Kick in the Head - Counseling Session
Title: Kick in the Head - Counseling Session
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Mirage, Bluestreak
Rating: PG-13
Summary: You can never escape your past, but is embracing it a betrayal of who you have become?
Warnings: Decepticons being Decepticons.
Notes: The base idea behind this has been swimming around in my head for a long time now.
Table of Contents
o o o
Ultra Mirage led a terrified group of civilians across the temple plaza, each gently cradling their wounded companions. Beyond the walls of the temple, screams and explosions fouled the air, as war was brought to their city.
His spark felt full of lead. He'd been a spy before finding his calling in the worship of Primus, ferretting out information for the Council of Ancients. But despite the terrible things he'd learned, he'd never killed, nor been even very close to the dead. Now he was immersed in death, with dead and dying mechs at every turn, filling the temple to the brim with corrosive decay.
An explosion at the gates and he was sent falling. A neat tuck and roll put him back on his feet - vorns since he was in the field, but some instincts were hardwired - and he twisted back the way he'd come. A terrible, known figure stood in the shattered remnants of the gate, Pitfire optics hungry for spilled energon. Megatron, and Decepticons spilled in around his feet.
A deep, spark-wrenching cry, and Ultra Magnus slammed into Megatron full-force. Mirage felt sick. The temples were neutral! Their connection with the Prime only went as far as his religious position; his priesthood could sway decisions among the politicians, but his political nature swayed nothing within the temples. Lines had been drawn, and the temples promised to not take sides until it was forced upon them. Now, it was forced, and Decepticons were gunning down blue-white Ultras in cold iron, laughing as the priests fell.
The first two Decepticons that approached him went right past, not noticing him. He'd gone 'invisible' out of old habit. His signal did not disappear - a hole in the noise of their world was as loud as a mech transmitting full-force. Instead, he blended in with the background noise, and specialized crystaline alloys in his plating distorted his outline, making him indistinct and unremarkable, something far away and out of immediate notice until he wanted to be noticed.
Or until someone ran into him. A Decepticon blundered into him while he was distracted by Megatron and Magnus, and he was lifted in cruel talons. "Time to meet the Matrix, priest," the Decepticon growled, a leering grin splitting his face.
The Decepticon's head disappeared in a rain of armor and silicon wafers, and Mirage locked his vocalizer on a scream as he was splashed with hot energon. The headless corpse wavered and fell, and he was caught in careful hands.
He looked up at his rescuer and his horror did not abate. The last time he'd seen this mech, they were laughung their way through a gentle overload, the night he'd disappeared from the temple. The lovely blue-white alloys of an Ultra were gone, replaced with heavier armor and the dull gray of dead camoflage mesh. Mirage was not the only Ultra with a sorrid past, and the friendly, loving, talkative mech he'd once known had reverted, gone back to his roots as their generation's most infamous mercenary assassin.
"You said you'd never leave me," he whispered, shuttering his optics.
"No, I didn't," the murderer murmured, so caring, so gentle. "I said that, no matter where I go, I'll come back for you. I kept my promise, Mirage."
Sweet betrayal and bitter suspicon, both so long forgotten. Had he truly thought he found someone he could trust implicitly? How naive of him. "No," he said. "Deadaim didn't make that promise; Bluestreak did." He powered his optics again and the tragic pain in that familiar-but-not face was splintered silver in his fuel lines. "I don't see Bluestreak here."
For the first time since he'd met the mech, Bluestreak was silent for longer than a breem, leading him to safety, and Mirage's spark was shattered iron in his chest.
Fandom: Transformers
Characters/pairings: Mirage, Bluestreak
Rating: PG-13
Summary: You can never escape your past, but is embracing it a betrayal of who you have become?
Warnings: Decepticons being Decepticons.
Notes: The base idea behind this has been swimming around in my head for a long time now.
Table of Contents
o o o
Ultra Mirage led a terrified group of civilians across the temple plaza, each gently cradling their wounded companions. Beyond the walls of the temple, screams and explosions fouled the air, as war was brought to their city.
His spark felt full of lead. He'd been a spy before finding his calling in the worship of Primus, ferretting out information for the Council of Ancients. But despite the terrible things he'd learned, he'd never killed, nor been even very close to the dead. Now he was immersed in death, with dead and dying mechs at every turn, filling the temple to the brim with corrosive decay.
An explosion at the gates and he was sent falling. A neat tuck and roll put him back on his feet - vorns since he was in the field, but some instincts were hardwired - and he twisted back the way he'd come. A terrible, known figure stood in the shattered remnants of the gate, Pitfire optics hungry for spilled energon. Megatron, and Decepticons spilled in around his feet.
A deep, spark-wrenching cry, and Ultra Magnus slammed into Megatron full-force. Mirage felt sick. The temples were neutral! Their connection with the Prime only went as far as his religious position; his priesthood could sway decisions among the politicians, but his political nature swayed nothing within the temples. Lines had been drawn, and the temples promised to not take sides until it was forced upon them. Now, it was forced, and Decepticons were gunning down blue-white Ultras in cold iron, laughing as the priests fell.
The first two Decepticons that approached him went right past, not noticing him. He'd gone 'invisible' out of old habit. His signal did not disappear - a hole in the noise of their world was as loud as a mech transmitting full-force. Instead, he blended in with the background noise, and specialized crystaline alloys in his plating distorted his outline, making him indistinct and unremarkable, something far away and out of immediate notice until he wanted to be noticed.
Or until someone ran into him. A Decepticon blundered into him while he was distracted by Megatron and Magnus, and he was lifted in cruel talons. "Time to meet the Matrix, priest," the Decepticon growled, a leering grin splitting his face.
The Decepticon's head disappeared in a rain of armor and silicon wafers, and Mirage locked his vocalizer on a scream as he was splashed with hot energon. The headless corpse wavered and fell, and he was caught in careful hands.
He looked up at his rescuer and his horror did not abate. The last time he'd seen this mech, they were laughung their way through a gentle overload, the night he'd disappeared from the temple. The lovely blue-white alloys of an Ultra were gone, replaced with heavier armor and the dull gray of dead camoflage mesh. Mirage was not the only Ultra with a sorrid past, and the friendly, loving, talkative mech he'd once known had reverted, gone back to his roots as their generation's most infamous mercenary assassin.
"You said you'd never leave me," he whispered, shuttering his optics.
"No, I didn't," the murderer murmured, so caring, so gentle. "I said that, no matter where I go, I'll come back for you. I kept my promise, Mirage."
Sweet betrayal and bitter suspicon, both so long forgotten. Had he truly thought he found someone he could trust implicitly? How naive of him. "No," he said. "Deadaim didn't make that promise; Bluestreak did." He powered his optics again and the tragic pain in that familiar-but-not face was splintered silver in his fuel lines. "I don't see Bluestreak here."
For the first time since he'd met the mech, Bluestreak was silent for longer than a breem, leading him to safety, and Mirage's spark was shattered iron in his chest.