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headless_seekerMidnight paced along the edge of the Smelting Pools holding a datapad in one hand. He'd really gotten to hate duty here, in Straxus old domain. Sure it was a strategic resource and all, source of raw materials for the few factories still running, and had to be guarded from the Autobots attempts to shut it down--attempts that were getting fewer and fewer as Megatron and Starscream drove the Autobots back and back until they held only the region around Iacon City.
He hated hearing the sounds of the smelter in operation. The hiss of the molten slag, the crackle of flames burning off the combustibles, the screams of the dying. Midnight was hardened warrior, in more than one sense; seeing and hearing enemies die was nothing much. Once, he'd reveled in it, roared in triumph when his missiles scored a hit, blowing a target into smoking fragments, laughed at the terrified whimpers of wounded Autobots when he caught up with them--but now? It had gotten old. Too much the same as the war escalated, fueled by energy from Earth, and he slaughtered Autobots by the hundreds. Now it was just a chore to be done.
Death in the smelter was something else. It was not a warrior's end; it was garbage disposal. Useless Empties and Neutrals, unimportant Autobot prisoners, the stripped bodies of the dead, all melted down and recycled into gleaming ingots of alloy. Someone long ago--Straxus, probably--had decided that it was too much bother to actually kill the living ones after draining them off fuel and stripping the useful parts--not when the smelter would finish them soon enough. Back when there were still Neutrals in Polyhex, it had been Straxus' way of terrorizing them into submitting to the Decepticon rule. Straxus had been a cruel bastard, leading through terror even his own Decepticon subordinates, and the pattern stayed long after Megatron killed Straxus.
His own accidental plunge into one of the smelting pits--though he'd survived it--had wakened that hatred in Midnight. He knew what it felt like to be still living as the molten slag enveloped him and started melting away his very body, while cooking his circuits from the heat. More than anything, Midnight wanted to get away from the Smelting Pools.
They wouldn't let him. Shockwave wanted him here, because the smelter and its factories were Important, and Megatron had already taken all his other good troops. Midnight had asked to be assigned to the frontlines time and again, and always turned down by Shockwave. He'd started applying for transfers behind Shockwave's back, but something always happened.
Like this time. He stopped pacing to stare at the datapad again. Midnight had had to download the message to a datapad and read it before he could actually believe it. He'd applied to a new elite Hunter/Seeker unit that was raiding the Autobot supply lines and performing strike missions deep in their shrinking territory.
They'd turned him down.
...configuration and performance does not fit the mission profile and group dynamic...
Yeah, he could read between the words. He was too big and slow for their raids, not maneuverable enough to keep up with the rest of them, too heavily armed for precision strikes... not like them. That was the real reason. He wasn't one of them, not a real Seeker--and he had the odor of the Smelting Pools on him. You pulled duty there, and pretty soon other Decepticons started avoiding you--except for a few real sickos who wanted your company, wanted to hear about the screams from the smelter... Seriously. Company like that, and even your own team-mates started avoiding you.
Quite simply, he wasn't wanted, by anyone, anywhere.
With a snarl, Midnight hurled the datapad into the smelting pool. He watched it hit, sluggish ripples spreading from where the frame began to smolder and melt in the hissing slag. He watched until it melted and sank out of sight.
He hated hearing the sounds of the smelter in operation. The hiss of the molten slag, the crackle of flames burning off the combustibles, the screams of the dying. Midnight was hardened warrior, in more than one sense; seeing and hearing enemies die was nothing much. Once, he'd reveled in it, roared in triumph when his missiles scored a hit, blowing a target into smoking fragments, laughed at the terrified whimpers of wounded Autobots when he caught up with them--but now? It had gotten old. Too much the same as the war escalated, fueled by energy from Earth, and he slaughtered Autobots by the hundreds. Now it was just a chore to be done.
Death in the smelter was something else. It was not a warrior's end; it was garbage disposal. Useless Empties and Neutrals, unimportant Autobot prisoners, the stripped bodies of the dead, all melted down and recycled into gleaming ingots of alloy. Someone long ago--Straxus, probably--had decided that it was too much bother to actually kill the living ones after draining them off fuel and stripping the useful parts--not when the smelter would finish them soon enough. Back when there were still Neutrals in Polyhex, it had been Straxus' way of terrorizing them into submitting to the Decepticon rule. Straxus had been a cruel bastard, leading through terror even his own Decepticon subordinates, and the pattern stayed long after Megatron killed Straxus.
His own accidental plunge into one of the smelting pits--though he'd survived it--had wakened that hatred in Midnight. He knew what it felt like to be still living as the molten slag enveloped him and started melting away his very body, while cooking his circuits from the heat. More than anything, Midnight wanted to get away from the Smelting Pools.
They wouldn't let him. Shockwave wanted him here, because the smelter and its factories were Important, and Megatron had already taken all his other good troops. Midnight had asked to be assigned to the frontlines time and again, and always turned down by Shockwave. He'd started applying for transfers behind Shockwave's back, but something always happened.
Like this time. He stopped pacing to stare at the datapad again. Midnight had had to download the message to a datapad and read it before he could actually believe it. He'd applied to a new elite Hunter/Seeker unit that was raiding the Autobot supply lines and performing strike missions deep in their shrinking territory.
They'd turned him down.
...configuration and performance does not fit the mission profile and group dynamic...
Yeah, he could read between the words. He was too big and slow for their raids, not maneuverable enough to keep up with the rest of them, too heavily armed for precision strikes... not like them. That was the real reason. He wasn't one of them, not a real Seeker--and he had the odor of the Smelting Pools on him. You pulled duty there, and pretty soon other Decepticons started avoiding you--except for a few real sickos who wanted your company, wanted to hear about the screams from the smelter... Seriously. Company like that, and even your own team-mates started avoiding you.
Quite simply, he wasn't wanted, by anyone, anywhere.
With a snarl, Midnight hurled the datapad into the smelting pool. He watched it hit, sluggish ripples spreading from where the frame began to smolder and melt in the hissing slag. He watched until it melted and sank out of sight.
