Prompt #4
Character: Ironhide
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Continuity: IDW
Rating: T
Time: 64 minutes
Words: 783
Summary: Mutants. Why’d it have to be mutants...
Ironhide had been given the unenviable task of inspecting the lower levels of Cybertron’s infamous underground. There was some rumour going around of a Decepticon storage hangar located there. One where they allegedly kept untold amounts of guns and ammunition.
He hadn’t expected to find anything. Idle gossip, he’d brushed it off as. The underground was not only a highly unstable construction itself, but had an atmosphere so very saturated with toxins and fuels that overexposure could easily leave permanent damage to one’s cerebral cortex.
So it was only logic that he’d embarked into the dark and murky depths under the impression that he would cover about a mile, discover nothing, then leave. Simple and straightforward.
He hadn’t known what to expect, should he find something. The idea of a weapons storage facility seemed so… wishful. Plus he doubted even the ‘Cons were moronic enough to store such vital things there.
His optics flickered and reset when a new sound perked his audios. Too dull to make out, but definitely there. With a crease to his optic ridges he turned towards it. It didn’t sound like anything mechanical. Almost… sentient.
Realigning his posture to a more tensed stance, Ironhide slowly advanced down the tunnel. He kept all sensors on high alert and started when a ping popped up on his HUD. Something was alive down here.
Decepticon. That was the first, and most logical, thought that struck his mind. He internally cursed when the sound cut short. Slag! Had he been detected? He continued on at a quicker but still cautious pace, keeping close to the grimy wall.
Clink
Ironhide froze. Then looked down. His optics had been at their lowest setting, so the ground was little more than a blanket of ultra-violet signatures. He hesitantly switched it off and turned up the light of his optics to see what he’d stepped on. They then narrowed.
Chains? What the…
Nothing could have prepared him for the blow that struck him square in the back. Less of a blow and more of a powerful slash. Had it not been for the roar that gave his assailants position away, he’d likely have gotten another to his helm. Ironhide snarled and pivoted round to face them.
“Striking from behind, ‘Con. Why am ah not surprised?”
There was no vocal reaction other than a guttural snarl and another clawed strike. Ironhide dodged and smacked the bot across the helm. The ‘Con instantly crumbled to the ground and sagged. Ironhide stared in surprise. One blow wouldn’t have had that big an effect on a mini-bot, much less an adequately sized ‘Con.
Frowning, he carefully approached the fallen bot. He let his lights burn a little brighter to better inspect it. He shirked back at the amount of energon covering his frame.
There’s no way I hit him that hard.
His optics then narrowed and he dipped a little lower.
No. These are mostly gash wounds and…
He swallowed.
Claws. Teeth. What in Primus’…
Ironhide froze. His HUD pinged. And pinged again. And again. And again. Heat signatures then erupted across the screen, nearly obscuring his vision entirely. And the sound from before. It was back. Only clearer, louder, getting closer…
The red mech looked up and, with a feeling of unease sitting on his spark, let his headlights fully illuminate the expanse of the tunnel.
And there they were. Fresh and dried energon splotching their dark, battered frames. Optics dimmed and cracked. Limbs flailing as they ran or stumbled, moving like marionettes on brittle strings.
He looked from them back to the one he’d just downed. A slight twitch caught his notice and he fired his cannon into it, then looked back up to the hoarde coming towards him. The initial disgust mingled with shock quickly wore off.
If they were half as fragile as the one he’d downed with a punch, it didn’t matter what numbers they possessed, he could definitely fight his way back out of the Pit hole.
He rose his cannon and fired the next shot into the helm of a particularly large one. It stumbled and stopped to inspect its freshly decimated head. Then resumed its lumbering charge. Without optics it merely attacked whatever was in front of it, throwing or ripping apart whatever was in front of it.
Had he been a science bot of any description, Ironhide probably would have been highly intrigued as to what the frag they were. Not coherent enough to be functioning bots, not predictable enough to be drones. Alive but not living.
All Ironhide knew were two things. They were set on ripping him apart and they could be killed. And that was all he needed.
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Continuity: IDW
Rating: T
Time: 64 minutes
Words: 783
Summary: Mutants. Why’d it have to be mutants...
Ironhide had been given the unenviable task of inspecting the lower levels of Cybertron’s infamous underground. There was some rumour going around of a Decepticon storage hangar located there. One where they allegedly kept untold amounts of guns and ammunition.
He hadn’t expected to find anything. Idle gossip, he’d brushed it off as. The underground was not only a highly unstable construction itself, but had an atmosphere so very saturated with toxins and fuels that overexposure could easily leave permanent damage to one’s cerebral cortex.
So it was only logic that he’d embarked into the dark and murky depths under the impression that he would cover about a mile, discover nothing, then leave. Simple and straightforward.
He hadn’t known what to expect, should he find something. The idea of a weapons storage facility seemed so… wishful. Plus he doubted even the ‘Cons were moronic enough to store such vital things there.
His optics flickered and reset when a new sound perked his audios. Too dull to make out, but definitely there. With a crease to his optic ridges he turned towards it. It didn’t sound like anything mechanical. Almost… sentient.
Realigning his posture to a more tensed stance, Ironhide slowly advanced down the tunnel. He kept all sensors on high alert and started when a ping popped up on his HUD. Something was alive down here.
Decepticon. That was the first, and most logical, thought that struck his mind. He internally cursed when the sound cut short. Slag! Had he been detected? He continued on at a quicker but still cautious pace, keeping close to the grimy wall.
Clink
Ironhide froze. Then looked down. His optics had been at their lowest setting, so the ground was little more than a blanket of ultra-violet signatures. He hesitantly switched it off and turned up the light of his optics to see what he’d stepped on. They then narrowed.
Chains? What the…
Nothing could have prepared him for the blow that struck him square in the back. Less of a blow and more of a powerful slash. Had it not been for the roar that gave his assailants position away, he’d likely have gotten another to his helm. Ironhide snarled and pivoted round to face them.
“Striking from behind, ‘Con. Why am ah not surprised?”
There was no vocal reaction other than a guttural snarl and another clawed strike. Ironhide dodged and smacked the bot across the helm. The ‘Con instantly crumbled to the ground and sagged. Ironhide stared in surprise. One blow wouldn’t have had that big an effect on a mini-bot, much less an adequately sized ‘Con.
Frowning, he carefully approached the fallen bot. He let his lights burn a little brighter to better inspect it. He shirked back at the amount of energon covering his frame.
There’s no way I hit him that hard.
His optics then narrowed and he dipped a little lower.
No. These are mostly gash wounds and…
He swallowed.
Claws. Teeth. What in Primus’…
Ironhide froze. His HUD pinged. And pinged again. And again. And again. Heat signatures then erupted across the screen, nearly obscuring his vision entirely. And the sound from before. It was back. Only clearer, louder, getting closer…
The red mech looked up and, with a feeling of unease sitting on his spark, let his headlights fully illuminate the expanse of the tunnel.
And there they were. Fresh and dried energon splotching their dark, battered frames. Optics dimmed and cracked. Limbs flailing as they ran or stumbled, moving like marionettes on brittle strings.
He looked from them back to the one he’d just downed. A slight twitch caught his notice and he fired his cannon into it, then looked back up to the hoarde coming towards him. The initial disgust mingled with shock quickly wore off.
If they were half as fragile as the one he’d downed with a punch, it didn’t matter what numbers they possessed, he could definitely fight his way back out of the Pit hole.
He rose his cannon and fired the next shot into the helm of a particularly large one. It stumbled and stopped to inspect its freshly decimated head. Then resumed its lumbering charge. Without optics it merely attacked whatever was in front of it, throwing or ripping apart whatever was in front of it.
Had he been a science bot of any description, Ironhide probably would have been highly intrigued as to what the frag they were. Not coherent enough to be functioning bots, not predictable enough to be drones. Alive but not living.
All Ironhide knew were two things. They were set on ripping him apart and they could be killed. And that was all he needed.