Shadows are dancing in broken rooms. Two ghosts twist in through a fissure in the tower at its bottom. The winds at this level of Vos howl as the air cools during the later hours- the thin artificial gravity of Cybertron pulls it down and funnels through empty streets. Causing debris to kick up and skitter.
Those shadows twist with them, winding up the lifts and mid-floors like the detritus themselves. The slimmer of the two is the one that hacks still-functioning security systems, the thicker wrenching open stuck machinery and doors with brute strength. It does not take them long as they work with ease of long association.
Until they reach the spire's pinnacle..
— and their target.
Vos is still broken. Repair to the city in the sky is going painfully slow, the Temples put up and places for the citizens to stay held together with carefully placed rocks and wires. The towers aren't much better, rocking and groaning under the winds. Withstanding them by a thread.
The towers were quiet, most the mechs recharging and the guards floating in and out of the rooms. None to notice the twisting shadows, and fewer to care.
Skyfall was pacing his office, wings swept wide and growling low. Soft mesh cloths draped across sky blue form, white and silver lined and dotted his frame, bright golden optics glaring at the desk.
No One hadn't returned when he was told, wasn't answering his pings. The thing had been taught to obey after failing their Sire and Carrier, and it had been obedient since.
So why now?
And empty flute was grabbed and thrown at the wall, a snarl coming from his engine. Things were falling apart before they even began.
