Conception of Innocence
From Axalon RPG
Contents |
The Motel
A single window shed dim streetlight into the darkened room. The silloutte of a fembot was hurled in front of the window's frame. She slammed against the wall, and cried out. The entire room smelled of spilled liquor. The clean up crew for this third rate Cybertronian motel were going to have their hands full in the morning.
The fembot's assailant stalked across the window frame. She, too, was female. She became visible as more than a silloutte for a moment, when her body lit up in soft glowing yellow linear patterns that detailed her thin, curvacious and powerful body. Lightspeed, flickering in anger as her victim stumbled drunkenly to her feet. Lightspeed swung at her immediately.
On the bed sat Lightspeed's helplessly drunk husband, Prism. He had the body and the attitude of the pro wrestler that everyone loves to hate, but unlike the pro wrestler, he could fight for real-- except for now, when he was blasted six ways from Sunday and could barely stand up. The first thing Lightspeed had done when she broke into the room was force an entire bottle of vodka down his already drunk throat, so that probably had something to do with it. "Come on," he pleaded, "'snot her fault she couldnt resist the Prismatic One."
Lightspeed was unswayed. "Well why couldn't YOU resist HER?" she punched the young tiger Maximal for emphasis, but surprisingly, the girl blocked it. That only earned her a spiked knee to the stomach, but apparently this one had some skill. Too bad she was too far gone to use it.
"Baby," Prism slurred. In no sober state would he call his wife baby. "We've been hiding in holes for months. I had to get out for some fun."
"Having FUN?" Lightspeed snapped back, "I can't believe you. NOW of all times! What if she had been a SPY?" The beaten fembot felt panic creeping in at Lightspeed's continued use of the past tense in regards to her. She had been warned about Prism's wife, but didn't expect this.
"Shpy? Look, you paranoid bitch.." Prism got up and tried to grab his wife as he spoke, but he was roughly shoved back down on the bed. The tiger femme, taking advantage of the distraction, spin-kicked Lightspeed in the shoulder and then broke for the window. Lightspeed caught her by the arm, though, and spun the smaller femme around and slammed her back into the wall.
"Did you see that move?!" Lightspeed yelled, "You know what that move is? M-S-fucking-P!"
"You shink she's a shlug?" a baffled Prism said. He hadn't actually seen the move. 'Slug' and 'MSP' referred to the Maximal Secret Police, the rough counterpart of Lightspeed's former employer and sometime source of a freelance job, the Predacon Secret Police. The MSP was focused more on external security, and the PSP more on internal affairs and intelligence, but that's a matter for another dissertation. More relevant was the fact that the MSP was the organization that had been chasing after Lightspeed and Prism for some twenty stellar cycles.
Lightspeed ignored her husband. She had the femme pinned by the throat now. She'd drawn one of her daggers. "Who are you working for?!"
"Wha- no- I-" the femmebot stammered. She was stunned. She shouldn't have been in this position. She'd only had three drinks or so for real, the rest she'd shunted off to an internal holding container. She'd only been acting drunk, or so she thought, but now her reflexes were slow, her balance was off, and the room was spinning. Had the horndog firefly on the bed slipped something in her drink? Or had..
"WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR? Hmm? Who is it? Jungle?"
Involuntarily, the femmebot's optics widened at the name. She was not, in fact, working for Jungle, but the name..
Lightspeed punched, and Prism cringed at the sound. There was literally a fist-shaped dent in the tiger Maximal's face. The name had sealed her fate. She would be lucky to be a fading disembodied spark by morning. Exactly as her superiors intended.
Flashback
"Well, I won't lie to you. I'll give you an exact measurement. It's-" Prismstopped short. The two sexy femmes- one on either side of him, looked expectantly at him. Rather than finish his sentence, Prism slowly put down his mug, visor narrowing. The femmes then saw the blade at his throat, and wisely made a quick exit.
The owner of the blade stood stiff - ridged - not prepared for a fight, Prism could tell from the shadow cast over the table. The blade arced back - the attacker was preparing to make this fast and final.
Prism planted his feet on the table legs and shoved- his chair slid backwards and smashed into the would-be assassin. Prism hopped up and kicked behind himself, knocking the assassin back, and picked up the chair, spinning it around as he turned to get a good look at his attacker.
Fuck - the attacker inwardly cursed. His zero detection profile was now compromised. The situation was quickly breaking down into a scuffle - the one thing he so desperately wanted to avoid... because of the attention one gets from such things.
Prism is met with a operative baring panther markings. The chair on the other hand is met with air as the panther-bot managed to duck and counter with a sweeping kick move intended to take Prism's legs out from under him.
Prism deftly hopped over it, reared back, and in a move made famous by its frequent tavern use, shattered the hard wooden chair over the panther-bot's head. The panther stumbled and Prism grabbed him by the neck and hauled him forward. "Name, affiliation, and motive for futilely attempting to kill me, please," he requested with a sneer.
The response Prism gets is the operative's chest chain guns extending.
Prism smirked, even as he hip-tossed the panther-bot through the table behind them. He grabbed for the assassin among the wreckage and got a fierce kick to the jaw for his troubles. Prism adjusted his neck with a painful crack and went for the warrior anew.
Eyes narrowing to but paper thin slits, the assassin fires off a volley of projectiles.
Prism dodged a few successfully, but he was never programmed to be all that great with evasion. His torso was peppered with explosions as the solid rounds impacted him and he flew backwards, skidding along the bar. Patrons scattered and drinks shattered on the floor as Prism slid off the bar and to a heap on the floor.
In the course of things, Prism did manage to take note of the panther's Maximal emblem imbedded in his stomach region. Between him and Prism stood the bar and a couple civilians. Without hesitation, the Maximal unleashes another volley, striking the patrons who neglected to run or duck.
Prism ducked, missing the volley, and made a dive as he drew his pulse rifle. The panther felt bullets slam into his body and stumbled back - Prism hit the ground rolling, pulling down another table and hiding behind it. "So! What'd I do to earn the red-carpet treatment?" he called.
Jump jets roaring to life, the panther flipped back, taking refuge behind a table as well. Mech fluid gusted from his wounds. The Preds' profile did not indicate he had such weapons on his person. The Maximal was none too pleased... this was turning into a ranged conflict. He checked his internal clock - the mission was taking far too long. Jump jets turning online once more, the Maximal proceeds to 'hop'. Prism attempts to get a bead, but falls short. Arcing over Prism's position, the panther unleashes another barrage.
"Again with the shells,” Prism grunted. He backpedaled as the floor was impacted with shot after shot. His wings snapped out and he fluttered upwards, catching the panther with a rattling punch to the jaw. The panther was disoriented for 1/16ths of a second - more than enough time. Prism grabbed him by the chest and flapped his wings furiously downward, spiking him into the floor.
The Maximal landed dead center on the piano. A second later, its legs give out. The panther groaned. Aware of his surroundings, the Maximal rolls backwards into the kitchen. There a 'bot questions him as to what's going on and is met with a fist.
Prism didn't follow as immediately as the panther figured he would've. That was explained half a second later as a ‘flashbang’ leisurely rolled under his feet.
Recognizing the devise's composition, the black operative barely has time to shield his eyes.
The flashbang went up and bright light filled the room. The warrior retained his sight enough to recognize Prism barreling in. The firefly and panther began trading punches.
The Maximal slams the refrigerator door into Prism's head, then activating his jump jets, he propels Prism into the stove. The pair were now wrestling to keep the panther's arm sword away from the Predacon's spark casing.
Prism wrapped his hands around the panther's, shoving his sword back and booting him in the stomach. The firefly drew his pulse rifle and the panther heard the click of its grenade launcher being activated.
Tilting his head to the right, the projectile barely - BARELY - avoids the Maximal... however something else is struck... gas tanks...
Prism's visor widened and he quickly shouldered his pulse rifle. "We're gonna have to cut this short. See you next time," he said, pointing at the panther, as if marking him, and made a quick exit.
KA-BOOM.
When the dust finally settles, most of the structure has been transformed into a pile of smoldering flames.
Prism hovered above in beast mode, observing the ruins with multifaceted eyes. It seemed the assassin had perished.
Assuming he hadn't gotten out in time, Prism flew away.
END FLASHBACK.
Focusing on Jungle, he rubs the portion of his chest that Prism's plasma rounds had struck that night so long ago as the memories fade back into his mind…
…pulling back, our focus is now on Prism lying awake in bed, who moves his fingers along his plating, pressing them against the very spots Jungle’s slugs had struck, mind having recalled those very same events. Draped over him, contented and asleep is Lightspeed, and sitting by the bed is a mess of disembodied robot parts and mechfluid that she was going to make him clean up in the morning.
The Kids
bolts47: yeh I'm a regular james fraggin bond.
6eyesX8: A what? You're not going all Earth referencing on me again, are you?
bolts47: hey its not my fault us robots are too busy fighting each other to make a decent action movie.
6eyesX8: Action movie? You disappoint me. Don't tell me you're a connosuer of tripe.
bolts47: tripe? TRIPE?! Them's fightin' words!
6eyesX8: Oh come on, it's always the same thing. Charasmatic hardcase saves the world while spouting one liners. Sometimes they'll throw in a twist a make it a woman, even!
bolts47: obviously you haven't been watching the right action movies.
6eyesX8: Just looked up this "James Bond". Ok, so he's suave instead being a hardcase. Big difference.
bolts47: not suave, Mr. Suave. anyway I never said it was original, just good and cool as shit.
6eyesX8: Alright, give me original then.
bolts47: well lessee.. oh, i know one, but it's banned.
6eyesX8: Ohh, scandalous. Let me guess, from the Quitesson Oligarchy?
bolts47: nope, carbation. got lumped in under anti-TF propoganda in the peace deal.
bolts47: total BS. If any of those dimwads actually watched the movie, they'd see its one of the most brutally honest antiwar films ever made. It makes us look bad, sure, but it doesnt make them look any better.
6eyesX8: Wait a cycle, you don't mean The Expanse?!
bolts47: heard of it?
6eyesX8: I've been trying to find it for months! You've seen it?
bolts47: aha, now her true colors show. iv got it on my hd.
6eyesX8: Really? No way.
bolts47: way. told you i had access to cool stuff in this job. u want it?
6eyesX8: Want it? Bolts, if you get me The Expanse, I will love you forever.
bolts47: ok hold on..
6eyesX8: Coolness *hug*
bolts47: mmph stop squeezing so tight
6eyesX8: You know you like it ;)
bolts47: stupid firewall, hold on..
((incoming file request from b0lts47: expanse_full_directors_cut.4dv))
((file accepted. initiating transfer...))
((TRACEROUTE INITIATED))
"Gotcha."
Emerging from her virtual immersion computer system and into her cramped and dimly lit lab, the eminently nerdy young fembot smiled. The guy probably had months of computer security training at a minimum, and all it took was a pretty face in the chatroom. He seemed like a nice guy, though. And she did want that movie. If only guys in real life would--
"Oof!" she exclaimed as a stray wire and a clumsy foot conspired to drop her ungraciously to the ground. "I really must do something about these growth spurts." She inspected herself for damage, finding nothing serious but frowning as her optics came upon her chest. "Or redirect them to someplace useful."
Sighing verbally, she opened a silent radio connection to her siblings. //Optica to all hands. Who wants some bonus pay?//
Flashbang, her eldest brother, who'd earned the nickname 'Bond', respnded first. //What've you got?//
//Location on a Maximal intel team. In town.//
//Guess it's our lucky day.//
//We don't have that kind of luck// Spectra, second oldest of the group cut in.
Nucleos, family engineer-by-default was next //Well you don't think it's coincidence, do you?//
//You think they're assigned to us?// Flashbang asked.
//Unknown// replied Optica //I was able to infer that it is a small mission monitor and dispatch unit, but little else.//
//That's all?// two young girls named Proton and Nuetron whined in unison.
//Most of my contact's boasts were uncredible. The words 'MSP chicks are sooo hot' came up with anomalous frequency, however.//
//Daamn right.// commed Strobe //I'd like to ram my rod up some of that fine ass combat trained pussy.//
//EWW!!// Proton and Neutron squealed
//You've barely got a fraggin rod, you pipsqueak// Lycra, yet another sibling, added.
//Mini-Slut's callin' the Strobemeister black? Strobey don't play that! Aww!//
//..Do you even have any idea what you're saying?//
//Whaddat? Whaddat? Crankypants jailbait got dumped again? Aww!//
//At least I get play, you--//
//PAUSE// Now it was Meltdown, resident explosives and video game freak //When are we going to cut out of chat mode and hunt the M0blins? I got this wicked l33t BFG that I never got to use in Level 4 and it's calling my n4me.//
//Momentarily// Optica replied //First we need scouting and observation, then--//
//Hold on, who died and made you boss?// Spectra sniped. Sniping, after all, was her specialty.
//Or you?// Flashbang, the eldest and highest ranking among them said. Touche. //Now we'll.. Hold on, where are Mom and Dad?//
Nucleos didn't have to think long to come up with the answer. //Prolly shagging again. Somebody go walk in on them and tell them what's up. Glint, it's your turn, buddy.//
Glint had stayed out of the conversation, being above petty arguing for the most part and uninterested in destroying enemy covert ops teams. //Actually, brother, Proton owes me from when I covered for her. I do not like to enforce such misery, but that is the agreement we had.//
//HEY! that wasn't me! It was Neutron!//
//Was not!//
//Was too!//
//Silence// It was Blacklight. He hadn't answered before, but they knew he was there, somewhere, lurking in the shadows, contemplating his tortured existence, the cruel fate that is the life of the assasin.. or else sitting in his room surfing goth ninja porn sites. //They are not shagging but are otherwise engaged.//
//Doing what?// asked Spectra.
//...//
Spectra was less than satisfied with that answer. //OHH, dot dot dot! That explains everything! You dark warriors, you say nothing, and it says everything! It's soo sexy.//
Flashbang sounded exasperated by now. //Alright, we can do this without them. Blacklight, Lycra, get to the location and see what you can see. Do not make a move until we say so. The rest of you, kitchen.//
Flight Turbulance
Jungle sighed as he leaned back in his seat, rubbing his templates. Sitting on a second rate intergalactic transport, the dark warrior was stuck between a large rhino-bot whose superstructure was encompassing a portion of his seat and a female who hadn't ceased yakking since the voyage began… over eight mega cycles ago…
… it didn't seem to matter to her that Jungle hadn't been making any visible attempt to at least pretend to be listening for sometime now… it didn't matter or she had yet to notice… either case; it was turning out to be a longer trek then our protagonist bargained for…
The dark warrior had set out to find solitude and with that being his goal, he was certainly on the correct path to finding it… in spite of the present set back he was enduring ever so…
… the transport's destination was the outer rim of Maximal Alliance space which bordered Carbation space. Other then one colony and a military instillation, the rest of the systems were empty. The panther didn't get leave too often and given the way events had fallen of late, he needed time to think/reflect - no better place. Carbations are a species of organic humanoids that have an utter distaste for the transformer kind. The issues between the transformers and the Carbations boiled over into a full scale war two decades back, which resulted in the Carbations' empire crumbling. Their society became that of clans who travel the cosmos, taking what they need from who ever had it.
Today was no exception.
The lights flickered.
Jungle felt his frame being jostled.
Weapons fire - the cat deduced. He had felt it enough times to know what it felt like - this wasn't an instance of some mechanical failure. The transport was under attack. But by who? What? The panther-bot tensed. The transport was crowded with people - no space to maneuver - not that it mattered since the trouble was coming from the outside.
How he hated the feeling of being so helpless.
An alarm rang out. Panic followed. The lady-bot beside the dark warrior began to shake him violently. "What's going on? What do we do?" She said over and over. In fact, many were looking in his direction. No one here had ever met the cat. He wasn't exactly a public figure, either… far from it. The 'bots could just 'sense' - somehow 'tell' that J was a seasoned soldier of some type.
Jungle let loose a growl.
The area quieted.
No, it was not born from frustration or anger, rather to achieve silence was its intended purpose. "Everyone stay calm," Jungle commanded. Everyone obeyed, at least until the vessel began shaking again… a different sort of 'shake' however. Again, Jungle knew full well, what was afoot: Boarding party.
Bearing an assorted mix of automatic weaponry, a ragged Carbation band filed in. The group consisted of men, woman and children… some as young as five in Earth years… but all had their fingers on the trigger and a look to kill in their eyes.
Keeping his weapons retracted, Jungle hunched. This was no place for a fight. A stray projectile could depressurize the cabin… that had to rank among one of the least favorite ways to die…
Thus a counter engagement was going to be quite tricky. Best to have the facts straight. Numbers? Jungle counted seven in the immediate area. Two had gone ahead to the cockpit and three had remained in the rear in reserve. Objective? Supplies. The personal belongings of the passengers were being gathered, but that was all. This was not about hostages. Conclusion? Lay low, don't interfere and everything should be fine.
In life, you have to pick and choose your battles.
Unfortunately, someone elected to choose this one.
A passenger with cheetah markings trips a passing Carbation. Grabbing the Carbation's weapon on his way to the flooring, the cheetah-bot prepares to make her stand. Brave, but stupid. Unfamiliarity with the gun causes hesitation on her part. The gun looked to be 'homemade'. The other Carbations retaliate, striking her with energy discharges. She collapses, superstructure smoldering.
Another Maximal near by takes hold of the gun and fires off a couple blasts before being struck down. A young Carbation boy's eyes widen in horror as the energy discharges head for him - frozen in the moment, his training had escaped him…
Jungle pushes the boy out of the way, taking the full blunt of the blasts.
Stunned, the Carbations present all exchange glances, minds struggling to understand what had just taken place. Mech fluid pours from Jungle's torso as his eyes meet the eyes of the Carbation who appeared to be the leader.
"Pull out." She states in a cold, callus tone.
The Raid
"What are you doing?"
Recoil didn't even look away from his screen to answer. Denominator's pestering was just part of the background noise around the loft. "Surfing the web, what does it look like?"
"You've bypassed the firewall for a file transfer." The thin, unkempt ferret bot wasn't looking away from his screen either, but his attention was focused entirely on his vehicle-moded comrade across the computer room.
Not for the first time, Recoil wished he could have a computer in his own damn room. Not that it would stop Denom's constant snooping. "Yeah, sending a movie to somebody."
"I told you, that can be traced back to us."
"Pfft. It's just some girl. She's not a f***ing l33t h4X0r. Geez. And yes, it's encrypted so don't give me any crap about third parties."
"I'm shutting down the connection."
"Hey, come on man!"
"I've told you clearly and repeatedly not to bypass the firewall."
"Well if your stupid firewall actually let us do anything useful.."
"Like send movies to underage girls?"
"Or get to half the 'Net. I seriously would have had the info on those bugs like an hour ago if it weren't for all this security crap."
"Don't blame reasonable safeguards for your poor searching."
"Hey!" A lanky coyote bot walked out from the kitchen, cracking open a beer can, "How about you nerds quiet down so I can hear the doorbell?"
"Why?" asked Recoil, "Waiting for a hooker?"
"That would also be against security protocol," Denominator pointed out.
Dustbowl, the coyote, growled, "Don't I know it. They could at least assign a femme here."
Recoil grinned. "They did. You scared her away."
"Speaking of which, any word from Slick?" The dark figure by the window finally spoke. Incognito didn't converse much. Outside of the job, he kept his thoughts to himself. Although, most of them doubted an old hand like him had any thoughts outside of the job. He was the job.
"Negative," replied Denominator
"He's still radio silent," Recoil elaborated, "The kid's extra paranoid tonight."
Incognito puffed on his pipe for a moment. "He should be, if Prism is involved."
"Who?" asked Dustbowl.
"Prism, of the Lightspawn. They're a Predacon contracting family that's building quite a reputation."
Dustbowl shrugged, "Never heard of 'em."
- bzzzt*
"Sh*t, that's Lingo with the food." The coyote ran to the front door, briefly glancing at the outside monitor, and then skidding to a halt. There stood a petite little fembot. She was struggling to carry way too many bags, but the first thing you noticed was her big, busty chest, curved hips to match, and impossibly slim waist (even by Cybertronian standards) in between. The second thing you noticed was.. well, Dustbowl really hadn't gotten that far yet.
"That's not Lingo," Denominator said, seeing the same thing on his screen. His genius level intellegence made him master of the obvious.
"No sh*t. Hellooo.." Not an idiot, though, Dustbowl used the speakerphone to talk to the cute yellow delivery girl out in the hall. "We told to leave it with the guy at the entrance."
The girl seemed taken aback by the voice. Usually people responded to a doorbell by opening the door. "Um, he said to go on up, he was busy arguing with some little dude."
"F***ing landlord again. Fine, hold on." Dustbowl opened the door, but only partway. The girl smiled at the unexpectedly cute recluse.
"Let's see, vegetable chow mein, beef with broccoli, energon teriyaki, sweet and sour, ginger chicken, fried dumplings, wonton, and six screw rolls. That'll be forty-six--Oof!"
In juggling all the cartons of food, the girl's chestplate had somehow gotten loose. She struggled awkwardly to hold it on without dropping anything.
"Here, let me get those," Dustbowl offered.
"Ick!" the girl jumped back.
"No, the food!"
"Oh! Ok. Don't look!"
"Er, right. Lemme just get.. and that, ok." Dustbowl somehow managed to gather up everything without seeing anything, and took it all to the nearest table inside. Despite his best efforts to be a gentleman, he couldn't resist smiling.
"Ohh, this is so embarassing! Those jerks at the shop! Dammit! Could I, er, borrow a welder?"
"Sure, sure, let me go find it. It'll just be a click."
"Wait!"
"Huh? What is it?"
"I can't stand out here! What if someone sees me?!"
"Relax, we're the only bots on this floor. Nobody's gonna see you."
"But what is someone does? Omigod, that slimy landlord guy! Oh, I'd just die! Ohhhh!"
Seeing that the girl was getting hysterical, Dustbowl had little choice but to usher her inside. The teasing began immediately.
"Hey! You didn't say it was a two for one deal!"
"This is against at least six protocols and--"
The door to the computer room was quickly slammed. "Sorry 'bout them. Just calm down. I've got a welder in my room."
"You would."
"Hey, no, it's not like that," Well, actually it was, but anyway, "I just know where mine is. And the rest of this place is a sty."
"Oh- Ok, just don't get any ideas."
"Sorry, too late. But I'm a big boy, I can keep them to myself."
The delivery girl giggled a little. "Wow, this is a big place. How many of you guys are there?"
"Oh, five of us.. well, six, but Denom never pays his share of the rent. Yep, welcome to our 'swinging bachelor pad'."
It was about that moment when Incognito dropped dead.
Recoil jumped from his seat. Their lookout, their veteran, their mentor had been silently puffing on his pipe a moment ago, and now he was plopped on the floor with a hole through his head. " & & !"
" ?" said a puzzled Denominator.
" !!"
The room was eerily quiet. Even the ubiquitous hum of the computers was gone. First a sniper, now an audio supression field. Recoil pulled his submachine gun, one of many weapons, and scanned the area with built in enhanced sensors, while keeping low and far away from any windows. Denmoinator tapped frantically at his keyboard. Radio was jammed, network connection was cut, and so was power. The backup power supply had kicked in seamlessly without them hearing its beep. Well that was one good thing at least.
"Ohh.. I can't reach in here. Could you help me with this?"
"Uhh, sure." Dustbowl tried not to sound too eager, but he'd caught a little peek earlier and he'd be damned if Primus himself could make a more perfect pair of jugs. "Right in there where the screw is?"
"Just a bit to the right, see the depression?"
Dustbowl squinted. Repairs and mechanics really weren't his strong suit.
"You have worked on a chestplate before, haven't you?" she teased.
"Yeah, of course!" Dustbowl grimaced inwardly. He'd 'worked on' more than he could count, actually, but now he was sounding like a kid. "Just nothing this refined." Ah, good recovery. The girl smiled, and her hand brushed up against his--
((be-DEEP))
A text message popped up in his bedside console. "Shouldn't you get that?" asked the girl.
"Nah. Ok, so I want to get this tab into this depression and--"
((be-DEEP))
"--weld it on a low--"
((be-DEEP))
"Ah, f***, what the hell do they want?" Dustbowl got up to check the console.
denom: HELP UNDER ATTACK NEED BACKUP
denom: INCOGNITO IS DOWN LINES ARE CUT
denom: WHERE ARE YOU???
Dustbowl shook his head and tapped a quick reply.
DirtBag: Ha ha. Nice try guys.
He closed the console and got back to his work.
Denominator cursed silently. Well, at least the internal LAN was still working. He tried to get ahold of the others. Recoil, meanwhile, held his weapons ready and waited. And waited. And just when he began to entertain thoughts that nothing would happen, the ceiling exploded.
"Sc0R3! The secret entrance to the second dungeon! D13, minions of Ganon!"
Recoil didn't worry about why the attacker could talk and he couldn't, why he was just a pre-pubescent kid, or that he looked eerily like that file photo of Prism. He just worried about blasting the gears out of him.
"Ack! My heart points!" Meltdown staggered backwards, shaking violently to the rhythm of titanium rounds bursting through his gut. Finally he managed to duck behind the kitchen counter. "No one told me there'd be BLUE Wizzrobes!"
Recoil's shoulder hissed. There was another enemy, up through the hole in the ceiling. A quick concussion round took care of that. The floor blew out from under the new attacker, and he dropped down to the floor in front of Recoil with a silent CLANG. Thinking quick, the bulbous Predacon rolled away to cover, but Denominator was deploying sentry drones to keep him busy.
Short, fat, and not too mobile, the second one took hits almost immediately, but he also started downing drones and autoguns immediately with dead on accurate laser shots from his fingers. He even managed to get a few in at Denominator himself, though they were easily blocked by his energy shield. The round one was soon ducking into a hallway, desperately running for cover. Unless...
Back in Dustbowl's room, the increasingly flirtatious Maximal still hadn't heard any of the battle. But he'd felt that explosion. Despite his best efforts to concentrate on the task at hand, he couldn't ignore it. "You feel that?"
"Mm, yeah."
"No, the room shook, and I don't think it was us."
"You sure?" The femme began to caress his arm, but then the floor vibrated again.
Dustbowl reluctantly got up, "Yeah, I gotta check on those bozos, I'll be right back to finish up, ok?"
"I'm running late already," the girl protested, "If you go then I go."
"I'll be back before you can say teriyaki." Dustbowl headed for the door, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw a young, yellow, pre-pubescent girl-bot, maybe six in human years, but she was unmistakably the same bot he'd been flirting with just a few clicks ago.
"Aww, I was hoping we could pway!" said the girl in an adorably unsexy voice.
"What the--"
Dustbowl collapsed to the floor, asleep. In his shock, he hadn't noticed the wrist mounted dart gun.
Back in the computer room, Recoil had his crazed teenage attacker pinned down behind the kitchen counter. Then there was a loud crash behind him. Another firefly bot swung through the window on a rope, somersaulted into the room, came up with his rifle drawn and fired three quick shots into Recoil's turning body. The Maximal, to his credit, already had a second gun drawn and was prepared to hold off both attackers when he felt something metal land on his stomach and stick there. It was a round, heavy disc and it was counting down from ten.
STAGE FAILED. YOU LOSE. Press white flag button to continue or trigger to quit.
By the time Recoil figured out what the hell that meant, the timer was down to 4. He dropped his guns and raised his hands. The timer stopped.
"Tell your friend, too," ordered the bot who had crashed through the window. Though only a little older looking than the other one, this heavily decked out firefly was clearly in charge.
"Denom.." Recoil began, a little surprised that talking made any sound now.
"Never!" said the hacker, "That was just the diversion I needed to consolidate my forces. And now, you shall feel the wrath of--"
BBEEEEoooooouuunnnn...
His computer shut down. The drones fell to the floor. The energy shield fizzled out, and the lights turned off. Nucleos had taken out the backup generator.
"Eep!"
Debriefing
A deathly darkness surrounds us. A faint ceiling light reveals the outline of a long desk with a heavyset 'bot seated behind. Standing before him is Jungle, though like the other, only his outline can be made out.
"The injuries you received should not have been severe enough to of inhibited your fighting ability significantly, Lieutenant Captain." His voice was void of all emotion. "Yet, you stood idle as the terrorists withdrew. Your inaction Jungle, has caused a section of Maximal space to remain volatile." The 'bot speaking pauses as if to give Jungle a chance to rebuttal, but Jungle does not… knowing better…
"As penalty, your leave has been revoked. It will be a long time before you earn such privileges again. Do you understand, Lieutenant Captain Jungle?" Jungle nods. "Yes, Stopper." Ah Stopper, the head of the Maximal Secret Police (MSP). Once a rising member of the Maximal High Council, Stopper was selected to be the MSP head when the organization was created to watch over all suspected enemies of the Maximal Alliance.
"Good. Given your caliber, I expected much better from you." Stopper's tone remained void, completely void of any emotion. "Now enough of that. There is another matter to attend to, involving the 'Lightspawn'. You are familiar with them?" Jungle nods. Of course he was. Stopper was fully aware of that. "Good. Captain Major Alert will fill you in on the details."
A 'bot flanks Stopper, having the features of a wolf.
Welcome to the Big Leagues
//Mom, Dad, you have a priority one video link incoming.//
"Hey! Whu- Come back here!" Lightspeed and Prism were using their combined tactical prowess to perform the most difficult of feats: cornering a baby. //Tell him we'll get him the money next week!//
Quietly now, they waited. Sunspot was still, transfixed by a candy wrapper. A silent signal passed between them, and in unison they pounced. "Got her! Er, DAMMIT!"
The baby giggled at daddy from across the room.
//Mom, it's important, it's-//
Prism snapped back. //Didn't your mother say we were busy? Tell them to go away!// He decided to just go for it, lunging at the tiny pile of joy, but once again he came up with air. "Damn it to hell! How does she crawl so fast?!"
//It's Ramhorn.//
"Goo?" asked a suddenly stationary Sunspot. How did Mommy and Daddy disappear so fast?
---
Though the bridge, ready room or conference room were the traditional places to field a call from one of the three undisputed rulers of one's nation and race, Prism and Lightspeed's bedroom was the most secure location on the ship. For them, anyway. Also the conference room was currently covered in spaghetti sause stains.
"Prism, Lightspeed, always a pleasure to see you again." Even when he was being cordial, the Tripredicus Council member was an imposing figure. The dark, backlit room he transmitted from, making him little more than an outline on their screen, added to the mystique.
Prism smiled, "It's a pleasure to see me, too."
"Ah, Prism, still with that special charm. What did you call it?"
"Playmaticness," Lightspeed offered.
"Prismatic," her husband corrected.
Ramhorn offered a slight chuckle. "I heard your team brought in a score last night. That's what, five this month?"
"Four," Lightspeed corrected, "One turned out to be just a cell of ecoterrorists"
"Glint came up with the idea of re-releasing them into a new habitat in the wilds of Zion 7," Prism added with a smirk and a hint of pride, "You should've seen the looks on their faces."
Lightspeed added, "Actually we have a picture. It's going up in one of the hallways."
Ramhorn may have been smiling politely. The screen was too dark to tell. "What interests me about last night's bust is that your names appear nowhere in the report."
"WHat?" Prism couldn't believe it. "What are you talking about? That was ALL us! Optica found them, Lycra got their info, Meltdown planted the bomb, Spectra took three of them--"
"What I mean," overruled Ramhorn, "Is that you two, specifically, seemed to play no role whatsoever in the operation."
There was a short silence. Lightspeed finally stumbled for an answer. "Well, we were, ahh.."
"Otherwise engaged," Prism said.
"Indeed."
There were undertones to Ramhorn's voice that Prism picked up immediately. Ramhorn did know them going back a long way, after all. "Are you trying to imply something?"
"Prism stumbled upon a seperate situation which required my attention," Lightspeed said.
Ramhorn dismissed their flimsy excuses. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that your undisciplined little rugrats happened to get a tip and instead of waiting for you or contacting us, they went on a half cocked, ad hoc, unauthorized mission without having the slightest clue what they were up against."
"Hey!" Prism protested, "They suceeded, didn't they?"
"Precisely."
The couple blinked. "Excuse me?" asked Lightspeed.
"I believe your team is ready for the next level."
The two paused for a moment as this sunk in. "What do you want us to do?" Lightspeed asked in a newly serious tone.
"I need security for a party in two weeks."
If one thought Prism's sneer couldn't get any bigger, one was proven wrong at that moment. "Party? You've come to the right bots."
"Yes, I'm quite aware of your little antics, and I expect to see none of them on this mission."
"But what you don't see can't hurt you, eh?" Prism, yes, sneered.
Ramhorn snorted. "Quite frankly, our regular security services are either too 'by the book' for these events, or, how shall I say.. unnerving to the guests. I need bots that can both neutralize threats and fit into the environment. Plus your knowledge of Earth culture may be helpful."
"Oh no.." said Lightspeed.
"Since the Terran borders have only been open ten years, you two are still one of a few field operatives with recent experience there."
Lightspeed shuddered. "Don't remind me."
"Yeah we'll remind you," Prism added, "We saved your ass down there."
"I don't need reminding. Especially now that I've repaid my debt threefold."
Lightspeed gave a small yawn. "Alright, alright. Listen, I've got a kitchen to clean. Make with the details, Rammy."
Ramhorn's silloutte visibly bristled, but leading a race like the Predacons he'd long learned to tolerate such attitude from his inferiors. To a point. "Manpower, Inc. has just completed a successful expansion and acquisition in the Terran market, a first for a Cybertronian company. To celebrate, they are throwing an 'A list party' on Earth. As you know that is not exactly my 'scene', but there are several negotiations this will give us a chance to conduct. I'm told it is being held on a private island, and physically the site is very secure. Manpower's security arm is top notch, so external threats should not be a concern."
As he paused, Lightspeed tapped Prism on the arm. The console in front of them showed a file coming in, marked 'guestlist'. As the couple perused it, eyebrows raised and visors stalled repeatedly. "The head of the Black Dragon crime syndicate and the Prime in the same room?"
"And their security details, and whatever spies they manage to smuggle in. Your family will be my personal guests, which should allow you to mingle a bit more openly. Your first priority will be to ferret out and neutralize any immediate threats to my or my colleagues' safety. However, this party will also be full of backroom deals and exchanges."
"Something you want us to listen in on?" Lightspeed said with an expectant smile.
"There might be a few conversations I have an interest in. Further intelligence and details on your mission will be sent shortly."
Lightspeed nodded. "Anything else?"
"Nothing, except to impress on you the importance that you be on your best behavior. Any weapons, internal or otherwise, will be disabled or confiscated at the door. I even understand they have a way of neutralizing TM2 abilities. Any overt violence will get you ejected immediately. And if I am embarrassed by any of your famous hijinks, shenanegans or 'scenes', by you or your children, the only missions you'll be getting from now on will be hauling refuse. Do I make myself clear?"
The couple nodded obediently, even as worried thoughts passed through the back of their minds. They could, with some effort, make it through a night without some sort of argument, altercation or prank, but their kids? They could barely go four cycles. The chaos and havoc they caused just in the time Ramhorn had the two of them occupied would probably take half the day to clean up.
"Good. You have two weeks to prepare. We'll be in contact."
Briefing
The surrounding scene is that of the Maximal capital city on Cybertron - the ancient home world of the transformer kind, said to of been created by the legendary Primus, a god like being entrusted with protecting the universe from evil or more specifically, evil's ultimate form: Unicron. The keyword in all this is 'legendary'. Many in this modern age view such tales as mere rants from crazed elders.
Still, many believe.
The city is composed of multi shaped, tall silver towers. Roads rest on platforms of various heights running all about in seemingly no pattern at all. This chaos to outsiders is order Cybertronians. We hear a cry. A blood hurtling cry that sends tingles up our spinal columns. On a side street, in the pre-dawn hours, we find a female Maximal being forcibly restrained under a male Maximal. Three guesses as to what's transpiring. The woman screams again, in an effort to find salvation. "Shut up bitch!" The male retorts, striking the female such that her lip leaks fluid. Not that it's any excuse but he diffidently sounded intoxicated.
Above watching these events unfold is a panther or more to the point, Jungle in his panther beast form. The majority of MSP agents had some variation of a cat or dog form. Why? Such bondings provided many useful advantages to the host; the heightened scenes, predator instincts…so on and so forth…
The cat was perched in a web of shadows, hidden entirely from view. His face is rather unreadable as he witnesses the spectacle below.
"The Lightspawn at current are classified as a level 4.6 threat," Alert began. Jungle's eye ridges raised - they'd been upgraded again. Like in the case of Stopper, Alert spoke with no emotion. His face was blank. Captain Major Alert is a text book example of an MSP agent. One could go so far as to call him a 'role model' in the black ops community.
"Little more than a minor nuisance to the Maximal Alliance. Like most Predacon independents, they spend so much time on internal political operations, smuggling and other matters that their potential threat is reduced considerably. However, this group is particularly effective against us, as your personal experience will attest," stated Alert. One might have detected a hint of accusation in his tone on the last bit of that exchange - his voice had changed slightly. A real rarity.
"And their rate of appearance on incident reports continues to increase exponentially. The second crop of kids is going through puberty, Jungle. They are going from four primary threats to eight in a matter of months."
Removing the last of her outer plating, the male prepares to make an insertion, eyes gleaming like a small child in a candy store. Tears rolled down the woman's face, but there was no use in calling out now. Oh, how she cursed at herself for going to the late showing of that stupid movie. Oh, how she regretted not taking her friend up on that ride home.
"We are looking at a major long term threat."
…Alert pauses in his speech in order to give the panther a chance to respond to all this in some fashion… however all he gets is Jungle slightly adjusting his sitting position… thus the wolf-bot continues…
"All operations to take them all out at once have failed miserably. The number of agents who have been able to track them down, engage them, and live can be counted on one hand. A change in our approach is therefore required."
She whimpered as she felt 'it' touch her. She prayed, she prayed to Primus that if he would only save her now, she'd do so many things differently…
"Without even one of them, the entire unit will fall apart." Words spoken by Alert in reference to the Lightspawn children's parents.
Jungle cracked a smile.
"I've been waiting for another shot at that bastard," the panther said, sitting upward.
A moment of silence ensues, but ceases before awkwardness forms.
"Not him, Lieutenant Captain," the Captain Major responded, "her."
Obviously upon that word, the wolf had succeed in capturing Jungle's complete attention/interest.
"We have information that the Lightspawn will be at the upcoming Manpower reception on Earth. Information within our network is not currently available as to their objective, but Prism and Lightspeed are on the guest list at the reception. I can assume you're familiar with that event?"
Her inward pleas intensified as she felt 'it' penetrate. Her body relaxes; just no use in fighting the enviable anymore. She closes her eyes, longing to remove herself from this plain.
"What about the others? Her husband?" Jungle asked.
"They will be otherwise occupied. Once you have her alone, I assume you know what to do…"
…. …. …. ….
Jumping about roof tops, we find Jungle in his panther form. The only time Jungle's panther form is visible is in mid leap. Upon touch down, J is quick to find shadows - all apart of his training.
Un-expectantly, he 'trips' during a landing, sliding across the metallic surface. His body relaxes.
He was unconscious.
…. …. …. ….
Back in Stopper's office, we see Alert flank him from the darkness. "It is done?" Stopper asks, without turning to face the wolf-bot. Alert nods. "I did not expect the symptoms to set in that fast."
"A minor concern," said Stopper, "we only need to keep him alive for two weeks, after all."
Infirmary
A displeasing odor fills our nostrils. It was the smell of a bog. A tropical environment surrounds us. Jungle is present. Chest chain guns extended, he’s clearly ready to unleash hell upon a nano-clicks notice. Unleash hell upon what? Impossible to deduce at this stage.
At present, the cat is examining the ground. From the way the area has been disturbed, something had been through here recently and in a hurry. Of course, if you were inexperienced in the art of tracking, you’d be hard pressed to be aware of that fact.
Turning, the dark warrior has just enough time to see a ‘mud ball’ headed in his direction. Tilting his head to the left, the object evades him. Barely. Looking rather pissed off, the cat’s arm swords extend. Sniffing the air, he stood poised to fight.
“Easy JJ, it’s just me,” states a voice.
Lunging, Jungle tackles its source, putting a blade to the throat of a young female Maximal with tiger markings.
“Jungle! Stop!” She exclaims, looking as if not knowing what to do.
The panther positions himself such that there nose plates meet. The tiger-bot was now visibly shaking.
“How you passed the first stage of your MSP training is beyond me,” states Jungle. “If you have any desire to live through this portion of it… you will not conduct yourself in such a manner again. Understand</b>?”
Without hesitation she nods.
….
“CR cycle completed,” we hear a computer voice ring out. Rubbing his eyes, Jungle emerges from the chamber. The cat hated CR-chambers. Near forgotten memories tended to surface while in them…like the scenario just witnessed…
Detecting a scent, Jungle turns to find a fellow slug leaning against a wall. The term ‘slug’ is a slang term used in reference to all MSP agents. The origins of it are unknown. Some take it as an insult, some are indifferent. This slug was tall and slender, body coloration being that of an off yellow. Having the beast mode of a coyote, his superstructure greatly resembled that of ‘Jackalman’ from the Earth show ‘Thundercats’.
“Looking a tad rattled J,” speaks the coyote-bot. “What is it, Byu?” Jungle asks, in no mood to play around. Byu had a rather sly demeanor to him, thus the dark warrior never much carried for him.
Byu tosses him an object. Jungle easily catches it. “Know what that is?” Jungle nodded in response. It was a tranquilizer dart. Judging from its design, it was PSP issue. “Somebody got pinned last night!” Exclaimed Byu. Obviously, Byu was implying that Jungle had allowed himself to be followed by a PSP agent and thus that was the reason he ended up in here. Made sense.
“Tisk, tisk. Perhaps somebody ain’t Lieu-” “Thanks.” Speaks Jungle to interrupt Byu before he could finish the insult. Jungle was in no mood to play.
Twenty stellar cycles ago
"Fucking Jungle," Lightspeed cursed as she mended the nasty arm blade gash on their passenger's leg. Up in the cockpit section of the Winnebago class shuttle Prism wrestled with wires and plasma hoses, trying to get the damn thing's transwarp working again. A baby Spectra watched him contentedly from her basket. In the back, Flashbang was building a tower with his magneto-blocks. They were hiding out in the crater of an asteroid, with maybe an hour until it rotated towards the sun again, revealing their position.
"Don't blame him, blame the MSP," the passenger consoled. She was a white and aquamarine Maximal femme, a fugitive who had paid them handsomely to smuggle her to safety. If one looked closely, one could see the welding marks where her beast mode components had been surgically removed, and her face had been either altered or reconstructed. She also had a mask over her spark signature-- and a well made one, considering Lightspeed's sensors never found a way to see through it. Whatever the passenger was hiding from, she was going to some pretty extreme lengths to do it. Her current injuries, however, came not from her pursuers, but Lightspeed's and Prism's. Jungle's team of slugs and mercenaries hadn't left them alone for months.
"Blame the MSP? He IS the fucking MSP."
"No he's not. He's better than that. Most of them are on an individual basis, really."
"Most of them don't come after parents with an infant and a toddler like we're the fucking Galaxy's Most Wanted," Lightspeed replied as she finished up relinking the passenger's internal wiring. She just had to patch up the surface wound, now. "Primus, and they call us Predacons the bad guys."
"Well you did take out an energon refinery just for fun back there," the passenger joked.
"Yeah, well we're not targeting families, even if they are covert ops mercs. We do have a code of honor, believe it or not."
"So does Jungle."
"Hmph," Lightspeed scoffed.
"Believe me, if you knew his real mission, you--"
The passenger was cut off by Lightspeed grabbing her throat and drawing her in. Her injuries were probably exacerbated, but Lightspeed didn't much care at the moment. "What," she hissed, "is his real mission?"
The passenger, gasping for breath, made no verbal reply, but glanced over at the young Flashbang, then at Spectra.
"No.." Lightspeed released the passenger roughly, "those <B>bastards!"
"Huh, I thought you'd take it as a compliment, Miss Speed."
"Compliment?!" Lightspeed pounded her fist into her hand. Actually, later on she would. It wasn't often the MSP took an eighteen and a six month old so seriously. But not now, not when the responsibility of motherhood was just beginning to finally set in to her. "They're dead! Jungle, Stopper, all of them!"
Prism emerged from his work at the sudden outburst. "Whoa, whoa, what happened?"
"Our kids, Prism, they're after our kids!"
Prism just cracked a smile. "These little oilsuckers? Come on, the MSP isn't that dumb or that low. Where are you getting this from?"
Lightspeed looked back at the passenger, "Yes, how do you know their orders?" Her tone was calmer, but darker.
"I don't, I just know Jungle. I saw how he looked at Flashbang, how he hesitated. That was how you got an opening to force him out the airlock. His spark isn't in this, and he's holding back."
Lightspeed was skeptical. "Holding back? He doesn't know the meaning of holding back."
"Yeah," Prism agreed, "I beat it out of him back on Rizon 3."
The passenger looked down and shook her head. "If he had just quit like he was supposed to.."
Lightspeed sat up. "Quit? Supposed to? Ok, this is where you start making sense."
"The Jungle I knew left the MSP. Long ago. And he worked long and hard to redeem himself for the horrible things they made him do. If it weren't for him, my universe would be dead or enslaved three times over."
"Riight," said Lightspeed, "And what universe was this again?"
"Uh-uh-uh! I told you that question's off limits."
"Oh course."
The conversation was halted by a cry from Flashbang. The toddler had swung on a loose wire into the tower he was building, destroying it with a satisfying crash, but he hurt his knee coming into the floor. Lightspeed rushed over to her son. "Aww, sweetie, it's not too bad," she said, rubbing the area around the small dent, "And that was great, you should try that again!" The youngster's tears lessened, but he shook his head no. "Come on, you were great, you just have to learn how to land. Prizzy! Show him how to roll!"
Prism ran into the back of the cabin, jumped up to a ledge, jumped down and landed in a somersault. As he came up into a crouch he dramatically drew his gun on an imaginary foe. "Bang! Bang!" Flashbang clapped. "Come on, you can do that!" The child shook his head. "Come on, it's easy." Prism did the move again, slower this time so Flashbang could see the mechanics. Soon they had the kid up and trying it on his own.
Back near the front, the stranger watched, smiling and rubbing her watering optics.
Nocturne
SWOOSH – a door slides open.
In steps Jungle who immediately pauses in his movements. Tilting his head to one side, his arms cross and frame stiffens. Turning, we see what he sees: a male and female having sex.
The female is a transmetal 2 with the beast mode of a puma. The male has bull features – sort of a break from the norm, but the MSP has a core of ‘heavy assault troops’ when mussel is needed over stealth.
After several moments of watching their display, Jungle finally elects to gain their attention via a throat clear.
Looking as if they are a pair of deer caught in the headlights, both freeze…slowly locking eyes with the panther …
“Swat. So nice to see you,” states Jungle.
“Hey JJ,” retorts the bull.
“Mind getting out of my bed?” Asks Jungle.
“No… no, not at all,” Swat responds.
A wide smile forms on the face of the puma as Swat hurries to collect his discarded plating sections – she was enjoying this… ever so much… the look of displeasement that the panther shoots to her only increases her enjoyment level…
….
“Jungle, please… I can’t,” we hear the tiger female from the previous flash back state.
The pair were standing in a windowless room. Tied to a chair sat a Carbation female. Approximate age in human years would be sixteen, give or take a year. Given her condition, she had obviously been ‘interrogated’.
“Withdraw your weapon,” Jungle commanded.
“No,” the tiger replied in a shaky tone.
The dark warrior’s eyes widen.
“What did you just say?”
“Jungle please… she’s just a kid…”
Eyes retracting to but mere paper thin slits Jungle decks her in the face. That combined with him placing his foot behind her, floors her. The panther proceeds to kick her several times until she coughs up fluid. Grabbing her by the neck, Jungle lifts her back to her feet.
“Withdraw your weapon,” Jungle restated, squeezing her neck so hard that a few sparks began to fly.
Straining to breath, she complies.
“Finish your mission, agent.”
Gasping for air now, her eyes close as she pulls the trigger.
Darkness encompasses all.
….
Jungle juts awake suddenly.
Looking about, it takes several clicks for it to register to him where he was exactly…
…he was in his bed. The puma we saw earlier is beside him and looking not to pleased at the panther’s antics…
“What the hell is your problem?”
Taking a moment more to gather himself, Jungle rises from the bed. “Sorry DeVin,” is the panther’s late response. Feeling around the floor for his missing sections of plating, the cat is quick to take his leave. Hissing, DeVin lays back down, mumbling something that can’t be made out.
Rendezvous
Atop the rooftop he stalked. The elite stealth ninja assasin of the the night. Always wary, always vigilent, always mindful of his duty and vow. His presence mustn't be known by bot, beast or drone, for this was a place where he was not supposed to be. And yet he was, here at the request of his trainer, mentor and tormentor, the nagging presence to which he owed his very existence. Mom. To the edge of the rooftop he crept, and peered. Through the canyons of the urban wasteland he spied her, waiting and wary. She was to meet her contact there, alone. None was to know of the meeting, least of all her kin. It was a matter relating to their mission in barely a week, their first big assignment, directly for the so-called leaders of their race. Pity that it had to be at some detestable social gathering. What exactly the meeting would pretain to, he did not know. Who exactly she was meeting, he did not know. She did not know either. The meeting place was a dead-end alley. High walls. Perfect for an ambush. Such were the ways of their business, yet this time she had asked for someone to keep watch. A spy, a creature of the night, one who would remain unseen by all peering eyes, whose obscurity of form was matched only by darkness of spark. Whose skill was finely honed over--
"Ow! What the heck?" Blacklight pulled a knife out of his arm. His knife. How had it.. Someone was playing him for a fool. He drew his sword and swirled around, looking for that someone.
A voice came, he could not tell from where. "Go home, boy."
Searching as he would, the Dark Wannabe could not find his assailant. He relayed the developments to his mother.
//Get out, now.// Lightspeed told her son. Obviously they weren't dealing with any two bit runner.
//But I must avenge this insult! Mark--//
//I said get out.//
Lightspeed was getting out, too. Untracable calls, vague promises, just enough details of their mission thrown in to intrigue her, insistence she keep it to herself, and now whoever it was beat one of her most well trained troops at his own game, apparently with ease. She didn't like this at all. Lightspeed turned to leave the alley. And then she saw him.
Jungle.
"What do you want?" she asked the cat. She didn't have many words for MSP agents. To their faces, anyway.
Jungle had even less for her. He tossed her a datapad. Lightspeed skimmed it. It described a degenerative parasitic disease of the spark. Fatal, no known cure. Only one case of a survivor, but it was twenty stellar cycles ago and there were no records of any treatment. The survivor? Lightspeed. "Where did you get this?" she asked, even though, having scanned him, she already knew the answer.
"My medical case files."
"You realize it was your damned scientists that gave me that disease."
"I'm sure you love the irony."
Lightspeed grinned. "It is nice." The grin disappeared. "What do you want?"
"Help."
"Fuck off."
"I can get the MSP off your back."
Lightspeed raised a glowing eyebrow. "Oh, you want to make a deal now? How un-Jungle of you. Sorry, sluggo, this one's non-negotiable. Fuck off and die."
"You want me dead, I know that," His voice was steady, just as it always was. You wouldn't have known he was trying to plead for his life and cut a deal. Perhaps he wasn't. "but you know I can be a lot more useful to you alive."
"That's not the point. Fuck. Off." Lightspeed, bearing her daggers, stepped towards him.
"Then what's the point?" asked Jungle, preparing for a fight. Then he staggered.
“Jungle, please… I can’t,”
Lightspeed smiled. "On second thought, stick around. I'll kill you right here. Prizzy will be so jealous.."
"Why.. do I keep getting these memories?"
We see the same tiger femme from before, only this time, from her perspective. She is on the floor of a training gym, bleeding mechfluid and near tears. Above her stands Jungle. He says one word, the only work he's said to her all afternoon. "Again."
Jungle blinked. Lightspeed now had him on the ground and was straddling him, playfully etching a circle in his chest, right above the spark, with her dagger. She smiled. "You've got it bad, don't you, Jay?"
"I just want to know. What's happening to me?"
"Well, I think with me it was a spark fusing experiment gone wrong, but I never did figure it all out. I'm no doctor."
"Then how were you cured?"
"That's another little piece of irony. I suppose I wouldn't be a proper villianess if I didn't let you in on it before killing you. Ever wonder why I've got so many damned kids?"
Inquisition
Spectra would pay. Oh yes. One of these days, her duplicitiousness, her disloyalty, her selfishness, her vanity, her tattle-taling would catch up to her. She would pay for that smirk, and pay dearly. But not today, no. Today, she crossed her arms in the corner and smiled at watching Daddy beat the truth out of his ever-faithful son, whose only sin was to assume anything could stay secret in this family.
Prism shook his head, beckoning Blacklight forward. "Ninja code of silence, right? I challenge you to a duel, assassin. Honor demands you face me. If you lay one single strike on me, you don't have to tell me a word. Or, you can avoid the pain and tell me now. Who is she with?"
The Proposal
"So the only cure is sex," Jungle said with a slight grin. He wasn't exactly opposed to the concept.
"Not just sex. Raw reproduction. Direct spark interface. No safeguards, no barriers, no shell program overlay, and you don't stop until you've got a sparkling new bundle of joy."
Jungle was silent for a time. Not only was that a heavy implication, it was impossible to do without the full agreement of both parties. Who did he have that would agree to such a thing? De Vin? Not in a trillion cycles. "Lightspeed," he said, "I have no one else to ask."
"Hell no."
Jungle stared at her.
"Okay, yes, I've slept around. This is different. This lands me with another fucking rugrat. Another fucking double agent."
"We don't have any--"
"Those scientists were trying to implant something in me. Some sort of sparklet, brainwashed to destroy me from the inside out. When I gave birth to Spectra, that was the thing that popped out. I won't have that happen again."
"You could have terminated the protoform."
"Prism wouldn't have it. He would, this time, if he knew it was you. But then you're as good as dead anyway."
"I can handle Pris--"
“Jungle please… she’s just a kid…”
Jungle looked down. "Don't terminate it."
"Ha. I'm not even going to do it, cat."
Jungle looked back up. His blue eyes met her yellow ones. Lightspeed, for some reason she could not explain, was transfixed. "Please," Jungle said, "I know who it is. She doesn't deserve to die with me. She should get a second chance."
Twenty stellar cycles ago
"So what?" Lightspeed asked the mysterious passenger, "I'm supposed to believe that this Jungle is a nice guy?"
"You're supposed to believe that some bots deserve a second chance. I'm living proof."
"Why, what did you do? Save the freaking galaxy?"
"The universe," the stranger said, with pride and conviction.
Lightspeed's eyebrows went up. "Really. How'd that go?"
"It was--" the passenger looked down at her left forarm. A device on it was beeping. "--really lonely." She stepped towards Lightspeed, and embraced her. "I missed you."
"What the.." Lightspeed just trailed off, and hugged the stranger back. As weird and cryptic as she was, in the month she'd been with them this femme had become the closest thing Lightspeed ever had to a sister. The stranger faded from view as they hugged, being pulled back into her own reality. Lightspeed stood still for a full minute after she was gone.
"Hey!" came a yell from the other room, "What are you two doing up there! I need some--"
Lightspeed shut the door. The last thing she needed was for Prism to see her crying.
...
Lightspeed's yellow optics turned pale and white. Jungle, for some reason he could not explain, was transfixed. She bent over and pressed her lips to his.
