Nemesis night

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by Irony, Jan 17, 2009.

  1. Irony

    Irony fangirl

    Nov 12, 2008
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    Enjoy and comment, please!
  2. Irony

    Irony fangirl

    Nov 12, 2008
    Trophy Points:
    Nemesis night

    Jazz was not scared, not depressed, and tried to hide his energy chucks. Ever since he was captured, he knew that he’d have to fight just to entertain Straxus. Well, you’ll remember that entertainment long, he swore. He didn’t have any escape plans yet, but though he was sure about some points. Like: 1, not leaving through the cooling systems again, 2, taking at least two hostages because one melts too fast, 3, kicking Straxus’s spark out of the athmosphere if given a chance, 4, no escape through the prison level either, and meanwhile, 5, not getting shot offline too fast.
    He squatted in the corner of the cage, putting 87% of his weight on the left foot, 11% on the right palm, not more than 2% on the right elbow. The cage was already open but he didn’t come out immediately. What for? The cage has only one door and the longer he can stay inside, protected from most directions, the longer he can study the enemies’ style. If they have any.
    He kept his audio sensors set towards Straxus and his hangers-on, but all he could hear was about a „Nemesis project” or something similar. A project not fully complete, as a mostly green Decepticon mentioned.
    Then, led by his instincts rather than his programming or mind, he jumped out of the cage a nanosecond before it collapsed under the weight of a large black semitruck. He raced towards the wall, turned left, then performed a tripple axel and faced the enemy. Good news, it was only one large black semitruck. They stood there, both silent, for an astrosecond, trying to judge each other’s abilities and weaknesses. As that astrosec passed, they attacked each other with perfect timing.
    Jazz jumped on the top of the semitruck while it transformed, then almost fell off when his enemy shook his head, as if trying to bite the Autobot ninja. He grabbed an exhaust pipe, then kicked the larger robot’s hand when he tied to wipe him off. At the same time, the hit the Decepticon insignia on his shoulder with the energy chucks in his other hand.
    Pain seemed to enrage the attacker even more. Jazz was finally shaken off, and the bigger robot tried to crunch him with his feet. From this point of view, Jazz could see the red windscreens and the black hip-joints. He hoped to find a weak or sensitive point there. He jumped.
    As a result, he got severly kicked away. For half of a thought, he believed he could fly straight out of the arena on this route. He didn’t. Straxus laughted. The semitruck warrior prepared for another attack. The silhouette seemed familiar: so much like a cadet or two at the Academy. They attacked each other at the same time again. This time Jazz realised that the more pain he manages to cause, e.g. by braking half of an exhaust pipe or hitting the the shoulder joint from the back with the energy chucks, the more he enrages the semitruck instead of forcing him to rethink his life. It was time to change strategy. What if pangs work the other way round too? While countering an attack, Jazz tried to remember an old technique he learned from an Elite Guard member vorns ago. Not being sure if it will work or not, he tripped the black robot and hold on to his neck…. And slowly, carefully, gently, he put his palm on his scruff module. As subtly as he could, Jazz slid his hand lower, touching the connecting point of almost all wires coming from the metallic body. He made a small circle with his palm, then slid it upwards, in the direction of the occipital program chamber.
    The effect was instantaneous. First the robot freeze like the picture of a paused video recording, then heaved a sigh of relief and thank.
    One problem solved, the new ones were on the way. In such a situation, there has to be at least one Decepticon to disturb the fragile moment. Here in the Polyhex arena there were about a dozen.
    -Do we share them fifty-fifty? – Jazz asked, quickly jumping from the way of a shot. –Misfire – he commented.
    The black robot seemed frustrated again. He yelled one loud „Nemesis Prime DESTROY!” and those who didn’t take the hint, didn’t have much time to regret their last mistake. Somebody in the unleashed chaos has left an entrance to the arena corridor open, and Jazz was on the ball. He could hear smebody transforming behind him, and if it wasn’t one of the wrecks, it had to be the large Decepticon. He quickly got in the lane close to the wall to let the black semitruck with red glasses speed up. After Nemesis Prime overtook him, Jazz had to confront a self-appointed champion of hand-to-hand combat. As a result, he wasted three astroseconds, but gained an unused energon rifle and half of a blowpipe. The corridor turned right at the end of the tunnel but the black truck did not. He was either bored with his bodywork or had a strange program in his mind to run his head against a thick titanium wall, but he definitely got what he bargained for.
    -Let me guess where your headache came from!
    At least, they were outside. Hanging on a thick wire-cloth, above a pool of molten metal. Jazz could see a ledge on the other side of the pit, but he couldn’t jump there on his own. Some Decepticons turned up on the corridor, shooting at the duo, as if they weren’t in trouble enough without such a laser storm.
    -Why do these hate you so much?
    -Give me that rifle.
    So it’s mutual, Jazz guessed. While the Autobot couldn’t decide wether he wants to get grilled above the pit or get cooked inside, the Decepticon was still fighting back.
    The corridor ran out of Decepticons, or maybe the robots realised it’s not worth to die just to shoot someone already hanging above the melter. Jazz had a spare astrosecond so he touched the analgetic points of the scruff module again.
    -Thank you, Nemesis Prime. I don’t know who you are or who could you be, but….
    The soothing method didn’t seem to work this time. The black one grabbed the wire they were both holding on, offering his other hand (with the rifle) to the Autobot. Jazz hold the rifle, not quite sure what the semitruck had in mind. Next moment he hit the ledge with his chestplate and the wall behind it with his back. One of them was free. The life of the other one was depending on how fast Jazz could find the control panel of the wire cloth.
    It didn’t take more than four astroseconds but it felt like half of eternity. Soon they were rolling side by side, on the highway from Polyhex to Iacon. They could hear the Decepticons at their back, approaching.
    -It’s almost dawn – Jazz calculated. –If you have no better idea, I suggest we get rid of them at the bridge curve. They’ll think we turned East, to Iacon, and their sensors will be jammed by the direct light.
    -Good idea. But how do we get to Iacon then?
    -We don’t –Jazz knew it wasn’t the perfect plan, but the robot who hit the solid titanium wall with his bodywork just to end up above the melting pit had no reason to complain. They were both couched in the structure of the bridge, pretending to be a part of it. A shiny Autobot with a Decepticon semitruck was an unusual element of this piece of art, but as long as the bridge didn’t complain, they didn’t either.
    -They’re barricading all the ways out of Polyhex.
    -Except for one.
    -How do you know?
    -Not even Straxus expects us to go to Kaon. How’s your headache?
    -I ache all over. It makes me mad. That’s what Straxus wanted to test, if I’m already mad enough.
    -Why did he torment you? I mean, what happened before that?
    -All I remember are harted and grief.
    -But…. Forgive me, are you a Decepticon?
    -One thing I’m sure about.
    All right, Jazz nodded. Still faking to be a part of the bridge structure, they turned South, and raced to Kaon. The Autobot was right: they were not held back, not even by traffic, since every available Decepticon in Polyhex were waiting for them at the other side of the city.

    From the inside, the building looked like an undersize warehouse or an oversize box, with some deep shelves full of bric-a-bracs, and bright windows on the ceiling. It surely didn’t follow any Decepticon fashion, but it matched the owner perfectly. Legendary was a strange old robot, mostly white, but golden at the elbow and wrist. His insignia was not like others, it was an older design. He was slightly frumpish, impatient, restless and stubborn. When they first met, Jazz knew for sure that he was from the first, almost forgot, often denied generation of Decepticons; by now, he knew the whole history of the old robot. Earlier, they tried to convince each other, by now, they respected each other for what they were.
    Nemesis Prime was lying on the floor, in the same position he arrived. He rolled in, transformed, then collapsed, exhausted by his own fear, harted and unbelief. Jazz quickly explained the situation to Legendary.
    -I managed to piss off Straxus more than usual. Then, I borrowed the endurer of his new project, and fooled him by pretending to roll for Iacon. By now, I think he realised it’s not his lucky orn.
    Legendary laughed out, then kneeled down to examine the remainings of the black semitruck.
    -You know my exact opinion about Straxus. Now, you’ll find some empty bags of infusable energon on the black shelf, right under the sonic gun. Fetch me two or three.
    Jazz did so. Legendary attached them to the neck of the lying robot, then checked if he was concious. He was pleased to see he was: concious, but too low on energon to resist.
    -Great- Legendary sighed, then kicked the lying robot on the nose, hit his back with an old, malfunctioning rod, and maliciously he stepped on the most sensitive parts.
    -What’s this for? – Jazz asked.
    Legendary kneeled back to Nemesis Prime’s neck, and checked the content of the bags. Dirty green liquid was coming from the robot. Even if the bags closed hermetically, the smell was unbearable for the Autobot. The old Decepticon didn’t seem to care about it.
    -What is that…. oil?
    Legendary sat on his heels, ignoring the Autobot’s question.
    -Fetch me two more bags.
    Jazz did.
    -What is that?
    -What does it feel like? Does it remind you of…?
    -It’s like destruction. Energon-solved destruction.
    Legendary nodded. When the bags were full, he changed them, and only after that, he checked the semitruck-like wreck again. Something was happening for sure.
    The black bodywork turned dark grey, the shine of the optics and windscreen changed for yellow. The Decepticon insignia was fading. Legendary didn’t say more than „Ummm” „Hmmmmm” and „Um-hm”.
    -You were right about the bags’ content Jazz. This robot was poisoned with this – he showed a bag. The dark green liquid looked like some venom without question.
    -You mean, Straxus put it into him just to….
    -Oh, no. Not literally. Few, very few Decepticons know this fluid weapon, and those who do, would never waste it like this. No, this is a treasuse no Deepticon leaders know about. Their problem. How many empty bags are left?
    -Then open another one. High-grade. And give me them both. Upper purple shelf, between the Robo-Smasher and the bottle of electrum.
    -Why do you keep infusable high-grade at home, Legendary? –Jazz asked. The old Decepticon laughed.
    -Have you seen any other Cybertronians of my age, running, jumping, fighting like me?
    -Of course not! I mean…. I thought you were unique anyway.
    -Alpha Trion is twelve thousand vorns younger than I. But he doesn’t know this. Either.
    -Know what?
    -I didn’t think you’ll learn that at such an early age, young Jazz. It’s for the joints. Keeps them in near-mint condition. Let me change these bags and I promise I’ll show you.
    Nemesis Prime joined the discussion with a faint „Ooooooooum”. Legendary turned to him, punched him on the nose, just to increase the speed of the liquid harted coming out. Then, carefully, he changed one bag for fresh high-grade energon, and the other one, for an empty bag. At the end of the movement, he sprang and kicked Jazz on the nose, hit him on the shoulder, then grabbed him at his bumper and thrown him into the other corner of the room.
    -That’s what I’m talking about, Jazz. I defeated you after warning.
    -That’s because I didn’t want to hurt you.
    -That would have been the first time ever.
    -You mean that ding-dong fight at New Scramble?
    -No, I mean the prison break from Roswell.
    -You’re right. Of course you didn’t want to hurt me then, since you were as unconcious as a screwdriver.
    Legendary checked the two bags again, to see how much fresh energon got into the other bag. Not much, the outcoming liquid was seemingly nothing but pure harted. Yet the eyes were not shining yellowish anymore, they were rather green. The grey tone became brighter, the insignia almost disappeared.
    -Tell me the odds, Legendary.
    -What odds? Your friend just needs to get rid of that extra dose of harted, a full repair after what you call „leaving Polyhex with almost no trouble”, and only Primus can tell what he might become. All I demand are these bags of destruction, you can take what’s left. Deal?
    -No deal. Thanks, Legendary.
    -I thank you, young piece of Autobot scrap.
    -You call me one piece of…?
    -Did I say „one”? Be glad whenever you’re one piece, Jazz.
    -Stop preaching, old moron. Please.
    Legendary nodded.
    -Fine. I stop preaching, you get another bag high-grade. That’s it. Do you remember Alamogordo?
    -I couldn’t forget it in my tomb! And you? When we were in Gyconi’s manor?
    -Of course! And I remember you getting your energy chucks, that was quite an adventure too.
    They both laughed, one trying to be louder than the other. They filled two more bags with the horrible liquid, chatting about good old days, sometimes checking if the semitruck was still alive. He was, afterall. And he was getting better and better, light grey with turquoise eyes and windshied, and at this stage, Legendary waved goodbye to them both.
    -You have quite strange friends, Jazz. For an Autobot, I mean – the semitruck mentioned, as they were rolling to Iacon.
    -We helped out each other a few times. Several times – Jazz explained.
    -I’ve heard so. May I ask, how did you get those energy chucks?
    -Of course! We were…. WATCH OUT!
    It was too late. Jazz managed to get out of the trap and only got immobilised on his left feet, but the truck was shot immobile right in the middle. Jazz couldn’t do anything about him. He regretted coming this way, but that was not much of a help.
    -Jazz, help! Please, you can’t let…. HELP ME!

    „Help me!”
    Not again.
    -Jazz, help!
    -Don’t let them….
    -Ultra Magnus, wake up! Are you OK, boss?
    -Ummmmm. I think so. That was just because of the involuntary shut-downs.
    -Again. Jazz, are we safe now?
    -I think so. Why?
    -May I ask you something? Don’t answer if you don’t feel like.
    -I think I will.
    -How did you get your energy chucks?

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