I.
He raced with his shadow, arms straining out toward the horizon. This is my kindom, my domain, he stated pointedly. Forgoing transforming, he glided along the upper reaches instead in his robot mode. The sky curved above, beckoning, and he soared higher. The wind of his passage whistled over and under his wings, a sweet song only a Seeker could appreciate.
Glancing down, his form blurred and danced in the reflection of metal ground and buildings: maroon, black, and gold bled into one another. Smiling, a forbidden thought asserted itself: Yes,all of us can fly, but we are the true masters of the skies. He felt a guilty pleasure in it. Even though the Decepticon stronghold was considered home, he couldn't stand to be closed up in there for very long. As his fellow Seekers did, he needed, craved the open air, the thrill of throwing off gravity, and claiming what was, by very nature, build, and design, theirs.
Trying to imagine anything other than this was at once a horror and sacrilege to everything he considered himself to be. A Seeker curse went: May your wings rust and fall off where you stand. It was the vilest insult one of his kind could make to another. There were others, to be sure: May your boots forever know the ground. May you never touch the sky except with your optics. But none carried the undertones of that one.
He had heard it only once, and the recipient of it crashed in a fireball visible even from the base of the command fortress. It was whispered that he had purposefully dove at his targets, and had never intended to pull up. He was hailed as a hero among the ranks, but those Seekers who had been present knew better. The martyr felt he'd been disgraced, and chose the most honorable ending for him.
Stretching and leaning to his right, he banked back the way he'd come, diving down to rise up again into a graceful backwards loop, arching into the parabola. I am Dropzone. I am Decepticon. I am Seeker, he almost chanted in a litany, then grinning, an expression that would have frozen his enemies' fuellines, he added, I am Wings Of Doom.
II.
Heading for the smudge that was headquarters thrusting itself into the skyline, Dropzone could make out splashes of color against its upper reaches. Abruptly, one of them plummeted toward the ground, swooping up at the last second before impact. He chuckled; the twins were at Flinch again.
It was a silly game actually, but served its diversionary purpose. They simply made sure to tell others who asked that it was a training exercise. The main point was to dive down and get as near as possible without crashing, while grabbing something from below. Participants weren't allowed to use any sensors except their optics, relying instead on instinct and experience. More than a few had misjudged their timing and distance, and ended up spending some quality time in repair bay.
A voice called out, and he altered course toward it. The splotches of color resolved into two forms with wings, one green and blue, one red and black. The green and blue one saluted, held its arms out at its sides, and fell forward off the ledge.
Dropzone spun around to land beside the remaining Seeker, flicking him on a wing with a finger. The other feigned annoyance and returned the gesture.
"I swear, 'Kaze is such a showoff," the red Seeker grumbled. They peered over the edge as a blur came toward them, giggling.
"Powerdive, did you optic the new wings? What's the desig?" 'Dive kicked out at his brother as he shot past and dropped something. Catching it, he grimaced and let go of what had once been a hand.
"Femme, goes by Firefight," he answered, then yelled out, "What did I say, you no-gyro-havin', ground-lovin', repair-bay hoggin' rattletrap? No body parts!" His twin settled on the shelf, being sure to stay out of reach. Shoving the item toward them with his foot, he smirked.
"Aw, what's wrong? Somebody shuddered?" Powerdive nudged the mangled remains toward the ground, and mumbled perturbedly, "Go Streak."
Dropzone felt his fuelpump involuntarily skip. Streak had decided to make a spectacular fireball of himself after he'd been insulted. He had also left a grim legacy: his name became a colloquialism among Seekers for someone to terminate themselves. He knew Powerdive didn't honestly intend it, but it was disturbing all the same. "So, think we can put her on The Run?" he queried, attempting to steer the conversation around.
The twins glanced at each other, then shook their heads. "Not yet. See how she pulls first. Might not make it." Kamikaze implied.
"We, we need replacements though. With her gone, we're short four, and.." Powerdive said, holding out his hands, not wanting to finish his thought. The others stared at him.
Kamikaze was indignant, his wings flared out behind him. "She is coming back, 'Dive. She only needs to sort things through. Y'know, since...they left," he trailed off, indicating the expanse above them with his chin. 'Dive slowly nodded, while Dropzone looked smug.
"She's W. O. D. Seeker. We are the Decepticons." They all held up three fingers, a private salute. He glanced down, noting the progress of Kamikaze's morbid prize. It collided with the ground, startling a patrol. Transforming from their vehicle modes, they stared up at the trio. They belong down there, he sneered.
"Look at 'em. Hi guys!" Kamikaze waved, then sung to himself, "Oh, Primus, don't make me touch the ground 'till I'm offline," whistling as his voice trailed off, a warbling pitch which made them smile slightly.
"Certify," they answered together.
Continue...