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Characters: @dreadwing, @skyquake Location: The Pacific Ocean Content Warnings: N/A Plot Summary: In the dark depths of the Pacific Ocean, Dreadwing and Skyquake seek to claim the dangerous Tox-En.
Dreadwing stared in disbelief at his scanner, certain that it had made a mistake. The scanner was not incorrect, however: the signal of that which they sought indeed originated directly below them some untold distance under the surface of the Pacific Ocean.
Once the coordinates from the Iacon Database had been decoded (though when they had acquired such a database, Dreadwing was unclear) there had been a mad scramble to deploy as many capable and competent officers as possible to recover whatever relics the coordinates lead to. It delighted him to be able to once more to be able to be joined by his brother on the battlefield, for they now had an opportunity to bring glory to their Lord and Master by being victorious in their quest!
Delight had turned to vague dissatisfaction, however, for he had remembered Skyquake rather… differently. Absence made the spark grow fonder, it seemed, and the long time they had spent apart while his twin brother slept deep in a sentinel’s slumber upon this miserable planet had made him forget just how obstinate his twin could be. Their separation had evidently created a chasm between the two that Dreadwing certainly hadn’t expected, nor did he have any clue how to mend it -- but such drama would have to wait. They had a duty to perform.
“The relic which we seek lies beneath the surface. It would figure that the Autobots would sink their trinkets to the bottom of the sea,” Dreadwing frowned down at the turbulent waters, displaced by the force of their thrusters as they hovered mid-air. ”We shall have to dive for it.”
As soon as Dreadwing finished talking, Skyquake glared at him. He gave the thrusters in his legs a little more power, his frame raising in the air about half a metre. The distance between the water below and himself grew. His message was clear.
It wasn’t that Skyquake was scared of the ocean or the vast feeling of nothingness pressing against his plating whenever he had had to submerge himself into a body of water. He didn’t dislike water. He had no particular feelings for or against it, in fact. Reminded him of deep space, in a way. He also harboured no special emotions for deep space. It was space, and it was deep, and it was empty.
Well, perhaps ‘empty’ wasn’t the right word for it, but it did feel awfully empty. Dangerously so. Earth’s oceans were the same. Empty but not really, and pressing down on you, a constant presence weighing you down, unescapable.
So maybe the ocean made him a little uncomfortable. Maybe certain things made him a little uncomfortable after waking up and stepping out of his stasis pod. Maybe he had grown to have a bit of that claustrophobia some bots had. Stir crazy. Cabin fever. Skyquake hadn’t thought being suspended in stasis would actually affect his psyche. He had been, after all, in stasis. But there were some lingering... sensations. The millennia-old ghost of the press of his pod’s walls against his wingtips, his back, his ailerons.
Green plating flared out and resettled. Skyquake’s thrusters took him another half-meter away from the water. He scowled. It was shameful of him to behave in such a way. He was a brave warrior, part of Lord Megatron’s elite, and he should not be daunted by so simple a task. He just had to kill his engines and let himself fall into the rippling dark waters below. So simple, so easy, yet so very hard.
“How far down is the relic?” he found himself asking, and he cursed himself for sounding so uncertain. It was embarrassing enough to have his brother sense—and be vaguely dissatisfied by—his unease through their bond. He was furious at himself for also letting it ooze into his voice.
Skyquake’s immediate distaste at the idea was as obvious to Dreadwing as if it were his own, and his spark gave a painful clenching at the sight of his brother’s uncharacteristic unease. Perhaps once, when he had been younger, he would have taken the opportunity to needle at his brother, teasing and taunting him for cowardice in order to egg him on and get him to overcome whatever petty, ridiculous hurdle this was, but- the long march of time had changed him, though neither of them quite knew the extent of their differences yet. Dreadwing instead offered up his own courage for Skyquake to draw upon over their bond, soothing the twin of his spark as best he could.
“It is three and a half kilometres below the surface,” Dreadwing said, gesturing downward. A multitude of ripples radiated outward below their broad pedes, the water displaced from the force of their thrusters. “You may stay and stand guard if you so wish, brother, whilst I retrieve it.There is no shame in that.” This was not said in a mocking tone, but matter-of-factly. His patience was evident in his tone. “Though if the Autobots happen to bridge themselves to this location, you might miss them entirely should they come through underwater.”
How strange -- and concerning. His brother had never been fearful of water before, or of diving, or had had any hint of claustrophobia before. It seemed the long millennia in stasis had impacted Skyquake in more ways than he’d expected. Thoughts of cowardice on the part of his twin did not even cross his mind, of course, for even with Skyquake retreating back further and further away from the water, Dreadwing had faith in his twin’s diligent sense of duty.
Skyquake scoffed, sending what was the equivalent of an exasperated slap to the back of the head through their bond. His brother’s quiet understanding unsettled him almost as much as the idea of diving into the ocean. When had Dreadwing become so unsuitably soft?
“Don’t be a fool. I’ve had about enough of standing guard for the rest of my function.”
Which was true. Skyquake would sooner gouge out his optics that go back to being a sentry. He took pride in being his master’s ever-loyal servant, but he would rather have a more active role in the war. He could only hope that Lord Megatron wouldn’t send him away to perform some ill-suited task yet again. This mission seemed like a promising start—retrieval of a valuable object. While not his specialty, it was better than watching over energon deposits for millennia.
Skyquake forced himself lower, closer to the deep unfathomable blue. All he had to do was cut the power to his thursters and the gravity of the planet would do the rest for him. He scowled.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said, then promptly sealed off his frame and killed his engines.
He met the mental slap with a pulse of half-annoyance half-amusement.Well, if his brother wished to challenge whatever it was that bothered him instead of standing watch, who was Dreadwing to stop him? He followed his brother a microsecond later with a second splash, shutting all his outward vents to prevent seawater from corroding delicate inner circuitry and cutting his thrusters. It was a simple thing to allow himself to sink down, down, down, allowing bulk and weight of his heavy frame work with gravity to sink him.
It had been long since he’d undertaken a mission underwater, but he remembered the protocols well. Dreadwing switched to internal communications as soon as he had breached the surface of the water, and switched to infrared optical detection as they descended through the dysphotic zone and into the aphotic zone. Eventually his feet came into contact with the seabed, and he took a moment to adjust to the new pressure.
<< “The Relic’s signature originates north of this position. Come, brother,” >> Dreadwing dutifully relayed, and then began to walk. It was slow going, and he’d apparently forgotten the unpleasant drag that water had upon bots of their broad stature. A short walk brought them up to the top of a ridge which afforded a decent view of their surroundings: they had apparently found their way into a field of active underwater volcanoes judging by the heat signatures alone, but Dreadwing was not worried. He gave a little jump off the ridge and descended slow-motion into the heat-vent filled valley, following the signature.
The first thing he noticed about the relic when he set optics upon it was that the heat signature was… strange. The second thing he noticed was that it was not a relic proper, but a canister of some sort, tightly sealed and unbothered by the intense underwater pressure it faced. The third thing he noticed were the bold glyphs inscribed on the side, marking the object with warnings of danger.
Dreadwing thrust out an arm to keep Skyquake from going any further. << “Wait, brother. Do not touch it.” >> He cross-checked the shape of the canister with artifacts and weapons already known to the Decepticons, and his spark went cold as he found his match.
<< “It is Tox-En.” >>
Last Edit: Jul 9, 2016 20:40:02 GMT by Counterklock
Skyquake followed after his brother with little resistance, if great reluctance. Dreadwing always knew what to do, and it was him who had always kept them out of danger. Skyquake trusted him, even if lately doing so had been… hard. The incident with Predaking came to mind, and he felt a fresh wave of frustration and hatred. The beast had turned his twin against him. Someday, he would pay for it.
But it was true that even without the Predacon, Skyquake’s relationship with Dreadwing was strained. Every day was a test of their camaraderie and brotherhood. Skyquake would like to have someone he could talk about it, but he didn’t. He had one confidant: Dreadwing. He couldn’t talk to Dreadwing about Dreadwing. He shouldn’t have to. There had never been issues between them that couldn’t be solved with tussling around the training room or shoving emotions through the bond until all was laid bare.
He looked down at the arm barring him from walking further, then squinted at the relic resting innocently on the seabed up ahead. He wondered why the heat signature was so odd, and blinked at his brother when the reason came.
He gave a tight-lipped smirk. «Excellent! Our scientists will be able to concoct new bioweapons with it. Don’t worry, brother. I shall retrieve it if you fear getting any closer.»
Skyquake wasn’t surprised to feel Dreadwing’s, well, dread. His twin had always been the one to fret. His overcareful coding meant that being near such a volatile and devastating artifact was far from his list of favourite things.
But what a wonder it was, to have come across such a gift! Their master would be pleased when they presented him with it. Retrieving the Tox-En would be even sweeter if they had snatched it from an Autobot enemy, but at least in this way they didn’t risk putting the relic in danger.
For the most part, Dreadwing did indeed know of the strange rift and strain growing between himself and his brother… inasmuch that he knew there was something wrong. The cause of it, however, was a mystery, which concerned him more than the fact that there was indeed a problem. He cannot see any obvious reason for why his brother might be distant, and Skyquake evidently wasn’t willing to share, for if he were, he would have done so by now. This too was highly irregular, for there was absolutely nothing they did not share… until now, apparently.
He could feel the dull frustration from Skyquake’s side of the bond, but he could do nothing until his twin was willing to talk. Judging by what he’d observed lately, though, that was about as likely now as Skyquake undergoing the Rite of Autobrand. Dreadwing would just have to be patient, even though it worried him greatly.
Now was not the time to be reflecting upon personal troubles, however, not when there was a relic to be fetched for their master. Dreadwing was deeply unsettled by the sight of such a dangerous artifact. It was a terrible weapon that did not discriminate, sapping the strength and the life of even the strongest until their sparks waned and laying waste to both Autobot and Decepticon alike once dropped upon the battlefield.
It was deadlier than any bomb in his arsenal. Skyquake’s following words ought not to have surprised him, for his twin had not witnessed soldiers of all ranks and frametype dropping like nanoflies as he had tried desperately to get out of the danger zone before he too joined them. He had done terrible things during the War, but he had done so out of duty. Still, Dreadwing’s fuel tanks could not help but churn in disgust at the idea of once more employing Tox-en. A bot was meant to stand and fight his foes honorably upon the battlefield, not be slain without a chance to make a stand.
(Of course, Dreadwing did not appreciate the irony of thinking such things when his preferred methods of attack were to ambush from afar with explosives. His mind would go to great lengths to avoid having to face his hypocritical ways, it seemed.)
<<”I do not fear it, Brother,”>> He snipped back primly, still staring at the unassuming cannister. <<“I am merely surprised. Tox-En has long since been lost to us, and I find myself wondering why the Autobots had kept a sample.”>> Slowly, he approached, carefully surveying the canister for cracks from all angles by circling warily. Once satisfied that the structural integrity of the container had not been compromised, Dreadwing moved closer. Mostly to himself, he mused, <<”Perhaps they would have been better off destroying it.”>>
«Had they destroyed it, we wouldn’t have found it now,» Skyquake said, frowning at his brother. It wasn’t like Dreadwing to miss the point so spectacularly. «We should be grateful the infidels were foolish enough to think it wouldn’t fall into our hands.»
Skyquake wasn’t sure his words were registering. Dreadwing seemed to be galaxies away. Skyquake canted his head, taking in the micro-expressions in his twin’s face. A twitch here, a twist there. They were nothing he could readily understand. It bothered him.
The way Dreadwing was looking at the canister didn’t sit well with Skyquake either. It wasn’t the look of someone who respected and feared the prowess of a weapon. It was… something else. Skyquake didn’t know for certain what the difference was, but he could feel it through the bond. It was like worry but deeper, more urgent.
It was making Skyquake want to get out of there now. He was already struggling with his own inner turmoil—the unease, the frustration, the impotence—and feeling his brother’s usually unruffled side of the bond rippling with wavelets of emotion wasn’t helping him any.
«Shockwave will be pleased.»
His tone carried the sense of finality. It could easily be interpreted as an order or a plea to be done and leave. They had found the relic. They were retrieving the relic. Megatron would commend them for their deeds. All’s well that ends well, and Skyquake was more than prepared to end this mission. It was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to work out some of his tension on any Autobots, but to also have a rough time with his feelings, of all things? When he was alone with his brother on a top-priority mission that was going to be a resounding success? Skyquake should be ecstatic, yet he was anything but.
Frankly, he was ready to call it a day. Head back to the Nemesis and maybe get some praise from his master before getting overcharged. That sounded about right. That sounded like a plan, though he was sure his brother would disagree. He shrugged and, without preamble, reached down to grab the canister.
The more Dreadwing thought about it, the more he found himself wary of the Tox-En and its capabilities. Truly it was an effective weapon, but at what cost? Memories rose unbidden of battles long past, of Decepticon troops getting caught in the crossfire and falling victim to its effects. Lord Megatron was wise and cunning, and this Tox-En would be put to good use in eradicating the Autobot infestation on this planet… but there were others who did not care about how many of their own faction fell victim to such a dangerous biological weapon.
Quick and unexpected, Dreadwing’s hand darted out to slap Skyquake’s reaching servo away from the canister. The moment after stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and he was unsure of who was more shocked by the action: himself, or his twin. << “Do not touch it,” >> he repeated forcefully, << “I do not think… I do not think anyone should touch it. Brother, you were not there on the battlefields when Tox-En was deployed.” >>He did not need to say any more to relay his meaning, for treason was only treason if it was voiced out loud, but his thoughts had good reason for their very existence. Who else could he trust with them but his brother?
To get his point across, he shared the memory of the Tox-En that had been already been bubbling at the forefront of his mind and threatening to slip across through the bond. A faceless commander, now long dead, giving the order for it to be used. Casualties had been high on both sides as everyone scrambled to flee. The sapping of strength, the heaviness of limbs, wooziness, confusion. Barely making it out of the danger zone before collapsing, nearly being another meaningless number in the count of the dead.
To now find that very same weapon sitting innocently on the seabed before them was disconcerting to say the very least. Tox-En was not something that was honorable, not when it came at such high a price. Who knew what horrors could be borne from this one sample? << “It should have been destroyed,” >> Dreadwing said again. << “It should be destroyed.” >>
The sudden slap to his outstretched hand had Skyquake jumping back with a glare. He hadn’t been expecting that. If the Tox-En made his twin so nervous, then it made sense for Skyquake to handle it, didn’t it? The canister wasn’t even broken; they were safe from the chemical. Why was Dreadwing being so obtuse about the whole issue?
The answer came soon enough. Skyquake couldn’t fully suppress a shudder as Dreadwing’s memories filtered in. The Tox-En was a mighty and dangerous weapon; of that, there was no doubt. His brother was right to be wary of it. The emotions that had been attached to the memories came to the forefront of Skyquake’s mind—his twin, sapped of his strength and frightened of dying a casualty instead of a warrior.
«Destroyed?» Skyquake frowned, focusing on the here and now.
The Dreadwing standing before him was strong and hale, the effects of the chemical weapon that almost claimed his life long gone. Living proof that the Tox-En could be used to their advantage. The sense of needless death permeated Dreadwing’s memories, but that could be fixed. Surely the weapon had been something of a wild card the first few times it had been used, but he was confident that countermeasures to avoid affecting the Decepticons had been taken.
Skyquake pushed down his impatience and nervousness. He sent soothing tones through their connection. Dreadwing wasn’t panicking, but neither was he the fount of calm Skyquake was used to.
«That is not our choice to make, brother,» he pointed out, blunt as always, though perhaps sharper than he had intended. «We shall bring the relic to the Master, then you may voice your concerns to him. Lord Megatron is good and he trusts your counsel; he will listen to what you have to say.»
Dreadwing was certain that his twin would understand once he saw those memories of what the Tox-En was capable of. After all, what reason did he have to believe that his twin would not agree with him? They had been so close before that mere words were never necessary to convey a feeling, and he was sure that even after the millenia spent apart, this still held true. Skyquake would understand just like he always did, and there would be no need to voice the unspoken idea that even now floated treacherously around his mind.
Except-
Except Skyquake didn’t seem to be understanding at all, and Dreadwing spent several moments feeling unbalanced and confused, and his sharp look in Skyquake’s direction reflected it. The soothing waves through their bond did little to help him find peace, and his unease towards the Tox-En only compounded with his sudden unease towards his own brother. Why did he not understand how dangerous such a weapon was? Why did he not realize that it was too dangerous to bring back to their Lord and Master?
<<”I fear Lord Megatron will not listen. He has become… obsessed, as of late, and in his determination to scour this world of the Autobot infestation that plagues it, so much so that… that our own numbers have dropped.”>> Dreadwing had to suppress a guilty shudder at his own admission, but it was the truth, after all: Lord Megatron had been increasingly erratic as of late, and many of their forces -- all disposable Vehicons, mind -- had been lost. It was a problem that no one wanted to address for fear of immediate punishment for criticising their Lord, but Dreadwing automatically assumed his brother would agree with his reasoning.
He stared long and hard at the innocuous canister, conflict within him, before he made up his mind. It had not been an easy decision to make. Visibly steeling his resolve, Dreadwing took a step towards the relic, reaching for it. <<”It must be destroyed. This is a weapon that will bring too much destruction, and the price we will pay would be too high. It is too dangerous.”>> Whether he was trying to convince Skyquake or himself was unclear.
Skyquake lost his grasp on his temper, emotions turning sharp and feral as he leapt forward. He tackled Dreadwing, his brother, the mech who had just spoken heresies, at waist level with all his might. A dull clang rang out as their frames collided. They fell and rolled through the seabed, their movements slowed by the water. Sand went up in a cloud around them, cold purple and black hues, getting into Skyquake’s optics.
Getting his bearings, Skyquake hooked his claws to his brother’s plating, his focus back on the fight. He yanked Dreadwing over him, rolled them, and then shoved his twin down onto the pale sand as he moved to straddle him. Underneath him, Dreadwing’s heat signature was a fusion of angry reds and oranges. He suspected his own frame would look similar in infrared. It struck him that right now, that may as well be the only thing they had in common. He snarled. Curling a hand into a fist, he brought it down upon his brother’s face.
Whatever Dreadwing expected from his brother, sudden, blinding fury was not it. Taken completely by surprise (which was a rare thing in itself, for few had ever gotten the drop on him) he went down with a startled grunt. Still reeling from this unexpected attack, he offered little to no resistance to Skyquake’s enraged attack as the two of them went rolling over and over through the silty seabed. The Tox-En cannister, in the struggle, was forgotten.
Shock and confusion turned to hurt as he began to understand. He had always thought that his brother could be trusted with secrets from the deepest depths of his spark… but he had not been blind to the chasm growing between them since Skyquake’s awakening. The bond they shared was now as murky as the water around them, and when he reached across it all he found was overwhelming anger. He could not pretend any longer that this was but a mere bump in the road that time would overcome. How could Skyquake not understand his reasoning even after what he has shared? How could he possibly think he knew better, when he’d spent the last several millennia in slumber?
WIth a snarl of his own, Dreadwing grabbed hold of Skyquake’s fist and twisted, using his momentum to first redirect the blow so that it struck just next to his helm, and then to flip his twin over so that he now was the one on top. <<”You were not there!”>> he hissed, trying and failing to pin down Skyquake’s flailing fists in order to subdue him. Clearly, a part of him still wanted to believe he could talk sense into his brother, even with his twin viciously fighting against him. <<”You were not there, so do not dare presume you would ever know better when you slept through most of the War!”>>
Skyquake didn’t know why, but he was reluctant to close the comm between Dreadwing and him. The foolish words he was speaking, so righteous and egregious, didn’t deserve to be heard. Yet Skyquake left the comm open, and he let every word wash over him, condescending, arrogant, imperious, like a spray of shrapnel. It helped remember why he was doing this, why he was fighting his other half.
Because he wasn’t supposed to. Skyquake and Dreadwing were supposed to be a united front, but it was impossible to ignore the fissures any longer. They almost felt like an abyss, pitch-black and empty. Like the ocean. Like deep space. Like stasis sleep.
With his arms pinned down, Skyquake wrapped his legs around Dreadwing’s middle and squeezed, waiting for the telling creak and crack of buckling armour and shattering cockpit. He could hurt his brother. He was a powerful mech. He had a powerful frame. So did Dreadwing, but their specs were evenly matched, so it wasn’t impossible for them to hurt each other. In fact, in some ways, it was easier—they knew all the weak spots.