Spark Eater

"Damn it, Grimm!"

There was no better exclamation to sum up the situation for Chester as he ran furiously through the halls of Tyger Pax.

"Damn it!

The halls blurred by, as did the faceplates of panicked bots, and even time itself went shell-shocked fuzzy. One moment, he had been driving laps around the outdoor track, and the next he had been careening into the sidelines as news hit him that there had been an internal attack within the base. The insult was just as bad as the shock of it. Traitors in Tyger Pax! Not only that, but the fraggers had gone on to guide in some heavy-hitting Cons into the compound!

There was no better way to slap a Head Adviser of a Tactical Division in the faceplate than by making his failures so obvious and fatal.

Chester barely recalled rushing through the base to get to the med bay. The visiting team from Iacon had been the focus of the attack. It seemed only right to ensure that the pair were still functional, as they still had a long journey ahead of them and their own mission to complete. He toppled through the doors just as medics were rushing in and out, looking exhilarated as they pushed the capacities of their functions. They were also notably disorganized without the normal looming presence of their frightening CMO issuing gravelled orders like death sentences.

Prowl and Jazz were already prepped for repairs on two berths. They were battered and oozing, but clearly alive.

...and then came the news that had nearly stopped his spark.

Grimm had taken one of the Autobot traitors and one of the Decepticons.

Grimm, who was the CMO of Tyger Pax base. A bot who should have been in the med bay rather than serving her own vendettas.

"Just... Damn it, Grimm. Damn it," Chester cursed futilely.

Without being entirely whimsical, Grimm was the type of bot who was like no other - in possession of a terrifying disposition and a voice like Death. She was a femme who made the collective subconsciousness of the Cybertronian species cringe, because deep down they all recognized that she was not like them. Even if they staunchly ignored the way her shadow never quite matched her movements, even if they looked the other way when things happened that could not be explained by normal science, deep down... she was not like them.

She was a bot who secretly loved to sit in the dark and make wind-chimes, hanging them up outside the base so that the bots posted on the perimeter walls could hear them every time the wind blew. The kind of bot who had stayed up all night when she had first come to Tyger Pax to read to the bots in the ICU...only to stop when she discovered her voice had been making the sick bots sicker. A bot who had not minded sitting for hours in Chester's company when he came into the med bay to rant about the war, about the inadequacy of supplies, about all of the innocent lives that had been lost and all the lives that were going to be lost if they didn't end the madness soon!

Grimm, who Chester might have fallen a little bit in love with after having worked with her for so long.

A femme who had entrusted Chester with her darkest secret only a fortnight ago, and he had thrown it all back in her faceplate.

She had trusted him enough to tell him, to show him, what she truly was-

-and he had not been able to speak to her since.  

The thought of what she might be doing to the two bots she had taken spurred Chester to run faster. His spark beat like a jackhammer in his sparkcase as he came upon the one lift that would take him down deep enough into Tyger Pax. He needed to go to the deepest spot in the base. The darkest place where the light wouldn't shine. He would find her there. She was always there.

The lift chimed as it hit the final sub-floor, the door whisking open with a hiss. Chester wasn't surprised to find all of the lights off in the hall. In fact, the lights weren't just off - they had been snatched from their sconces so there was no risk of them ever being turned on. Sufficed to say, it was pitch black as it might be in the center of the planet. The lights on his frame were barely enough to pierce the oppressive gloom.

"Grimm!" he shouted. "Grimm, where are you?!"

The sound of rattling chains caught his attention, truly ominous in the dark setting. He bolted in that direction without thinking.

His mind was reeling. Logic was at war with the true he knew was hiding in the dark.  

There were stories that told of creatures who came from the poles and dark spaces. Collectively, they were known as the Darklings. Some were terrible creatures who lurked in the shadows and devoured the living's sparks. Some were nightmares that disappeared with dawn's light. Others merely lonely, beckoning from the shadows to lure in unsuspecting victims.

Chester had never believed in the stories. He wasn't programmed to believe in stories. Monsters did not exist, except for the evil bots in the world who made it their mission to hurt others. Supernatural creatures from fairytales of the past were just that, fairytales.

But... if he truly believed there was no such thing as fairytale monsters, he wouldn't be running through the deepest, darkest bowels of Tyger Pax. He wouldn't be trying to find Grimm.  

"Grimm!" he shouted. "Grimm, please, don't do this!"

Just ahead of him, there came the soft hush of a door hissing open. It was too dark to see if anyone had stepped out into the hall. He was nearly on top of a short, dark form before he saw her. Instead of feeling relieved to have finally found her, waves of hot and cold rushed through him as new thrills and panic set in. A feeling of sickness and anxiety churned in his tanks. Incredulity lurked just under the surface, balking at Grimm's existence.  

He skidded to a halt a mere breath in front of her. She stood hunched in the doorway, blinking up at him with optics that were often described as 'dead.' They were dark, lacking the normal glossy shine most bots possessed. Chester knew better than to call those optics dead. He knew she was alive. She was just a different kind of life.

There was hurt in her gaze as she blinked up at him. Her faceplate flashed under his lights, revealing an expression of deeper sorrow than what she normally wore. This was coupled with exhaustion and stubbornness and maybe just a little bit of anger. Her arms wrapped around her middle and she hunched over deeper until she was bent nearly in half.

"What do you want?" came the rough demand. By all accounts, she had a wretched voice. The kind of voice most bots expected to hear emanating from the deepest, darkest level of the pit. It was like volcanoes roaring and tectonic plates grinding and thunder booming. The closest Grimm could come to a whisper was a nuclear explosion.

Chester hardly noticed the quality of her voice anymore. His hands came down on her shoulders and held her tight, trapping her to the spot. A fortnight ago, he might not have noticed how cold she always felt. Temperature was not important to Cybertronians, so it did not matter how warm or cold someone was unless they were at an extreme - such as melting or freezing. Now he noticed that no one should be that cold to the touch.

"Where are they, Grimm?" Chester heard himself demanding.

She looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The Decepticons," Chester said, his grip on her shoulders tightening. "I know you took them. Jazz and Prowl saw you take them. Where are they, Grimm? You better not have... you better not have done anything to them."

He felt her shiver. A small exhalation escaped through her vents. Her frame sagged in his grip, and suddenly Chester realized how weak Grimm felt. If he let her go, she would probably crash to the floor and not get up again. Her head tilted up to cast him a narrowed look, an accusing look that spoke of all the hurt and sparkache he had caused her when his mind had refused to accept the truth about the femme he loved.

"I better not have done what, Chester?" she sneered, trying to shake loose from his touch. He wouldn't let her go.

"You know what."

Her gaze narrowed even more. "Say it," she breathed. "You know exactly what I'm going to do to them, so say it."

He choked on the words.

"Never mind," the femme spat. "Just go away. You can't accept what I am, and that's okay. I understand. I'm not supposed to exist. Go back to the surface and pretend everything is okay."

"I can't do that!" Chester exclaimed. "Everything is not okay, Grimm! If you really are what you say you are, then what you're about to do to those bots-!"

He couldn't even finish the sentence.

Grimm made a bitter noise that was as horrible as her voice. She finally managed to shirk away from his touch. Her weakness became even more pronounced as she fumbled through the doorway. Her feet dragged clumsily. She didn't seem able to walk in a straight line. Her hand kept flying out to catch herself against the wall before she fell.

Chester followed on her heels. What he first noticed about the room was that his lights caught on a dozen different crystal chimes. They glittered like little stars hanging frozen in the air. Such pretty chimes made by someone who obviously invested a lot of time into the craft. A quick cast through the pitch black room revealed other artifacts. A berth in the corner. Two work desks, one piled high with medical supplies and data pads while the other was buried beneath craft supplies. Walls covered in faded, tattered posters featuring things only seen in the poles of Cybertron; things called 'snow' and the aurora.

He realized that this was Grimm's room. He'd known her for vorns, and yet this was the first time he had ever been to her quarters.

The effect was ruined by the fact that there were two Decepticons hanging from her ceiling by nooses made of chains. They were beaten severely and oozing energon all over the floor. Chester knew just by looking at them that Grimm had not touched them... other than to hang them from her ceiling. Their damages were too severe for someone as currently physically weak as Grimm to inflict. There was viciousness in their injuries that Grimm was not capable of. These bots were damaged from their fights earlier with Prowl and Jazz. As Chester stared at them, one of them twitched weakly.

"H-help..." the bot coughed. He was wearing a mangled Autobot insignia, signalling him as one of the Autobot traitors.

Even though he was the Head Tactical Adviser for Tyger Pax, Chester could not help but look away.

Grimm leaned against her berth, her gaze sweeping back and forth between her prizes and Chester. She did not need light to see by.

"You're going to take them away, aren't you?" she sighed.

"I have to," Chester insisted.

She bowed her head. "I left the other two. Isn't that good enough? Can't you leave me these ones?"

"That isn't how things work. There are regulations. Rules. How would it look if the Autobots started letting commanders be judge, jury, and executioner for all of their prisoners?" He scrubbed a hand over his faceplate, feeling lost and confused and at war with himself. He knew who Grimm was, even if he had not known what she was. She was kind and soft-sparked. Deep down, he loved her, even if he couldn't come to terms with what she really was.

She shuttered her optics, shivering again. Her arms wrapped so tight around her middle that the armour chinked together. "I need them, Chester."

He took a step toward her. It seemed his feelings for her overrode any sense of fear of what she might or might not be.

"Why do you need them?" he pressed.

She turned away from him.

"I told you what I am," she said shamefully. "You know exactly why I need them."

"You've survived vorns here without eating anyone," Chester pointed out, finding himself taking several more steps closer.

"That's because I've been careful. I've only taken little bits of the living that no one would ever notice, or I eat the ones that come in to the med bay that are going to die anyways. But lately I've... I haven't been able..." She shook her head.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Chester wondered, his spark breaking because he already knew the answer.

"Maybe," she mumbled.

He was finally close enough to be able to touch her. His hand graced her shoulder. He was starting to forget the reason he had run like a maniac down to this level. It was starting to not matter that Grimm might possibly be a creature he had never believed in. A part of his spark wanted to jerk her into the embrace of his arms and cradle her against his chest as he had many nights before. This time, when he touched her, she gasped and jerked away as if burned.

"Chester, don't," she begged. "If I don't eat soon, I don't know what I'll do. I might hurt someone." Her optics were wide and bright as they stared up at him, pleading him to accept reality. To accept what she was asking of him. "If you let me eat them, I'll leave here by dawn. You'll never see me again, I promise. I'll go back to the poles with the rest of my kind.  I can hitch a ride on Prowl and Jazz's ship when they leave; they won't notice me-."

"You can't leave," Chester breathed. "We need a CMO. I need-."

"I can't stay!" Grimm agonized. "I refuse to hurt anyone here! You've all been so kind to me, even if a part of everyone already knows there's something strange about me. Please let me have these sparks and I'll leave forever."

Chester reached out to touch her faceplate. She flinched away from him. He could see the desperation in her gaze, agony etched onto her dark faceplate. She was so weak from hunger that she could barely stand. He dropped his hand as he realized his resolve to bring the Decepticons to justice was waning. His judgement was being clouded by his feelings for a fairytale monster.

"If... if you eat them... what will happen to their processors?" he heard himself asking lowly.

Grimm stared up at him. It took her several astroseconds before she was able to say anything.

"I don't touch their processors. Their memories will remind in tact. It's just their sparks I take."

Chester turned to face the hanging Decepticons. Truly, all he really needed was their processors to access the information; he needed to know what they knew, who sent them, what kind of intel they might have about the Decepticons... So long as everything in their heads stayed intact, they technically did not need to be alive. The two Decepticons stared back at him in horror. Every word spoken had graced their audios. As they stared into Chester's optics, they knew their fates had already been sealed.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Chester muttered.

Grimm stared at him reproachfully. "What?"

"Do it," he said, reaching down to squeeze Grimm's small hand. "If you need them, do it."

"Chester..."

"Please, do it before I change my mind."

She shook her hand loose from his, nodding silently while not able to look in his direction. "If I'm going to do this, then you have to do me a favour," she murmured. "Please don't watch."

Chester felt a spear go through his spark. "I-."

It was already too late to say anything.

Before his optics, he watched something impossible happen. Cast under the stark lights that glared from his frame, he watched as a dark substance started to leak out from between Grimm's armour. It oozed with a mind of it's own, shifting and churning in a tide that seemed to stem from infinity. For lack of a better word, the unnameable substance looked like a smooth version of tar. He watched as it lifted off of her frame with serpentine grace. It gathered in a steady column to form the shape of a mirror double of herself. As the last of the thick obsidian fluid oozed away from Grimm's frame, the metal shell went crashing to the floor. The newly formed creature remained standing, looking fantastical as it blended hauntingly with the darkness of the room. It blinked up at Chester with tiny optics that looked like polished ebony beads. Aside from its optics, it had no other distinguishable features.

The air in Chester's vents stuttered. "Is this what you really look like?"

"I said not to look," Grimm said, and her voice seemed to come from the darkness itself. She sounded so ashamed of herself, so terrified of what Chester might think now that he could see what she really was.

"I don't think I can look away," he murmured, surprising even himself.

Grimm shuddered slunk away in shame. She didn't walk like a normal Cybertronian, though Chester did not expect her to do anything like the average Cybertronian. In this form, her legs and feet melded together into a single column that glided over the floor in barely a whisper. Her silence helped when hunting living sparks to eat; it was best that her victims never knew when death was coming. It made it easier on them if they died peacefully, thinking that they were only tired and drifting off into recharge rather than the alternative.

In this form, Grimm was free to stretch herself as she had not done in a very long time. The serpentine length of her body gave one long undulation from top to bottom, like a wave upon the beach. It was rare for her to enjoy such freedom when it was of the utmost importance that she hide her true nature. The comfort of being au natural was marred by the presence of her company.

Deciding it was best to do what was needed, Grimm turned to her two intended victims. One she knew was the Autobot traitor. He was called Diamondback. Most thought of him as a good bot. He was kind and considerate, always lending a hand whenever he thought others needed it. Grimm had known better. It was a part of who she was to be able to 'taste' the sparks of others. She had always known there was filth in Diamondback's spark, but she had never had been able to say anything to anyone. Who would believe her if she were to say that she could taste someone's betrayal through their sparks? In this form, her senses were much sharper without the muffle of a hard metal shell being in the way; she tasted his filth with overwhelming pungency. Now she was finally able to do something about him.

The other bot hanging from her ceiling was called Quickstrike. A high-ranking Decepticon of deadly skill and even worse disposition. A killer who enjoyed the act of killing, he was more of a monster than Grimm had ever been. She would eat him first. He was disgusting from the inside out and it would be her pleasure to rid his presence from the world.

Even without feet, she stumbled. There was nothing to stop her fall; she fell with a splat. Droplets of tar flew in all directions. It took nearly all her strength to pull herself back together. Her energy reserves were dry. Ever since Chester had turned his back on her and marched from the room the moment she had whispered her dearest secret to him, she had not been able to bring herself to skim spark energy from anyone. Never before had she been so ashamed to what she was. It was not her fault that she had been made when the shadows of the two moons of Cybertron crossed on Cybertron's surface during a burst of blacklight aurora. It was not her fault she had to eat sparks to survive.

But for two weeks, she had foolishly thought that if she didn't eat, maybe... maybe she could be normal.

As it turned out, the only thing she would be was dead.

Gentle hands were suddenly pushing at her sides, scooping her back into a shape that was sort of upright. Pieces of her wriggled and slurped into place. Chester was next to her, kneeling to the ground with his hands outstretched. He was trying to help her. He looked so lost. So confused. She had ruined his simple, perfect view of the world. She'd taken away his belief that everything can be explained by science. Monsters did exist. And now he was trying to help one.

"It's okay," Grimm sighed, getting up once more. She could see the question in his optics. "It didn't hurt."

Diamondback and Quickstrike were writhing now. Their chains rattled and their frames creaked. They were screaming for help. Screaming for Chester to help them. Screaming for anyone to come to their rescue. No one would come. Grimm knew her rooms were too far down for anyone to hear their screams. She did not mind the sound of their screaming, pleading, and crying. A part of her fed off the sounds.

"Will it...will this hurt them?" Chester croaked, rocking back on his heels.

"Maybe," Grimm said, stroking Quickstrike's chest gently. "I think it stings. I've never asked what anyone felt."

She could feel his spark pulsing wildly. The energy was powerful and tempting. It tasted bitter and rotten to her senses, but it hardly mattered. She would eat whatever she could get her hands on. After this, when she returned to the poles, she would be forced into the semi-permanent state of starvation that all her kind suffered as they lurked in the farther ends of the planet. There was nothing to eat there except for the aurora, which was not a spark at all but sometimes it had energy like it was alive. It was enough to keep them hungry.

Chester could no longer draw air in through his vents. His attention was rivetted to what he was watching. A part of him realized that everything about this was going against his oath as an Autobot. He was not supposed to allow justice to be taken into someone's hands like this. He shouldn't let prisoners die, especially if a monster was trying to eat them. And then there was a bigger part of him that said Grimm deserved to be protected as well. She had never done anyone any harm, even though she obviously had the power to wipe out all of Tyger Pax if she was hungry enough. She was a medic and made wind chimes in her spare time, for Primus's sake! If she ate just two Decepticons and made sure they never hurt anyone every again, where was the harm...?

Grimm pressed her hand against Quickstrike's chest. There was resistance for a moment, and then her palm disappeared, followed by her wrist, and then up to her elbow. Quickstrike started screaming even louder as he watched the little tar-beast reach inside his sparkcase. His howling reached such a fever-pitch that seemed impossible by any living Cybertronian. He was writhing and lashing wildly. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, he stopped moving. Grimm withdrew his spark. It pulsed gently in her cupped hand, casting soft blue-white light across her featureless faceplate.

Her obsidian optics turned to Chester, so many emotions shining in her alien gaze.

"It's okay," Chester whispered. He couldn't believe the words that just came out of his mouthplates, but for some reason he was okay with them. He was nearly okay with the fact that he was watching something that shouldn't be happening. It had almost fully come to terms inside his head that he was in love with something that science said did not exist.

Grimm nodded, bringing the spark up to the place where her mouthplates would have been if she had been in her metal frame. She pressed Quickstrike's spark to the dark surface as a gaping hole formed. She closed her mouthplates over the spark, and the moment the hole was sealed, the light was gone. Nothing but blackness again. Something like a bubble passed down her throat until it disappeared into the larger portion of her torso.

Grimm tilted her head back. Her strange, shapeless body appeared to vibrate with the power she had just consumed.

Diamondback started screaming even louder.

Grimm wasted no time in reaching in and pulling out the traitor's spark. She ate him without qualms, staring straight into his dead optics as she did so. Never had she felt like anyone so deserved to be eaten before. She hoped that if there was a part of Quickstrike and Diamondback that moved on after she ate them, they were suffering eternally.

Chester managed to hobble to his feet, shaky and numb.

Grimm turned slowly to face him, but did not look into his optics. "I'll leave now," she mumbled. "If you give me time to pack up my wind chimes and medical tools, I'll be gone by morning..."

Her words spurred him into action.

Chester cupped her faceplate. She felt cold to the touch, but not freezing. Just... different. Everything about her was so different. He had no words to describe exactly what she looked like, what she smelled like, what she felt like. It was all so extraordinarily different from everything he had ever known. But different didn't have to be a bad thing. He stroked his fingers against the condensed tar that formed her cheeks, surprised to find that it wasn't sticky. It was smooth like silk. The darkness reacted to his touch by shifting against his fingers.

"Don't leave," he murmured.

She blinked up at him in confusion. "Chester..."

"I believe you now," he said. "I was wrong to walk away from something I didn't understand."

"Maybe it's better you didn't believe," Grimm said. "Bots aren't meant to know things like me exist. I am one of the darklings - we just cause fear and pain wherever we go. Why else would the Council Pantheon erase our stories from youngling downloads? We're better off being monsters in fairytales, things that get forgotten with time"

"That's not true. You know it's not true," Chester murmured.

"You wanted to forget me the moment I first told you my secret."

The words hit like an axe through his spark. "I was a half-bit idiot to hurt you."

"That doesn't change the fact that I'm a monster," Grimm sighed.

"You're not a monster," Chester insisted. "You're... different. Different isn't a bad thing. Look at me - I'm from a colony. My paint scheme is plaid. My designation is Chester!"

"That doesn't quite measure up to reality-defying truths," She laughed quietly. "I just killed two bots, Chester. I should leave."

"Stay," he pressed.

She hesitate, shifting nervously. "If I do... what will you do about me?"

"Nothing," Chester promised. "Stay exactly the way you are. Don't change. No one will find out your secret. I won't breathe a word to anyone. This little secret of yours is nothing - it's just a little thing. Really. So what if you are a completely different species. I'm getting used to that fact. If Prowl can hook up with a bot like Jazz, then a relationship between me and you will be easy."

Grimm made a noise as if she were sniffing back a sob.

Chester leaned down and pressed his forehead to the place that might have been Grimm's forehead.  

"I love you."

This time, Grimm did sob.

Chester dared a weak smile that was nearly lost in the dark. Grimm could see it just fine. "So you'll stay?"

"I guess so." She reached up and gently peeled his hands away from her cheeks. She glided over to her fallen frame and slid inside it. Her frame creaked and twitched as she got comfortable inside the metal shell again. Chester quickly shuffled over to help her to her feet. She was hunched over again, her frame made of metal instead of solid darkness. Her optics were blue instead of shiny obsidian beads. Whatever form she took, she was still lovely in his optics.

She peered up at him with optics that looked so much brighter than they did when he had first found her.

"I love you, too," she mumbled in a voice that was like the roar of a blazing inferno devouring a skyscraper. For once, it did not sound like their were screams of the innocent in the flames.  

Chester grinned. Sure, he had just broken about a thousand Autobot rules and sanctioned the deaths of two Decepticons, but he'd deal with that later.

He was in love with a spark-eater.

And that was okay.