Young Predator

An Unwelcome Visitor

Pain. Pain. Everything smells bad. Arms in pain. Helm in pain. Wet. Cold. More pain. Smells like acid. Sparks overhead. Watch out. Alone. No, not alone. Others. Dead. Everything dead. Everyone dead. Hurts to move. Don't move. Have to move. Hurts. Why? Where is life? Everything dead. Alone. So alone. Who did this? Why does it hurt? Why am I alone?

The thoughts of the newly sparked beast were erratic, which seemed to be a fitting complement to its surroundings. There was glass, spilled chemicals, and the bodies of stillborn Predacons littering the ground. Overhead hung sparking wires and in the corner of the room was a computer terminal with a hole blasted through it. Most of this stuff didn't register with the newborn Predacon, however. All it knew was that it was in pain and its brethren were dead. It came into the world surrounded by death and devoid of anyone living to tell it why.

Have to keep moving. Get away from the death. Ow. Hurts. Don't want to move. Have to move. Must find other. Get away from dead others. Killer might come back. Don't want to die. Want to find life. Must search for life. Keep moving. Stop hurting. Must make body stop hurting. Move!

Instinct was the only thing driving the Predacon at this point. It was barely sparked and had nothing else to go on. It didn't know its designation, it didn't know where it was, and it didn't understand why it was in constant pain. The pain came from the explosion that killed its fellow newsparks, but it didn't know that. All it knew was move or die. Its driving force was to find someone. Another being could tell it what it needed to know, and if the killer showed up the Predacon would kill it. Something deep inside told it that this was proper behavior for a Predacon.

Dark place. Lots of rocks. Not like death place. Just hollow place. Ow! Hurts in tank. Tank is empty. Must fill tank. Make hurting stop. Lost. Can't go back. No fuel. Lost and hungry. Keep moving. Wait! New smell. Getting closer. Something. Smell the ground. Yes, something. Keep going! Something! Something! Hurry! Something! Don't let it get away!

The Predacon smelled something that wasn't like the scents of its dead brethren. This smell was unlike anything the Predacon had ever encountered in its few hours of life. It ran as it sniffed the ground of the cave it was traveling through. It stopped in its tracks when it came across a severed hand. The hand was flattened and metallic in structure, but it didn't look Predacon.

Life. Recent. Found it! Follow. Track. Pursue life. Find something more. Keep moving.

The Predacon followed the scent outside and looked up at the starry night sky and the crescent moon. The scent trail ended there, but the Predacon would not be deterred. He had the scent of the other, and he would follow it to the ends of the universe if he had to.

••••

The Autobot base was quiet after their latest mission. It had been a week since Ultra Magnus had been forced to get his severed hand replaced with a new servo. The new one was so basic it barely qualified as a servo at all, and the claws made him think of Decepticon digits. Needless to say, Ultra Magnus was not happy with this new arrangement.

Ultra Magnus flexed his new clawed servo in and out to ensure Ratchet that it was still functioning properly. He still felt put-off that he couldn't have a real servo to replace the one he had lost in the fight with the Predacon, but he knew Ratchet was doing the best he could with their inferior materials.

"Hm, I need to loosen that bolt near your index digit," Ratchet muttered as he continued to work on the appendage.

Ultra Magnus nodded curtly and sat up straight while Ratchet worked. The past week had been an odd one for the Autobot SIC. They had uncovered a Predacon cloning facility and destroyed it, Ultra Magnus had lost his servo and the Forge of Solus Prime in the fight with Shockwave's Predacon after finding out it could speak and transform, and strangest of all Wheeljack was actually nice to him.