Rating: M
Chapter 4: Hello
C.M.D: Titles from here on in were lost... Thankfully enough, I did have a song list for this fic and used one song as inspiration for one chapter, and thus as the title. What song... well, I didn't quite recall (and they're not in proper order on my playlist), so let's hope I remembered them all correctly.
Suggested listening: Hello- Lionel Richie
Story Episode: The key to Vector Sigma Pt 1
He couldn't get him out of his
thoughts.
“Soundwave, are you listening to
me?!”
The communications officer lifted his
helm at the call of his name, his attention spliced between his
leader and those flickering, white wings at the edge of his
peripheral. “Affirmative, Lord Megatron,” he answered quickly,
wrestling his focus forwards. Megatron stood by the head of the war
table, looking positively slagged off..... Soundwave's attention must
have been deviating a lot longer than he had anticipated, if the
tyrant was this upset with him.
“Oh really now.....,” Megatron
snarled testily. “Then, if you'd be so kind, do inform me of what
it is we are currently discussing.”
The tapedeck felt for just the briefest
moments a touch of fear. He could not recall a word the grey mech had
spoken in the last breem, and the inability to supply an answer would
lead to a quick and agonizing punishment. Soundwave did not wish for
that, nor did he feel like losing face before so many other
Decepticons. Not that he was really one to care for reputations, but
they assisted greatly in keeping the riff-raff in line. Knowing his
excusable bracket of silence was quickly closing, the blue mech
scoped the room, taking into account who was still present.
Starscream was sitting, smug at the other's impeding misfortune, to
the left of him; those wings twitching faintly and threatening to
distract Soundwave further.
He hurriedly moved on. He did not need
to have his attention wane any more, and Starscream would sense
immediately if the communications officer attempted to brush along
his processor. The coneheads were exiting the room now, their
thoughts nothing but loud exclamations concerning high-grade, wind
speeds and interfacing, and so not worth his time either. That only
left a couple of the constructicons. Mixmaster, for obvious reasons,
was out of the question, meaning Longhaul was his only chance.
Soundwave dove into the other mech's processor immediately, digging
for the information related to Megatron's earlier speech. Thankfully,
this constructicon was more focused on the role he played in this
upcoming scheme, and kept replaying the gun-former's words over and
over to himself as he set about to work.
Adequate data collected, Soundwave
turned his entire focus back to his waiting leader. “Mission:
intercept transfer of new, untested super fuel to the Autobots. Fact:
shall be leaving in half a joor to apprehend tankards. Strategy: have
Ramjet, Dirge and Thrust lead with an aerial assault, while others
gather the super fuel.”
Megatron scowled as his exact plan was
repeated back to him from the telepath's vocalizer; optics narrowing
in suspicion. But seeing no reason to fault his loyal communications
officer, the tyrant let this slip-up slide, impatient to set his
schemes into motion. “In those fools' servos,” the Decepticon
leader began to rage, “That super fuel will be either a waste, or
an overwhelming advantage. We cannot afford to have such odds against
us, so we will take the fuel and use it for ourselves! Already, the
construticons begin work on their new machine, which will allow us to
properly analyze the contents of this super fuel; mass producing it
and using it to its fullest potential. And once we have the upper
hand, the Autobots shall meet their own demise, and this mud ball of
a planet will be ours for the plundering!!”
Soundwave and the others let the tyrant
laugh maliciously as he finished his speech, understanding that such
an action was practically tradition and should not dare be
interrupted. But of course, there were always exceptions to that
rule..... “As always, glorious leader,” Starscream cut in
snidely, “But what about if we do not succeed? What happens when
the Autobots manage to thwart you again and run off with the super
fuel, hmm? Do the lackeys get beat again for such a failure, or will
the one who made the plans finally get his just rewards?”
Deathly silence filled the room at the
seeker's bold words.
Megatron growled as he landed furious,
red optics on his SIC; an ocean of hate, indignation, annoyance and
distaste flooding Soundwave's telepathic sensors. The emotions were
so strong, that the communications officer was quite certain
everybody else but Starscream could feel them. The seeker himself
though was sitting as if he didn't have a care in the universe, his
arms crossed over his cockpit defiantly, and his chin lifted in
challenge. Seeing that this impeding argument would quickly blow into
massive chaos, the tapedeck rose to his pedes, heading for the exit.
Mixmaster, Longhaul and Scavenger quickly followed. They were out of
the council room within astroseconds of Megatron roaring out his
displeasure at his air commander; the door sliding close behind them
and silencing all further sound. Not wanting to linger with the
emotionless telepath, the construticons soon made their way back to
their own hall, leaving Soundwave by himself.
Not that the communications officer
really minded. The blue mech merely raised a servo, pressing the
eject button along his shoulder plating.
“So.... super fuel, eh?,” Rumble
said, once he had unfolded and landed lightly on the floor. “Sounds
like it might be something fun. Yeah, boss?”
Soundwave nodded his helm slightly,
turning and heading to the command deck, his casseticon following
after him. More information would need to be gathered, like the exact
route the shipment of super fuel was making, for when the
Decepticon's two leading powers decided to come out from the council
room.
And then, they could make their move.
xxXxXxx
“Decepticons with vehicle modes?
Megatron's flipped his lid,” Rumble muttered under his breath
disbelievingly. Soundwave quickly prodded at his symbiont's processor
in a scolding manner. The casseticon visibly squirmed at the touch,
glancing up at the bigger Decepticon, before respectively falling
quiet.
It was a reasonable reaction though,
the telepath noted. He watched silently as the five vehicles rolled
towards them, before, at the flick of the controller in Megatron's
servo, they transformed and stood like individual Cybertronians
before them. They were lacking any actual conscience though.
Soundwave frowned, displeased by the blankness he could tangibly feel
from the new mechs' processors. He couldn't quite understand what the
tyrant had in mind for these useless drones, except that it
brightened Megatron's mood considerably. Being unable to get the
super fuel had been a blow, but the gun-former taking meaning out of
something Rumble randomly commented on was..... surprising.
It was even more of a shock when that
burst of inspiration led the Decepticon leader to create five, near
indestructible mechs that he was now dubbing the stunticons. “But,
they've got no brains!,” the casseticon said out loud, despite his
creator's warning earlier. “What good are drones on a battlefield?”
Soundwave refrained from making any
sound demonstrating his aggravation with his loose-lipped symbiont.
Hopefully, Megatron would not feel inclined to blast the small mech
into scrap metal. It seemed the communications officer's would-be
prayer had been heard. Instead of snapping as he usually did, the
tyrant merely grinned viciously, walking up to his newest army. “Of
course they do not have brains. Yet, that is easily remedied,”
Megatron explained. “We take them to Cybertron now, where Shockwave
tells me that Vector Sigma, the giver of life, still functions. We
shall find this machine and use it on our new soldiers here -and when
we return, Prime and his foolish companions will no longer conquer
the roads over us!”
The tyrant laughed in malicious
delight, and even Rumble was highly impressed by the grey mech's
nefarious plot, but Soundwave neither cared nor noticed. His gaze was
riveted to the stunticon looking back at him blankly; the dim optics
void of any real life. Being stared at by a being that could not
think nor feel yet should have been something that disturbed the
telepath, yet he glazed over that fact, almost hypnotized by the
other mech's appearance. He did not have wings, but his spoiler
almost made the same sort of shape behind him; combined with the
splashes of blue along his paintjob and the red faceplates, Soundwave
was having a difficult time not keeping his thoughts from wandering.
It had only been a week since the movie
studio incident, and yet the communications officer was hungry. He
attempted to remain focused on the tasks before him, but always
something reminded him of Tracks. A turn of phrase, a similar shade
of blue, Starscream's fluttering wings..... they drew in the
telepath's attentions, before setting him off again on a series of
simulations, all involving the Autobot at his pedes; begging, crying,
screaming for some sort of hope as he was torn apart and invaded by
the Decepticon. Soundwave desperately wished that their paths would
cross again. He wanted to play with the darkness he had inflicted on
the other mech, pick and pull at his processor as he slid back
Tracks' codpiece; sliding into that hot, tight and wet val-
“Here Soundwave.”
Megatron stood before the tapedeck, his
servo holding out the controller to the stunticons' motor functions.
Apparently, the warlord had not yet taken notice that his
third-in-command was once again absent in thought, or else he would
not appear as calm as he did now. Not wishing to incur any of the
gun-former's wrath, Soundwave quickly pushed aside his current
simulations, taking the controller from his leader. Megatron smirked
crookedly.
“Come now,” he said, leaping to the
sky. His anti-gravity boosters held him aloft in the air. “The
space bridge is ready for transport.”
The blue mech played with the
controller's dials, making the stunticons transform back to vehicle
mode again. Satisfied with that, Soundwave too joined his leader in
the air, Rumble following his actions. As they flew toward the newly
constructed space bridge, the fresh batch of Decepticons drove below
them, as per Soundwave's control.
xxXxXxx
They were leaving.
Tracks watched them from his corner of
the room, energon cube lifted to his lip components. He did not drink
from it, just kept it there, the liquid within lapping against his
upper lip component every once in a while. It was odd that Optimus
Prime would come and look for soldiers himself in the rec room
-usually, he had either Prowl or Jazz do that. But, the corvette
supposed, with both of the second and third in command out of the
Ark, that meant such tasks had be carried out by the truck
personally. And a good thing too.
Blaster was becoming too much of a
nuisance now.
Tracks kept his optics pinned on the
boombox, fingers tightening around his cube just the slightest. The
rock n' roll loving mech had yet again dragged him from his
pleasurable solitude and had forced him to come to the rec room. The
corvette was neither hungry nor in the mood for games when Blaster
had decided to intervene. In fact, the only thing Tracks wanted to do
was tuck himself away again, in a dark, dank place where no one would
find him, not even the amazing Hound. Which was why the winged
Autobot was ever so thankful that Optimus had entered when he did,
pulling Blaster to the side. The communications officer kept shooting
intermittent glances back at Tracks, all of which, the blue mech
quickly avoided when he caught them happening.
He didn't want to lead the boombox into
believing he actually cared for his company right now.
Their leader's chat seemed to be
drawing to a close though. Blaster nodded his helm, ending with a
“Yes, sir” before he was heading toward the corvette again.
“I'm sorry, brother,” Blaster
sighed, shoulders heavy with his disappointment. “Prime needs a
mech with the tunes, to deal with some Deceptigoons. We're soaring in
just a few kliks..... not quite sure when we'll be back planet-side.”
It looked like the communications
officer was expecting some sort of response. “....I see.....,”
Tracks mumbled slowly, lowering his cube just the slightest.
“Yeah, mech.” Blaster cycled
another weary intake, before smiling forcibly at the corvette. “But,
I promise to make it up to you when we get back. We'll kick it, real
style, yeah?”
No, he wanted to snarl. Instead, the
winged mech plastered a neutral smile on his face; his empty gaze
pinning the boombox down. “Of course,” was his reply. The words
seemed enough to make the red Autobot brighten once more.
“Alright! Well, I'll check ya later,
brother!,” Blaster chirped, spinning around and hurrying for the
rec room door. He waved merrily to Bluestreak who was just walking in
at the moment, before his frame disappeared around the corner and out
of sight.
Good riddance, the other voice
whispered darkly within him. Tracks on the outside did not change his
expression; lifting his cube to his mouth again and looking about the
rec room. His cold gaze fixed itself on Bluestreak's oddly subdued
form, molesting the lowered doorwings and anxious, flitting optics.
Contemplation had the corvette cocking his helm to the side as he
continued his study; decision forcing him from his seat as he saw the
talkative Datsun take his own seat across the room -well away from
the others.
He was barely noticed as he sidled up
to the gunner.
“You seem down, love,” Tracks said,
slipping easily into the open seat next to Bluestreak.
The grey mech started at the statement,
turning his distracted optics to the corvette. “U-ummm..... y-well,
no, n-not really,” Bluestreak mumbled softly. “I-i-i mean, i-it's
nothing im-important o-or any-”
The winged Autobot rested a servo on
top of the Datsun's clasped servos, cutting the other mech off from
his painfully forced excuses. “It's alright,” Tracks cooed,
inching closer. He let his thumb brush the other's servos, as he
leaned in to the stuttering gunner. “I understand. You don't have
to say anything.”
Bluestreak tried to speak, but his
vocalizer quit on him soon after. He turned his helm away, staring at
the table top. Scheming processor at work, Tracks chose this moment
to pull away. The action did as he predicted: drew the Datsun's
attention, forcing Bluestreak to look up at him again. The
desperateness the blue mech had seen earlier was tenfold that now. He
would have smirked, if it would not be detrimental to his plan.
“W-wait! D-do you th-think,
maybe.....,” Bluestreak mumbled, his optics rising and falling in a
continuous, nervous fashion. “C-could we, po-possibly....?”
The madness returned to his optics, a
predatory smirk coming to the corvette's lip components. “If you'd
like, love,” he whispered in offer, crooking his finger for the
gunner to follow. Bluestreak hesitated only a moment, glancing
quickly at his oblivious comrades, before getting up and hurrying
after Tracks.
xxXxXxx
Cybertron looked almost the same as
they had left it eons ago.
Soundwave marched through the rusting,
broken city of Iacon -once before the great strong-hold of the
Autobot forces. Now, Shockwave ruled over it as his main base of
operations; sentinel drones moving through the rubble-strewn streets
in heavy patrols. The guardian had given them the coordinates to
Vector Sigma, and after retrieving the key necessary from Alpha
Trion, they were now heading for the lower levels of Cybertron and to
the super computer below.
But Soundwave could not keep his
thoughts from wandering.
Too many of the sights around him,
though damaged and decaying, were familiar and they stirred a strange
sense of nostalgia within the communications officer. He recalled all
too well what these streets used to look like before war consumed the
planet, and the last of their kind were pitted against each other
from opposite sides. He had first been a spy within this city, before
Decepticon forces had thrown it into chaos. Soundwave remembered.....
.....the streets were shining and
glittering. 'Bots, of all colour and model walked back and forth on
the polished sidewalk; some occupying the road as they drove massive
loads between various locations. Sparklings, young and care-free, ran
around and through their creators' legs, laughing merrily in their
joy. Even the older mechs and femmes were enjoying themselves;
basking in the warm sunlight of the orn. He watched them, analyzing
everything they did; scoffing at their disdain. How foolish of them
to continue like this, as if the threat of Megatron's rise to power
was something that did not affect them.
Soon, they would no longer be
laughing, but scrambling in terror as Decepticons swept through the
city, causing destruction as they went. Their overtly decorative
buildings and extravagant lifestyles would spell the end of them, and
Cybertron would come under a new rule when-
“Woah!” Rumble jumped to the side
as part of a structure crumbled, raining down on the casseticon's
helm. Narrowly avoiding the rubble, the blue symbiont turned to the
larger mechs, grinning sheepishly as he realized that he had drawn
their attention.
“Be careful, idiot,” Megatron
growled, turning around and continuing his march forwards. “I will
not waste time clearing away buildings if you topple them on
yourself.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the casseticon
stuttered meekly. He caught the disapproving look Soundwave sent him,
and hurried to catch up with the gun-former. Annoyed that he had been
interrupted from his memories, the communications officer continued
after the other two, commanding the mindless stunticons to trail
after him.
Rounding the corner, the blue
Decepticon fell once more into the world of the old Iacon, as he once
remembered it, glowing brightly under the rays of a brilliant star
while.....
.....while he roamed between the
ignorant Cybertronians, none of them noticing as he dipped into their
processors, pulling out secrets and half-truths welded there. It was
all useless information, and he quickly tossed it aside, not caring
for these fools' every day life activities. A youngling, laughing
obnoxiously with his friends, tore through the crowd. He tripped
though as he was spinning around an elderly couple just before
himself; the youngling falling smack into his side plating.
He scowled as slight pain resounded
off of his sensory net, no doubt a scratch being left behind from the
younger mech's careless running. The pulses of fear and embarrassment
annoyed him as they echoed within his helm, making him want to tear
the youngling's chassis to pieces. He simply did not have the
patience to deal with these reckless sparklings. They'd all be
offline soon anyways. With all of his restraint, he pushed the
youngling off of him, ignoring the stuttered apologies as he
continued on into the crowd.
He slipped into his facade of
disinterest as he wandered further along the street, before a flash
of white caught his optics among the swell of silver, blues, and
greens. Turning, he saw-
Megatron stopped at the head of the
group, looking about. As if coming to sudden realization, the tyrant
walked to the right, pushing aside a mass of bent plating and melted
wiring. The screech that followed was extremely painful to the audio
receptors, and Soundwave had a hard time not simply clapping a servo
over them like Rumble did. Grunting, Megatron pushed the debris well
enough away, revealing the maintenance shaft that had been beneath
it.
“Shockwave's coordinates lead down
here,” the grey mech announced. “It is not much further to Vector
Sigma.”
The communications officer turned his
helm to the side, increasing his sensors proximity parameters and
scanning the nearby ruins. His gaze shifted from each rusted,
skeletal structure, until he rested his optics on one building that
struck a sense of deja vu within him. He looked closer, almost able
to see the faint strips of paint that-
.....were like candy stripes around
the frame of the doors and windows. They blended in with the metallic
vines and pods that were set in pots before the quaint shop; their
steel leaves and stems shimmering in glittering gradients of violet,
pinks and orange. A sign above the door was written in elegant
glyphs, announcing that the store was of custom-made frame
alterations and decals. In the window, was a display of unique and
beautiful emblems, crafted from various colours of crystal -a popular
fashion statement as of the moment.
But that's not what had garnered his
attention.
No, it was the mech that stood in
the doorway of the shop, happily conversing with another 'bot, that
had his full attention. This unknown 'bot was a myriad of colours:
blue chassis, black forearms and thighs, red faceplates, and white
helm. But his most extraordinary feature was the white wings that
fluttered once in a while behind him.
He slowed down some, staring
unabashedly at the winged mech. How very odd, he thought to himself.
He had never seen a 'bot with wings, who wasn't a Vosian. The seekers
under Megatron's rule, were very proud creatures; they were
especially vain about their wings and viewed anyone who couldn't fly
as inferior. But others outside of the Vosian culture viewed their
flying cousins as the distasteful ones, and cared nothing for the
wings and turbines the other Cybertronians boasted. Which is why he
was so surprised to see a mech outside the prestigious model-type
bearing his own set of wings.
The unknown 'bot looked proud of
them as well. He did not mind a few of the nasty glances cast his
way, instead, tossing his helm back and fluttering his wings in the
bright, warm sunlight with dignity. His lip components mouthed
something, before kindly beckoning to the customer to come indoors.
The both of them disappeared within the shop.
He could not tear his optics away
from the little store, even after the winged mech had been gone from
the doorway for about a klik. A fleeting idea, to reach out and peek
into the thoughts of that stranger, passed through his processor. But
he eventually shook it aside, knowing that there was too much
interference within the crowd for him to get a proper reading anyhow.
Unconcerned about the oddly built
'bot any longer, he turned, walking back through the streets of
Iacon.
Soundwave pulled away from his
thoughts, feeling strangely lopsided from the memories. He had always
thought that Tracks looked familiar..... how odd, that he had seen
the Autobot so long ago, but had not realized until now. Obviously,
the corvette had upgraded his frame some as war spread through the
whole of Cybetron; replacing flimsy, decorative alloy for heavy
battle armour.
The Decepticon couldn't help but think
that Tracks was beautiful all the same, no matter what his plating.
He could feel his lust stirring,
reminded of the multi-coloured mech. Oh, how he hungered for him,
even now. He couldn't wait until they returned to Earth; the
communications officer was going to track the Autobot down as soon as
they got back, and get them alone together for a proper reunion. The
very thought had his systems purring in wicked delight, and he
dutifully ignored Rumble's curious look at the miniscule sound.
Turning away from the ruins, and the
haunting images they provided, Soundwave controlled the stunticon
drones to follow Megatron down the maintenance shaft, before jumping
down himself.
xxXxXxx
Twin voices cried out as they
overloaded; Tracks trembling as he attempted to support himself above
the gasping Bluestreak. The poor Datsun's optics were dim, his
coolings fans whirring quickly as they attempted to bring his systems
back to stability. He tried to focus on the corvette above him, but
the effort was too much for his spent frame, and Bluestreak tiredly
mumbled something; pulling Tracks down and sloppily kissing him
before he slipped off into recharge. He never noticed the stiffness
that took over the other's chassis, or the sneer that soon showed
itself on the multi-coloured Autobot's faceplates.
Unwinding his partner's arms from
around his neck cables, Tracks pulled away, groaning a little as his
spike slid out from the gunner's tight valve, warm fluids trickling
out at his exit. His sensory net still hummed from the pleasant
activities him and Bluestreak had just participated in, his processor
for once a calm plane of empty thought. The corvette sat on the edge
of the berth, tucking himself away and wiping any extra lubricant off
of his pelvic plating. It had been pleasant, their past few cycles
together, but his serenity was quickly leaving again.
He needed something more..... something
hard and fast and painfully good.
Anything to chase the stirring shadows
within his helm away again, for a few more joors.
Tracks looked back at the unconscious
Bluestreak, slowly lifting a servo to his lip components. He knew the
gunner was desperate, but he had not counted on being kissed.
Snorting, the winged mech quickly rose, leaving the room.
xxXxXxx
The golden orb that was Vector Sigma
lowered to the floor, still shining like a young star. In the deep,
void tone that it spoke with, it announced, “Personality
programming completed,” its light flashing in time with each
uttered syllable. As one, the newly conscious stunticons turned to
the approaching tyrant; their processors a well of unrestrained and
indecipherable thought.
“I am Megatron, your leader,”
Megatron proclaimed, standing before his soldiers. “Declare
yourselves to me.”
Optics and visors flashed as their
rampant thoughts began to settle, becoming clear and precise tangents
instead of just white noise. Falling into a pose each unique to them,
the stunticons heeded to their master's command. Soundwave watched as
one by one, these young Decepticons spoke in turns, naming themselves
and giving their own pledge of loyalty. The tapedeck himself did not
care for the words they said.... he was more focused on scanning
their helms, making sense of their rapid thoughts. He heard nothing
traitorous there. Vector Sigma had done well in his deed, having made
the stunticons completely obedient to Megatron.
“I...... I'm Breakdown.”
The hesitant speaker though caught his
attention, and for once, the communications officer decided to pay
attention to the mech talking. Somehow, he wasn't that surprised to
see it was the white one with the red faceplates. 'Breakdown', as he
called himself, quickly glanced at Soundwave, before anxiously
turning his attention back towards Megatron. A spike of fear,
confusion and.... something else, not quite definable, brushed
against Soundwave's sensors.
“I'll obey too,” the lamborghini
finished lamely, hurrying to step out of the spotlight, and allow his
other brothers to announce themselves.
The tapedeck discreetly kept his
attentions on the odd stunticon, catching the quick, nervous glances
being shot his way continuously.
xxXxXxx
“Primus..... you're such a greedy
little whore.”
The servos at his helm pulled him
further down, forcing his mouth open wider; making him swallow down
more of the spike filling his mouth. He choked a little at first,
before his throat cables relaxed some, and his partner groaned
wantonly at the tightness. Another mech, just behind him, grunted as
he set into a heavy rhythm; pounding into the submissive 'bot's eager
valve.
“Frag, yeah.... Ooh, suck me some
more.”
He obliged, rolling his glossa as best
as he could about the rigid length down his throat. Another, long,
pleased moan met his actions.
“Oh, for the love of Cybertron....
Look at how he takes it! Have you ever seen anybody bend over like
that for so much.” The voice was thick and staticky, filled with
hungry awe. It was obvious he wanted in on the action.
“Stupid......
fragging.....traitor..... would take it....... for..... nngh..... a
Decepticon!”
The sudden change of pace hit all his
sensor nodes right, making him lose focus on the spike he was
currently eating; moaning about its width delightfully. The servos
about his helm pushed him down further, grabbing his chevron roughly
and demanding that he continue. He did so willingly, not wanting
either to stop. The sounds of interfacing filled his audios, creating
a symphony of wet, clanging squelches, wrapped in a cocoon of
expelled, tangy transfluids and spoiling high-grade, that tickled the
olfactory sensors in a most displeasing fashion. Not that he
cared.... as long as he was being stuffed this deliciously.
Laughter circled the room at his one
partner's words, before it dulled down into idle chatter again;
almost unnoticed through the dark and interfacing.
xxXxXxx
He was annoyed.....
“Soundwave, what news of the items?”
The communications officer turned to Megatron, acknowledging the
question, before facing his monitor again. His fingers tapped away at
the keys, bringing up the documents he had just been viewing before.
“Status: Ruby en route to museum.
Fact: should arrive later this week, in time for display on the
seventeenth,” the tapedeck answered.
“Good,” the warlord grinned. “Keep
lazerbeak posted, and notify me immediately of any changes.” That
said, the gun-former turned and left Soundwave to himself; his
thoughts whispering something about paying someone a 'visit'.
Soundwave didn't really care to know
just who that somebody was.
Waiting until his sensors deemed it all
clear, the telepath quickly tapped into his private link with Ratbat.
'Order: report status.'
The bat-like casseticon signalled back
his position, sending a wave length of silent codes stating his
emotional, mental and physical stats. Soundwave listened to the
whispered message, making note of it at the back of his processor.
'Inquiry: and Tracks?'
The symbiont lapsed into a small quiet
reprieve, before again reporting. All was quiet on his end, he
announced. The Autobot had done nothing out of the norm that he could
see of. Unless called for missions, Tracks was keeping to himself or
otherwise holing up in dark places away from the rest of the crew. It
seemed no one was aware of his deteriorating mental state still.
That sounded promising.
The communications officer leaned back
in his seat, blocking the transmission with Ratbat for a moment while
he mulled over some things. He was interrupted though, by the
casseticon's increased pestering. With an unheard snarl, Soundwave
allowed the connection through; processor pressing heavily on the
little mech's thoughts. It was almost as if he was snappishly saying
'What?!', to which Ratbat squeaked and trembled, sending waves
of fear and apology back to his master.
Hungry and tired, were the next
messages to come through, once the symbiont had guessed that the
telepath had calmed down some again; then a request to return home.
The plea increased Soundwave's sour
mood, and he was tempted to say no to his creation just out of spite.
But Ratbat's dropping energon levels would mean a lack of focus,
which, with the ditzy casseticon, could mean an easy capture. The
blue mech could not afford to lose one of his symbionts to the
Autobots, even if they were somewhat inferior to the others.
Especially not if Blaster was there as well, and could extract all of
Ratbat's secrets out of the little mech, ruining everything for
Soundwave.
'Request: granted,' the
communications officer grudgingly replied. 'Goal: remain in
stealth-mode, until having returned to my quarters.'
Ratbat's relief was overwhelming.
Soundwave cut the connection, attempting to reign in his chaotic
emotions. It had been weeks since the return to Earth from Cybertron.
Getting the stunticons was a victory in itself, but to the tapedeck,
who found himself lost in a world of memories from the time when
Iacon still shone as a beacon of hope for the people, it was a
bittersweet triumph. All he hungered for now, was Tracks. His need,
his desires, ran wildly through him; wishing to be buried deep within
that lovely valve, seeing those beautiful faceplates twisted in pain
and misery. If he had only noticed the Autobot sooner, taken action
to grab the winged mech when he first saw him back in Iacon -Tracks
could be in his very quarters this instant, either an allied soldier
of the Decepticons, or otherwise his own, personal pet! Both ideas
were promising, just as long as it meant the corvette was his to do
with as he pleased.
Truly, the communications officer
thought to himself, he was obsessed.
And all be damned to the Pit if he was
about to let Tracks go now.
The sudden encroaching thoughts had
Soundwave tensing in his seat, lifting his servos to the console as a
cover for his lacking attentions. Inclining his helm slightly to the
doorway, the blue mech glanced behind him, watching as Breakdown
tittered into the room. The stunticon looked up from his pedes, but
noticing the tapedeck's gaze, quickly skittered around the edge of
the room, his backstruts to the other Decepticon. Scanning the
lamborghini's processor -who was still young enough and was not fully
aware of the communications officer's abilities yet- Soundwave found
that Breakdown had no real reason to be here. The anxious mech was
deliberating something fierce within himself, walking from point to
random point within the monitor room.
Tired, of both the lack of progress
with Tracks and the pointless duties forced upon him, Soundwave
decided to just let the lamborghini do whatever the slag he wished;
turning his full focus back to his monitor and blocking out the weak,
nervous thoughts being sent out by the other.
Whatever he had been expecting
Breakdown to do, it did not include coming up behind him several
kliks later and clapping his servos over the communications officer's
visor. Soundwave barely had time to get furious with the personal
contact, before he was being turned around in his seat. He caught a
glimpse of red cheekplates closing in from the bottom edge of his
visor, before trembling lip components were pressed timidly against
his battle mask. The effect was instantaneous. Soundwave grasped the
other mech, pulling him up into his lap and caging the other there,
while his servos hurried to molest white wings.
It was in the next astrosecond that the
tapedeck realized just who he was holding, when his servos did not
come across wings, but a spoiler instead.
Furious, he ripped his helm away from
Breakdown's servos, glaring at the lamborghini. Breakdown squirmed in
his lap, letting his servos rest on his trembling thighs. “Forgive
me..... I understand if you do not care for me, since I am so young
and boring this hideous model-type,” the stunticon started softly.
“B-but I...... I-i confess, I am-”
Soundwave's servos tightened around the
other Decepticon's spoiler, making Breakdown wince slightly.
Anxiously, the lamborghini leaned forward, pecking the tapedeck once
more. “P-please.....,” he stuttered, red optics peering into
Soundwave's visor imploringly. “I-i'll do whatever you'd like......
j-just one frag, that's all I ask.”
He wanted to say 'no'. The
communications officer wanted to shove the audacious stunticon to the
floor, before promptly tearing into Breakdown's helm and making the
young Decepticon pay for his trickery. But the charge was building up
in his systems so intensely now, and he couldn't just brush it aside.
It would no doubt distract him for the rest of his shift and well
into the night; his casseticons would more than like comment on it as
well. It had been so long since he last had to deal with a charge,
especially on his own. Interfacing could easily take care of that,
but the tapedeck was not one to simply give in and do so. He had not
done so since joining Megatron's forces actually..... Stirring up war
had been a duty that took up all of his free time, besides, there was
no one Soundwave would willingly frag here on the Nemesis. All the
Decepticons were either idiots or sneaky backstabbers. Not worth his
time and energy.
Though Breakdown irritated him, the
proposition he offered was.... tempting.
Soundwave weighed the options available
to him, his gaze relentless as he studied the increasingly panicked
stunticon.
If he manipulated his visual input,
changed the saturation of the pixels slightly.....
“Status: monitor duty almost
finished. Order: come to quarters in approximately twelve breems.
Administer stealth.”
Breakdown's nervous shifting stopped
altogether. His red optics flared at the the communications officer's
words, mouth slightly agape in shock. Lip components quirking a
little in incredulous delight, the lamborghini hurriedly pressed
forwards again, dropping one last kiss on the other mech's battle
mask before sliding off of Soundwave's lap. “Yes, of course,” the
stunticon babbled. “I will do as you say.”
Breakdown hurried from the room, his
helm turned down and his optics to the floor again as he went.
Soundwave did not bother to watch the
white mech go, already given a detailed narrative from the
lamborghini's over-bearing thoughts. Quietly, the tapedeck turned his
chair back to the monitors, hardly giving any of the screens actual
attention. Judging by Breakdown's eagerness, it seemed likely that
the stunticon would forgo the time limit set by the communications
officer and come a couple breems earlier. That would be fine though.
Soundwave's shift ended in six more breems, giving him plenty of time
to return to his quarters and prepare for Breakdown's arrival.
He'd even be able to intercept Ratbat
before the other mech showed up, sending out Buzzsaw in the other
symbiont's place.
Content for the moment in his
decisions, Soundwave finally turned his entire focus to the console.
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