Thunderstruck! (Chapter Two)

The wind and rain persisted until late morning, alternating unpredictably between gusting drizzle and vigorous downpour.

Slipstream hung around at home for as long as he could get away with, partly as he wanted to be sure Footloose was all right, and partly as she was a convenient excuse that meant he could avoid going out in the wet. But eventually Thundercracker got wise to it and kicked him out, with the strong ‘suggestion’ that he ‘might’ ‘want’ to help his colleagues get the district back under some semblance of order.

Then it was all hands to the pumps – in some cases literally, draining flooded basements and helping repair ruptured utility pipes. Clearing debris and reopening roads wasn’t precisely in his job description, but Slipstream put up with it with a surly good humour. The quicker the roads were open, the quicker he could get back to chasing crims along them.

Besides. It helped keep his mind occupied, and less likely to return to the horror of the previous night.

His shift ran all the way through the third and final quarters. He sneaked in a few breems of recharge and half a cube before resuming midway through the first quarter of the following orn.

It was the middle of the orn before he finally managed to escape and clock off, and he wanted a bath. Like, really really wanted a bath. His armour was absolutely grey with mud, and he hated dirt. It was going to take more than a quick spritz from an unattended hosepipe to shift some of this ground-in dirt, though, and someone had beaten him to the deep scrub. He plonked down on a chair in the corner of the officer’s mess while he waited, feeling scratchy and uncomfortable, and stared down into half a flask of energon until managing to slip into idle.

The hoped-for peace of recharge didn’t arrive. Instead, his mind went straight back to that rain-soaked nightmare – the aggressive black-hole shadows and glowing, slashing hot purple claws, and that singular blazing green optic, burning into his memory like a solar brand.

…Seem…?

He’d spent half his time on the streets over the last orn in a weird, distracted state of hyper-vigilance, combing through the shadows for anything associated with the creature - not the monster itself, but what it might have done to other people.

Like, the carved-up remains of limbs and wings.

Just like it had done to his sire, but attacking defenceless non-warriors, too – leaving behind shredded, mutilated remains, scattered among the rest of the detritus left by the flood.

Hey.

Perhaps he should check the hospital. OK, granted, confidentiality meant they might not give him the specifics, but they’d at least be able to confirm if anyone else had been brought in after an animal attack. Wouldn’t they?

Hey! Seem!

Are you all right in there?

At last Slipstream realised someone was calling his name.

“Come on, dude, don’t make me have to go get you a medic; you know I hate the infirmary,” the speaker groaned.

Belatedly, he brought his vision back online. Sitting across from him, leaning across the table with both arms outstretched and trying to look up into his eyeline, he met the mismatched green-and-yellow optics of Sharp. His visitor shared the same model (and penchant for getting into trouble), and most of his livery, albeit his visitor was silver where Slipstream was blue.

“All a’right?” the mech prompted.

Sharp – technically ‘Sharpshins’, but nobody except the boss used his full designation any more – was a habitual scruffbag and something of a slacker, but he was trine and Slipstream instantly felt a little lighter at seeing him.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Slipstream scuffed the heel of one hand over his antennae, trying to wake up a little. “Little preoccupied, lately.”

“Ya think?” Sharp said, droll, examining the half-empty flask and debating helping himself, before sliding it back under Slipstream’s nose and wiggling it to prompt him to refuel. “What about?”

Obediently, Slipstream took the flask, but continued to just stare into it. “Footloose was caught out in that storm, orn before last. She didn’t get back until it was already getting light again.”

“Oh, slag.” Sharp straightened a little. “Is she all right?”

“I don’t know. She’s not really talking to us about it. She got home absolutely soaked and still hasn’t quite dried out yet.” He avoiding mentioning the weird little holes in her enamel she’d come home with. “I was going to wait around and ask her, when she was a bit less spacey, but the boss kicked me out.”

“No special favours for his nephew then.”

“Pssh.” At last, Slipstream took a swig from the flask.

“That thing didn’t get her, did it?”

Slipstream jumped as if someone had jabbed him with something pointy and promptly sucked energon down the wrong intake. “What?” he managed, after he’d stopped choking.

“I thought everyone had heard; feels like the whole station is talking about it.” Sharp gestured ambiguously at the rest of the staff in the mess. “There was a whole bunch of reports of a thing attacking people, over Rustig way. Firechase has been out getting eyewitness reports and from what I hear?” He leaned closer over the table, as though imparting a huge secret. “No-one has been describing it as a person. I think it’s an alien.”

Slipstream carefully set the flask back down on the table, wondering just how close he’d skated to the smelting pools the other night.

Sharp narrowed his optics, suspiciously. “Seemo?”

No avoiding it now. “I-… yeah. They’re right. I saw it,” Slipstream admitted. He swallowed the urge to add and it had absolutely no problem shredding the armour of one of the most powerful mechs in the entire district. 

“No way! For real? What was it like?”

“Keep your volume down, eh?” Slipstream glared, subtly, and leaned forward onto his elbows, dropping his voice. “I… don’t know, really? It was dark and I didn’t get a good look before it ran off, except that… yeah, no, it wasn’t a person. Great big pointy head with lots of teeth.” He held his hands up, fingers curled into hooks, and mimed a big mouth. “I didn’t really focus on a lot else.”

Sharp sat back in his chair with a whoof of exhaust. “Okay. Maybe I won’t go out with ‘em, after all.”

“…go out… what?”

“Blueburn’s been organising a little search party. He says if anyone’s gonna find it, it’s a monitor, right? So we… were… gonna go out and see what we could see after shift, this evening, before it attacks anyone else.”

Slipstream stiffened. Alarm unexpectedly flushed a chill up the back of his helm. “Don’t.”

Sharp gave him a puzzled look.

“Please, Sharp. I mean it.”

Sharp gave him a curious look. “We were only going looking-”

“I mean it.“ Slipstream vented a sigh and covered his antennae with both hands. “All right. Listen. You don’t go and blab to anyone about what I’m about to tell you. Agreed?” He waved a semi-threatening finger in his friend’s face.

Sharp put his hands up. “Cross my spark.”

“I went out in the storm, looking for Footsie. That’s how I saw it.”

“Didn’t we do this bit alr-”

“But I wasn’t out on my own. Skywarp came with me. And you know how strong the ceramic is that they use on airframes, right?” At his friend’s nod, he went on: “That… whatever it was… carved him up like he was made of plastic.”

Sharp just stared, for several seconds, visibly deflating. He rebooted his vocaliser with a cough. “Well. Slag. He okay?”

Slipstream found a cynical smile. “I think so. I-I mean… He says it was nothing he didn’t get – and worse – from Megatron. That’s usually a good sign.”

Sharp snorted an uneasy laugh and fished a dented flashstick out of his subspace. “…not tagging along with Blueburn is sounding better and better. P’raps you should go tell him that, as well.”

“Good idea.” Slipstream eyed the stick with distaste and watched as Sharp tried to get it stick to activate. “I thought Sunny was trying to get you to quit those.”

“…We’re working on it.” Finally succeeding, Sharp took a long single intake of the icy vapour; twinkling clouds rose from his torso venting. “And that was before I needed it because your sire got eaten by a hungry monster, right on our patch.”

“Ugh.” Slipstream resisted the urge to tip him off his chair. “Come on. I wanna see if the bath’s finally empty.”

o0o0o0o0o

Slipstream finally made it to the dormitory block to find he’d missed the scrub again, by the slimmest fraction of a breem, and cursed at the closed door even as the sign flashed over to occupied.

Knew he shoulda camped in the corridor outside.

He was just going to have to risk his uncle’s wrath for trailing silt through the property, and take a bath at home. (Perhaps he could dislodge a little of it on the way home, if he stomped hard enough.)

If he’d known he was going to get accosted in the foyer, he’d probably have just teleported past, but Blueburn – a lightly-built silvery mech about as tall as Slipstream, but less stocky, with outsized blue optics that lent him an owlish look – spotted him first.

“Come on, Seemo!” the monitor was waving at him. “We heard you saw it! You get a picture of it, at all?”

“A picture of what-?” Slipstream approached the little group of officers clustered around the notice board near the doorway, wondering if he could feign ignorance.

“There’s a, a… thing. Out there on the streets. Sharp says you saw it!”

Slipstream gave Sharp a reproachful look. The mech replied with a guilty smile, hands up, and mouthed the word sorry.

“Well I-…” Slipstream thought about the crouching blur, and that singular green optic burning into him. “…didn’t really see anything? Just… shadows, and noise.”

“Gotta be better than what Firechase managed – or didn’t fragging manage, seeing as he’s a useless glitch who couldn’t even chase down a single still.” Blueburn put up his hands and drew air quotes, while mimicking Firechase’s voice. “‘Storm knocked all the CCTV out. No power. Nothing had been recording. And definitely not in that nice little café where I did all my research.’”

Unimpressed, Firechase pouted and whacked him round the back of the head with his databoard.

Slipstream watched them bicker for a second or two. “I… don’t think you should be trying to find it,” he suggested, carefully.

Blueburn gave him a flat look “We’re police. It’s our whole job to keep people safe, especially from… things… biting holes in them.”

“I mean, I don’t think YOU should be trying to find it, Blueburn. It was pretty big, and you’re just a monitor. It’s not going to be polite and not bite holes in you because you’re not a frontline officer.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Blueburn squared up to him. “Leave it to senior team to discuss it and maybe come to an agreement about what to do, in half a vorn’s time? Assuming they even believe it exists, seeing as you won’t show anyone the pictures.”

Temper rankled, Slipstream finally relented. They all knew the cryptid existed. Denying it wouldn’t stop them talking about it, and it might convince one or two that chasing it down wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

He reviewed his visual record, isolated a single frame, and streamed it across to the message board.

Seeing it, Blueburn made a little ooof noise and visibly deflated.

A curious crowd rapidly gathered; Blueburn enlarged the still until it took up the entire screen.

“Overgrown turbofox,” one asserted. “I mean look, it’s got four legs and a pointy snout and everything.”

His friend elbowed him in the side. “Very overgrown, if it’s just a turbofox. I mean, slag. It’s as tall as the windows, there.” He drew a finger across the image. “And what’s wrong with its front legs?”

It was barely more than a blur, to be fair. It could have been anything.

Probably not a turbofox, though. Not even an overgrown one.

Slipstream let other curious onlookers jostle their way to the front of the crowd, drifting his way backwards. He felt Sharp’s field intersect with his, and slid a glare in his direction. “Thanks a lot, Motormouth,” he grumbled. “I wanted a bit of time to try and work out how to put them off.”

“Sorry.” Sharp found an interesting spot on the floor to study. “I didn’t plan on it, it just… slipped out-”

“Did anything else ‘just slip out’?”

“What, like your sire-? No. I didn’t say a word about that. I said I wouldn’t!” Sharp protested, hurt. “You never said not to tell them you saw it. I thought that would be ok.”

Slipstream sighed and covered his face with both hands. “I just don’t need Blueburn dragging a bunch of off-duty vigilantes around my family’s home.”

The crowd had swelled to at least fifteen curious individuals when a loud voice cut through the din. “Don’t you lot all have some place to be?”

As a collective, everyone turned to look at the speaker.

Skywarp – wearing his injuries like some sort of badge of honour – stood framed in the doorway. Copious lengths of incongruous turquoise medical tape held temporary supports in place on the damaged thruster like an old-fashioned splint.

A deathly hush descended on the entry hall.

“Go on, scram!” The big mech threw a still-partially-melted arm out in a point. “Or I’ll summon Starscream to tell you all in person!”

The crowd rapidly dispersed, grumbling nervously.

Slipstream could feel the weight of his sire’s glare on the back of his helm and swivelled reluctantly on his heel to face him.

Skywarp was watching with folded arms and that brow-arched expression the youngster was more used to seeing from Thundercracker. It said in no uncertain terms, Whatever slag you’re about to get up to: don’t.

“I uh.” Slipstream slunk over, shoulders rounded. “Hi, Day.”

“Kinda would have preferred you to not go spreading exciting rumours of monsters in our backyard,” Skywarp chastised.

Slipstream ducked his head. “I didn’t! Not-not on purpose. Someone asked if ‘it’ had got Lucy, and I didn’t want to lie, but I hadn’t had time to figure out how to not make it sound like a good thing to go looking for, yet-”

“…So you decided to show them all a picture?”

Slipstream made a noise like a deflating balloon and hunched his shoulders. “I was trying to put Blueburn off,” he said, at last. “I didn’t want to make them all think it was exciting, so something terrible quality and blurry was… you know. Besides. Look at you!” He gestured bravely at his sire’s injuries. “You didn’t think looking like you’d done ten rounds with a hammer drill would get them talking?”

“Unless you included me in your monster stories, there’s no reason for them to suspect it’s related.” Skywarp’s arms crossed just that tiny bit tighter. “And you expect me to just lurk around the house until Screamer’s sourced me a replacement leg? Please.”

“…sorry. Sir.” Slipstream didn’t often ‘sir’ family – especially not his sire – but figured that just this once, it wouldn’t hurt. “…it’s been a long couple of orns and I keep missing out on my turn in the bath. If I’d known I was going to get accosted in the foyer, I’d have sneaked past.” He let his arms dangle. “Maybe I’m not processing as fast as I thought.”

Skywarp’s expression softened. “Use ours. Just don’t leave it covered in silt, and Screamer’ll never know.”

o0o0o0o0o

Footloose was angrily pacing back and forth across the atrium, when Slipstream got home. Forceps had evidently been round because all her vents were closed back up, but her mood didn’t appear to have improved for it.

“Uh, hi…?” Slipstream ventured.

She stabbed a finger at him in an aggressive point. “And don’t you start on me, either!”

Slipstream put his hands up and backed off. “What did I do? I only just got here.”

Footloose resumed pacing. The floor was covered in dirty scuffmarks so she’d been at it for some time. “My pitglitched manager won’t let me back at work. Says, I’ve had a shock and need to recover! Take time for myself!” She imitated his voice in an exaggerated falsetto. Spotting Thundercracker in the periphery of her vision, she added, not looking but swinging another pointing finger his way; “and Dack is taking his side, as well. I can’t win!”

Thundercracker gave her one of those looks, and she folded her arms huffily and plopped down on the couch.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Slipstream perched on the arm of the chair next to her. “Maybe they’re right…?”

“Oh, get smelted.” She glared off in the opposite direction.

“I mean it! That storm was a stinker, are you even dried out yet?”

“Yes, and Sepp signed me off. I’m fine. I don’t need babying. I need to be allowed back to work!” She focused the full heat of her glare on him. “I was only caught out in the rain, for frag’s sake!”

Slipstream was going to challenge her, but Thundercracker beat him to it.

“We found you in the washracks, with all your regulators flooded, dazed and confused and covered in dents, and you still can’t remember what happened,” the blue seeker corrected, sternly. “I just want half an orn more to check you’re fully recovered. You won’t even allow us that much?”

She glared at him. “Emotional blackmail doesn’t suit you.”

His expression hardened. “Being worried about my niece is emotional blackmail. Good to know where we stand, Footloose.”

“Fine! I’ll go to the salon instead.” She ran her fingertips over the little line of holes across her shoulder. “Get these filled before it rains again and you all have another excuse to coop me up in a room somewhere.” She flounced for the doorway.

“-hey, wait up! I only came back for a bath-! Can’t this wait?” Slipstream’s protests didn’t get much traction. He dithered for an instant – long enough to watch her stomp away and disappear from view out of the right side of the window – before breaking into a gallop after her.

With seeker engine dynamics, Slipstream was absolutely no slouch – but his sister was taller than him and had the long, gangly legs of a flier, and he had to trot to keep up with her intentionally stomping pace.

It was clear she was trying to leave him behind, but he didn’t feel like taking a hint today. If she wasn’t going to fly, she could deal with having a shadow.

The fact she hadn’t just taken off and left him in her dust made him think she wanted to vent, anyway. Maybe just a little bit.

“Aren’t you meant to be at work, Overwound?” she sniped.

He found his stride, halfway between a walk and a jog. “I just pulled a quadruple, fixing stuff up that the storm wrecked, but thanks. I wanted to see how you were, but I guess that was the wrong thing to do, as well?”

“Is everybody gonna get on my case, today? Mercy.”

“We’re not get-… we’re worried about you, Lou! We came out looking for you, and a-a… thing… attacked us. We just want to be sure you’re OK and that it didn’t get you as well.”

“Well it didn’t and I’m fine. You can go away now.”

Like a hopeful turbopuppy, Slipstream quietly just kept pace with her.

She finally glanced his direction. “Look, I don’t wanna keep talking about it. All right? I’ve had it up to here with the delicate handling and sympathetic words. I just need a distraction. I don’t want to sit at home, imagining what-if-s, wishing I could remember what happened.” She flapped her hands, as though trying to shoo the troublesome thoughts away. “They won’t let me go back to work and I’ve got nothing to take my mind off it. So you’ll excuse me if I’m a bit fragging short with people.”

“Weeee could go over to the next district and catch a lightstrike match. I’ve still got those tickets Spring got me like, uh…” he grimaced. “…a quarter vorn ago. They’re probably still good!”

Footloose rolled her optics, and dipped her wings to get through the door into the busy salon. “Seemo. I appreciate the thought, but seriously.”

The store’s proprietor was the eternally-fashionable Linebright, a tall sleek mech whose colour never seemed to be the same any time Slipstream saw him; today he was in a very stylish deep teal with gold pinstripes. “Well, if it’s not my two favourite troublemakers! Hello, Button.” He bumped cheeks with Footloose, and shooed her into a chair, before going to fetch a cart.

Against all the scrupulously wiped-down and shiny surfaces, Slipstream felt particularly scruffy. He settled on the bench nearby, surreptitiously trying to dust a little of the remaining silt off his legs.

…it didn’t go unnoticed. “Makes a change it’s not you in my chair, Seem,” Linebright noted, not looking up from his trolley of chemicals. “Nice to see you’re still as filthy as ever.”

Footloose gave her twin a look, one eyebrow making a break for the stratosphere, and he could feel his field getting hot, embarrassed.

“Okay, fine, so I don’t just go to the station paintshop every time I need a ding filled.” Slipstream defended himself. “And I don’t want Joyride getting worried if I always end up at Polaris’s. All right?”

Footloose pointed one finger at him, to underline the threat. “You are never ever allowed to call me vain ever again.”

“Okaaay, okay, fine.” He put his hands up.

“If you’re both quite done, I’ll take a look at those holes you need filled?” Linebright prompted, shaking his hands to get his gloves to dry.

Footloose pursed her lips and glared at her refection, but cocked her head to one side so he could get to her collar.

“These are pretty deep, love,” the stylist said, examining the little punch-holes. “How did you do them?”

Footloose visibly tensed, annoyed. “I don’t need a commentary on them. I’ve already had a surgeon check them out. They’re fine. Just fill them. All right?”

Linebright made an exaggerated little rising-falling noise. “Oh-kay. Sorry I asked, I’m sure…” He picked out a small orbit sander, and got to work.

Slipstream sat on his hands and watched Linebright work – carefully grinding the top layer down before filling, buffing, reapplying a layer of paramedic green and baking it on. Footloose barely moved the entire time, and didn’t speak much beyond grunts, glaring off into a corner.

Linebright was his usual chatty self, so Slipstream found himself filling the silence more than he’d have liked, trying hard to keep it light, about his idiot workmates and his trine’s stupid antics and, and… not about the Thing in the Dark.

…it was good to talk about something else, actually. Huh. Look at that.

Even Footloose didn’t look quite so peevish when Linebright was done.

“All right!” The stylist swept a duster over the new shiny repair. “You’re done, and actually clean for once.”

Footloose grunted a thankyou, before actually looking down to inspect the repair. Her mood visibly lightened. “…that looks good.” She ran her sensitive fingertips over it, carefully. “Sorry, Bright. I mean it. Thank you.”

“Anything to help our health service heroes.”

She snorted and rolled her optics, but patted his shoulder, appreciatively. “I’ll try not to scratch it.”

“Keep it shiny for a few orns is all I ask.” Linebright stepped back and allowed her to pass, but caught Slipstream’s arm before he could escape. “I need to talk to you.” He glanced in Footloose’s direction, and added; “…later.”

It couldn’t be good if Linebright didn’t want Footloose to know, Slipstream reasoned, uneasily. “I’ll come by tomorrow, after my shift.”

o0o0o0o0o

Linebright was alone in his store, vacuuming up dust, when Slipstream made it back the following orn (clean and polished, too; just to prove he could). The signage was all off and he had no clients, so Slipstream gave the window a little tap and hesitated outside before the mech waved him in.

“I wanted to talk to you about those little holes.” Linebright tapped his collar, close to where the irregular line of little punch marks had previously been on Footloose’s armour. “I’d never seen anything like it before, until a few orns ago, and now I’ve seen them three times. Footsie was the third.”

Confirmation of his suspicions didn’t help Slipstream’s anxiety. “…what’s worrying you about them?”

“I don’t know. They’re just… weird. I figured I oughtta mention it. I don’t think they’re some new fashion – didn’t seem like Footsie’s style, right?” Linebright spread his hands. “People seem weird, too. Nobody will talk about them.”

“Yeah, that tracks. Footloose just kept changing the subject.” Slipstream chewed his lip. “What do you think might have done it?”

“On the face of it? No idea. They’re just holes. Not-very-well-done holes, either. Clumsy, brute-force jobs.” Linebright shrugged. “What got me anxious was the fact people won’t talk about them.”

“Maybe they just… don’t want to talk?” Slipstream suggested. “Not everyone does.”

“Mm-hmm. Sometimes people don’t want to talk and that’s fine! For one person to refuse to engage isn’t weird. Sometimes they just want the job done. But for everybody to block me off?” Linebright waved a finger. “Everyone with the same problem? And unrelated folk, too? Now that’s weird.”

Slipstream didn’t want to ask, but couldn’t ignore it either. “…You think maybe they’re mixed up in something criminal?” The idea left him feeling hollow.

Linebright picked up a cloth and began to wipe the furniture down. “Do you? She’s your twin.”

“…I know she’s scared and I want to help her, but I’m running in circles in the dark right now.” Slipstream sat back on his bench and watched the stylist finish his cleaning. “Could you give me the names of the other two?”

Linebright gave him a loaded glance. “Not if you’re going to go arrest them. They’re just holes. Nothing criminal.”

“No-o? I just wanna talk to them.”

“Seemo. They won’t talk to their stylist. You really think they’re gonna talk to a cop?” Linebright waved his duster. “Come back with evidence, and I’ll consider it.”

Slipstream pouted and looked away. “Fine. But alert me if you see anyone with them again?”

“Sure thing. I hope I don’t, but if I do, you’re first on my list.”