Hunter

Oh, Anon…

Long story made short?

- because death should be as beautiful as terrifying, and destruction should spark lust…

There's multiple options and he's starting to consider the quicker options too.

Even if he had requested otherwise.

He's never let Devcon known it, at least not directly. Over the years, he's grown to trust him, even to the point of allowing him access right into his spaceship. Truth is, Blaze has never been good with words, regarding his very own feelings.

:: Whatever works the best. I'll take it. Here's the coordinates. Middle of nowhere as always. But there's a bustling city a short flight to the east of this lake where I'm at. ::

Between them, or rather, between. He refuses to acknowledge the idea of him being a plural. He's him and that's it. Ignoring the turmoil in his spark, he concentrates on the important things here - his drinking buddy, Blaze. Really, what a great designation!

Upon accepting the coordinates, he finds himself grinning. ::I can work with that, as long as there's good booze and better company. And, I do need some civilsation with no strings attached, but booze first and adjusting the gadget for you, second.::

Alas, the hunter has always been able to reach further than anybot else, but the ability this frame holds is downright unfair. It doesn't stop him from using the cheat, though, and as he does, he finds himself moving between realites and universes and -

Who could ever be ungrateful for being able to just drop into another universe? That, he bemoans, would be the fool who's never considered the risk of stepping over and into a new universe in mid-air. He's freefalling, and curses himself even as he kicks his thrusters into life. He banks to the right, burns off speed with a few acrobatics, and and is about to land when he spies the sleek mech.

As Devcon speaks, Blaze stands at the shore of a vast lake. He's tossing stones, watching them skip over the surface and perfecting each throw to see how far he can make them bounce over the surface.

:: Not an artefact. By all means, it looks fairly new. The inventors? Their blood is on my servos. And that will be a story for another time. ::

Revenge is a messy, ugly thing. He wants to keep that part of his memory locked away, until he is ready to reconcile with it. Now, he is focused on the present, one that is far more engaging than his past bloodshed.

He pauses mid-throw, considering the hunter's offer. His stance shifts from spring-loaded throwing stance to that of someone pondering the pebble in his servo.

He is one hell of a curious mech.

All right, you he likes.

Whatever slag this whole different universe-scrap is about, at least he still has got a great taste in drinking buddies. Blaze reminds him of his various associates through the ages as bounty hunter, when he roamed the universe between gigs. He'd rather think of the good ol' times than... And, it helps to be surrounded by deep space in its icy glory. The piece of rock he is currently riding is nice enough, but he could do with some civilisation.

::Depends?:: he says once the mech is done talking. There's no use in holding back intel between, ah, allies or drinking buddies. Rodimus taught him that, and as his spark constricts, he sighs loudly, and tries to explain. ::I'd have to hard-line to access whatever the frag functions as your port drive. If you don't have one, and the gadget is meant as one, I can probably integrate it with your system. If that's not your scene, I can offer you blue prints of how to best unify alien tech with your flight routines, so others can't frag your hardware up.::

Cont. from X

One should count lucky chatting with a mech who is none the wiser to the strange and unusual happening right now. Devcon's tone doesn't register as anything out of the ordinary. Tired? Maybe. But that is nothing unfamiliar to Blaze.

:: Perhaps it's a matter of getting used to having your atoms jostled around during the multiversal hops. Perhaps, you're just built different. ::

Not suspecting anything being afoot, he is quite comfortable recalling his many recent misadventures.

:: Long story short, I stole this device. It looks like a handheld spacebridge, but it's more than that. Don't ask me how it works, but this thing lets me hop through multiverses like you can. But it does take ages for it to recharge for the next teleportation magic. ::

:: I could ask the inventors what laws of physics they had broken to invent this thingamajig. Although, regretfully, they appear quite dead. ::

An agitated, overgrown space jet can only be soothed by the endless sea of stars, or by flight- and space tech of the highest quality. Which space bridges and teleportation between clusters of -

Wait.

Turning his attention inwards, he pokes around in his too-large, too-strong, and vastly more advanced frame for a bit. Answers he didn't know he was in need of suddenly explain a whole lot. When he'd gone after the bird, he'd jumped a lot, but he'd been too confused to realise exactly how far.

::I'm one of a kind,:: he says airily. ::My makers made sure of that,:: he adds sourly. Not going down that road, he forces himself to concentrate on Blaze's fascinating self. ::Did you dig up some artefact, then?::

He absolutely does need distraction. Pondering a klik or two, he hums under his breath, subspacing a cube of absolutely lethal, golden energon.

Finally, he speaks.

She can feel the same tug towards each other that he feels. Sparks knowing one another, yearning, happy to be this close - they want more.

"Yes, you are bonded. A lovely mate, albeit unlikely in this universe, some might say. But he suits you so well. And yes, you have sparklings. Quite the lovely bunch. Rambunctious and strong, as are their creators."

Chromia pauses for a moment. Another sip of energon. A pang at her spark. She's missed Him. It feels like she's staring at a dream version of Ironhide all over again. Feels so real, so close, and yet it's not.

A dream...

Wait! The dreams... could this be related?

She will wait to ask later.

"Ah, Steeltrap? I suspected that he would find you before I did. Yes, that bird is Ours. I didn't stutter - before you even ask all offended. No, we did not create him, but we are raising him, for lack of better words. He is a hunter now, thanks to you. And a proper mech with some manners and political ability, thanks to me."

Chromia had to smirk about it a bit. She hated politics and yet she was so good at it.

Sparklings.

His mind screeches, and he does his best to rein in the need to take to the skies and leave this madness behind. He might be choking on air, his vents rattling like a broken machine. The frag? The actual slaggin' frag?

He hardlined with the femme?! He... Aaaah, no. No no no no. That's private, is literally as invasive as a merging and he's never given himself to anybot that way! And, his spark...! A shudder runs through him, and he shakes his head to get rid of the sensation of an unwanted touch.

"I... am bonded by spark, Dancer, and I've got multiple sparklings. Ember, Chord, Zephyr. And, you say w-we... raised...? No. No, I've never...!" His optics are wide, alarmed. "I only ever swore myself to my Prime, and he is dead because I wasn't fast enough! There's no bot else, there never was anybot else, and I'm grieving! I would never...!"

There's something lodged in his throat, the vague memory of... Of... Why, why isn't he able to remember?! He glares at the femme, Sapphire, and wants to rip her helm off for making him feel.

"I don't know you, and there's only one of me!" Agitated, he gets out of the seat, backing away, mind reeling with questions he can't even begin to formulate. "This... This is..." His intakes are hitching, and he has never felt as alone as now. When he finally manages to speak, what comes out, is a sob.

She laughed some before turning around to sit her fine blue aft on plush seats on the terrace. Legs crossed, demeanor relaxed. A delicate servo extends towards the adjacent seat.

"Sit. It won't bite. There's jet fuel on the table. Scan it if you wish."

Chromia allowed her code to sweetly dance with his, as it always happened. It offered promises of answers and comfort, if he wished for it.

"You know me. You feel it too. It scares you. I don't blame you. It scares me as well. But you're here with me so ask your questions. Oh, and your friend ", she motioned to his cannon "That's my friend too."

Chromia reached for a Cube of high grade herself. A small sip.

Anything is better than being within proximity of an unknown bot who knows far too much of how he operates and functions. His frame and spark, however, are not into the idea, so he resigns himself and does as asked.

Within moments he has taken the high grade, and forces himself to sip slowly, no matter how fast his processor is running. This close, their connection feels like a steady lullaby, and it pulls at him. This far, he has recognised several tightly woven links that run from his base coding and spark, and specifically one of them is a spark bond.

The femme and he... There's been merging, but not -

His intakes stutter.

"There's... a spark bond, a mate." It's hard to say it out loud, feels like sacrilege to even breath the word. There are, ah, sparklings? Not built, but created? Now, his processor is hurting, and his spark is wailing right back. "I met a... He imprinted on me! He's a hunter, no matter what he thinks," he mutters, rubbing a hand over a lower arm in distress.

Another growl, and he retreated to one of the back walls, standing atop the destruction. He allowed his little device to fall dormant again, revealing himself.

"You know me yet you don't."

His crest twitched in annoyance, but he tried his best to remember his manners. Chromia would be furious if she heard she had taught him in vain.

"I am not a Hunter, but.. I was saved by one. You, according to my spark, but we both know this is not true."

::You look like a Maximal, or a Pred,:: he says, unable to drag his optics away from the sight. There's disappointment in his vocals, because how could this sleek, obviously deadly specimen not be one? ::You've got my coding,:: he says next, swallowing harshly.

Shuttering his optics, feeling unsteady as a pang of pain makes his spark flare, he lowers himself to the ground. The input is painful, too much of everything, everywhere, and he tosses his helm. A moment later, he kills his sensors, leaving himself open for an attack, but at least he can think now.

::I... I don't remember everything.:: He can recall his early life, of course. That, and the wars - all of them. The way he hated the Autobots for their hypocracy, how he loathed the Decepticons for their attack on civilians. After that, there was Megatron's little retrofit prison, after the warlord had ripped his spark out of his frame. Cyclonus' rape of his soul-

Little Prime...

::How very bold of you. Wearing the guise of another and demanding I explain myself.::

Some more debris moved, now behind the other mech. With featherlight steps he moved up to the Not-Hunter, now directly in front of him, examining him.

It couldn't be possible: he looked like the Hunter, he FELT like the Hunter, but he WASN'T the Hunter.

He hasn't even touched ground yet, is still hovering mere step above ground, and somebot's getting within punching range already? Frowning, he moves back and away, rising slightly. He didn't sign up for being mauled, and the mech haunting him is -

Ugh.

::Frag you,:: he snarls, frame tensing at the memory of being shoved into a frame too small to contain him. ::This is my frame, contains my spark, and holds my base coding.::

He winces at the lack of aggression coming from his hunter programming, which means that this mech is one of his own. Ah, he's fucked, isn't he? ::What I've with myself?:: He pushes a hand against his chassis. ::As far as I know, nothing. But, since my programming isn't responding to the threat you are, and you've got my coding... Are you... a hunter?::

:: You do. You have questions. I have answers. Or at least I hope I do. ::

She's out there in full view. Perfectly blue and sparkling like a gem in the light.

:: Now, please stop hovering like a skidish winglet and land. It's not proper for a Hunter like yourself. ::

For a moment she turns her back to him. A sign of trust. Or insanity. Before she decides to walk beneath the shade of the luscious garden overhang, Chromia glances at him over her shoulder.

Unless the femme is treating him like prey, which will have him retaliate and wreck her pretty home. He studies her closely, and now that he can literally taste her, he frowns. She's... blue. Very blue, which reminds him of somebot else. That one had been an Autobot, too. They hadn't been close, but he'd run into Arcee and her gang often enough, when he and -

The frag?

:: The large terrace. I'll meet you there. ::

Finally she stands and makes her way over to the massive balcony. Memories flood her processors. Good memories. Perhaps it will be the same for him. Perhaps not. She doesn't know. She's going in blind, trusting the coding that binds them.

But she will wait and be patient. When he gets there, only then will she actually decide what route to take.

He carefully moves closer to the terrace the femme is referring to, hating how he's a sitting duck like this, being within shooting range. At some point, there must have been trust. Why else would he have allowed his innermost coding to be shared with her otherwise?

Refusing to give his only security away, he remains airborne, and soon enough he's fully visible. His sensors are all over the area, drawing too much input, and he winces at their proximity.

Right, now how to put a damper on this...?

:: My home. I will send coordinates. Do try to behave, as I am fond of it. And so were you...::

She will plead with Haven to grant her passage back to Caminus quickly. Chromia was well aware that Devcon could travel in the blink of a solar across phenomenal distances. She had little time to waste.

An ambush, surely, if he's deemed an impostor by somebot who's got his fraggin' base coding attached to their programming.

Devcon the bountyhunter, however, does not back away from a fight.

He does not.

...but, he is terrified, lost and confused. He cannot access to memories, can only rely on instinct and base coding. Thankfully, his hunter programming runs deep, and it takes him through the necessary steps to arrive to Caminus.

He weaves his way through buildings, thrusters running hot. Only when he arrives to the femme's residence does he allow his cloaking device to fall, and allows himself a combined pulse of spark and sensors.

He's airborne, wings tucked away for now, and he feels exposed. Looking around, he wills himself to remain calm.

At some point, the hunter decided to stop questioning the way his port drive was doing... things. Impossible things, he would like to add, opening rifts between universes being one of them, it took him to the right, uh, place.

There's a connection here. He knows this, or rather - his spark does - and, his frame doesn't tense up the way it would do before battle. He's being dragged into a trap, but his spark is overriding his hunter programming.

Why?

"I don't even know you," he mutters upon assuming his root mode. His base coding does, however, and he gives up trying to control the situation as he spirals down into an unknown world. There. Below him, there's destruction, and he very much recognises his own handiwork. How could he not, when only one of his missiles could have left such an impact?