Flash Fic: Midnight at the Smelters (G1) - PG13
Title: Midnight at the Smelters
Rating: PG13
Warning: Bits of gore, references to what the Decepticons use those giant smelters for
tf-speedwriting Prompt: #1 Graveyard, at midnight
Summary: Needlenose doesn't think meeting contacts at the smelters is a good idea. He's right.
Frag, this place still gave Needlenose the creeps. At least the smelters were cool; Needlenose didn't have to watch bodies being craned in and stripped. The first time he'd come here with Spinister, the smelt workers had found a live bomb rigged inside a body, and they'd been called in to sort out the resulting mess. High-heat explosives made it hard to identify what parts went to which victim, and when an entire cargo load of dead were added to the mix... Eventually they'd tracked the bomb back to the Autobots' Wreckers through a explosives dealer, which certainly made Needlenose that much less eager to meet the Wreckers in person. Needlenose still had nightmares about that bomb.
Today, though, there'd been no battlefield and no prisoner executions recently, no infrastructure damage or recycling, and these smelters were shut down until they were needed again.
Something crunched underfoot, and Needlenose looked down at the broken headlight and shuddered. He couldn't wait to get the frag out of here. Why the frag did Transaxle want to meet here of all places?
Overhead, the winch chains creaked ominously, leaving Needlenose's antenna twitching. That's normal, Needlenose. Absolutely, completely normal. Just chains. A deep thud answered the creaking, echoing through the massive building, reverberating through the smelting pots below. Aaaand that's not. Needlenose backed up, pulling his rifle. Why me? Why is it always me? Why doesn't this slag happen to Spinister?
Transaxle had been Spinister's contact, after all. The helicopter had inherited him from another Mayhem - who died a horrible, painful death, Needlenose's processors added - and had passed on the informant to Needlenose. Part of him was ecstatic at being trusted with the additional duties... and the rest of him just wanted to go home. Like, right now.
“What would Spinister do?” he muttered out loud, peering into the darkness. The hulking shapes of dormant smelters and discarded scrap piles made it hard to identify individual shapes. He turned up his motion sensors and moved cautiously toward the source of the noise.
Above him, the chains continued to creak, grating on his nerves. He glanced up nervously, and stopped short. “Oh frag.” More than chains hung from the winches. Transaxle stared down at him with dead eyes.
The mech's frame was still warm. The dead-gray had barely started to dull his hands.
Needlenose backed up, antenna flat against his head. Frag. Fragfragfrag... How had they managed to... he'd been standing right there, and he hadn't sensed anything, not even on his motion sensors.
The Pit with this, Needlenose thought, transforming and taking off for the base. He was a fragging Mayhem; he'd commandeer a fragging squad and let them deal with this slag.
Rating: PG13
Warning: Bits of gore, references to what the Decepticons use those giant smelters for
tf-speedwriting Prompt: #1 Graveyard, at midnight
Summary: Needlenose doesn't think meeting contacts at the smelters is a good idea. He's right.
Frag, this place still gave Needlenose the creeps. At least the smelters were cool; Needlenose didn't have to watch bodies being craned in and stripped. The first time he'd come here with Spinister, the smelt workers had found a live bomb rigged inside a body, and they'd been called in to sort out the resulting mess. High-heat explosives made it hard to identify what parts went to which victim, and when an entire cargo load of dead were added to the mix... Eventually they'd tracked the bomb back to the Autobots' Wreckers through a explosives dealer, which certainly made Needlenose that much less eager to meet the Wreckers in person. Needlenose still had nightmares about that bomb.
Today, though, there'd been no battlefield and no prisoner executions recently, no infrastructure damage or recycling, and these smelters were shut down until they were needed again.
Something crunched underfoot, and Needlenose looked down at the broken headlight and shuddered. He couldn't wait to get the frag out of here. Why the frag did Transaxle want to meet here of all places?
Overhead, the winch chains creaked ominously, leaving Needlenose's antenna twitching. That's normal, Needlenose. Absolutely, completely normal. Just chains. A deep thud answered the creaking, echoing through the massive building, reverberating through the smelting pots below. Aaaand that's not. Needlenose backed up, pulling his rifle. Why me? Why is it always me? Why doesn't this slag happen to Spinister?
Transaxle had been Spinister's contact, after all. The helicopter had inherited him from another Mayhem - who died a horrible, painful death, Needlenose's processors added - and had passed on the informant to Needlenose. Part of him was ecstatic at being trusted with the additional duties... and the rest of him just wanted to go home. Like, right now.
“What would Spinister do?” he muttered out loud, peering into the darkness. The hulking shapes of dormant smelters and discarded scrap piles made it hard to identify individual shapes. He turned up his motion sensors and moved cautiously toward the source of the noise.
Above him, the chains continued to creak, grating on his nerves. He glanced up nervously, and stopped short. “Oh frag.” More than chains hung from the winches. Transaxle stared down at him with dead eyes.
The mech's frame was still warm. The dead-gray had barely started to dull his hands.
Needlenose backed up, antenna flat against his head. Frag. Fragfragfrag... How had they managed to... he'd been standing right there, and he hadn't sensed anything, not even on his motion sensors.
The Pit with this, Needlenose thought, transforming and taking off for the base. He was a fragging Mayhem; he'd commandeer a fragging squad and let them deal with this slag.