam and one to Deadjet. Useless felt fuel rush in. "You smelt-chip," he exclaimed. "You had more fuel than the rest of us together!" The fuel was still coming in. "Full tank and a half," Gloryhog sulked. "I'm worth more." "We're all worth nothing here," Sunbeam said mildly. "Well, you said you'd buy him a drink," Pariah snickered. "For Deadjet, maybe, not a whole leaking round," Gloryhog grumbled. Useless felt the fuel-flow stop. Faintheart waited a second and then disconnected the pipes. "Aaaargh!" Deadjet groaned. "My head." "Your head? Your tank, more like," Pariah chuckled, tapping his torso. The dark Hunter sat up, optics brightening to a full red glow. "What happened?" he asked woozily. "Fuel transfusion," Faintheart replied. "We're leaving," Useless said flatly. "Now." Deadjet levered himself up, then wobbled. Faintheart grabbed his arm and heaved him up. "Why aren't I dead?" "We shared fuel," Pariah told him. "Move. Walk. That way." She pointed towards the spatter of lights. "Walk?" Deadjet shook his wings out. Dust spilled from his turbofans. "Walk! Never thought of that." "Walk. Now." Useless grabbed one elbow, Gloryhog grabbed the other and they pulled the groggy Hunter onto the path and down the slope, the others skidding and hurrying behind them.
Misdemeanour almost fell over laughing. Steadying herself, she punched air and jumped up and down for joy. "Six! And someone finally got Deadjet to move!" She grabbed Brickhouse and danced around him. "Six Seekers! Two fine Wings for the Empire!" "We expected some to survive," Brickhouse protested. "Yes, but not six. Three at most, and not Faintheart or Sunbeam." "No loss," the big Hunter rumbled. Misdemeanour kicked him in the shin. "Just because you were the only one from your intake to survive ... oh, just keep your optics out for Honeycream." "Where's he gone?" Brickhouse wondered in the voice of doom.
"Equality is not Decepticonly," Pariah grumbled as they slithered down the slope, scree and debris skidding under their afterburners. Overhead, Homestar was dipping towards the horizon, and the plain turned from blue-grey to purple. In the distance, the lamps of Lantern City glowed brightly in the shadow of its hills. "Dying is not Decepticonly," Useless argued. "Saving dying idiots isn't Decepticonly either," Gloryhog replied, skidding down to walk beside Useless. "I'll remember that," Deadjet said as he came down behind them, Faintheart at his back. "If I see you dying, I'll say, 'remember what he said?'" "I liked you better when you were quiet," Gloryhog grumbled. "Oh, be quiet, 'hog," Useless said with a smirk. The slope flattened out into a broad, shallow bank of junk here, and they picked their way over it cautiously. Useless worried about mines but nothing registered on their sensors. "You said you'd use my proper name!" Gloryhog protested, edging cautiously across a shifting heap of broken wall-panels. "You haven't told me what it is," Useless reminded him, perching in a ceiling-girder bent into an arch to look out for Honeycream. "You haven't told me yours." "You first." "Idiots," Pariah grumbled, kicking loose nuts and bolts out of her path and sending them skittering down the edge of the broken wall she was walking along the top of. "My proper name is Forcebomber." "I've always been Sunbeam," called a voice from below and ahead. "You told us before," Useless reminded him, jumping down from the girder and walking swiftly down an alley of pipes. "I liked Pariah better." "What? Why?" She skidded down the edge of the wall and onto an old floor, still mostly intact. Faintheart climbed down behind her. Deadjet picked his way up between them, walking along a shattered roadway support trestle. His rust-spots weren't improving but his hull was darkening towards a sleek black. "It's different," Useless replied, climbing up the broken edge of the pillar to join them as they crossed the old floor and went down a wobbling ramp. "Everyone's a bomber-this or a wing-that or a something-sky. Pariah's different." "Eeeh. I bet you're something really generic," Pariah said. They had come down into an old courtyard or large room with shattered walls all around. The evening sun glowed on the eastern horizon, red and huge, turning the east ridge into a wall of dusky purple shadows. Gloryhog stood in a break in the wall, helping Sunbeam up. "Something like ... Stormwind, or Thundercloud, or Skywing." "Skywing?" Gloryhog laughed. They walked through the broken yard's great arched door, out onto a platform at the top of a monumental flight of stairs. The failing light of day turned it golden and orange, and they all stopped to stand and bask in the warm light. "Who's called Skywing? That'd be like being called, err, Airwind, or Skyflier." "Knew a Windling called Skywing once," Deadjet rumbled as they started down the stairs, shaking the steps with his heavy tread. "Hated his circuits. Broke his back." "He did?" Sunbeam asked. "I did," Deadjet smirked. "Oh. Well, what is your name?" Sunbeam asked Useless from the bottom of the stairs. Useless shook his head. "Gloryhog first." "Rust-face," Gloryhog muttered, picking his way over a fallen statue. "Odd name," Useless teased, climbing up a tilting lantern-post to take a look around. Below the flight of stairs the ground broke into a series of terraces, roofs of fallen buildings and sections of shattered roadways. It would take them until sunset at least to reach the plain proper, and then it would be long march across the open expanse of broken skyway-trestles towards the twinkling in the distance, now appearing as star-decked towers and as pools of swimming lights - the lamps of Lantern City, burning like a beacon in the night.
Misdemeanour could hardly stand still. Abandoning the emergency transceiver, she jogged along the western ridge, following the progress of her ex-rejects as they picked their way through the shells of buildings, climbing along pipes and sliding down towers, crawling like insecticons across the broad back of an unstable stretch of road. Brickhouse followed patiently, watching the plain more than those who travelled it. As the rejects came to the end of the broken land and the beginning of the skyway foundations, Misdemeanour hopped up on the base of a broken column to stand, hands on her hips, wings spread wide, and laugh a full, long laugh. "What good little survivors they are!" she crowed. "They didn't try to fly, they didn't go back inside, they didn't seek orders, they just went for it." "They refuelled Deadjet," Brickhouse pointed out. "Waste of fuel." "He's no more waste of fuel than the rest of them," Misdemeanour replied prickily. "He survived this long, and I'll bet you my right pede that it was him that got them out of there." "He needed them to get him out," Brickhouse responded. "And they needed him. Since when did one Seeker do as well as three?" Misdemeanour asked him. He shrugged. "His speech-making needs work, but Useless was right - a jet does fly better with two wings." She smiled down into the valley. "Great Megatron bless 'em, the little wonders, I think they're going to make it." Brickhouse came up beside her, head and shoulders over her even on her perch, and pointed wordlessly down towards a speck of gold and ivory skimming down the side of the eastern ridge, heading towards the six rejects. "No!" Misdemeanour raged. "No! He will not have them!" "We can't stop him." "He'll kill them! Not my rejects! Not when they're so close! I won't let it happen!" "You can't kill him!" "Don't you 'can't' me! I've killed worse things than Honeycream!" "But - " "No buts! No can'ts! You are going assist me in bringing down Honeycream, or Great Megatron help me I'll do it alone." Brickhouse looked at her mournfully. "I prefer being alive." "Coward!" She turned back to the valley, optic bar flame-bright with rage. "I am not afraid of him!" She leapt from her post, transforming and swooping down the western ridge on a tail of furious fire.
Night was falling fast. Homestar was barely a red glow on the eastern ridge, the base and slope invisible in purple shadows, and the west ridge dimmed through a red-gold crest to deep violet flanks. The ground was more level and stable amongst the skyway supports. Pillars and trestles still stuck up from the ground, turning the area into a forest of uprights, broken girders lying felled and forgotten between them. The skyway itself seemed to have been rolled up and taken away. "So, I was sitting there, drinking energon with the Lord High Commander, and he turned to me and he said -" "'Who the smelt are you?'" Useless interrupted. Gloryhog scowled at him, ignoring the laughter. "You don't know the Lord High Commander," Faintheart said. "I heard he feeds on life-force," Sunbeam commented, catching up to Useless. Useless was glad Sunbeam had stopped clinging to his elbow, but the yellow Seeker still kept close. "I heard he has special ultra-hard mandenta for chewing Autobot laser-cores." "I saw him once," Faintheart said, still keeping close to Pariah's side. "In the distance, just for a moment or two." "What's he like?" Pariah asked, walking a wingspan to Useless' right. "Is he really twice as big as Hunter?" "I heard he's so big that when he walks the ground shakes," Useless said. "I heard he can see the future," Gloryhog commented, edging up between Useless and Pariah. "I heard he's immortal," Deadjet said, walking on Useless' left, on the other side of Sunbeam. "He took his life-force out and keeps it in a box, and that box is hidden somewhere in Darkmount." "That's impossible," Pariah objected, "nobody can do that. Besides, Shockwave would've found it." "Everyone knows Shockwave's a revenant," Gloryhog said airily. "I didn't say it was true. I just said I heard it," Deadjet replied. "Well, was he that big?" Pariah asked. "No," said Faintheart. "He was bigger." "Hey, Deadjet," Useless called, "what's your real name?" There was a long pause as they trudged between the pillars, kicking bits of scrap to and fro. "Embarrassing," Deadjet finally replied. "That's a funny name," Sunbeam said. "No. My real name is ... urgh. It's Midnight Stampede," Deadjet groaned. There was a silence of consideration. "Midnight ... Stampede?" Gloryhog half asked, half tasting the word. "Yeah," Deadjet replied. "Horrible, isn't it?" "Deadjet is definitely better," Pariah said, nodded firmly. "Very," Deadjet agreed. "Who came up with that as a name?" Useless had to ask. "I did," Deadjet replied. "Picked it in front of Vector Sigma. Idiot. After I picked it, it stuck. Ugh." "I -" Pariah started, and then stopped. All of them stopped and looked east. A golden and ivory jet was flying towards them, low, barely above the level of the pillars. "Honeycream!" Pariah gasped. "Don't look at his face!" Gloryhog screamed. "Scatter!" Useless ordered, grabbing Sunbeam and looking for cover, but it was too late. Even as they moved, the Seeker transformed and landed amongst them, turning around to grace them all with a smile of warmth and comfort. Useless' body turned to lead, but it didn't matter. They were safe, after all, so completely safe. He loosened his grip on Sunbeam's arm. Everything was safe, warm, bright. His sight, his thoughts, his mind was consumed by the golden-white smile, the golden-white light. It was like falling up into the sun, like flying into the warmest, brightest midday sky. It was wonderful - "Honeycream! Die!" It was gone. Honeycream's light vanished. Useless caught a glimpse of Gloryhog diving for cover, of Pariah and Faintheart throwing themselves flat on the ground as a streak of black and purple collided with Honeycream in a flying kick that carried the bigger Seeker ten hister. Honeycream's hand whipped like a severed tensor, slicing across Misdemeanour's thigh, and the Windling folded, striking out with her baton and cracking Honeycream across the face. The knife whipped out again and her elbow suddenly went loose, tensors lashing through the slash in her armour, baton-hand hanging limp at her side. She tried to swap the baton to her other hand, but too slow - the knife-hand came up, the slick blade carving up her side, point slicing deep into her torso. Misdemeanour stilled, folded over, fell sideways and collapsed to the ground. Before Useless had time to more than turn to see, Honeycream was picking himself up. Mild-faced, he kicked Misdemeanour away and turned back to the rejects. Useless took a step backwards, trying to shield his optics, but it was already too late. Honeycream smiled, and the world was nothing but sweetness and light. Useless stumbled forwards, towards the wonderful smile and the wonderful light. He still had his hand on Sunbeam's arm. He heard Pariah stumbling beside him, Faintheart behind her, Deadjet trailing ... the light of Honeycream's smile washed over him. He was almost close enough to touch it. He fell again into that marvellous sun, golden and white, and felt a sick, dark, disgusting rush of horror and fear burst up inside him. Useless blinked. Faintheart screamed. Pariah took a step backwards. Out of the corner of his optic, Useless saw Gloryhog on his knees, fists clenched, wings stretched until they curved with strain and a blaze of hatred and loathing in his optics, the mirror - the source - of the revulsion churning inside him. Honeycream's smile twitched, a faint essence of sadness and bemusement entering it, giving the soft warm light a tragedy like a final sunset. He saw Gloryhog and something flickered in his soft, smiling optics. The knife-hand moved. Sunbeam smiled. Honeycream vanished in a burst of light like autumn sunset outshone by the fiercest summer noon. The golden-white Seeker flung an arm over his optics, trying to shield himself from a smile more brilliant and more terrible than his own. Useless staggered backwards, letting go of Sunbeam, left optic burst-blinded. He could still feel Gloryhog's sick, dark hatred boiling inside him, spilling over into rage, but the tatters of Honeycream's light still danced in his head, clotting his thoughts with cloying sweetness. Honeycream reappeared, glowing with heat as well as his embracing light, and he smiled, but his light swept over them weak and confused, blinded by Sunbeam's fiery smile. At Useless' side, Sunbeam sank to the ground with a sigh, exhausted by his power. A glance showed Gloryhog had fallen onto his side, curled up in dark hatred. The golden-white Seeker still came forward, swinging his knife at shadows. Useless heard Faintheart whimper and fall back. Still he could do nothing. Even blind, the smile was a gravity of light, sucking him in, pulling with thick warmth until he was meshed and drowning in softness. Deadjet stumbled and Honeycream's head turned, seeking the sound. He darted forwards as if he were made of light and not metal. Honeycream collided with the Hunter, slashed with his knife - bemused and blinded, Deadjet fell backwards - the knife-hand rose to strike - Pariah's hand shot out. A dark thing passed from her hand, dashed across the space and hit Honeycream in the elbow. Honeycream's arm suddenly shrank into the darkness, dropping the knife as his hand vanished, body yanked towards it. His smile broke into confusion. Air shuddered and the black point swallowed itself. Honeycream staggered, patting bemusedly at the severed stump of his shoulder. He kicked Deadjet aside, turning the full force of his smile on Pariah as he stooped for his knife. She buckled at the knees, stumbled forwards and fell. Useless, behind her, was caught in that raging light. His head felt full to bursting with light and warmth, his brain-module melting into goo. There was nothing but brightness, warmth and light drawing him in. He tried to step forwards, stumbled on Sunbeam, then caught a flicker of movement from Deadjet. Darkness roared, the sound of thousands of bodies moving, deep shadows of violet and of ultramarine passed in between them, over them, through them. The air was full of stamping, screaming, the shaking of shields, the crash of weapons into unarmoured torsos. Honeycream stood enveloped, shimmering dimly amongst the dark stampede, and even as it came it began to fade. Warm, cloying light began to blossom again. He reached for the knife. "No!" Useless lunged for Honeycream before the darkness could fade, reaching for the rogue with hands that carved through air that was heavy, yielding, tearing. The blue flames blasted into being all around him. Honeycream's wings flicked in surprise, his muffled light seeking to rise again, but the soft light wouldn't shine through the ball of blue flames around Useless' body. He charged Honeycream, grabbing him, dragging him into the fire. Honeycream screamed, voice high and thin and sweet and aching, blue flames burning frost across his body, metal creaking and cracking and shattering. The searing cold crisped his wings, cracked them. Honeycream hit Useless in the face, and Useless was surprised how weak he was. He wrapped his arms around Honeycream, pinning the struggling rogue, and the flames enveloped them both, the fireball flaring and rising into a pillar, a tower that roared up to the clouds. Ice fell from the air, frost littered the ground and the Seekers. At their feet, the knife shattered. The air froze. The ground froze. Honeycream froze. The smile and the light were broken. Honeycream twisted, cracked, and froze into death. The blue flame staggered, ragged, blaring and billowing like tattered sails. Useless unlocked his arms from a broken torso topped by a face of frozen pain. His optics darkened, his body folded up at the joints, and he fell sideways into exhausted darkness.
Useless floated in a dark place, filled with the thundering ethereal bodies of Deadjet's midnight stampede. A familiar energy called to him, drawing him upwards ... He reactivated to find Faintheart leaning over him, one hand on his forehead and one hand on his chest. "Well, you're not dead!" Pariah exclaimed in mock-surprise. "No," Useless said, sitting up. "Is he?" Pariah stood aside. Honeycream stood dead still, face still screaming, grey body shimmering with ice. "Thank Primus he's not smiling," Useless sighed. Pariah helped him to his feet. Sunbeam was instantly at his side, helping him brush down his wings. "Misdemeanour?" Useless croaked. "She's still alive," Gloryhog called from behind them. Useless turned. Gloryhog and Deadjet were bent over the fallen Windling. "She's leaking all over the place though." "Let me see," Faintheart said, picking his way over. Useless watched as the pale Hunter laid hands upon the base commander with a look of concentration on his face. A pale light shone inside Misdemeanour's wounds and she shuddered. The energon leak in her side oozed, dripped, and then ceased. Her optics gained a dim redness, then a glow. She moved weakly and tried to sit up. "Smelt!" Useless exclaimed. "You're a blasted healer!" "I didn't ask for it," Faintheart shrugged meekly. "Faintheart! More like Swanheart!" Gloryhog mocked. Pariah just shook her head. "Actually, my proper name is Sterling," the pale Hunter said, standing up. Deadjet rose with him, holding Misdemeanour in his arms. Useless turned away to glare at the dead rogue. "Let's remember our first victory the way good Decepticons do," he said, voice firm with determination. "Yuck," grimaced Faintheart, but Useless ignored that. He strode up to the frozen body, seized its head in both hands and twisted hard. Honeycream's neck turned with a wrenching and a splitting and ripping of cables and metal, then broke completely. Useless lifted the head of the rogue, their trophy, and raised it with a smile. Behind him, Gloryhog hollered victoriously, and Pariah whooped. Sunbeam smiled, just a little. Behind him, Misdemeanour uttered a small, triumphant hiss. Useless tucked their trophy under his arm as Gloryhog walked over. He felt Sunbeam close at his elbow, quiet in loyal support. "Well," said Gloryhog, "I guess that makes us a wing." "I guess it does," Useless smiled. "Two wings. Whatever." "By the way..." Gloryhog trailed a little bit. "Err ... my name is Ultralife." Useless held out a hand. "Salamander." They shook hands, commander and lieutenant. Then, with the wounded commander unconscious in Deadjet's arms, the six Seekers turned towards the horizon and walked towards the ever-bright lights of the Lantern City.
"Oh my sister, walk with me
Author's Notes & Addenda: Ailerons: A hinged flap on the trailing edge of an aircraft wing, used to control banking or rolling movements. |
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