Wasteland
Chromedome walked down the hallway, his optics skimming through defensive schematics that needed to be sent to Cerebros by the end of the day. Chromedome stopped and craned his neck towards the ceiling, his optics focusing on something other than obscure tactics and mundane troop movements for the first time in three hours.
'I hate this,' he thought dismally.
He was an Autobot of action. He reacted instantly, relying on skill and instinct to guide him through a battle. Offensive battle schemes came naturally to him. Even Point Blank would concede this point. But defensive strategies were another story. Chromedome found them dull. There were always far too many variables that needed to be accounted for. It was too easy for someone whose motto is attack to slip up when that motto was forced to become defend.
Unfortunately, there were very few Autobots that Cerebros would trust with the techniques the Autobots used to protect themselves from the sneak attacks the Decepticon forces on this world often resorted to. Chromedome had the best grasp of these tactics of Cerebros' trusted brain trust. While Chromedome accepted these additional duties without complaint, he did wish there was someone else, someone with a mind for it, that could take over.
Chromedome paused, staring down the hallway. On the right, a door stood ajar. Chromedome walked slowly towards it, almost afraid at what he might find. The door led to Highbrow's quarters. He was usually in a recharge cycle this time of day. The door standing open did not bode well for the other Autobot's mood. Chromedome stopped in front of the door and slowly shook his head.
"Highbrow?" he prompted.
Highbrow said nothing and his scarred face of nearly a blank slate. He gave no indication that Chromedome was standing in front of him. It was one of two expressions that Chromedome was painfully used to seeing. The other was rage, and Chromedome always preferred the latter, despite the destructive consequences that always accompanied it. Rage he could understand. The emotionless gaze was disconcerting.
Chromedome stepped into the room. "Highbrow."
Highbrow's optics focused slightly and he looked towards his commander.
"Yes," he whispered.
"What are you doing?" Chromedome asked, his optics flitting to the end of Highbrow's outstretched arm.
"The aliens," Highbrow whispered. "They started telling me things again. I don't know what they want. What do they want?"
Chromedome crossed his arms sternly, but his optics softened. "I don't know, Highbrow, but I'm pretty sure they didn't want you skewer Cloudraker."
Highbrow tilted his head and looked at the unconscious Autobot he was holding off the ground, a pole sticking out of his torso. He continued to look at Cloudraker, as if this action would bring some clarity as to what he was supposed to do. He swung his head back to Chromedome.
"No?"
"No," Chromedome stated. "Let's bring him the infirmary."
Chromedome watched his former defensive specialist bring his left arm under Cloudraker and carry him out of the room. He followed Highbrow down the hall towards the medical wing, shaking his head slowly.
It wasn't long ago that there would be no question who would devise defensive strategies for the Autobots. Highbrow was nothing short of a genius in the field.
'Now I don't know what he is,' he thought. 'But someone is certainly going to start paying for it very soon.'
* * *
The voices were always with him.
Highbrow's disjointed mind could no longer follow passages of time. His only benchmarks were periods of relative silence and periods of rattling noise. Sometimes the voices spoke softly. Like now. Other times, they were very loud and very insistent. Like they were when Cloudraker came and knocked his door. They were telling him to do something. They wanted him to do it very badly. Their voices almost seemed to ache with their yearning. Highbrow simply wanted to know what they wanted. If he knew and he could help them, maybe they would leave him alone.
Highbrow continued to walk down the hallway. A sudden memory flashed in his mind. His even steps hitched slightly, jarred by a sense of familiarity. He looked down at Cloudraker before quickly looking around him. He hoped that his sudden movement didn't wake the aliens. He didn't want them to start talking loudly. He liked
the quiet.
* * *
"It's too quiet," Highbrow said softly, looking over the scarred terrain around the battlefield.
"Oh, what's the matter?" Hardhead taunted. "Scared?"
Highbrow looked back at the green Autobot. "You're talking to me about being scared?"
When Hardhead had no quick answer, Highbrow turned his head back towards the battlefield. Well, at least your 'strategic retreat' netted us some cover for the time being.
For millions of years, the group of Autobots he was aligned with moved from planet to planet, reaping what the world had to offer before moving on, often leaving only a dying husk in their wake. Normally, such a trite and formulaic existence would have bored Highbrow after too long. However, it was the advantages to this nomadic lifestyle that kept him going. With each new world came a different strategy that was required to defend the conquerors from those resisting them. Too often, the resistance was pathetic. Sometimes, they put up a fight. This time was different.
This time the Decepticons showed up.
Highbrow could barely hide his excitement. Here, after all this time, was finally an adversary that at least strived to reach his own strategic prowess. The other Autobots had a tendency to underestimate the Decepticons. It was not a mistake that Highbrow made. The enemy was shrewd, far more shrewd then they were given credit for. They already proved capable of standing against a more powerful foe in previous battles.
This particular skirmish ended in a draw. At least that was how it seemed. 'Could they have possibly retreated?' he wondered. 'No doubt our forces were stronger than they had realized. Logically, they should withdraw and regroup, size up the situation further before honing their attack schemes to more efficiently battle a superior fighting force.' He scanned across the battlefield but received only inconclusive results. They could be out there.
Highbrow quickly activated his communicator. "Cloudraker, I need you to run a recon mission."
Silence was the answer he received. Highbrow frowned. "Fastlane, are you out there?"
"Right here," the clone answered.
"Recon mission," he stated forcefully. He turned to Hardhead. "Stay here. You see any movement out there that isn't Fastlane, report it in to me." Highbrow hurried away before the other Autobot could object. He disliked unknown variables, including troops missing or unable to respond. The last time that Cloudraker reported in, he was located south of the battlefield, tending to some of the injured.
Highbrow pushed through some brush blocking the way to the makeshift infirmary and pulled up quickly. A light green figure was hovering over Cloudraker's immobile form. He frowned deeply and stalked across the field. The red Autobot had been on-line at last notice and there was no sign of Decepticons. That eliminated all logical theories. Except one.
"Brainstorm, what do you think that you're doing?" Highbrow asked, already knowing the answer.
Brainstorm wheeled around, the twisted smile hidden behind his facemask alight in his eyes. Highbrow peered over the Brainstorm's shoulder at Cloudraker. His chest plate was open and a fresh laser burn marked his right shoulder.
"Just testing a theory," Brainstorm cackled and began to turn back to Cloudraker.
Highbrow grasped the scientists shoulder and pulled him away from Cloudraker. He stooped down and hoisted Cloudraker up.
"I think the Decepticons are doing enough damage to us without inflicting it upon ourselves."
"Highbrow," Fastlane interjected through the communicator, "looks like the 'Cons bailed out."
"Good. Autobots, fall back to base."
Brainstorm, still on the ground, moved towards Highbrow.
"Here," he offered with a sinister edge to his voice, "I'll take Cloudraker."
Highbrow stepped forward and kicked Brainstorm across his face. The scientist's expressions alternated between rage, wonder, and a mad giddiness at the pain from the blow.
"No, you sick pile of slag, you get back to base. We will tend to the wounded."
With that, Highbrow walked towards the transport and placed Cloudraker on an empty bed as the medics prepared the injured for transport.
* * *
Brainstorm looked up at the Decepticon hanging rigidly in his lab, a smile hidden behind his facemask. The Decepticon was of average-size, modeled loosely on the popular Seeker/Tracker model that was common many millions of years ago, long before the band of Autobots he was aligned with left Cybertron in a bit of haste. ‘Having a rampaging warlord after you will make your step a bit livelier,’ he thought idly, smiling more widely. ‘If only I could get Cerebros in here. What a specimen he would make.’
Brainstorm’s smile diminished and he shook his head, trying to remove any sign of his last thought. Cerebros graciously allowed Brainstorm to continue his “games,” as he called them. If, however, he ever got an inkling that Brainstorm was turning his attention to higher targets, Brainstorm knew his work would be ended quickly. ‘And painfully,’ he thought, his smile returning.
Brainstorm roughly grasped the Decepticon’s hand with his left hand, feeling the Decepticon struggle futilely against the bonds holding him to the wall. Brainstorm reached for his laser scalpel with his right hand and activated it. He winked at the Decepticon scowling down on him and glanced at him monitoring system. He hovered the scalpel over the Decepticon’s palm and dragged the scalpel across it quickly. After assuring himself the equipment was working properly, he looked back at the Decepticon’s face. The bound robot was grimacing close-mouthed, refusing to cry out.
“Interesting,” Brainstorm said, as if in awe. “This one, it would appear, did not hurt as badly as when I cut your hand slowly.” Brainstorm tilted his head and smiled again. “That is a bit subjective, I know, but I suppose the computer will be able to make a better judgment.” He leaned closer. “I am a pretty good judge though.”
Brainstorm stepped back and turned away from the Decepticon, who began bucking against the bonds. ‘As if the first hundred times didn’t matter,’ he mused thoughtfully. Brainstorm held the scalpel against his own hand and sliced. He held it closer to his face and nodded.
“Yes, that didn’t hurt as badly, did it?” he whispered to himself. He turned back toward the Decepticon with a triumphant grin. “I told you I was good judge.”
After assuring himself that the prisoner’s hands were healing properly. Brainstorm walked to an energon transfusion machine and activated it, bringing the Decepticon back to full strength. He then began tinkering with another computer as he talked to the Decepticon.
“Pain is underestimated as a tool. Not enough Autobots around here see that. Just today, I attempted to begin a new experiment, only to be stopped by such a shortsighted individual. They think it’s all fun and games. Don’t get me wrong. It is certainly fun. But games? I think not. This is more than idle busywork. This about understanding our race at its most basic form.”
Brainstorm looked up, an almost dreamy look in his optics. “The physical aspect of pain is fascinating. How we feel pain doesn’t vary substantially from Transformer to Transformer. How we react to it… that does to a startling degree. How can some warriors fight through the pain while others are hampered by it? Is it merely physical or is there a psychological aspect to it as well.” He walked over to the Decepticon.
“I am in the latter camp, as I think many who pride themselves on their ability to torture their enemies are. There is certainly a breaking point physically that not one of us can get beyond. But there is a psychological breaking point as well. In finding that point on different beings, we come that much closer to understanding how much damage we can truly do to someone, how far we can drive them before they die or become hopelessly insane.”
Brainstorm smiled broadly. “Torture. That is basically the art of inducing pain to this breaking point. Perhaps the most interesting thing about torture is the affects it has on those that have never been tortured. They are brought in here with optics with the size of moons out of a very real fear of the torturer, all because of stories told by those who are released or made to think that they escaped. They talk about the horrors they experienced, the pains that they suffered, the sights, the sounds, the smells. Others experience what they experienced vicariously and come to expect the same thing if they catch sight of the torturer. It’s part of the art, letting them in on all the little details.”
Brainstorm suddenly looked crest-fallen. “My friend, what have I done? I broke a cardinal rule and told you about this fine art.” He shook his head. “Foolish, foolish…”
He crossed the room and grasped the laser scalpel again. He turned and looked at the Decepticon, a look of sadness welling in his optics. He slowly began to walk towards him again, twirling the scalpel in his hand.
“I do apologize, but I can’t have you revealing these secrets I’ve just told you. There’s sort of a brotherhood amongst us. It is, with a heavy laser core, that I must kill you.” The Decepticon didn’t react, but Brainstorm continued as if he did not notice. “It’s a shame really. You have given me so much valuable information in the short time you have been here. You truly are a model Decepticon warrior. But I was hoping that you might help me with one last experiment.”
Brainstorm stopped suddenly and hurried to the transfusion equipment and nodded. The Decepticon was at full strength. Brainstorm spun on his heel and faced the Decepticon again.
“It surprises me that I hadn’t thought of this before,” Brainstorm said his optics glowing with glee, indicative of the face-splitting smile the Decepticon could not see. “We’re going to see how long it takes a fully functioning Decepticon warrior of known type to die with a minor wound to a major energon conductor to the neural processor. I will have to take into account any other outside factors, including the pain you already experienced today as well as the psychological affects of being a prisoner for six cycles, but I believe that the results may be able to be reproduced within specifications.”
Brainstorm rested the scalpel near the Decepticon’s neck, giggling with excitement.
“I can hardly wait ” he exuded, and sliced a gash into the Decepticon’s neck.
He quickly backed towards a chair and sat down. Sitting at the edge of his seat, he watched the Decepticon slowly die with an unrepressed look on glee on his faceplate.
* * *
Highbrow slowly dropped down into the forest, watching the trees sway violently from the gusts created from the propeller blades of his vehicle mode. As he reached the soft ground, he transformed back into robot mode and started walking swiftly towards the main prison area. The forest was still and quiet, more than likely because of the proximity of the Autobots rather than a Decepticon or Nebulan presence. The air was dense with moisture, a sensation that Highbrow detested. As exciting as moving from world to world could be, the Autobot strategist found that he preferred the dry cold of Cybertron to any world they had conquered thus far. It simply felt more like home.
Highbrow stepped into a small clearing and looked up at the filtered sunlight dropping down onto the forest floor. Dew still shimmered on the leaves above and prismatic colors cast their soft light into the still air. After a moment staring at this, Highbrow turned and walked up to a large vine growing haphazardly along a cliff wall. He studied the edge of the growth, grasping at a small branch, almost invisible among the plants. He pulled the branch down and heard a hiss of dank, stale air as it escaped from behind the vine. As the plants pulled aside, he peered down the dark tunnel that led into the prison complex. After a moment, he let out a low growl.
"Slag it all," he said under his breath and began walking down the corridor.
Crosshairs was in charge of the prisons. He was a fine warrior and good at his job as a warden. However, he had a bit of quirk. At times, through boredom or, more rarely, by design, he would allow a prisoner to escape. But, in order to make his jokes that much more elaborate, he would reconstruct areas of the prison to give it a maze-like structure. A prisoner with bearings enough to believe they would find a way out would instead find himself running into a trap. Highbrow followed a homing beacon towards the primary monitoring station and took a left at a T in the corridor. Had Highbrow turned to the right, he did not know what sort of torturous device awaited him.
After several minutes of meandering through the maze of corridors, Highbrow strode past Crosshairs' empty monitoring station deep within the prison complex. Cerebros had ordered the execution of most of the prisoners five solar cycles earlier, leaving only two remaining for his use. Those two were to be released back to their allies tomorrow as a method of psychological warfare. They would return home and be debriefed. And then news of the slaughter of a dozen Decepticon captives would permeate through their ranks. They would be angry. Some, perhaps even most, would cry for revenge. But they would also be distraught and disheartened as the news sank in. They would start to believe more and more that they were fighting a losing battle and, in time, this revelation would begin to play out on the battlefield. It was a time-tested technique that Highbrow and Chromedome had used on numerous occasions on various outland worlds before their exile from Cybertron. Crosshairs was obviously up to his old tricks with one of them.
The other, to Highbrow's disgust, had been grabbed by Brainstorm for one of his experiments. Brainstorm was a top-notch medic and brilliant scientist. For all the disgust that Highbrow felt towards Brainstorm’s doctrine of torture in the name of science, the strategist did see a use for it as another method of psychological warfare. Survivors of the torture may or may not give up valuable information. But either way, the tales they tell to their comrades ultimately aided the Autobots. And for those that break under duress, they bore the added guilt of the information that they spilled could ultimately lead to the death of their allies. Highbrow had noted that these instances where a Decepticon revealed information, the Decepticon in question succumbed in battle at a far higher rate than those that did not.
However, Brainstorm had a tendency to go too far. For the second time in a quartex, Highbrow had discovered the scientist about to study another Autobot. This was more than Highbrow could tolerate. Cerebros had decided that for the time being Brainstorm would simply be warned to never attempt this again. Highbrow abided that order for the time being. Still, he felt wary about it. Brainstorm was arrogant and tended to view most orders as suggestions rather than orders. From all but Cerebros. The scientist exhibited an odd mix of awe and fear for their commander that often reduced him to a sniveling toady rather than a haughty scientist. Highbrow hoped that the order issued directly from Cerebros would be enough to stay his hand from future attacks on fellow Autobots, but he knew the day might soon come when Brainstorm would defy even those orders.
Highbrow rounded the corner to the prisoner's cell and pulled the door open. For several seconds he simply watched the spectacle before. Crosshairs had the Decepticon shoved against the far wall, while taunting him about the intelligence of attempting an escape, being certain to punctuate key words with a fist to the abdomen.
Finally, Highbrow stepped forward and cleared his throat. Crosshairs spun around, surprised to be interrupted and glared at Highbrow. The Decepticon, an aerial warrior named Spinister, looked up as well with wariness alighting his optics.
“What do you want, plasma-head? I’m a little busy at the moment.”
Highbrow simply walked back out of the room and motioned towards Crosshairs, indicating that he wanted the other Autobot to follow. For a moment, Crosshairs watched the blue and gray Autobot while still holding Spinister roughly against the cold wall of his cell. Finally, Crosshairs growled and let the Decepticon captive drop unceremoniously to the ground.
“Guess it’s your lucky day, you scum,” Crosshairs stated furiously as he stalked out into the hallway.
Once they were both in the hallway and the door to the cell closed, Crosshairs turned and looked at the other Autobot.
“Dramatic entrance. You’re early, and I’m guessing it’s got a lot to with that slaghead scientist under Chromedome’s command.”
“Indeed,” Highbrow stated evenly. “If anything happens to the one in his keep right now, he’ll come looking for more prisoners.”
Crosshairs shrugged. “He’s all yours then. It’s not as though Brainstorm will be getting in there to him anyway.”
“Perhaps not, but moving the time table up one day will have no significant effect on the plan. This way we can assure that the prisoner will serve his purpose.”
After a brief nod, Crosshairs turned to leave. Before turning the corner, he paused. “You know, Highbrow. I never did understand why you fell in with Chromedome and his goons. You know that Point Blank likes a warrior with brains.”
Highbrow said nothing and turned back towards the door. The truth of the matter was that Chromedome was not simply a commander; he was a friend. In tandem, with Chromedome’s offensive strategies and Highbrow’s own prowess and defensive tactics, they had fought towards many victories. His loyalty did not serve those who he believed would utilize him at his best or give him a position of authority. His loyalty resided with those he trusted. He trusted Chromedome and even Cerebros to a degree. Point Blank was another story. He kept too many things hidden from view. He played his cards too closely to his frame.
Highbrow stepped back into the cell and stared at the Decepticon still leaning on the other wall. He was beat up, but certainly in better shape then many of the attempted escapees. Highbrow pulled an energon cube from his subspace compartment and tossed unto Spinister’s bunk.
“So you're the lesser of two evils today?” the Decepticon asked coldly.Highbrow smiled lightly and leaned against the wall across from the Decepticon.
“You poor fool. After so many vorn of fighting this war, you still think that evil exists?”
“I’m looking at it right now,” Spinister sneered. “I saw it when you murderers came in here and killed the others. You want me to believe that killing my friends was something other than evil? Don’t waste your time with that.”
“There is no good or evil. How many times have you seen your own kind, your friends, succumb in battle to primal urges of a warrior. They shed those stunted life goals to which you Decepticons subscribe and are better warriors because of it. When they kill an Autobot, are they evil? Or are they simply trying to survive? That’s what we do. I try to survive. I'm not the better of two evils, because there is no evil. Anybody who tells you otherwise doesn't really understand the way the universe works. What I am is your only chance at getting out of here alive and back to your allies.”
Spinister crossed his arms across his chest. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. It’s more likely you simply believe that I will lead to our base.”
Highbrow simply shook his head. “My friend,” he said, mildly admonishing the Decepticon, “we already know where your base is.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Spinister exclaimed. “If you knew, you’d attack it.”
“Believe what you will.” Highbrow pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room. “But regardless of what you believe and why, it does not change the facts. You will be free to go. We will deactivate your guidance systems, dump you someplace remote, and then you can go where you like.” Highbrow stared down at the Decepticon. “We are not without mercy, after all,” he added menacingly.
He backed away from Spinister again and watched the conflicting thoughts course through the Decepticon’s optics. A smile started to grow across Highbrow’s faceplate and then quickly dropped away. Still keeping his guard up around the prisoner, Highbrow slowly walked towards the bunk while listening carefully to the strange noises emanating from the floor below. It was the sound of something or someone beneath the cell. He quickly dismissed the notion that it could be the Decepticons. If they had knowledge precise enough to pinpoint which cell the lone prisoner was in, they certainly would have known that there were other, easier ways of entering the prison. Besides the sound wasn’t that of tunneling. Rather, the sound was from equipment being moved through a pre-established tunneling system. That left two likely options: Brainstorm or some of Galen’s goons, either of which would like to have their hands on a Decepticon prisoner.
Highbrow rushed towards Spinister and grabbed him roughly by the arm. As he dragged the struggling prisoner out of the cell, he opened an internal communication channel.
Crosshairs, do you know anything about a tunneling system below the prison complex?
After a pause, Chromedome said, Um, well, yeah. It’s how I move around the walls and such. Extra storage. Plus, I move prisoners through there sometimes.
Anybody else know about it?
No, Crosshairs sent, suspicion oozing from his voice, and you shouldn’t either.
I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t heard someone moving around under there. I’ve got the prisoner. Check it out for me.
Highbrow turned off the communicator and turned down several corridors before stopping just around the corner of one of them. He pulled his gun from a holster and pressed it roughly against Spinister’s neck.
“Keep quiet unless you want to end up in far worse hands than mine.”
Highbrow quickly bound Spinister’s hands together and brought his blaster against his neck again. He then turned his attention to cell down the hall. After a moment, muffled voices drifted through the corridors. He could not make out many of the words, but Crosshairs’ voice was quite loud as he shouted at the intruder. The other he recognized as that of Brainstorm. As they moved out of the cell and down the voices become clearer.
“Regardless of whatever whacked out logic you try to use,” Crosshairs shouted, “you have no right in this prison complex without express permission.” The briefest of pauses. “Each time,” he added quickly, obviously interrupting the scientist. “Permission to take one prisoner to your lab two cycles ago is not permission for you to dance in here anytime to your whimsy catches you.”
Brainstorm laughed. “You are so shortsighted, Crosshairs. Just like everybody else, you think this a game. This is not about fun. This is about science, about a dying art.” Brainstorm suddenly starting giggling madly. “Quite literally a dying art in fact.”
“No, it’s about one thing. About to get ugly in here unless get your demented tail out of my prison, you freak.”
For a moment, there was no speaking. Finally, Brainstorm spoke again.
“The prisoner isn’t off escaping,” Brainstorm seethed. “That Decepticon is already gone.”
With that, the conversation abruptly ended. The only sound to be heard were the heavy footsteps of Brainstorm walking out of the prison complex via the main entrance and angry murmurs from Crosshairs. Highbrow placed his blaster back into its holster.
“Guess we had better get going.”
After disabling the Decepticon’s guidance systems and deactivating his optics, he pushed the Decepticon roughly towards a little used back exit, careful of an ambush from Brainstorm at every turn.
* * *
Highbrow strode into the command room and up to the tracking station.
“Anything?” he asked Cloudraker sitting at the station.
“I liked it better when we just sent the Decepticons the limbs of their comrades rather than sending them warriors intact and alive,” Cloudraker groused.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Highbrow replied lightly.
Cloudraker turned to look at the blue Autobot. “Actually, we lost contact with him. He wandered out of the tracking array before he attempted to contact his headquarters. Towards Koraja.”
Highbrow’s fingers strummed against the station’s console. “Towards Galen. That’s curious. Catalog the location we lost him and I’ll take a look at it later. Anything from the Decepticon base.”
“Yeah,” Cloudraker stated. He quickly brought several screens worth of information. “About three breem after the prisoner exited the tracking array, several Decepticons left their base. Here are the latest readings of their perimeter defense.” He looked back up at Highbrow. “Nothing new, I’m afraid.”
“Blast it all,” Highbrow whispered. What he had told Spinister had been true. They did know the location of the Decepticon base. The primary reason they had not launched an assault on it was a perimeter defense system that proved impossible to penetrate. The tracking array had been in place for more than twenty solar cycles and little had been discovered about the dynamics of the defenses. There were no power fluctuations as a Decepticon entered or exited. The single scout probe that had launched towards the defenses was neutralized quickly upon coming with perimeter at one megamile from the base. If this latest prisoner release did not result in useful information, Cerebros was prepared to send out a scouting patrol towards the Decepticon base. Highbrow knew that this most likely meant several scouts ending up dead.
“There’s one other thing, Highbrow. A section of the array seems to be malfunctioning in Gamma sector. I was just about to send out someone to check it out.”
“I’ll go. I want you to continue to monitor the Decepticons’ movements. When they return with the prisoner, take some more readings, just in case. After I repair the array, I’m going out there and try to get a close up look at that perimeter, see if I can see anything the array just isn’t picking up.”
“Kind of shooting at the dark, aren’t you?” Cloudraker asked with a grin.
“Perhaps. I’ll be in contact soon. With any luck, we may be able to coordinate the new readings with my own observations.”
Highbrow exited the command room and walked quickly down the halls toward the exit to the outside world, his mind sifting quickly through possible scenarios he might encounter out in the field. Basic exit protocols were quickly accessed; they would be the most useful strategies for the time being. Should I be spotted out there, he thought, I may need to improvise. No sense in cluttering my mind with useless information. He stepped out into the bright midday sunshine and transformed, flying quickly towards the perimeter of the Decepticon base.
For several breem, Highbrow flew low over the ever-shifting terrain of Nebulos, making his way towards the malfunctioning area of the tracking array. Nebulos was a well-forested world, far more so than any other world that Cerebros’ Autobots had settled on. Nearly every habitable acre of land that was not covered with water or cut down to make cities and towns, such as Koraja, was blanketed by forests. Even after seeing so much war, many of the forests were still very much intact and thriving. Part of the reason was the tactical advantage the large areas of trees offered. While the Decepticons used the forests for cover as well, Highbrow had lobbied to keep them flourishing as much as possible. The fact that they aided the Decepticons did not lessen the fact that they were helpful to the Autobots’ own agendas as well.
Not that every area was forested. As Highbrow rose over a ridge, a nearly barren valley came into view. He dropped close to the ground and transformed, landing softly on the ground just outside of the clearing. He performed a casual scan of the valley, detecting no other lifeforms in the area. Highbrow was not surprised with this. The Autobots routinely patrolled the area, so the Decepticons rarely moved through it. Even the local lifeforms steered clear. For this reason, the other Autobots had taken to calling the sector “Wasteland.” The Autobots themselves would have little use for the valley if it was not for their tracking array.
Highbrow walked swiftly and quietly to the malfunctioning array component, embedded several meters into the ground along a south facing valley wall not far from the dark forest. After digging away the grass and dirt that camouflaged the component, he removed the outer casing. This area seems to be an old river valley, he thought. Perhaps an uncharted water table feature has reemerged after the snow melt.
He shined a light into the inner workings of the array component, a frown deepening with every second that went past. He could find nothing wrong visibly wrong with component. This is not good, he thought dismally. The last thing we need is to take this thing into the technicians. Who knows how long it’ll be until they get around it fixing this? Finally, Highbrow pulled a few tools out and placed them on the ground, intent on attempting to find the problem with the component himself. He grasped a laser scalpel and activated it. He ran the hot plasma of the scalpel along the outer casing, removing the inner core matrix. He set the scalpel on the soft ground beside and moved to pull the core matrix from the component when he heard a voice call from behind him.
“Catching you of all the Autobots unawares?” Brainstorm said almost thoughtfully. “Must be my lucky day.”
Highbrow dove quickly out of the way, but the move had been anticipated. Electricity from Brainstorm’s blaster racked his outer frame. He cried out in pain as well as frustration as his internal scan indicated that his weapon’s systems and communications were disabled. After several long seconds, the electric shock abruptly stopped. Highbrow lay heaving on the ground, struggling to get to his feet to little avail. He stopped as he watched Brainstorm’s foot pass into his field of vision. Highbrow willed himself to rise and strike his attacker, but his body simply could not obey the command. He heard Brainstorm chuckle humorlessly and felt the scientist’s hand gently cradle his chin. His head was slowly lifted up until he was staring into the cold blue optics of the mad Autobot.
“Yes,” Brainstorm said quietly, “my lucky day indeed.”
* * *
Highbrow glanced quickly around the room, looking for anything that might get him out of his predicament. Various surgical tools, some far more menacing in appearance that they needed to be, were placed neatly around the room. Some of the larger instruments were hanging against the wall, as if they were some sort of perverse sculpture. A steady of hum of computers churning out data streamed endlessly to his audio circuits. Brainstorm, his back to Highbrow, was standing before one of the terminals on the far end of the room. Highbrow saw a half dozen useful tools with which he could easily disable the scientist, except for the energy bonds that were attached to the end of each limb, holding him perfectly still. Highbrow looked up at the bonds, glowing dark blue against his light colored armor. He tried to twist his arm around, attempting to forcibly expand the bonds enough to slip an arm free. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that, he thought.
After several seconds of rotating his arm at different angles, he paused. Brainstorm had stopped entering data into the terminal was standing before. He knew that he hadn’t made any noise, but perhaps the other Autobot had some sort of motion detector enabled that Highbrow had yet to notice.
“Squirm all you like, Highbrow,” the scientist said without turning around. “You won’t free yourself. Those bonds are not exactly standard issue. Usually, such bonds are composed of boron plasma that interfaces with the main conduits in the bonding mechanism. I have found, as you undoubtedly have as well, that the boron plasma is all too often contaminated, giving a less than ideal elasticity to the bonds themselves. No such flaws exist in these.”
Brainstorm finally turned and started walking slowly, almost casually across the room. “I was planning on introducing them to Cerebros in a couple of cycles. They have worked marvelously for some time now, keeping Decepticons of all sizes and strength from being able to so much as move, let alone escape.” As he continued to speak, he stopped occasionally to idly toy with one of the surgical instruments. “I think you will be an ideal final test for the bonds. After all, if you can’t free yourself, who would be able to? Such is what I do here. I find the flaws in our systems and a fix them.”
Brainstorm scooped a large metal scalpel into his right hand and looked at Highbrow, a smile dancing in his optics. The scientist flipped the scalpel in the air and caught the blade. Then, with deceptive speed, he threw the scalpel across the room, and watched it sink quickly into Highbrow’s upper leg. Highbrow’s back lurch forward as the pain from the blade course up and down his leg. He bit back a cry, keeping his optics locked on the other Autobot, not wanting to show any more weakness that he had to.
Brainstorm crossed to one of the computer terminals near Highbrow and pressed several buttons. Information scrolled quickly down the screen. Though Highbrow was not able to read all the data, he saw that it had a fair bit of information on Highbrow’s vital components.
“Interesting,” Brainstorm said, almost to himself. He looked up at Highbrow with an odd, hurt expression. “Don’t you see,” he continued to his captive, “what I have done. Don’t you understand? Before we left Cybertron, even largely since we arrived on Nebulos, our systems have increased dramatically in efficiency. That wound in your leg, which is currently rerouting energon for repair purposes, is doing so at an increased efficiency of nearly 38 percent. Even now, your components, which tell your stunted intellect that you are feeling pain, are rerouting nerve endings in such a way that you will no longer be feeling any pain. You might not know this, in fact I would be shocked if you did, but the time between when that blade sliced into your armor and when you will feel no pain is an astonishing 57 percent faster than when we arrived on Nebulos. 57 percent. That’s an eternity on the battlefield.”
Brainstorm walked up to the confined Highbrow and pulled the scalpel from his leg. Highbrow looked down at the scientist as he set to work repairing the small wound. In mere seconds, Brainstorm was standing again and striking several buttons on the mechanism hanging on the wall beside him. Highbrow’s brow furrowed as he felt energon flowing to replenish what his maintenance systems had used during the repair cycle.
Brainstorm began to wander, seemingly at random, around the room.
“Yet you seem to think that what I do is worthless, is nothing more than a game. It is far more than a game as I am sure you are beginning to notice. Every one of us is a vital cog in the great machine that is this army. Some of us are simply a bigger cog in a more vital area.”
Highbrow laughed, knowing this would infuriate the scientist. “Oh Brainstorm, you poor deluded fool. Have a listen, because I don’t want to have to repeat this.”
“I don’t think so,” Brainstorm replied, his voice soft and deadly. He depressed a nearby switch and an electric shock rang through Highbrow’s body. The strategist opened his mouth to speak, but he found that his vocal circuitry had overheated, rendering him mute. He quickly reactivated his repair cycle, rerouting prerogatives from some of his inert weapons systems to speed up the process, as Brainstorm continued.
“I’ve heard all of your little speeches before. You would say that every cog is just as vital as the next. You would say that one warrior or one medic or one statistician failing to do his part would have the effect of our cause becoming that much more inefficient. Primus, you sound like Chromedome at his worst when you talk like that. But even Chromedome doesn’t believe that pile of slag. He knows as well as I that there are Autobots among us that are more vital than others are. He knows that losing an infantry soldier is far less damaging than losing Point Blank or Fastlane. Or me.” He took a step closer. “Or you.”
Brainstorm grabbed a large hooked metal staff from the tabletop near him and crossed the room. Upon reaching his captive, he slowly dragged the sharp staff under Highbrow’s chin.
“But what makes you different?” he asked, a sparkle returning to his optics. “What makes any of us different? How did you get on the path that you are on? How can you devise such brilliant defensive tactics in so little time where another equally intelligent individual would ponder it for cycles and never reach your solution? Or even more basic, why are you more indispensable than a simple warrior such as Flashback is?
“I am finally at a place in my research of our race that I can start to answer these questions. I have analyzed of Decepticon reactions to stimulus and I have studied every inch of their circuits. I have taken them apart and put them back together again. It would be fair to say that through my duties as chief medic, I have done much the same to nearly every Autobot at the base as well. I have seen how Autobots react to varying situations, be it a frustrating loss or an exuberant victory, be it happiness or pain. I’ve even had one or two other Autobots down here, though they would never be able to recall it. Through all of these studies of our own designs and reactions, I know more about Cybertronian anatomy and physical structure than any ten petty science officers on Cybertron. With that data in hand, I can work to increase our prowess in such a way that we would be nigh on invincible. Except for one factor that continues to elude me: the individuality that permeates through us. Each of us is different from another. Each of us is unique. We have a dizzying variety of strengths and weaknesses. The question is, why?”
Brainstorm tapped Highbrow’s forehead with the staff and turned around, looking dreamily at the ceiling.
“Not long ago, I started down the path to discovery the answer to this vital question. The perfect case study was right before my optics. Fastlane and Cloudraker are identical in almost every way. They have identical thought patterns, identical energon distribution, identical everything in a purely physiological sense. Yet they have wildly different personalities. By examining them, seeing how they react at their most basic, most primal, level, I would finally have started down the road to discovering what makes us individuals. But you had to stop me.”
Highbrow’s internal diagnostic told him his vocal capabilities had returned. He launched into his retort.
“Someone had to,” he responded, watching Brainstorm spin around in surprise to hearing him speak. “‘Most basic, most primal, level’? That’s code for torture in your predictable book of methodology. That’s what it always boils down to with you. Not for the science of it, but because you think it’s enjoyable. I’ve seen that sick smile in your optics when a Decepticon is transferred down here. It’s the same look I saw when you were hunched over Cloudraker at the end of that battle. Now let me ask you this? What happens if word gets out that you had me or Cloudraker or Fastlane chained to this wall hooked up to your fun. As you said yourself, some of us are more valuable. What happens when Chromedome or Cerebros find out who has visited your little funhouse? What happens when they weigh the importance of your cog and mine? I’ll tell you what will happen. They will see you as a hack when they compare you to me. They won’t see medical skills and scientific expertise. They’ll see you giggling away in your little cave with helpless victim restrained against a wall. They’ll see you destroying valuable equipment in order to lure an Autobot into your web. That’s what happened down in the Wasteland, isn’t it? You sabotaged the array to draw an Autobot out of the base and into your hands.
“They won’t see a valued scientist; they’ll see a madman.”
Brainstorm suddenly let out of shout of fury and buried the hooked staff into Highbrow’s chest, just above his laser core. He pulled viciously back on the staff, ripping armor away from Highbrow’s frame. He swung the staff around again, impaling the strategist in the side. Highbrow grunted as pain ripped across his torso from the blows. He watched Brainstorm take several steps back. The scientist’s optics shined a menacing dark hue of blue. Each breath seemed labored. Brainstorm’s angry glare shifted to the staff hanging out of Highbrow’s side. Highbrow watched him take a deep breath and step forward to remove the staff.
“You underestimate me,” Brainstorm stated calmly, the madness gone from his optics. “When I set that little trap down by the array, I did not know who I was going to capture. It could have been any Autobot and I would have been satisfied. The work that I am undertaking down here is far more important than anyone knows or cares to know. It requires a steady flow of test subjects, even it means taking those within our ranks.”
“You are a—.”
Brainstorm angrily depressed the lever to deliver another round of electricity through Highbrow’s circuitry. This time the scientist walked over to Highbrow and disabled his repair system protocols, leaving him voiceless and without the ability to repair it.
“You, however, are among the worst of all of them. Chromedome and Cerebros might see my methods as unconventional. But you, with your holier-than-thou attitude, look at me like an inferior. They don’t see me as a madman; you do. Oh, I am so much more than you can imagine. Seeing you fall into my trap, it was like a dream come true. There is so much that I can learn from you. There’s so much that I want to learn. I can pick you apart and see what makes you what you are. And while I may not be able to compare you with another Autobot, I can compare you to a Decepticon. I can start to delve into discovering why Cybertronians can vary so greatly when they are all essentially the same race. Besides, the knowledge alone would be almost intoxicating.”
Brainstorm grasped a long, jagged knife from its place on the wall and crossed the room to Highbrow. He stopped with his face mere microns from Highbrow’s own face and stared into his optics. Highbrow could feel hot air from the scientist’s intakes flowing across his face.
“That is the objective scientist talking though. I strive to remain objective. It is only way any scientist can truly discover the mysteries that await us all and reward us for our dedication to our craft. You mock me for enjoying what I do. Do you not enjoy your work? The tedium of running through randomized battle plans. Theorizing possible weaknesses in our offensive scenarios that the enemy may attempt to take advantage of. I find such activities dull, but you seem to enjoy them. Do I mock you for this?
“But you do not only mock me. You also thwart me. You wish to put a stop to my studies despite all the good that they have done for our cause. You don’t understand and there is no way for me to make you understand. You don’t see that there must be sacrifices made so that our ideals can be advanced. The study of Decepticons alone will only lead to an understanding of half the picture. With only half the knowledge, we might as well have none of it. I need to study Autobots as well. I needed to study Cloudraker and Fastlane. But you stopped me. You stole it from me.
“I have to admit something to you. I may be an objective scientist, but I am also a flawed individual. Seeing you strung up like this, I am finding that I do not want to torture you in the name of science or even for the art of it. I want to do it out of spite. I want to hurt you and I feel no other need to justify my reasoning.”
Brainstorm reached out and sliced a deep gash across Highbrow’s face.
“You see? There is nothing taking down data, nothing analyzing your vital components and their reactions to stimuli. There’s just me hurting you.”
He dragged the knife across Highbrow’s face again.
“Simply me and you. Now let’s play a little game. It’s similar to my experiments with torture, except somehow I think that the fact that you are my subject, it will be far more satisfying. You see, Highbrow, everybody has a breaking point. We are going to spend the next several cycles in search of yours.”
Highbrow lurched as the knife punctured his right optic and he let out a soundless scream.
* * *
Highbrow stopped just beyond the entrance to the medical bay, Cloudraker still lying motionless in his arms. He gazed around the med bay cautiously. He listened intently for the voices of the aliens that were always intruding into his conscience, but tried not to focus too intently on them. Sometimes they started talking louder when he went searching for them.
The blue Autobot stuck his head in the door and gazed around more studiously. He didn’t like the medical bay. There was a stench in the room that smelled of death. It particularly lingered around Brainstorm, the resident medic. Highbrow disliked Brainstorm for a number of reasons. Firstly, the aliens almost always spoke louder and more insistently when he was around. Perhaps they didn’t like the smell of death either. But there was something else as well. Another reason long forgotten that he felt a rage rise up in him when he was nearby especially. Especially, when the medic looked at him. He always had an almost predatory look in his optics.
But Brainstorm was nowhere to be found. Highbrow stepped timidly. The voices rose grew louder, as if amplified by the walls of the medical lab. Highbrow looked straight ahead and cleared his head of any thoughts. A blank look dropped like a veil over his face and voices subsided. He remained like this for an unknown amount of time. He felt almost at ease. No voices, no rage, nothing. Nothing.
It was almost beautiful.
“Highbrow.”
He blinked and turned his head towards Chromedome.
“Yes?” he whispered. The voices were silent; he didn’t want to disturb them.
“I said to put Cloudraker on the table.”
Highbrow stepped forward and carefully placed the unconscious Autobot on an empty table. He stepped back and froze. A movement flashed by in the corner of his optic. He knew who it was, but he refused to acknowledge it. You knew what the voices would do this time. You knew what they would try to tell him something in their unintelligible language. His old warrior skills kicked in. He sensed Brainstorm crossing over to the inert patient in the bed beside Highbrow. He shut his optics tight, but the stench of death still tugged at his olfactory sensors, indicating his proximity. He turned quickly away, refusing to look in the medic’s direction. However, the concentration he was directing to ignoring Brainstorm’s presence was chipping away at the wall he put up to keep his inner voices at bay. He put his hands against his head as the voices rose in volume and intensity. He fought as best he could to keep them away, to drive them back. But the floodgates opened with two little words.
“How fascinating,” Brainstorm stated in a cold, aloof tone.
With the sound of Brainstorm’s voice, the alien’s own words screamed in Highbrow’s head. Highbrow’s hands squeezed tighter against his head, trying to force the voices away, but they continued unabated. Highbrow screeched and grasped the nearest object. With another bellow of rage, he tossed a stasis unit against the wall near the door, nearly striking Point Blank as the subcommander walked into the room.
But Highbrow neither noticed nor cared. The voices wanted something. They were urgent. But Highbrow’s fractured mind could not decipher what they wanted. As he felt himself being forcibly restrained against the wall, he heard laughter flow from Brainstorm’s shielded vocal unit. The voices swelled in volume and rage again. Highbrow bucked against the Autobots holding him against the wall, but to no avail. Without any way to vent the rage building up in him, he collapsed against the arms of those holding him to the wall and wept.
* * *
Chromedome watched Highbrow’s scarred face bob with each sob, a purposefully neutral look in his optics. Behind his faceplate, hidden from view, a number of different emotions were surfacing. He felt anger at seeing a strong Autobot warrior mewling like a lost child. He felt pity and sadness for a friend who was so utterly destroyed from the inside out. But more than anything, he felt rage and frustration that such an abominable act could have been carried out on a valued Autobot by another Autobot, with a punishment that was little more than a slap on the wrist.
Chromedome knew, without needing to be told, who had done this to Highbrow. Brainstorm verily pranced around whenever he was in the same room with the scarred Autobot warrior. Chromedome felt that Brainstorm deserved far worse punishment than sixty solar cycles in solitary confinement in the brig and being stripped of his primary science duties. Even still, as Cerebros had told his lieutenant after the incident, it would be foolish to lose two valuable members of their team, with what lay ahead on the horizon. It was difficult to argue with the logic. And Chromedome certainly felt that Cerebros was keeping the scientist aware of the peril that awaited him if Brainstorm took a single misstep. Brainstorm could barely look his commander in the optics anymore.
Chromedome looked up at Point Blank. The two subcommanders had been around each other for long time. They were adversaries as much as they were allies. Despite the fact that Point Blank was hiding his true emotions behind a mask of professionalism as well, he could tell that some of the very same thoughts were running through Point Blank’s mind as well. Chromedome turned to look at Brainstorm, working studiously and swiftly on the fallen clone and back to Point Blank.
“We don’t always see optic to optic,” the gold Autobot said quietly to Point Blank. “But one thing we have always agreed upon is the need for a strong competent command unit. And I know that we both saw Highbrow was an important part of that. He was the one Autobot I could count on. When he… fell, we lost something. We aren’t the same. We’re weaker, and not simply because he isn’t sitting at his computer, hacking Decepticon battle strategies. He’s getting worse by the lunar cycle. These outbursts are coming more and more often.”
Point Blank nodded. “I know.”
“We need him back,” Chromedome continued.
Point Blank stared at Chromedome for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Are proposing what I think you are?”
Chromedome nodded. “Do me a favor. Do us all a favor. Have Cerebros come down here. Tell him we need to have a chat with Brainstorm about a new patient.”
* * *
Brainstorm looked up as the door to the medical bay opened. His optics widened for a moment, as Cerebros’ black form strode into the room. He quickly looked back down, turning his attention to cleaning his already sparkling medical tools. Brainstorm was endlessly fascinated with Cerebros. He was smaller than many warlords were, standing slightly smaller than Brainstorm himself. He was not terribly strong. However, he carried an aura of confidence and authority that could not be denied. He was meticulous and cruel. Brainstorm could barely contain the look of fear and awe when he was nearby. Like always, Brainstorm’s thoughts shifted to wondering what he might learn about his commander in his lab, but quickly diverted his attention back to his equipment. He continued working as he heard the footsteps grow louder as the moved closer to his workstation and finally stop mere paces from his location.
“About finished?” his commander’s soft voice asked.
Brainstorm nodded. “Yes, I just need to finish disinfecting this equipment and then I was about to retire to my quarters. By your will, of course.”
Cerebros’ optics flashed slightly. “Of course. But first I need you to attend to one more patient.”
Brainstorm finally looked up. “Oh?” His optics grew wide as he saw a restrained, mumbling Highbrow standing just behind him. “But he’s not injured.”
“Not injured?” Cerebros repeated, anger rising in his soft voice. “His mind is fractured. He is mentally unstable. And all of that is a product of what you did to him.”
As Cerebros stepped closer, Brainstorm tensed. Cerebros raised an arm as if to strike the scientist. Brainstorm felt of rush of excitement as he waited for the anticipated blow. The other Autobots saw this enjoyment of pain on the part of Brainstorm as a glitch in his programming, just another reason to doubt his sanity. In truth, Brainstorm wanted to feel the primal rage rise from within him. It helped him learn what those he experimented on felt themselves when they were tortured by the scientist. Computers can analyze a lot of data, but it was life experience that truly brought about understanding of that data.
Instead of striking Brainstorm, however, Cerebros dropped his arm around Highbrow’s shoulders and pulled him forward.
“You did this to him, Brainstorm. Now you will repair it.”
“I’ve told Chromedome before, I can’t. With the--.”
Cerebros held up a hand, cutting off Brainstorm’s sentence. Brainstorm tensed again, again anticipating a strike from his commander. Again, nothing happened. “No more excuses because I’ve heard them all. You’ve said that he gets worse upon entering the lab or seeing yourself, that he is impossible to approach. Well, here he is, relatively calm. I have even heard you say that he is an interesting study like this. I say he is more interesting and useful as he was before. We need him sane to continue our mission. Without him, I fear it is doomed to fail. And if it is, and we stop… Well, let’s just say that you’re skills would be wholly unnecessary, if you take my meaning.
“Now, repair him.”
Brainstorm frowned. “What you are asking for is impossible? The damage was more than mere circuits fraying or a bent axle. It pervades into his very consciousness. It would require such a complete overhaul such that, even if by some miracle I was able to stabilize him, he would not be the same Highbrow.”
“I have faith that you will come up with something. I leave him in your stead.” Cerebros dropped a hand on Brainstorm’s shoulder. Brainstorm tensed again, waiting for the pain to flow. But again, there was nothing. “And Brainstorm,” Cerebros continued, “if you fail, by Primus himself, I inflict such pain on you that even you will not enjoy it. As they say, everybody has their breaking point.”
With that, Cerebros turned and exited the medical lab, leaving a fearful Brainstorm alone with his new patient.
* * *
Highbrow’s optics snapped open and he quickly glanced around the medical lab. He was lying on a table and he was alone. The soft hum of equipment flowed to his audio sensors. He paused to listen for the voices, but only heard a soft almost soothing murmur in the back recesses of his mind. He repressed a sigh. He knew that he had to make his way out of the medical lab before the voices realized where they were again. He did not want them to speak to him. He did not want to hear them again.
Highbrow tried to sit upright, but found himself strapped tightly to the bed. He kicked and pulled at the restraints but continued to be riveted in place. With sounds of his struggle, the voices in his head rose in a steady crescendo. Highbrow closed his optics tightly. He felt the voices growing louder in his head. He wanted to scream, to try to frighten them back down to the depths of the mind. He wanted to break free and run from the medical lab and away from Brainstorm. He wanted the voices to stop.
I can’t stop.
“Wh-what?” Highbrow whispered, but he already knew what it was. It was the voices. They were speaking to him, but the alien dialect was gone.
I said that I can’t stop. Now sit still and listen.
“But why can’t you stop? Who are you?”
I am you, Highbrow. I was what was nearly destroyed by that monster, Brainstorm. He tortured me. He broke me. I’m not very happy about that. I tried to tell you to hurt him, to kill him. I would implore that you listen to me, but nothing I could do could make you understand my words. Something that Brainstorm did here yesterday changed that. Now there are two of us. There’s you, the whipped cur of an Autobot that would lash out and destroy one of your own. A poor demented fool that doesn’t know what he wants or how to get it.
And there’s me. I know what I want. I know how to get it, but I know now that I must have patience. There is more at stake than mere revenge. Brainstorm was shortsighted and forgot that. The time will come when I will teach this lesson to him personally. That time is not now. First things first. I am taking over.
“What? I don’t understand.” was the confused response.
I know. But you will soon enough. You see, you are not Highbrow. You answer to that name, but it is not yours. You have my thoughts and memories, but you can’t access them. This body is not yours. You are a placeholder, waiting for me to return. But that is not to say that you do not have your talents. I simply have to teach you what they are. I will have a use for you later. But for now, this is goodbye.
With a few mental commands Highbrow, the true Highbrow, took command of his body again. He pushed his weak new personality aside. He glanced up at the imploring face of Brainstorm, repressing a swell of anger rising up at the sight of him. The intense emotion was never something he had experienced before. This new sensation, he knew, was because of his other personality. It was strong, when it wanted to be. But it did not know how to control it. Highbrow would teach it. It would learn how to funnel that anger into constructive use and Highbrow would have to learn how to use that anger and strength as well. It was, after all a part of him now. Highbrow smiled at the irony of punishing Brainstorm for the hell the scientist had put him through using a tool that Brainstorm himself placed at his disposal.
But now yet, he thought. This is goodbye, my new friend. But not the end.
In fact, it’s just the beginning.
The End.
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