Fic after long delay
Apr. 13th, 2007 01:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
koilungfish9/4/07 - Fail
10/4/07 - Ill
11/4/07 - Ill
12/4/07 - Ill
13/4/07 - Walk The Walk
Optimus left Elita-1 in deep recharge, leaving her with nothing but a silent kiss to the cheek. He left his trailer behind. He wouldn't need it today - just his gun, and a little luck.
It was almost midsummer. Even now, three joors after the middle of the night, Homestar was above the horizon, setting a quarter of the sky ablaze with pale golden light. Optimus turned off the feeder road of his domicile-insula, accelerated up the impact ramp and joined the twenty-lane freeway into the centre of Iacon. The sunlight struck him full in the windshield, half-blinding him. He felt like he was driving into the star itself.
Very fitting, he thought grimly. His gun lay across his seats, strapped tightly down, clean and ready.
The towers of Iacon rose up and pierced the bright-lit sky with golden spears, and Optimus cruised into the heart of the biggest city in the northern hemisphere at a gentle two hundred miles an hour. Even this early, or this late, the streets were busy. Optimus wove through the traffic, brake-lines taut with anticipation. Without his trailer he could stay out of the slow freight-lanes, reach his target earlier. Every gap in the traffic made his fuel-pump surge, made his accelerator dip without thinking.
I'm going to be caught, he thought. Someone will stop me for driving too fast. He checked his speedometer; he was doing a polite hundred and seventy miles an hour. Must be the tension.
He hauled off the main freeway and joined the wide spiraling road that led down into the arena car park. It was emptier than he'd ever seen it before. He longed to simply drive straight across the empty lots, ignoring the markings.
I can't risk it. I can't risk even a single mishap.
With a slowness almost painful, he followed the one-way system in and out of the lots for what felt like most of the day. Homestar's light began to spill over the edge of the spiral roads, turning the far side of the car park into a crescent of gold.
Optimus reached the entrance, transformed and radio-clicked his credentials to the guard at the door.
"Emirate's security?" he asked. "What're you doing here?"
"I have a message for one of the gladiators," Optimus said. He had to force-process every word though his vocaliser, telling himself he wasn't lying, he wasn't incriminating anyone. He hadn't mentioned the Emirate, or Magnus, or Elita-1. Nobody else would take the blame for this.
Will they?
They'll question Elita-1, he knew. They'll have to. Without me, she'll...
He forced the thought away. The guard shrugged and let him in.
The arena corridors were cool, dim and quiet. In the distance, Optimus could hear the faint sound of metal on metal. They start training early here. Or do they just finish late?
He knew the route. He'd stared at the maps until they'd been burned into his visual cortex. He'd lain awake in recharge running simulations of the journey. This corridor, then this elevator, then this guard - hello, nice morning, message for a gladiator, thank you, have a good day - then this corridor and this ramp and this door and this button -
The trainer opened the door.
The smell of cleaning solvent hit Optimus, making him forget to speak. His senses felt overloaded. There was too much - too much light, too much noise, too much everything to deal with when the enormity of what he was doing was crowding out every other thought.
"Who're you?" asked the trainer, looking up at him with confusion.
"Optimus, sir." He pulled himself together and took a parade-ground stance. "Emirate's compliments and would Megatron like to join him for morning fuel?" Lying hurt.
"The Emirate?" asked the trainer. He seemed more confused than suspicious.
"Yes, sir." Optimus could manage no more. His optics refused to focus on the trainer. He had to lock his neck to prevent himself from looking over his head, into the room where Megatron was.
"Which one?"
"Err ... " Optimus hadn't expected that. His mind went blank. I have a gun, he almost said. "Emirate Xaaron, sir."
"Oh, right." The trainer seemed less thrown. "Fine, fine, wait a breem while we hose him down. Have him back by nine joors, though, he's in heavy training."
"Yes, sir," Optimus said, feeling weak at the joints. The door shut in his face, and he sagged. He could feel the security cameras watching him. Everything would be recorded. Everything would come out. Everything he did would be scrutinized, but by then it would be too late.
He stared at the floor, lost in thought, lost in the size of what he was doing. Can I go through with this? Should I go through with this? What about Elita-1? It hurt to let the Emirate down and it hurt even more to betray Ultra Magnus, but worst of all it hurt to fail Elita-1. All the effort she's put in to trying to fit in, trying to get a job, supporting me through this ... and now I'm going to throw it away for this.
I could just leave ... I could...
The door opened. Over the top of the trainer's head, Optimus' optics met Megatron's.
He expected recognition. A shout. A snarl. He braced for an attack. Anything but a blank look of disinterest.
He doesn't recognize me.
How can he not recognize me?
How dare he not recognize me?
" - and behave yourself this time," the trainer said. "Like I said, back by nine joors or the schedule's messed up. Oh, and don't let him have too much fuel, he's on a strict regime. And no radioactives!"
Optimus stood back to let Megatron out. The gladiator smelt of cleaning fluid and polish. Someone had tried to buff him up quickly, but his armour was too dense to take it with more than a dull sheen.
"This way, please," Optimus said, words like lead ingots, arm stiff as a girder as he gestured. Megatron went, silent, seeming lost in thought, probably still half in recharge.
Down the ramp. Down the corridor.
Megatron stood and waited for Optimus to open the door. His hands were chained behind his back.
Good, thought Optimus. Despite the fame and fortune, he's still under penal servitude. Good.
"Are we going to stand here all morning?" Megatron asked. His voice scraped over Optimus' raw nerves like a file.
"No," Optimus replied. He looked around quickly; nobody about. "This way, please."
"What?" Megatron snapped. He was suddenly alert, watching Optimus with suspicion.
"The Emirate has sent a private transport. It's waiting on balcony 12," Optimus lied as convincingly as he could.
Megatron looked at him, those bright red optics glimmering with suspicion.
Corridor. Corridor. Door. Corridor.
The door he wanted was there.
"Stop," Optimus said.
Megatron stopped and looked at him. "I know where balcony 12 is," he said, but Optimus was no longer sure if he was hearing suspicion or outright distrust in the gladiator's voice.
"There's something I have to tell you," he said. His voice came out strained, almost crackling. He took a sidestep, then another, circling Megatron. The gladiator turned with him, trained into it, not breaking his glare. The door was behind Megatron now. Optimus kept his gaze locked on the gladiator's face as he radio-clicked the door to open.
Optimus charged, lifting Megatron off his feet with the blow of his shoulder. Bound and off-balance, the gladiator staggered backwards and Optimus pushed him, pushed like a freight train, forcing the murdering monster back into the one room in the arena where he knew there would be no prying optics.
He kept pushing until Megatron hit the wall. The monster stumbled and fell to one knee. Optimus quickly backed away.
Now, he thought, now I've gone too far to turn back.
Elita ...
He pulled his gun out from folded space and aimed it carefully at the face of the kneeling monster. "The cameras in here are all broken," he said, insides flaring with anger, voice shaking, "the walls are thick and nobody is coming to look for you for a whole joor."
"Who are you?" Megatron snarled, freezing at the sight of the gun.
"My name is Optimus. Don't you remember me?"
"In this light?" Megatron snapped.
"Remember Chromus?" Optimus said, voice shaking with anger. "Remember the people you killed? Remember Orion Pax, Arial and Dion? Remember me?"
"You," Megatron said, voice low, rumbling. "I needn't ask what you're here for."
"No," Optimus said, "I'm here to kill you."
10/4/07 - Ill
11/4/07 - Ill
12/4/07 - Ill
13/4/07 - Walk The Walk
Optimus left Elita-1 in deep recharge, leaving her with nothing but a silent kiss to the cheek. He left his trailer behind. He wouldn't need it today - just his gun, and a little luck.
It was almost midsummer. Even now, three joors after the middle of the night, Homestar was above the horizon, setting a quarter of the sky ablaze with pale golden light. Optimus turned off the feeder road of his domicile-insula, accelerated up the impact ramp and joined the twenty-lane freeway into the centre of Iacon. The sunlight struck him full in the windshield, half-blinding him. He felt like he was driving into the star itself.
Very fitting, he thought grimly. His gun lay across his seats, strapped tightly down, clean and ready.
The towers of Iacon rose up and pierced the bright-lit sky with golden spears, and Optimus cruised into the heart of the biggest city in the northern hemisphere at a gentle two hundred miles an hour. Even this early, or this late, the streets were busy. Optimus wove through the traffic, brake-lines taut with anticipation. Without his trailer he could stay out of the slow freight-lanes, reach his target earlier. Every gap in the traffic made his fuel-pump surge, made his accelerator dip without thinking.
I'm going to be caught, he thought. Someone will stop me for driving too fast. He checked his speedometer; he was doing a polite hundred and seventy miles an hour. Must be the tension.
He hauled off the main freeway and joined the wide spiraling road that led down into the arena car park. It was emptier than he'd ever seen it before. He longed to simply drive straight across the empty lots, ignoring the markings.
I can't risk it. I can't risk even a single mishap.
With a slowness almost painful, he followed the one-way system in and out of the lots for what felt like most of the day. Homestar's light began to spill over the edge of the spiral roads, turning the far side of the car park into a crescent of gold.
Optimus reached the entrance, transformed and radio-clicked his credentials to the guard at the door.
"Emirate's security?" he asked. "What're you doing here?"
"I have a message for one of the gladiators," Optimus said. He had to force-process every word though his vocaliser, telling himself he wasn't lying, he wasn't incriminating anyone. He hadn't mentioned the Emirate, or Magnus, or Elita-1. Nobody else would take the blame for this.
Will they?
They'll question Elita-1, he knew. They'll have to. Without me, she'll...
He forced the thought away. The guard shrugged and let him in.
The arena corridors were cool, dim and quiet. In the distance, Optimus could hear the faint sound of metal on metal. They start training early here. Or do they just finish late?
He knew the route. He'd stared at the maps until they'd been burned into his visual cortex. He'd lain awake in recharge running simulations of the journey. This corridor, then this elevator, then this guard - hello, nice morning, message for a gladiator, thank you, have a good day - then this corridor and this ramp and this door and this button -
The trainer opened the door.
The smell of cleaning solvent hit Optimus, making him forget to speak. His senses felt overloaded. There was too much - too much light, too much noise, too much everything to deal with when the enormity of what he was doing was crowding out every other thought.
"Who're you?" asked the trainer, looking up at him with confusion.
"Optimus, sir." He pulled himself together and took a parade-ground stance. "Emirate's compliments and would Megatron like to join him for morning fuel?" Lying hurt.
"The Emirate?" asked the trainer. He seemed more confused than suspicious.
"Yes, sir." Optimus could manage no more. His optics refused to focus on the trainer. He had to lock his neck to prevent himself from looking over his head, into the room where Megatron was.
"Which one?"
"Err ... " Optimus hadn't expected that. His mind went blank. I have a gun, he almost said. "Emirate Xaaron, sir."
"Oh, right." The trainer seemed less thrown. "Fine, fine, wait a breem while we hose him down. Have him back by nine joors, though, he's in heavy training."
"Yes, sir," Optimus said, feeling weak at the joints. The door shut in his face, and he sagged. He could feel the security cameras watching him. Everything would be recorded. Everything would come out. Everything he did would be scrutinized, but by then it would be too late.
He stared at the floor, lost in thought, lost in the size of what he was doing. Can I go through with this? Should I go through with this? What about Elita-1? It hurt to let the Emirate down and it hurt even more to betray Ultra Magnus, but worst of all it hurt to fail Elita-1. All the effort she's put in to trying to fit in, trying to get a job, supporting me through this ... and now I'm going to throw it away for this.
I could just leave ... I could...
The door opened. Over the top of the trainer's head, Optimus' optics met Megatron's.
He expected recognition. A shout. A snarl. He braced for an attack. Anything but a blank look of disinterest.
He doesn't recognize me.
How can he not recognize me?
How dare he not recognize me?
" - and behave yourself this time," the trainer said. "Like I said, back by nine joors or the schedule's messed up. Oh, and don't let him have too much fuel, he's on a strict regime. And no radioactives!"
Optimus stood back to let Megatron out. The gladiator smelt of cleaning fluid and polish. Someone had tried to buff him up quickly, but his armour was too dense to take it with more than a dull sheen.
"This way, please," Optimus said, words like lead ingots, arm stiff as a girder as he gestured. Megatron went, silent, seeming lost in thought, probably still half in recharge.
Down the ramp. Down the corridor.
Megatron stood and waited for Optimus to open the door. His hands were chained behind his back.
Good, thought Optimus. Despite the fame and fortune, he's still under penal servitude. Good.
"Are we going to stand here all morning?" Megatron asked. His voice scraped over Optimus' raw nerves like a file.
"No," Optimus replied. He looked around quickly; nobody about. "This way, please."
"What?" Megatron snapped. He was suddenly alert, watching Optimus with suspicion.
"The Emirate has sent a private transport. It's waiting on balcony 12," Optimus lied as convincingly as he could.
Megatron looked at him, those bright red optics glimmering with suspicion.
Corridor. Corridor. Door. Corridor.
The door he wanted was there.
"Stop," Optimus said.
Megatron stopped and looked at him. "I know where balcony 12 is," he said, but Optimus was no longer sure if he was hearing suspicion or outright distrust in the gladiator's voice.
"There's something I have to tell you," he said. His voice came out strained, almost crackling. He took a sidestep, then another, circling Megatron. The gladiator turned with him, trained into it, not breaking his glare. The door was behind Megatron now. Optimus kept his gaze locked on the gladiator's face as he radio-clicked the door to open.
Optimus charged, lifting Megatron off his feet with the blow of his shoulder. Bound and off-balance, the gladiator staggered backwards and Optimus pushed him, pushed like a freight train, forcing the murdering monster back into the one room in the arena where he knew there would be no prying optics.
He kept pushing until Megatron hit the wall. The monster stumbled and fell to one knee. Optimus quickly backed away.
Now, he thought, now I've gone too far to turn back.
Elita ...
He pulled his gun out from folded space and aimed it carefully at the face of the kneeling monster. "The cameras in here are all broken," he said, insides flaring with anger, voice shaking, "the walls are thick and nobody is coming to look for you for a whole joor."
"Who are you?" Megatron snarled, freezing at the sight of the gun.
"My name is Optimus. Don't you remember me?"
"In this light?" Megatron snapped.
"Remember Chromus?" Optimus said, voice shaking with anger. "Remember the people you killed? Remember Orion Pax, Arial and Dion? Remember me?"
"You," Megatron said, voice low, rumbling. "I needn't ask what you're here for."
"No," Optimus said, "I'm here to kill you."
