Siren Song

Chapter 3

"Hey, Gunmax. Wake up, Gunmax: we need to go." The voice was subtly urgent, yet held an everlasting patience buried within it. He loved it — how couldn't he love it? It compelled him to raise his head, but that was potentially one of the worst decisions he had ever made.

Upon doing so, he was struck with a dizziness so fierce he had no choice but to settle back down. The urge to purge was near overwhelming, and a scowl etched itself into his faceplate.

"Tell the world to stop spinning." He snarled.

"That would be counter-intuitive. The day/night cycle would halt completely, then where would we be at?" Ah. Hello, Deckerd.

"Shut up." Gunmax groaned. It was half-hearted, and held about as much malicious intent as a blade of grass, but his helmache seemed content in staying a while and the pounding in his processor did, too.

His servo clenched as another throb hit him full-force. Clenched around a servofull of sand.

A devious grin lit up his features, snaking mischievously across his faceplate. He cracked open an optic, barely, just enough to gather Deckerd's location atop him.

He faked a yawn, tightening his digits around his servo's payload as he brought the closed appendage nearer to the artificially gaping mouth.

And in the last second, he struck — his fist opening, unleashing the hailstorm of the coarse substance directly into-

The open air.

Deckerd was looking quite nefarious, standing up with both fists suspiciously balled, a vexatious smirk playing upon his lips. Standing up. His leg was healed.

Oh no.

Gunmax rolled away, previous processor pain forgotten, as he dodged the oncoming plethora of grainy, ground up rock and pebbles.

He whipped around, optics screaming of mock-betrayal. Diving for the nearest form of cover — a double-trunked palm tree that covered about twelve percent of his body, according to his combat readouts — he scooped more of the tiny pellets into his palms, joints curling carefully as he cupped the heaped ammunition.

A dangerous yet necessary glance around his biotic shield revealed a floundering Deckerd scanning his environment for protection. Upon finding none, he resumed his onslaught.

Ducking back behind the trunk and crouching low to decrease exposed surface area, he yelled out a threat.

"I've got the upper hand, Deckerd! Give it up!"

"You can't make me!"

Well then. He wished it hadn't come to this. He really did. But the mech left him no choice.

Deckerd had been approaching slowly, cautiously — and now he was mere metres from his cover. It was time to shine.

He sprung out from behind the tree, relishing the surprise on his partner's face before he tackled him to the ground.

"Yield!" He roared, grabbing hold of the other's servos.

"Yield!" He repeated, slamming the pair above Deckerd's head.

"Alright, alright! I yield. There, happy now?" An actual, full-blown pout pursed the blue mech's lips, and he looked away dejectedly.

"Very." He responded, a smug smirk settling on his faceplate.

"Oh, by the way — your leg. Is it alright?" Concern seeped into his tone against his will, but his façade of innocent curiosity stood strong.

Deckerd's expression fell.