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Alexithymia	By : RedIckarys Category: Transformers > Beast Machines Views: 2639 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Beast Wars/Machines and all the characters included in the series do not belong to me, and I am not making any profit off this work of fiction.

Chapter List
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His spark fluttered as he watch the gold and black mech step away, his face twisted into a cruel sneer. He felt a pang of regret for not fighting back like the other mech wanted, but the thought of striking the former rodent did strange things to his fuel tank, making it churn sickeningly. It was a foolish thing, as the Vermin was an able fighter, and more than capable of holding his ground in battle, but something inside insisted the rat was more fragile than he let on.

More fragile than the blank look that slide over his face like a mask, and less powerful than the angry hiss of “Incinerate” would suggest. He sat up as the bike sped away, a heavy sadness settling over him, and reached up to gingerly inspect his shattered nose. Along the bridge, he could feel bits of shattered... something, and a strange, gooey fluid oozed from the bottom. He swiped his claw over it, then held it out before his face, staring incredulously. It was not the pink stain of energon; it was red, a deep, organic red.

He was bleeding.

Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of monster he had become.

But, as conflicted as he was, there were more pressing things on his mind. Wherever he was going, the Vermin could take care of himself, as he had proven time and again. The Predacons could not.

A lot had changed in the time between his “death” in the valley and his “rebirth” in the rubble of the Nemesis. Bots had lived and died, loved and hated. They had doubts and dreams, failed and learned. They had grown, and now, here on Cybertron, they had changed again. On a Cybertron that appeared ravaged by war and left deserted but for a few stray fliers, and now, a Rattrap who was not himself.

It was all too much. He had to get back to his crew. They needed to know what he had found.

Letting out a tired sigh, Dinobot pushed himself to his feet and began picking his way through the rubble. Hidden beneath the ruined structure of a building, there was a tunnel. Down the tunnel, deep in the bowels of the planet, was the hollowed out remains of a ziggurat. There, the other Predacons would be awaiting his return, lurking in the shadows like the discarded wretches of society they were.

Half-way down the tunnel, Dinobot began picking up the panicked screams of a tormented mech. Terrorsaur could not stand to be beneath the ground, and his shrill voice echoed off the walls, ringing in Dinobot's ears though he was still far from their lair. He begged for freedom, to be allowed to walk the surface, and to be released into the sky. It was painful to listen to, (quite literally, in fact) but the warrior could not risk letting him run free, lest he be killed, or worse, bring death upon their heads.

Even so, it was a terrible fate for them all, not just Terrorsaur; they should not have to live beneath the surface of their own planet, cowering in fear.

Pushing the thought from his mind, he took the final steps down the tunnel, emerging into the cavern of their base. Inferno had his arms wrapped around Terrorsaur's chest, holding him in place even as he fought to escape. He clawed desperately at his arms, putting red streaks in the ant's obsidian chitin. Every scratch, every welt glowed like an ember on the ant, thick, glowing red liquid dripping down his arms and onto the floor with a hiss.

“Teacher!” Inferno shouted, moving his hand to muffle Terrorsaur's screams as Dinobot stepped into the room, the others coming out one by one around him.

Quickstrike was the first to appear, leaping down from atop a ruin. Out of all the Predacons, he had changed the most – no longer was he a strange mash-up of snake and scorpion – now he was a gleaming gold and teal jackrabbit, his large red optics glowing with a greater fury than Dinobot had ever seen in him before. He crouched down behind the ant, powerful legs coiled as if ready to launch himself at anyone who came too close.

Scorponok came next, appearing as an indistinct pale blue blur that skittered out of the darkness at Inferno's feet. In the past, it always hard to tell what the tech was thinking, as he had mastered the art of repression, but after facing much the same fate as Terrorsaur, he'd been reduced to a jumble of nerves and empty stares. He never strayed far from Inferno though, needing the reassurance of another mech to know he was still alive, so it was no surprise when he stopped beside the ant, tail arching towards him.

Four little mechs, huddled together in the darkness, each one just as damaged as the last. A burst of pride lifted Dinobot's spark as he looked them over. They may have been dependent upon him for guidance, but helpless bitlets they were not. Individually, they were lost, but together, they were strong enough to endure even the worst ordeals. In their own way, they all embodied the very best of the Predacon ideal.

Still there was one missing, and with a frown, Dinobot turned to glare over his shoulder. Sure enough, the accursed spider was dangling in the arch of the doorway, eight green optics glowing in the dark. The warrior scowled at him disapprovingly, and with a manic giggle, Tarantulas dropped to the ground, an organic, crunching, squelching sound filling the air as he transformed.

Dinobot shuddered as the noise echoed off the cavern walls, making them seem worse than they already were. When it finally died away, he opened his eyes and looked at the spider. In the darkness, all that could be seen of him was his eyes, four green, and four purple. His thin, slender body and impossibly long legs were like a shadow silhouetted against shadow, blurring the lines between spider and nothingness.

“Well,” the mad scientist rasped, his voice echoing strangely in the cavern – it always echoed now, different layers of sound combined to make it seem as though three people were speaking at once, “Did you find anything?”

A moment of silence passed, the others looking at him expectantly. Even Terrorsaur had stopped his constant struggling and screeching to hear Dinobot's answer.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and steeled his nerve.

“I found... Rattrap. But he is different.”

“Rattrap?” Scorponok echoed, speaking so quietly that Dinobot almost missed it.

Quickstrike had no reservations and spat his words out viciously, red eyes narrowed, “Y'mean that sneaky little varmint made it back here okay, 'n I'm stuck as a stupid bunny rabbit?”

“He's not okay-” Dinobot began, but Terrorsaur cut him off, a pleading note in his voice.

“What about Waspinator? My wingmate, please – if we left him behind on that planet - !”

The flyer was never really a sympathetic creature in Dinobot's eyes. He was arrogant, vain, a coward, and just as likely to shoot you in the back as he was to stab you in the face. He complained frequently, and purposefully took his time completing tasks, particularly if he did not like them.

And yet the faint glimmer of hope in his eyes, eyes so recently haunted by despair, made Dinobot's spark twinge in empathy.

“I am sorry, Terrorsaur,” he murmured, shoulders slumping in defeat. “The only sign of life I came across was Rattrap, and he was no longer himself.”

“Isn't it interesting?” Tarantulas crooned, his feet clicking against the ground as he stepped forward and rested a spindly hand upon Dinobot's shoulder. “How civilizations may fall, but the vermin still remain?”

A growl and a flash of teeth was all it took to removes the spider's hand, but the wicked gleam remained in his eyes, taunting him. The warrior held his composure for a moment longer, then lashed out, sharp claws raking over dark chitin. A shriek of pain followed by a pneumatic hiss were his rewards for his efforts, and Tarantulas scrambled away clutching his face and glaring hatefully at the raptor.

“This is no laughing matter!” he bellowed, snarling with satisfaction as the spider collapsed at Inferno's feet, looking up at him, scandalized. “Our own planet's defenses attacked us without warning, and we were infected with a virus before our ship could even crash down! Cybertron is a ruined battlefield and we do not know what caused it, let alone who the victor is. And you lot won't even let me explain what I have found because you are too caught up in personal concerns! It should not be this hard! All I am asking is that for once in your miserable lives, that you please SHUT UP, and listen to me for five cycles!”

No one spoke. No one moved. In the darkness of the cavern, Dinobot's harsh breathing was the only sound.

“All right,” he growled, forcing down the blind anger that threatened to consume him. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, then let it out, exhaling the tempting urge to rip out the others' sparks. He was calm, and he was in control. He would not let the madness force his hand. “All right. Allow me to start at the beginning...”
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Alexithymia