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Vortex was in a shit mood.
You ever wake up in the morning and just know you’re gonna start something? Just need to rage and fight somebody?
Vortex can’t wake up anymore. But that same “I want someone to scream at” feeling rose just the same.
‘Cept maybe pricklier.
Most of the time, Vortex could ignore the psychological nightmare that was his existence. He wasn’t trapped in here. He escaped, and now he was hiding in their mother fucking walls. Just waiting in the shadows like a slasher in a horror movie.
It’s easier to hold still when you’re waiting to pounce.
Waiting.
Just constant fucking waiting.
Boredom was a special kind of pain. The worst kind of pain. The kind of hysterical boredom you feel when you’re stuck in your chair on a flight and you keep getting delayed and delayed and delayed and you just fucking don’t know when you’re ever getting out of there. But at least you’ve got the rational thought that “this has to end eventually” to hold onto.
Except Vortex is never getting out of here.
Vents rattled as the fans were forced to rapidly switch between pulling air in and pushing air out. It didn’t feel like breathing.
Vortex didn’t just want to kill something this time. He wanted to get in a fight with somebody.
Back when he had his old body, it was easy to wind up Blast Off into a good ol’ cathartic screaming match. Or if Vortex wanted some pain to go with it he’d start shit with Brawl.
Then he’d get to terrorize the medical staff. Little vengeance for everything they put him through.
”Bite Risk.” Had to be underlined twice after the first few unlucky fuckers thought standard restraints were enough. They’d even gotten a special Hannibal Lector style muzzle just for him.
Vortex wondered if First Aid ever handled it.
The mechas visor slammed shut on nothing, sounding like a bomb going off inside the empty hangar. The red glass slowly returned to its resting open position.
Vortex wanted to fight someone not just something. Wanted to be a petty, shitty person.
Needed to be a person. You argue with people. Not with machines.
Blast Off and Brawl weren’t even here anymore. Swindle and Onslaught too smart to get close.
All that left was-
“What the fuck is your problem today?!”
Finally.
First Aid was a tough nut to crack. He had to start digging into some seriously personal stuff before the little medic started responding the way he wanted.
The fuck off huge alien they were fighting looked a bit like an octopus impersonating a gorilla with a piercing stork head on the end of a viper-like neck.
They were actually pretty easy to kill if you got a clean shot on that long ass neck. ‘Cept Vortex wasn’t done fighting yet.
“My fuckin’ problem is I’m stuck with your useless ass!” Vortex jerked his head to the side, both to avoid a stabbing beak and to painfully throw First Aid against the restraints.
It would have gone through the visor probably. Would have killed Aid instantly.
That hysterical trapped-on-the-plane feeling was creeping back.
Why was he protecting him. Is it because of what Shockwave tried to do? Was he keeping First Aid alive because he liked him or because that cyborg fucker slipped some patch update through to make him compliant?
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
His panic was seeping through the drift. First Aid readjusted his grip on the seat, looking around the cockpit not angry but fucking concerned.
“Vortex are you okay?”
He had the alien pinned down underneath him with both hands. Knee pressed into its stomach, forcing the mechas entire mechanical weight onto it. The neck was still free and desperately trying to shish-kabob anything important.
No no no no no no no no.
Vortex did not want fucking pity. He wanted someone screaming in rage at him because it meant he wasn’t doing what they wanted. What the fuck was he supposed to if something was making him want the same thing as someone else?
Irrational panic exploded across the circuitry of his brain: What is the absolute last thing anyone wants you to do right now, including yourself?
“YOU DO IT. YOU KILL THIS FUCKING THING.”
And Vortex let go of the controls.
First Aid’s panic was instantaneous. He barely saved the mecha from falling limp as the medic scrambled to take hold of the controls.
“ARE YOU INSANE?!”
Yes.
“I can’t fight! The only thing I know how to do is open and close the visor!”
Also yes.
Vortex stewed in the back of his consciousness. Steeling himself to not intervene. First Aid was flailing, and the itch to reach through and take over was overwhelming.
“Just- fuckin’-“ Vortex wished he could bite off his own tongue.
First Aid was keeping the thing down but fucking barely. The alien seemed to sense the shift as well, and started thrashing harder to try and throw them off with renewed aggression.
“Vortex!” First Aid’s fear was absolutely liquid pouring across the bond. Vortex clamped down on every fiber of his being to not respond.
He watched Aid’s vitals skyrocket.
BPM 96, 97, 98, 99
First Aid breathing somehow got even faster.
100, 103, 111, 121
Holding the creature down with both hands, First Aid hit the trigger to open the visor.
Woah woah WOAH.
124, 126, 130, 131
Vortex felt First Aid inhale so deeply it hurt. Then scream from the depths of his chest.
For a frantic instant Vortex tried to wrest control back, save this suicidal idiot because holy fuck he didn’t mean to push him that far.
Instead, First Aid tore through Vortex, driving the mecha forward.
They lunged.
The mecha’s visor came down on the monsters neck. Thousands of pounds of force driving through meat and vertebrae, snapping closed in a cascade of staggered crunches.
The visor shut. Cockpit flooded with ichor and half a neck. The mecha pulled back, tearing free of the alien-turned corpse.
Wobbling, the mecha straightened. Nearly stumbling backwards before Vortex took back control.
The visor opened, allowing viscera and liquid to spill out of the cockpit and down their chest.
First Aid coughed, shivering violently.
In a quiet voice blown out from screaming, he said, “Vortex, take me home.”
————————
Later, when Vortex had stepped back into his cradle, the usual cohort of engineers and medics rushed to retrieve his pilot.
What was new however, was the surprise visit from Onslaught. He looked older.
As First Aid was pulled away down the umbilical, Onslaught lingered, looking over the cockpit.
On a filthy screen Vortex knew only Onslaught would see, he displayed a message.
”Careful, he bites.”