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Sandstorm’s optics flickered on once with a loud grinding whirr, and then powered back down. He tried to send surge of power through his spinal array to force them to come up—at least long enough for him to get a look at his surroundings—but it was no use. His HUD was black except for a few read-outs and the most notable of these were not pleasant.
Energon Levels: Below average, continuing to drop.
Diagnostic: Internal damages. Critical.
Further percentage read-outs told him he was functioning at about 75%. He had about four hours before he was going to drip dry from the inside out. He needed a medic. He needed repaired. He needed his optics back. He needed…
He needed…
He needed to remember where he was. Why… why was he blind and injured!?
He remembered being in the base. The humans were trying to teach the Cybertronians the finer points of a game called ‘basketball’. It hadn’t interested Sandstorm. He holed himself in a corner somewhere to watch, sighing all the while that there was so much more they could be doing. The Autobots were supposed to be helping quell Decepticon activity on Earth and further falling into human culture wasn’t going to do that.
But how… and where…?
He reached up to touch his helm and frowned. He was leaking energon externally too. His fingers curved into a good sized dent in his helm. He sneered as he realized what bits of his CPU had been damaged. Short term memory and all of his geographical centers.
As he felt the rest of his frame wake up he tried to focus through the lack of visual input. It was quite jarring and he felt vulnerable. Nodes along his frame woke up and hissed feedback at him, giving him a chill not unlike the human sensation of ‘goosebumps’. He began piecing together data and gathered a strange picture about where he was. He was splayed rather painfully against something hard. It dug into his spinal array and bent him almost in half. He must have landed on it directly—a fall straight down from somewhere above himself.
He carefully slid down one side, trying to maintain a grip until his peds hit something solid. They did…
/it groaned./
Sandstorm tried to pull his peds up but he still wasn’t sure where he was or what he’d landed on. He did not have enough purchase to keep himself upright as he jerked his peds away from the living thing he’d stepped on. He teetered to the side and fell a short distance to what he would consider the floor. He tried to scoot backwards as he heard movement. His left hand slid back around an uneven ground and then fell /through/ it. He recoiled as he nearly lost his balance and toppled into the hole. He couldn’t determine how big it was. He reached hesitantly—almost desperately—around himself but felt no walls, no kind of stability. He lowered his hand and slid it around on the ground at the lip of the hole. He traced it behind himself and realized he was sitting on a rather perilous ledge.
Where was he?!
Octane had been contemplating the strange and natural cave ceiling above him—waiting for his frame and HUD to completely boot-up—when something landed on his stomach. He groaned aloud and tried to roll free of it. It seemed as if the Autobot who’d attacked him had been caught in the mine collapse as well. He was only able to roll a small distance as the pain in his leg re-awakened with a fury. He groaned and curled around the limb with a hiss of pain.
“Who’s there!” The Autobot demanded, and Octane rolled his dim optic scope. The lights from his red optics illuminated the large, abandoned human mine.
“Who in Sigma do you think it is.” He barked back. He rolled onto his spinal strut and moved his optic scope towards the cave-in they had created with their fireworks show miles above. The hole through which they entered was nothing but boulders playing puzzle pieces above him. It was clearly no longer an exit.
“I don’t recognize your voice…” The Autobot said then as if immediately realizing how vulnerable it made him sound, Octane heard the mechanical buzz of a gun prepping.
Octane rolled completely to face the Autobot, pushing himself up to a seated position. He made a strange face. The Autobot was sitting rather stupidly close to the edge of a drop further down into the mine. His face was pointed at Octane to suggest he could determine where the Decepticon was by audio positioning but the Autobot’s optics weren’t online. They were powered down and the only light from the Autobot came from bio-lights along his torso, flickering in warning patterns, white against gold yellow.
Octane scoffed.
“You Autobots are full of glitches. It’s no wonder the war isn’t over yet. Between your internal dysfunctions and the Decepticon’s external chaos…”
“I know that voice!” Sandstorm gasped. He lifted his right arm to point his shoulder-mounted gun at the voice. “Octane!”
Sandstorm tried to piece something together. He was stuck, stranded with Octane. How had they gotten here? He reached up once more with his left hand and rubbed the dent in his helm with a wince. Touching it was not going to help. He heard rubble being shifted around and he braced himself. He tried to rely on the grid-like vision one had in alt-mode but with his mapping applications down due to his injury, it was barely more than a suggestion based upon audio and electric output.
Sandstorm felt wind against his face and he recoiled.
“Ha. You’re blind as a drill bit, aren’t you?” Sandstorm did not like how close Octane’s voice was. He tried to reach up and smack away the Decepticon but his hand met with nothing. He winced shamefully as he realized how foolish he must have looked.
“Will you just… relax? I know this might be a hard concept for you to grasp but unlike my… fellow Decepticons… /I/ have honor. I’m not going to attack an Autobot who’s blinded and disoriented. Even if they did attack me first.”
Sandstorm jerked his helm towards the sound of Octane’s voice. Everything that had just been said came as a surprise. He could hear clear disdain in Octane’s voice for those he called his ‘fellows’. A declaration of honor… from a ‘con?! And did he say… attacked him first? Sandstorm had attacked Octane first?
“Wh-what do you mean attacked you first?”
“You don’t remember? It was only a few kliks ago…” Was that concern Sandstorm heard in Octane’s voice?! “You hit your helm pretty hard, didn’t you, kid?”
“Kid!”
Octane recoiled slightly as he’d obviously struck a nerve. He turned his attention to the injury in his knee. He watched as Sandstorm attempted to yell at him, turning his helm in all directions to try and figure out where his ‘foe’ had gone.
“I’m no kid, you ‘con. I’m an experienced soldier and I’m more mature than half your squad. And I’d put energon rations down on that. I don’t know what kind of Decepticon trick this is, but I’m not falling for it.”
“It’s not a trick, bolts-for-brains. I’m stuck here too. I was minding my own business, doing some scouting, when you flew in. Guns blazing! After a bit of an aerial dogfight—which I’ll assure you I won—you misfired, we crashed and fell into this abandoned mine. Looks like you took the brunt of the fall to your helm. Shame. Seems like there might have been something in there worth keeping.”
“I don’t like your tone, con.”
“Yeah well, I’m no more pleased than you are, trust me. But… for the time being, I think we’ve got a decision to make. I’m injured. I’m not sure I can make it out of here on my own. And you’re so blind you’ve been feet away from a fall twice the height of Devastator.”
Octane quirked and optic ridge as the slightly smaller triple changer leapt forward, crawling on hands and patellas until he made contact with something solid.
Octane.
Octane huffed and Sandstorm jerked.
“That’s my arm, dipstick.”
“Are you suggesting we… work together?”
Sandstorm narrowed his optic ridge, sliding away from Octane. He felt hot energon in his faceplates. He was pretty certain he’d almost climbed into his enemy’s lap just then.
“I am. I don’t like it any more than you do but I’m not keen to terminate in some forgotten human mine.” Sandstorm could agree with this. He /didn’t/ want to off-line alone somewhere with some Decepticon as his only company. He didn’t want to off-line at all but that was beside the point. His pauldrens sunk and he vented air heavily.
“What are you suggesting then?”
“I can lead us out. My optics and positioning grids are working just fine. I don’t have a good lay-out yet but I can feel wind currents shifting and I know which direction we need to start in. Let me lean on you for support and I’ll make sure you don’t fall into any open quarries.”
Sandstorm frowned. He tilted his helm towards the floor. He felt like he was still more vulnerable in this agreement. If Octane intended to lead him into a trap there would be nothing Sandstorm could do to stop it or protect himself until it was too late. He took a second to consider the information his HUD offered, however, and his decision was practically made for him. He decided, for the time being, to keep his internal damages to himself. No use letting the ‘con know he was blind /and/ leaking on the inside.
“All right.” Sandstorm carefully held out his hand. He tried to keep his face steady, his resolve strong, but he had to admit he was quite terrified. He felt a stronger hand grasp his and jerk him forward just slightly.
“Hey!”
“For Primus’ sake, relax.” Octane hissed as Sandstorm tried to pull away. “I’m trying to get you to move forward so you can stand safely.”
“You could have just said ‘move forward’, you didn’t have to jerk me around.”
“Whatever. Look just… another step forward and you’re clear to stand up.”
Octane watched the expressions flicker over Sandstorm’s faceplates. He was clearly still unsure about trusting the Decepticon and Octane could not blame him. Decepicons really didn’t give off a lot of ‘trust’ vibes. The gold Autobot slowly moved to his peds. Octane could tell there was still no trust between them as Sandstorm took his time. He carefully lifted his helm and stood at his full height. He tilted his audio towards where Octane sat.
“All-all right.” Octane lifted his optic ridges as the hand closest to him was offered. The Autobot was ready to help him stand. Octane reached up, hesitated, then clasped Sandstorm’s forearm.
“Thanks.” He grunted non-commitally as he stood, his good leg shuddering under his weight. He carefully slid his arm over Sandstorm’s shoulder. The other triple changer’s frame shuddered, tensed and neck cables drew taunt. Octane sighed.
“I promise I’m not going to try anything underhanded.”
“Forgive me if it takes more than a minute to forget a six million year old grudge.”
“Point taken. Now, you’ll have to move slow for me. We need to head North by North West.”
Octane glanced to the faceplate now so close to his own. It looked strange with it’s optics gray and it’s face lit up by the glow of Octane’s own red beams. Sandstorm had a smooth face.
“Which way is that?”
“Straight ahead.”
“If I go down, so do you.” Octane stiffened as Sandstorm’s threat was echoed by a slender gold arm wrapping tightly around his waist. The Decepticon found himself pressed rather securely to the Autobot’s side.
“About fifteen miles and then we’ll need to make a turn.”
#
Sandstorm lifted his helm and smiled in spite of his predicament as he finally felt the sun on his frame. He shifted Octane at his side and heard the Decepticon mutter a reply. Octane’s weight on hi side had gotten heavier and heavier as they had progressed through the mine. But the ‘con was true to his word. He had not once tried anything and now that he and Sandstorm were out of the mine it seemed maybe he’d been right about having ‘honor’.
Sandstorm felt Octane shift, moving to pull himself away from the Autobot. Sandstorm’s grasp on Octane’s waist remained firm.
“Look, I know you can’t see but I promise you… we’re out. You can let go.”
“I would but… I don’t think you can transform in the state you’re in. And I still can’t navigate in a circle properly. Neither of us are going to make it back to our bases without the other.”
“Well I’m open for ideas then, Autobot. It’s not like walking each other home is going to go over so well with our comrades.”
“That’s… that’s where you’re wrong. Sure you’re a ‘con but you’ve just saved my life. The Autobots aren’t going to open fire on you for that. In fact, I promise you our medics will see to your wounds and then turn you free.”
Sandstorm frowned as Octane scoffed, though the weight on his shoulders increased as the ‘con relaxed against him once more.
“And what’s your proof? How can you be so sure?”
“Because Autobots can have honor too. Like I said you saved my life, I owe you. One Optimus hears that he won’t be able to argue. As long as you don’t call in reinforcements or start shooting up the base.”
Sandstorm couldn’t keep a smile off his lips as he heard Octane groan. He knew the Decepticon was weighing his options and he knew there was only one conclusion to come to. Sandstorm was right.
“All right, Autobot. You win this round.”
“Nah, we can call this a tie.”