Lost Touch
By: Sapphire
Part One
I can see inside you, the sickness is rising
Don't try to deny what you feel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems that all that was good has died
And is decaying in me
It seems you're having some trouble
In dealing with these changes
Living with these changes (oh no)
The world is a scary place
Now that you've woken up the demon in me
- Down with the Sickness, Disturbed
Writer's Note: I'm not certain about Transformer sizes; I'm saying that now so I don't get flamed for distorting their sizes horribly (which I'd be doing unwittingly, anyway). In my mind, Rampage is eighteen feet tall in robot mode, at full height. Yes, a very big crab. Second note: for those of you unfamiliar with military terms, a SAM is a surface-to-air missile. That's about it. Hope you enjoy the fic!
Inferno staggered into the Predacon base and made his way to the CR tank. He all but threw himself against the lever that would lower the platform into the repair liquid and hopped onto it. Then he went straight back into stasis.
He didn't need to stay in the tank for twelve hours. He'd suffered a nasty blow and been shot several times by strong weaponry, but his damage could have been repaired in four hours. Inferno chose to stay in the warm, calming blanket of repair-nanites and energon-liquid for therapeutic reasons. He was distraught and he needed time to rest and unwind before he came to any decisions about what to do. The Royalty was dead and he simply couldn't deal with that just yet.
During that time, another bot had wandered through the Predacon base. Quickstrike found himself without a purpose and nervous to the point he thought it would drive him insane. He was alone now. His leader had been killed, Waspinator was missing and Inferno was out cold in the CR tank. Tarantulas was his own agent, Blackarachnia had defected weeks ago and he...
...he was the only available victim for Rampage, unless one of the Maximals did the unthinkable and left the safety of the Ark, alone.
Oh, he'd never been partial to Megatron, or anyone for that matter. But he had felt secure being in a faction that pertained to his tastes and which had given him a place to call his own. There were rules, routines and safety nets in place to more-or-less protect the individual, so long as he followed said rules and routines. It was all held together by one bot, and that bot was dead.
The base seemed hollow and desolate now. The only activity came from the CR tank that contained Inferno and the gentle whir of the computers on standby. Quickstrike had activated just one screen to keep an eye out for approaching signatures. He had the autoguns on alert and the computer was programmed to blare loudly when any bot came within a ten mile radius of the Darkside. Quickstrike, to say the least, was paranoid.
He had watched Rampage savage the great Megatron. He'd witnessed the brutal murder of a fellow Transformer. Quickstrike was not a bot of high morals and he derived great pleasure out of fighting an enemy...but the sheer viciousness in Rampage's killing struck terror into the very core of him. That kind of fighting, that kind of complete callousness was something Quickstrike was unfamiliar with, and did he want to be on the receiving end of it.
What was he to do? Sit here and hope that Rampage never came back? That would be hoping for too much. The psychopath was on the loose now with free rein to go and do what he pleased. And killing bots was what pleased Rampage. That, and the crab would most likely want to come back and fetch a few bits and pieces from his quarters. Unless of course he fancied having the whole base to himself, in which case Quickstrike was helpless to stop him. Without that weapon, he stood no chance. Rampage could easily take on the autoguns, break through the defenses and come in here and clean the place out.
The fuzor sighed anxiously and stared at the monitors. There was no activity but then...Rampage did have the talent of hiding from the scanners.
"What's taking blender butt so long?" he wondered out loud. "His danged repair cycle ended hours ago!"
Quickstrike pondered the possibility of Inferno having committed suicide in there, then decided the ant wouldn't give in so easily. Most probably he was resting before going on a revenge binge to avenge Megatron. It would be a futile attempt but it was the right thing for a loyal servant of 'the queen' to do. It wasn't like Inferno had any options of serving a new leader. He highly doubted Inferno would look to him to make things right. He was a lowly drone, after all.
"Much as I hate ta say it, ah think ah'm best off hiding with them Maxis." Quickstrike shuddered at the thought. He abhorred the notion of joining the Maximals, but at least they had a decent-sized team, and there was safety in numbers.
The problem was, he'd have to rely on the general open-heartedness of their leader to accept him into their ranks. Quickstrike knew Optimus Primal wasn't the slightest bit keen on him. Still, would he really deny him sanctuary and leave him outside to die at the hands of Rampage? Groveling and pleading for his life was not an idea Quickstrike warmed to, but it was his best option.
Problem was, he had to GET there, first.
The fuzor looked about himself nervously. The base was quiet and dark. Anything could be lurking in the shadows...
"Well I'm gonna plain lose mah marbles if I stay here," he decided and got up from his chair. He'd make the trek to the Maximal base on the off-chance they'd take pity on him. All he had to do between now and then was keep on the highest alert for Rampage. If he let his concentration slip for just one moment, he could very easily become the crab's next meal.
Rampage sat on a boulder in the thick of a forest. He was hunched over, absently chipping off what was left of Megatron's dried blood on his hands with his finger and thumb. Other than the small, repetitive movements of his hands, he was still, gaze resting on the ground.
He remained this way for a few minutes, idly flaking off the thin layer of caked silver on his red metal. Then, suddenly, he stood and threw a punch into the nearest tree. It buckled, wood splintered off and went flying and the branches shook violently, sending down a small blizzard of leaves.
He waited for the shower of twigs and leaves to stop and all the while he panted, struggling to contain another violent outburst. Then he remembered he didn't have to do that anymore. He was free.
Rampage turned on the tree, punching it repeatedly. It only took five hacks with his arm before it fell over. It was a small tree by Transformer standards, barely taller than himself. It groaned, cracked and crashed to the floor, its leaves rustling in a chorus that lasted two seconds before the forest fell into silence once more. Only the alarmed voice of a bird and the fading scurrying of some creature could be heard.
He looked down at the broken tree at his feet and watched with detached interest as a snake emerged from the tangle of branches and slithered out and away from it. Gradually, he drew to his full height and looked around. The dull morning light filtered down and warded off the shadows of a restless night. It had been thirteen hours since he'd left the canyon overlooking the entrance to the Ark.
Killing Megatron had been a highlight in his stay on this planet, but it was over too quickly. He would have preferred to drag it out and savour the moment more completely, but he'd been pressed for time, what with the Maximals near by and an enraged Inferno harassing him. The ant he had left and he'd guessed Myst would attend to Waspinator, since she seemed to have some small soft spot for the bug.
She'd made it clear she wanted no more to do with him. It left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. After all he'd done for her, she had fled from their alliance as soon as the full truth was revealed. It shouldn't matter, he kept telling himself. It shouldn't matter. She had worn away at his patience to the point that now, if he saw her, he wasn't sure he could restrain himself from doing to her what he'd done to everyone on Omicron. Granted, he'd misled her, but she had been doing her own share of playing games. Their relationship had always been a cagey one. To act like she was the betrayed innocent in the situation was more than annoying. She knew she was playing with fire - she was an empath, she had always known. Myst was deceitful and selfish, but he didn't dislike her now for those reasons. He disliked her indecisiveness. She was never sure of what she wanted. To be fair, neither was he, but he didn't throw accusations and change his mind on whims like she did. Rampage decided that he wasn't keen on killing her, he'd just had enough of her messing him around.
The thought of her made him irritable, so he changed his focus to his next plan of action. Now that he was free, the first thing he wanted to do was vent his frustrations to...or rather on Tarantulas. Rampage had mulled over a number of creative ways to kill the spider, when a plan had suddenly come to him.
He had both halves of his spark now, but he needed them merged together as one for him to be safe and to feel complete again. There were only two bots on this planet capable of doing that. He knew Rhinox wouldn't do it no matter what he threatened. Tarantulas, however, was very much a bot of self-preservation and so an agreement could be made, under Rampage's terms, of course. He had already formed such terms in his mind and he planned to carry them out as soon as possible. He just needed to know where the spider was.
He hadn't the foggiest idea where the scientist hid and he had killed the only bot who might know something. He was slightly miffed that he hadn't thought that one through.
Rampage was distracted from his reverie by the distinct scent of fear in the air. He froze and listened. Whoever it was, he was a fair distance away as no sound could be heard, but his fear was radiating through the jungle.
"Inferno's too much of an idiot to fear me, so this has to be one of only two bots that would risk wandering alone while there's a killer in the woods."
As Rampage picked his way through the trees as stealthily as he could manage, he silently hoped it was Tarantulas he'd encounter. He doubted he'd be so lucky - it was probably Quickstrike making a run for it. The fuzor was trying to get to someplace safe, most likely, which Rampage fancied would be the Maximal base. He wouldn't let him get that far.
When he had revived Myst, it had been easy to gently brush his hand along her side, unclip the signature blocker and slip it into subspace. He knew she didn't need it anymore, but it was a useful little device for him to have, especially for stalking prey. Granted, it'd not hide him from Tarantulas, but it could be used against the Maximals and remaining Predacons.
Rampage closed in on the terrified wanderer.
Myst stroked the surface of the CR chamber that held Waspinator. He stood in there, unconscious and seemingly peaceful. He hadn't woken up once during the whole scene Myst had created when she'd brought him into the Maximal base. She was greeted by a surprising amount of hostility upon bringing in such a weak and incapable Predacon. She didn't understand why they'd been so willing to take her in when she was for more tricky and dangerous than the little wasp bot. She guessed it was because they viewed her as a victim of Rampage, someone who'd been misled and confused from the moment she'd entered the Beast Wars.
They were right in a sense. Myst had been misled, but she was no victim. She'd been a fool and there was nothing else to it. Or, at least that was what she tried to tell herself.
Eventually she convinced them to at least give Waspinator a fighting chance by repairing his damage and then letting him go. He had the advantage of being a flyer, so he could get away more easily from Rampage than an earth-bound bot. The argument was that if Rampage had spared him already, he wouldn't be interested in harming him. Myst pointed out that Rampage was extremely manipulative and that was exactly what he'd want them to believe, because he was playing them, and could they have it on their conscience that Waspinator had died because they were too set in their ways to let him in? At this point she realized she was treading on thin ice, especially since Optimus Primal had taken in four Predacons already. After he reminded her of this, she shut her mouth and left it to him to decide.
She wasn't entirely sure why she cared about having Waspinator around. It just seemed to her that he had been unwittingly dragged into this whole shenanigan created by Rampage and as such he was someone she could relate to. Having him around was a comfort. She needed someone to talk to.
It became apparent, though, that there were Maximals wanting to talk to her. Myst jerked at a tap on her shoulder. Spinning around, she found herself face to face with Silverbolt.
"Sorry to alarm you, but you have been standing against that CR chamber for nearly a half megacycle," he said gently.
"Oh I'm...I'm fine I'm just...wondering when Waspinator will get out. He's been in there an awfully long time."
Silverbolt had been a Predacon once and so he took pity on Myst. He knew how awkward it felt to join a new faction when you'd never been sure about what side you were on in the first place. Myst had claimed to be neutral, but she had Predacon programming in her from the start. In Silverbolt's mind, that was reason enough for her behaviour up 'til now. Had she been Maximal, she surely would not have fled into the forest and allied herself with a dark menace like Rampage.
He could change Predacons, though. He had brought Blackarachnia around eventually. He had secretly made it his mission to ease the transition for Myst.
"Why don't you talk to some of the others and get yourself properly acquainted? I know they all seem a little tense right now, but that is to be expected with all the turmoil that's been going on. They're all good bots, I assure you."
Myst looked into the kind, yellow optics of the Maximal before her and was unable to suppress a slight smile. "I highly doubt any of your comrades want to talk to me right now. I've caused enough upset as it is." 'Rattrap mistrusts me, Depth Charge loathes me and Optimus is far from impressed with my bringing a Predacon into his base without permission,' she thought.
Silverbolt tilted his head to the right with a sad look on his face. "Now, I'm sure that's not true."
"Oh, believe me, it is," she said and gently pushed past him. He turned to watch her walk over to the computer console and hunch over it, head bowed.
"I can see you're unhappy. You have had a very traumatic time. I'd like to help you settle in," Silverbolt offered.
Myst's back was to him and so he could not see the look of exhaustion on her face. While she appreciated his kind efforts to help her, she did not want his help. Joining the Maximals had been hard enough and she didn't want someone on her case, watching that she became a full convert. In Myst's mind, this was only a temporary stop. She hoped that sometime a rescue ship would come and she'd return to Cybertron and be left to her own devices there. Of course she knew that might not happen, in which case she should get used to the idea of living with these Maximals...but it was too much for her to contend with right now.
"I appreciate that, Silverbolt, but I'd rather grow accustomed to everything by myself and in my own time, if that's okay with you," she said in a rational and polite manner. She hoped he'd understand her and leave her alone.
"Very well, but my offer stands. I'll always be willing to do my best to help you fit in," Silverbolt affirmed. Myst nodded and, satisfied that he had made an impression, Silverbolt left the control room.
It might have seemed a bit too soon to be leaving an ex-Predacon alone in the base's main control room, but all the computers were locked to her and no one had given her codes to access them. It didn't bother her all that much because she didn't expect them to warm to her overnight. However, it did not help with the utter sense of alienation and desolation she she now felt.
Myst found a chair and eased into it. She'd barely slept since she'd returned, even though she really needed to. The shock of her near-death experience had kept her awake initially but now it had caught up to her and she was exhausted.
She bowed her head and closed her eyes, feeling heavy and weary. She didn't want to move. Her body ached for rest, but her mind kept running through thoughts and memories which sparked off unwanted emotions.
She thought of her first encounters with Rampage. He had convinced her on only their second meeting to let her guard down and allow him to touch her. He had seemed so gentle, calm and mysterious. She'd been wary of him at first, but far too quickly she had grown to trust him and even like him. She couldn't deny the torrent of emotion inside her now stemmed from the fact that she had begun to care about him and want his company. In discovering the truth of his past and rejecting him as a result, Myst felt she had lost touch with the only bot who had truly understood her. Rampage was, when it came down to it, the best friend she'd ever had.
Already she missed him.
But she couldn't, she just couldn't affiliate herself with a killer. She couldn't remain friendly with a psychopath. Not only was it unethical, it was putting her own life in danger. She was right to end their relationship. It would have only met a bad end had it continued...
Somehow that conclusion didn't comfort her as much as she'd hoped it would. Myst bit back the sobs rising in her throat. She had to get over him. She had to get over past few days. She had to move on.
Quietly she stood and left the dully lit control room. She made her way to her newly assigned quarters, entered them, shut the door and collapsed onto her recharge bed.
Quickstrike was painfully aware of the sound his feet made when they snapped twigs and crunched leaves. Every creak and crack was a small piece of agony as he made his way through the forest to the Maximal base.
He was trying his best to get to his destination as quickly and quietly as possible. He didn't want to make too much noise when there was a hunter in the area. The fuzor had never felt terror to this degree before. He felt cold and hot at the same time and his synthetic beast mode skin was prickling. He felt both an urgent compulsion to run brought on by bestial survival instincts, and a sick feeling of weary resignation - like he just wanted to die and be done with it. The fear and discomfort were so intense he could barely handle them.
He was travelling along a dry riverbed. He knew a river usually flowed out of the forest and several kilometres west of the site of the Ark, so if he followed it out and turned east, he'd be on his way there.
He heard a harsh squawk and sudden beating of wings. He gasped and looked up to see three ravens flying to new perches further on. Quickstrike allowed himself a moment to recover from his scare and then continued feeling even more nervous and uptight. His internal scanner had no incoming energy signatures to report, but that did not comfort him. He was well aware Rampage had a knack for avoiding such sensors.
A root hidden in the bramble snagged his clumsy feet and he tripped. He landed face first into the dirt and dust but wasted no time in getting up again. He cursed under his breath. He was incapable of moving very fast in robot mode, but he was too afraid to travel in beast mode, which was considerably more vulnerable. Steeling himself against a growing sense of dread, Quickstrike pushed forward at a faster pace. He kept his eyes on the ground ahead to make sure he didn't trip up again.
He felt mildly pleased with himself after ten minutes had passed and he'd avoided several roots and obstructing rocks in his path. The end of the forest was within sight now. He'd made it. Once in the open, he'd have a much better chance of making it to the Ark alive. He stepped up his pace in the final hundred meter stretch to the bright sunlight at the exit of this claustrophobic nightmare. His breath caught in his throat as something large emerged from behind two huge oaks not thirty feet away. Quickstrike froze as the fearsome Transformer stepped into his path.
He stared, petrified, as Rampage gauged the distance between himself and his prey. A smile lit up in his optics.
"There you are. My sense for terror led me straight to you."
Quickstrike raised his cobra head slowly. "Don't take a step closer...or else."
"Or you'll do what? Shoot me? I hardly think that'll make any difference," Rampage said half-heartedly. He took a step forward and Quickstrike tensed visibly.
"I'm warning you!" the frightened Predacon said, surprised at how steady his voice had sounded. Faking confidence was one of his talents.
Rampage took another step forward and Quickstrike took aim.
"If my presence is so offensive to you, Quickstrike, why haven't you shot me already?"
'Because I know I can't win,' the fuzor thought grimly and he knew Rampage was reading that thought.
"Just stay put, crabby, let me by, and no one gets hurt," he ordered.
Rampage gestured to the bank on his right. "Go ahead," he said calmly.
Quickstrike knew there was something wrong here - Rampage still had a trick to play. He knew that if he tried to pass, he'd die trying. But he couldn't stay here, either.
"I see you're reluctant to follow your own instruction," Rampage jeered slyly. He took two steps forward. "So why don't I make it easier for you?"
If that was a forewarning, Quickstrike missed it, because in the next second Rampage had lunged.
From a distance, a few alarmed birds could be seen fluttering hastily upwards.
Tarantulas awoke with a start. He had fallen asleep at the monitors again. He'd been watching various screens being broadcast by his many arachnoid cams all over the area. He even had underwater ones to check around the Nemesis, so nervous was he of Rampage.
He should have been working, but three days without recharge had finally caught up with him. He blinked a few times and it took him a moment to register the sight before his eyes. Four of his land cams were out. He glanced at the time - he'd only been asleep a megacycle. Who could have noticed and destroyed four of his arachnoids in such a short space of time? A fifth one was damaged and stuck, too. He tried a reboot via signal transmission to kick-start it into action. It strained a little but didn't move any more. He scowled at its screen. The right half of its lens was covered in something thick and gooey. The clear half was filming something he couldn't quite make out. It looked rather like a spark case...
He checked the register numbers of the offline cams and noted they were all forest cams. They had been active in the same forest Rampage was last seen going into. Before he could mull over this disturbing discovery, the scene in front of cam five suddenly changed. The forest blurred as the camera was jolted and then pulled back along the ground a bit more steadily. Tarantulas froze in his seat and narrowed his optics, trying to make out the object that was becoming clearer as the perspective changed. The cam ceased reversing and was still. Tarantulas gurgled slightly when he realized what the object was. It was indeed a spark case.
The cam was jolted again and Tarantulas tensed. Its view was blocked momentarily. The next thing he saw was Rampage's face.
The spider gripped the armrests of his chair and sat up straight, optics wide with shock.
"I bet you're wondering who that belongs to?" Rampage girded wryly. He reached for something and held it up in view of the cam. It was a sticky fluid pump, still dripping with mech fluid. "Same 'bot as this belongs to," he declared and cackled.
Tarantulas felt sick. Not because he was queasy at the sight of a fellow Transformer's ripped-out internals, but because he knew his own were in serious danger of suffering the same fate.
The cam's focus changed back to Rampage's face.
"Let this be a friendly reminder that I still abhor you, Tarantulas, and I fully intend on butchering you as slowly, painfully and savagely as is possible." He paused to smile. "I also believe I have you to thank for all the trouble Myst and I suffered. So! Now that you're aware of your crimes, you can brace yourself for the penalty." The camera zoomed in on his face a little more and the smile faded from his eyes. "Don't think I won't find you. I don't need a sophisticated tracking device to locate a shivering, miserable spider like yourself." The lens zoomed out and Rampage smirked again. "'Til then..." There was the brief sound of metal being crushed and the camera died. A red diagonal band shot across its blank screen.
Tarantulas stared at that red band a long time after.
Six Hours Later:
Depth Charge lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He was tired but he had been battling to sleep. Quietly, he was seething. His mind ran through all the possible scenarios that could have taken place instead of the one he'd picked, the one where he chose to spare the life of one wretched femme and let a killer go free. If Rampage murdered anyone else from this day on, it would be his fault.
If he had kept his mouth shut, Myst would have died. Then, they would have repaired the weapon. He would have gone hunting for the crabbot, he would have found him and he would have shot him a hundred times over until there was nothing left for that accursed spark of his to repair. He would have destroyed that demon once and for all. No longer would he have plagued the Universe with his presence, haunted his dreams with his wicked laughter and tormented all who came across him. Depth Charge could have made sure of that. He should have made sure of that.
He breathed out a loud sigh as he struggled to contain the anger boiling inside him. He knew he should sleep before he succumbed to senseless rage. He shut off his optics and laid still, refusing to think or to feel. It took a while but finally sleep came to him. He fell into a dream.
The hallway was dark. The lights were all out, save for the bright, violent sparks that burst forth from writhing cables. He walked forward slowly, footsteps heavy with dread. It was cold...so cold....
The white walls of the laboratory were no longer bright and sterile; they were cracked and dirty. A trail of dried blood started on each wall and he could see that someone had dragged fingers deliberately along them. He continued forward, breathing heavily, the pulsing of his spark thrumming in his head. He felt the desire to retch building up inside him and every instinct told him to turn back, to run, to get away from this hellish place. But still...he felt drawn by the dark doorway at the end of the corridor. Shapes littered the floor further on and as he came to them he averted his gaze so that he was staring directly forward. He stepped on some of them and felt fingers twisting and breaking under the weight of his feet, arms snapping, limbs crunching. He ignored them, concentrating only on his destination and keeping his nausea down. The squirming power cables hissed and spat as he walked by, drawing near now to the dark, cold entrance of the room at the end of the corridor. Even though the building had been broken and battered, he still recognised this passageway as the one leading to the Main Laboratory.
He paused at the doorway. A bitterly cold, hollow wind caressed his front, cruelly enticing him to come in. The darkness ahead seemed all-consuming. He tightened his hands into fists and stepped into the thick black, deep dread swamping him.
He screamed. His voice rose up around him, filling the air, ringing and reverberating in his head. It lasted an age and grew in intensity and slowly voices joined his and the lone cry of agony became a chorus of shrieks and yells of terror and pain. The sounds became deafening and he gripped his head, still yelling, drowning in the cacophony that surrounded him.
At his feet she lay. Her body was mutilated and mangled beyond recognition, but her face had been left intact. Her dead eyes stared up at him, her mouth hung open in a silenced scream. Her chest gaping, blood a sticky puddle in which her pulverized form rested. Her left arm was reaching out and her lifeless fingers just touched his ankle. Depth Charge froze, doubled over in anguish, screaming until his vocal chords could take no more. The cry sputtered out into a drawn-out, monotonous whimper. The clamour around him died with his voice and he rocked back and forth, hand gripping his head so tightly his fingers were digging into his metal. Finally, his tense body went lax and his arms fell, swaying loosely at his side. He stared down at her, desolate and broken.
His wife was amid a mess of strewn corpses. The tiled white floor was soiled with trails and splashes of mech fluid and littered with dismembered bodies. One dull light shone wearily down on the massacre, directly onto her body. The silence was hard and utterly complete. Nothing stirred, nothing breathed. All that there was, was death.
Depth Charge pulled up and slowly turned around, facing the entrance from which he'd come. He stared ahead, numb, exhausted beyond words, and watched as the silent red and blue lights of an emergency crew crept up along the passageway. They approached noiselessly like spirits of colour and light, but they only increased the emptiness he now felt. They were too late. They were forever too late.
He awoke simply. His optics merely lit and the ceiling of his quarters filled his vision. Depth Charge stared with unseeing eyes and waited for the dull throes of emotional agony to fade enough for him to draw in his next breath. When that happened, he summoned the strength to get up. A single purpose drove him to his door and out into the quiet hallways of the Maximal base.
Myst too had been dreaming, but her dream was a mess of dialogue and flashbacks. She tossed and turned as memories of her life on Cybertron mixed with garbled snippets of the events that had taken place on Earth. She imagined herself staring at a victim of gang violence. He lay on the ground, alive but beaten to a near pulp. She watched from a distance. She always watched and did nothing. The imagining blurred and flickered and then Rampage was there, standing over the maimed bot.
"You know he's not going to make it," Rampage said and looked across at her, eyes bright and inquisitive.
"Kill him," she said emotionlessly.
He laughed merrily and smashed both hands down on the bot's face. He died instantly. Rampage looked back up at her. "You're so merciful."
The image blurred again and Myst found herself standing where Rampage had been, staring down at the horribly mangled Transformer who'd been alive a few moments ago. She felt a fleeting moment of remorse and then nothing. A shadow appeared beside her.
"Wake up, Myst. Myst..."
She turned and looked at Rampage. He was staring at her wildly. "Someone's here. He wants to hurt you. You're not safe here."
She was shaken awake. "Gah! Ohhh..." she blurted and swatted her hands above her face, trying to ward off the unwelcome presence. The shaking stopped and she opened her eyes and looked up groggily. Depth Charge was glowering down at her.
"PRIMUS, Depth Charge!" she exclaimed and sat up, rubbing her head gingerly. She had a terrible headache.
"Get up."
She glanced up at him with a confused frown. "Wha...?"
"I said get up!"
Myst continued to frown at him, looking perplexed and slightly alarmed, as she swung her legs over the side of her bed and stood. "Depth Charge, what is all this abo---"
He grabbed her suddenly and pushed her hard against the wall. Myst felt the air being knocked out from her and her eyes widened in shock. The next instant, Depth Charge was upon her, pressing his large hands against her shoulders. He pushed hard, pinning her firmly against the cold steel behind her.
"UH! Depth Charge stop! You're hurting me!"
"What did he tell you? What did he say to you that made you trust him like you did?" the mantabot demanded, eyes burning in violent intensity.
"What do you me---"
He jerked her hard and she choked a cry. "You heard me! Answer!" he snarled.
She stared at him fearfully and risked a short pause to allow her thoughts to collect. She realized what he was doing, what he wanted.
"You must understand, from the moment we met he was gentle, rational...he offered me friendship and security. I was alone and hungry and confused and he...he was like some sort of saviour. I didn't trust him immediately but he was just...so..."
Depth Charge stared at her with wild expectancy. "Just so what?"
"I-I dunno... Convincing," she ended weakly. The words weren't coming to her, or rather not the right ones. Depth Charge continued to stare at her and she could feel the surge of confused desperation coming from him.
"He must have said something that swayed you," he whispered harshly.
Myst's eyes closed for a moment as she fought to contain her own emotions. Rampage was a sore point that Depth Charge was ruthlessly pressing.
"He said..." She drew in a deep breath in an attempt to steady her racing spark. "He said he understood me."
Depth Charge's hard focus on her lingered a moment longer and then shifted, his gaze becoming distant. He eased up the pressure on her and Myst went limp, feeling more weary than she had ever felt in her life.
"Understood you," he echoed and then shook his head slightly. He stepped back and released her. She looked up a him blearily.
"You," he said quietly, "are the biggest fool I have ever met."
She did nothing but watch him, a look of hopelessness and defeat on her face. Depth Charge nodded, as if finally understanding something that had been addling him a long time. He turned away from her and left the room. Myst waited until the door had slid closed before she sank to the floor. She sat, huddled against the wall and her bed and hugged her knees, feeling cold, ashamed and lonely.
Yes, she was a fool.
The following day she awoke in a more normal fashion. She pulled herself up, left her room and wandered down the corridor to the control room. She was the last one, apparently, to enter. The Maximals were all grouped together and she couldn't shake the feeling that they'd been discussing her when she stumbled in. The conversations ended abruptly and they dispersed, losing themselves in various small jobs.
"How're you feeling?" Rhinox asked her kindly as she came up to the computers.
"Fine, thanks. I owe you one."
Rhinox shook his head. "Hardly."
She didn't want to respond to that, because she knew where it would lead. She glanced around the place. Optimus was having an earnest conversation with a very grim looking Depth Charge. Rattrap was leaning against the far wall, cleaning his gun, Cheetor was at another of the computers and Blackarachnia and Silverbolt were assembling extra panels by the exit hallway, most likely to go to the blast doors to re-enforce them.
"Everyone's got something to do, except me," she remarked tiredly.
"I've got some questions to ask you which may help our situation, if you can answer them," he said cautiously.
Myst glanced sidelong at him. "Questions about the one subject I'd rather not talk about, I'm betting."
"Myst, it's a serious problem."
"I know," she sighed and looked away. She noted Rattrap was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. She turned from him to Depth Charge. The mantabot made no sign of even acknowledging her. Her gaze went past him to the CR chamber. She realized with a sudden pang of panic that it was empty.
She wheeled on Rhinox. "Where's Waspinator?"
The demand came out a little too loudly and everyone turned to look at her. She held her ground. "Where is he?" she pressed when Rhinox failed to reply straight away.
He shot Optimus a desperate look. She turned to the Maximal leader, eyes pleading an answer.
"He's repaired, Myst. He's in the holding room until we can decide what to do with him."
Myst sagged with relief. "Oh..." She mentally scolded herself for getting so uptight so quickly. She never used to be like this. She always had been a calm, collected bot until recently.
"Did he say anything when he woke?" she asked him.
"Yes," Optimus answered somewhat reluctantly. He could see she wasn't going to settle for a one word answer and so he continued. "He was...pretty frightened when he emerged. I don't know what happened to him prior to your bringing him to us, but he's shaken, to say the least."
"Of course he's shaken! Do you know what he had to witness?" she uttered and regretted it immediately after. Rattrap was first to take advantage.
"Yeah, somethin' HE instigated. Dat bug should be slagged fer doin' what he did! It's because 'o him dat Rampage is on da loose again."
Myst glared at the Maximal. "No, it's not his fault. If you're going to blame anyone for this, blame me. I was the one who brought Waspinator into the equation. He was only doing as he was told to do. The penalty of dishonouring the alliance we were a part of was far worse than obeying it."
"Oh yeah? Says who? You don't know dat Rampage ain't just gonna go postal on all of us at any given moment, including Waspy. He's a killer! A ruthless, demented killer. He don't give a slag about us! Can't you see he's just playin' with his food before da final blow?"
"That's enough, Rattrap," Optimus cut him off. Rattrap holstered his gun and folded his arms with a snort. Depth Charge nodded once at the rat in an unspoken, mutual agreement.
Myst wanted to cease existing. The scrutiny, the hateful glares, the hostility...it was something she'd had to contend with her whole life and she was sick of it.
"If you want to chastise me then go ahead, I can take it. But for pity's sake, leave Waspinator alone. He's nothing but a weak, abused bot with no faction left to go to."
"What we decide to do with Waspinator is none of your concern. He's a guest in our base for now but he's far from welcome," Optimus stated firmly. Myst's glare turned from Rattrap to him. He sighed. "Look, I'm not going to throw him out there and leave him to die. He can stay here, but I'm not letting him out of that holding cell until I've thought it through. Is that understood?"
Her glare softened and she nodded. He turned to his Maximals. "Now you've all got jobs to do, so I suggest you get on with them."
The order was not threatening but it was one that no one wanted to question. Optimus was looking more anxious and on-edge than usual and it was clearly unwise to try his patience any further. Depth Charge strode out of the room, followed by an irritable looking Rattrap. Blackarachnia and Silverbolt disappeared down the exit hallway, leaving Myst alone with Cheetor, Optimus and Rhinox.
"I didn't want to say it earlier, but I don't think it should wait any longer," Rhinox spoke up. The three turned to the scientist, who was sitting in his favourite chair before the monitors. He looked up at them worriedly. "Quickstrike left the Predacon base. I've been monitoring his signature for some time. He was on his way here when I checked last night. I've just done a quick search for him. He's gone."
"Gone?" Cheetor echoed. "Gone as in...?"
"Gone as in he's disappeared off the map. I was pretty sure he was coming here to seek asylum, so there's no logical reason for him to have changed course and gone off the mapped area..."
"Oh, Primus..." Myst muttered under her breath and she looked at her feet unhappily.
Optimus and Cheetor exchanged glances. "Myst, do you think Rampage...?" Cheetor couldn't contain the question on everyone's mind.
She nodded softly. "Probably."
Optimus's facial expression was grim. "What about Inferno? Any sign of him?"
Rhinox shook his head. "As far as I know, he's still in the Predacon base."
"He won't be for long. He's must be real mad that Megatron's dead. Surely he'll leave and chase Rampage down?" Cheetor wondered.
"I'm not sure what he'll do. All I know is that if he tries, he'll just end up as one more of Rampage's growing list of victims," Optimus said with a weary shake of his head.
"Well...we're re-enforcing the doors so he can't get in...right?" Cheetor persisted, trying to eke out some suggestion of hope from the bleak situation.
"It should hold him off for a while, and he's smart enough not to take us all on at once. The problem is that he has us all trapped inside our own base. Our freedom's severely limited. None of us can leave the base alone, or even in twos or possibly threes without being in serious danger," Rhinox explained.
"We can't live like that! We need to get energon...and go for walks!" Cheetor flailed. Suddenly, he felt very claustrophobic.
"Don't panic, Cheetor! We'll think of something," Optimus tried to quell the rising fear in the young catbot beside him.
"No, Cheetor's right...we'll rot in here. Something's got to be done and soon," Myst spoke up calmly.
Rhinox took immediate notice of her statement. "You know Rampage better than any of us, so maybe you can help us devise a plan."
Myst dropped her gaze to the floor. A surge of guilt and quiet desperation filled her. She knew she should help them, she owed it to them to help...but she didn't want to. A part of her felt more than rotten for betraying Rampage, even though he had deceived her all this time. To be asked to be an instrument in his downfall was simply too much for her. She quite simply wanted no more to do with him, because even the thought of him confused and upset her. He created discord in her heart, because a part of her hated him bitterly, while another longed for him.
"I...don't know of anything that could be of use, really," she said quietly and slowly. She could feel the incredulous stares boring into her. She felt hot and uncomfortable.
Her head snapped up. "Look, he's...he's got his spark, he's stronger now, but it's not merged...so that's gotta count for something," she stumbled along. It was a valid observation and it was all she was going to offer them today.
Rhinox nodded softly. "There's only one bot that could do that for him now."
"Tarantulas," Myst affirmed. "I can tell you one thing. Rampage and Tarantulas working together is a very unlikely possibility."
"But a possibility nonetheless," Optimus said, much to her surprise. The thoughtful, serious tone of his voice spawned a small but unsettling seed of doubt inside her.
"We need to have a proper discussion about this. Perhaps later, when Myst's more willing to talk about things?" Rhinox suggested, casting a glance at the cheerless femmebot to his left.
"We'll talk this afternoon," Optimus decided, aiming the statement at Myst. She turned away from him and left the room, fed up with the whole situation.
Optimus and Rhinox looked at one another with a common understanding. Cheetor merely said: "Someone's got issues."
Rampage sat on a ledge near the top of a mountain. From here he could see the volcano that held the Ark, the meandering dry path the river had left on the landscape, the forest where he had found Myst and far away on the edge of the horizon, the energon mine. Behind him was the Darkside and to his right the ocean stretched seemingly forever. Yes, from up here everything seemed clearer, simpler.
There was, however, a sense of tension and foreboding in the air. While the sky was clear directly above him, enormous storm clouds were gathering in the distance. By the end of the day, the rains would be here. Rampage delighted in storms. They were wild, unpredictable and provided excellent cover for sneaking around and stalking. They also harboured secrets. The forest came alive with shifting shadows and haunting moans and cries carried on the wind. The sea became a tumultuous, writhing liquid body which bit at the land with awesome force. He liked storms, because they represented what he felt inside.
He lay back, resting on his elbows while his legs dangled over the edge. The wind, cold and biting, rippled over his form. To him, it was the ultimate sense of freedom.
But even up here in this remote and peaceful location, he was troubled. He knew he should be feeling better after killing two bots he disliked. Megatron's death had been satisfying, but Quickstrike's had been almost annoying. He wasn't deriving the same pleasure from living up to his name as he had in the past.
Not having a clear idea where his main target was was probably a contributor to his feeling of discontentment. He felt restless and purposeless without knowing where to find the spider. But that wasn't the only thing eating away at him.
If everything went according to plan and he had his spark back in its entirety...what next? He was stranded here just as much as the Maximals were, only nobody was going to make any effort to rescue him. He had all of forever to get off this planet, but without essential equipment to sustain a Transformer for long periods of time, his body would rust away and his spark would drift endlessly, much like the bot he was spawned from. He wasn't fussy over where he ended up and who he encountered, but he did need change. He couldn't wither away in one place, he needed to travel and...exorcise his hatred for everything. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do that, but slaughtering everyone he came across seemed a logical and mildly pleasing way of going about it. But it went deeper than that. He had a deep-rooted hatred mixed with a sense of longing that drove him on, to an end he feared would never come. It was, when he thought about it, a hellish kind of existence. Immortality was a gift - oh, he'd vouch for that - but it was a terrible one.
Somehow, though, he felt that death wasn't as unobtainable as he'd been led to believe. It was partly why he'd kept Depth Charge alive. A part of him was hoping the manta would figure out a way to destroy him. Rampage wasn't sure he felt ready to die yet, but when the moment came, he wanted the option.
He sighed softly and turned his attention to the little arachnoid he was gripping in his left hand. He shifted backwards and sat up straight, turning the mini-drone in his hand thoughtfully. He'd kept it because it was the only link he had to the spider. It was broken now and sticky with the mech fluid his wet fingers had coated it with. He could smell the robotic blood strongly. He stiffened. He could also smell something else there. There was the smell of the forest, yes, but there was the faintest trace of another smell he knew all too well. He brought the arachnoid closer to his face and he noted a closed panel at its rear. He carefully pulled at the panel and it came off and something popped open and out of it. Rampage blinked at a small propeller. The familiar smell he'd picked up on was stronger now that the propeller was revealed. It was the smell of the ocean.
Rampage continued to stare at the arachnoid. Why would an arachnoid in the forest carry a propeller? Quite obviously because it had been launched from underwater.
He turned his gaze to the ocean. "Hmmm...."