- Runner-up for "Most Thought-Provoking" 2005

Rain

By: Landray Depth Charge

Author notes: The character Hazzard belongs to Grimloq, and but the only thing I own is the plot. This is spawned by an RP between Grimmy and myself, in which the events prior to this fic happened. I hope you like it.

The red-eyed apparition let his head bow in exhaustion as his opponent was finally felled. Silver hands loosened their grip and the powerful launcher tumbled out of his grasp, hitting the ground, disheveling the dirt and crushing the grass, condemning the green living to die, just as the owner of the weapon was. Depth Charge groaned and forced his servos to function, lifting his head to gaze first upon the still, stasis-locked form of Hazzard, then up at the baleful skies. Torn body shook terribly; fins vibrated, hands no longer steady, malfunctioned tail section twitching in a seizure-like dance. So this was how it was to be?

Hazzard, Predacon vulture, had happened upon him immediately following a brutal fight with Rampage, during which Depth Charge’s only excuse to being alive was Megatron’s ‘persuading’ X that he had toyed with the manta enough, and it was time to come in to base. The killer crab had no choice but to comply – he could only take so much spark squeezing in one day. Much to the ray-bot’s chagrin, his ultimate nemesis had resolutely beaten him, actually, had not only defeated him, but had pounded Depth Charge to a pulp, chewed on him, and then spat him out. It had been that one-sided.

As if that hadn’t been unfortunate enough, while attempting to squelch a rather severe mech-fluid bleed from the manta’s inner thigh, Depth Charge was attacked for a second time. Capitalizing on the damage inflicted by his less then sane teammate, Hazzard unsheathed dual electro-axes and began making short work of the ray. Nigh-crippled, already in danger of bleeding to death, and severe injuries all added up against Depth Charge, and in the end, it showed.

Moaning softly in agony and despair, for he knew that he was to die despite his efforts, the forlorn manta looked over his torn, chopped, and sliced chassis. Mech-fluid poured like blood-rain from a dozen severe wounds, ranging from a near-removed right arm to a deep vertical hack-slice to his groin. The bird fought dirty, that much he knew.

Silver blood suddenly gushed from his torn chest cannon, where Hazzard’s axe had been plunged in the Predacon’s effort to fell him, and Depth Charge cried out, gripping his chest with weakening hands. The mech’s fluids spilled between his tarnished dactyls, and finally, the manta could remain upright no more.

The night sky began to roar as the storm gathered its fury, wind whipping through the trees, ripping leaves from their life giving stems to send them reeling about in the air with no choice as to where they were going. One such leaf floated down as the great gust of tempest breeze died down, alighting gently on a heaving hunk of stained silver. It lay upon Depth Charge’s dying chest as he rested, gasping for air, prone on the ground after his leg-strength had at last left him. Pain-washed moans escaped the Maximal’s vocabulator, and there he despaired his life. During the fight with Hazzard, Depth Charge had fought back with his animalistic instinct alone. Logic had very little place in his mad scramble to survive, and without logic, the manta had resorted to using his hands and limbs, attempting to throttle the Predacon, backhanding, punching, kicking, doing anything and everything in his power that instinct dictated should have worked. And still…it hadn’t worked.

But he was to die; there was no doubting that fact. Depth Charge was bleeding to death, all alone as a terrible gale stirred up the nighttime sky like soup. Sounds suddenly abated, moans and cries of anguish and despondency ceasing to stem from the slowly terminating transformer. The manta rays pain was subsiding as well as his sensors began to fail him, accompanied by his remaining functional systems. At least Depth Charge would be spared the sufferance of a torturous demise.

Relieved of the white hot spikes of pain, the silver-stained Maximal stared up at the twisting blackness, watching the clouds roiling, and thought about what the ocean would have looked like if he was there. He surmised it would look much like the sky did: swirling and boiling in the God’s righteous rage as They prepared to smelt those unworthy of Their love. With that thought came the question: was he worthy of Their love?

Would Primus accept him?

Bringing to bear his last resources of energy and strength, calling upon his very will, Depth Charge lifted his nearly severed arm and brought his comm.-link to activation. A fool he was not, he wasn’t planning on trying to call for help. That would have been pointless to the extreme. But...if he could at all endeavor to avoid it, he at least did not want to die alone and unknown.

The transmission received by Rattrap back at the Ark had been short and sweet, a simple utterance of two singular words: Alone, sorry. With those two weak and ragged expressions, Depth Charge told the rat-bot that he was alone, dying, and that he was sorry. For what, Rattrap could only guess. Optimus Primal departed with a heavy heart after receiving word on the feeble transmission, understanding fully what he was going to see. The way the rat described it, it sounded like Dinobot when he’d spoken his last words.

Fighting the storm, the Maximal commander bravely tracked the ray’s signature, watching with horror, as it grew fainter and fainter with every passing cycle. Finally the maelstrom shattered, breaking the sky open, and rain poured down in heavy, blinding sheets, but still Primal did not give up. And when he at long last reached his comrade’s position, what the ape suspected turned out to be fact.

Depth Charge had managed to turn onto his side and lay that way, optics wide, mouthpiece stretched in what would have been a desperate gape in a being with a mouth as he gasped and panted erratically. But, relief etched itself onto his emotionless face as he registered the presence of another. Optimus said no words, as there was no point in insulting the silent warrior with a long spiel about how great he had been. Depth Charge had not been great. He had not done great things in his lifetime, and the commander refused to slander the manta by attempting to bring out the good in everything Depth Charge had achieved. Instead, as the rain-washed the mech-fluid draining from a baker’s dozen of wounds, Primal reached under and lifted the manta’s head, not saying a word, not applying any undue or unnecessary touching, he was simply there. Depth Charge relaxed his optics and his dying body, appreciating it for its gruesome significance. The unconscious form of Hazzard was forgotten to the Maximals and to the raging tempest.

Depth Charge’s spark began to flicker and a-flutter, and he grimaced as his fluid pump failed after working so hard for so long. The manta drew in a ragged breath and sighed softly, optics dimming to black against the orange backdrop of Primal’s hands as he accepted and embraced the thought of his death. Depth Charge breathed no more after that, and a spark died in the company and comfort of a comrade, in the middle of a raging maelstrom.

…And Primus accepted him, after all.