A/N: I haven't fallen off the face of Cybetron. Still here, still kicking, still writing. Yes, I made Ratchet a complete aft. I don't know where Bluestreak comes from, but I like the name Ky-Alexia (from the movie continuity).

Premise: The idea is to put your music playlist on shuffle, hit play and write for as long as each song plays. I've changed the parameters of the challenge just to amuse myself and because I can. Drabbles are based on song lyrics that can be used in a story: meaning the lyrics aren't just flowery filler, they tell the story.

Disclaimer: If wishes were fishes... I'd be dodging the feet of sports cars and jets.

Constructive criticism is welcome. Reviews given much love. Stealing is not. Lyrics are in italics.

Dedicated to KayDeeBlu. Now we are even.

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Song is ‘Veteran of the Psychic Wars’ by Blue Oyster Cult

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You see me now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars

Dead.

Everyone was dead.

He didn’t need to hear the Decepticon patrols to know that the entire city was gone. His city. He didn’t have to see the bodies to know everyone was gone. His friends and family, they were all gone. Everything he ever loved was gone.

The air reeked of ozone and scorched energon. A sooty veil hid the street from his view and thick, evil smoke blotted out Cybertron’s skies. All that was left of the neighborhood were the broken remnants of twisted and melted metal. A building crumbled under the burning weight of fires unchecked, the sound echoing hollowly throughout the area. A slight breeze in the fog of war released a flurry of ebony and orange ashes into the air, scattering some of them across his body.

He cradled her mangled blue chassis in his arms, her cooling energon coagulating as it ran down his gray body and into his lap. He drew his fingers down the side of her cheek, smearing black ashes and sticky energon over her beautiful pale face. She was gone. He knew she was gone, but maybe Primus would return her to him if he held her a little tighter...

Her brilliant smile and vibrant laughter flashed across his mind. She had been laughing at his silly antics only a handful of joors ago - right before the Decepticon trines streaked across the sky and rained hellfire down on their city. He laced his grimy fingers with her energon stained ones, they were becoming stiff with the cold that was overtaking her body. He closed his shaking hand around hers - he never realized how small they were inside of his - and brought her hand to his lips kissing it gently.

He could hear the voices of Decepticon troops as they began looting the neighborhood coming towards him. With the greatest care he laid her broken body reverently on the ground and silently promised he would be back for her as he turned to face the sounds of the oncoming mechs. Someone had to put a stop to this madness. Someone had to fight back for all of those who lost everything they loved.

He ran toward the voices unsure what he would do when he found the Decepticons. He had to stop them. Some way, some how, he had to stop them. For her sake, he had to stop them.

Leaping over a pile of debris, his foot caught on something and he stumbled forward. He looked behind him and his fuel tanks lurched. He had tripped over the body of a city guard, his lifeless optics staring up at the unforgiving soot-filled skies. The guard still clutched his rifle as if he was still waiting for the enemy to appear.

Realizing that his greatest chance of stopping the Decepticons was to take up arms, he gently pried the rifle out of the guards fingers, “Sorry, but I need to borrow this.”

The rifle fit in his hand like it was meant to be there, and he shuddered at the sensation. He wasn’t a fighter and he had never picked up a weapon before, but now it was a fight for survival. He had to survive for her.

Voices echoed through the destroyed street. Laughing voices. Cruel, mocking laughter.

He cocked the rifle and snuck around piles of rubble toward the voices – a group of fliers who were tossing a dead mech’s head back and forth between themselves in a macabre game of keep-away. He carefully aimed for the Decepticon who was laughing the hardest and pulled the trigger…

I’ve been living on the edge so long where the winds of limbo roar.

Bluestreak screamed in anguish as he bolted out of his berth, his weapon systems coming online instantly and his tracking computer searching for the enemy that lurked in the shadows of his nightmare. His rifle shook violently in unsteady hands as his optics scanned the darkness. Air rushed through his intakes as he realized he was alone in his room aboard the Ark. It was just a dream. Just another bad dream. He repeated the mantra over in his mind until he had calmed down enough to put his rifle back into subspace. He slumped wearily against the wall, putting his face in his hands and whimpered. The dreams were coming more frequently as the anniversary of the destruction of his city loomed closer. The anniversary of her death.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and slowly stood up - he wouldn’t be going back into recharge again tonight.

And I’m young enough to look at…

“Hey, Blue. What are you doing up so late?”

With a cheerful, and very practiced smile, he waved at Trailbreaker. “Oh nothing much. I was going to read the data pad on Cyber-Ninja tactics that Jazz lent me, but I set it down somewhere, I think in Wheeljack’s lab, so I’m headed there to search for it. I hope the data pad is still in one piece, because I don’t want to make Jazz mad at me, but you know how things end up getting caught in explosions when around Wheeljack, but there wasn’t an accident or explosion today, so hopefully that means it’s there and undamaged. But then I’m not real sure if I left it there after all, which means I might have to retrace my steps. I was reading some of it during my monitor duty. I know Red Alert would get really upset if he knew I wasn’t paying strict attention to the monitors, but I was bored and its not like there was anything happening, we haven’t heard a peep out of the ‘Cons for a few solar cycles, which is good because I haven’t felt like fighting lately, but who does, really. Though, the data pad could be in the lounge in between the cushions on one of the couches, because I was sitting there and reading it after I got off of duty, but that was before Sideswipe set off the fire alarm and –“

“Gotcha, kid.” Trailbreaker cut him off. “I hope you find that book. Don’t stay up reading all night. You need to keep your strength up in case the ‘Cons decide to attack.”

“I won’t. ‘Night TB.”

“’Night Blue. Sweet dreams when you do turn in.” The black mech turned and headed down the corridor to the dormitories leaving an empty silence in his wake.

… And far too old to see.

Bluestreak visibly slumped with a spark-wrenching sigh. An involuntary shake passed through his body. Sweet dreams.

Dreams can’t be sweet when they’re plagued by your nightmares.

All the scars are on the inside.

“Hey. You know what today is?”

Bluestreak yawned as he trudged into the lounge. Recharge escaped him again last night and he was starting to feel the effects of it in his processors. Partially ignoring the idle chatter in the room, he retrieved his morning energon cube and slid into an open seat by Hound and Cliffjumper.

A data pad was passed across the table. “It’s five vorns ago today that Ky-Alexia was destroyed.”

His fingers dug into the side of his cube.

“Oh, I remember that. Slaggin’ ‘Cons left nothing standing of the city or outlying Neutral camps.”

Bluestreak threw back his energon and stood up, tossing the empty cube in the waste receptacle and heading for the door.

Hound looked up at Bluestreak’s hurried exit. “You okay, Blue? You barely sat down.”

The practiced smiled came out and he waved brightly. “I just realized I’m late for my patrol shift. I’ll see you guys later!”

I’m not sure if there’s anything left of me.

He took aim at the practice target. He didn’t need his targeting systems for this. The connection he felt with his old rifle was such that he could offline his optics and still hit the target dead-on easily.

“A’ight sparklin’s. Pay attention t’ how Blue shoots. See how he’s relaxed an’ not chokin’ th’ grip o’ his rifle…”

Relaxed. He fought off the revolted shudder. There is nothing relaxing about killing others.

“Calm an’ collected, like he’s one wit’ his weapon…”

One with an instrument of death. Or was there any distinction between him and his rifle? Were they all just weapons instead of living beings in this never-ending war? He wondered if any of the others felt disgusted with all the fighting. He knew almost everyone had suffered a loss of friends and family, and he was sure that some used the constant battles to take out their aggressions on the Decepticons. But were they reduced to being only killing machines? Were they all just weapons now and nothing more?

He shuttered his optics and pulled the trigger. He didn’t need Ironhide’s praise, or the amazed gasps of the new recruits. He could be devoid of all of his sensors and still be certain that he nailed the bull’s eye.

“An’ that’s why Blue’s the best sharpshooter this side o’ th’ galaxy!”

Don’t let these shakes go on.

“Ratchet?” He meekly peered inside the med bay. It was quiet and empty for a change, but he didn’t want to disturb the medic if he was in recharge. He was hoping Ratchet had something to stop the nightmares. “Are you awake?”

“Whatcha need, Blue?” Ratchet grumpily called out from his office where he was filling out a stack of reports.

“I, uh-” He shuffled into the med bay, “I was wondering, er, well- I’m having, I mean, I can’t- well, uh…”

“Spit it out, Blue. I’m an old mech and I don’t have a vorn to spend listening to you stutter.”

His shoulders slumped. “Never mind, Ratchet. It’s not important.”

It’s time we had a break from it. It’s time we had some leave.

“Bluestreak, we have just received an emergency transmission from a group of Neutrals in Tarn and I want you to accompany Ironhide’s extraction team.”

He looked up at the overly calm face of the interceptor, “But, Prowl. I just got off of a triple patrol shift because that last fight took-”

“That wasn’t a request, Bluestreak. The Neutral group is under heavy fire and you are our best sharpshooter.” The Tactician turned on his feet and walked towards the control room. “You will meet Ironhide at the southern entrance in two breems.”

He watched Prowl’s retreating form and sighed. Looking down at the floor he noticed how badly his hands were shaking. He clenched and unclenched his fists trying to halt the involuntary movements. He couldn’t risk the others seeing his hands shake. And even though he was so tired he’d smile and fake being the chipper and upbeat Bluestreak that everyone knew. Maybe the trip would be exhausting enough to drive the nightmares away.

We’ve been living in the flames. We’ve been eating out our brains.

Fires were raging all around them as they pulled another group of younglings from a collapsing building. Decepticon trines were streaking overhead and he was picking off the fliers one by one. The fliers resorted to carpet bombing the area to wipe out the fleeing mechs, but his well-timed shots were able to detonate the bombs before they hit the ground.

A trine leader seared the sky above him and he lined up the shot. The air split in two from the shot and hit the turbines of the flier.

He could hear the mech scream in agony as he plummeted to his death.

The shakes came back in force and he could barely hold onto his rifle. “Not now, not now, not now!”

“BLUE! YOU’VE GOT INCOMING!”

One glance up told him all he needed to know and he leapt out of the way of an oncoming cluster bomb. The ground shook from the force of the blast, but a single returning shot pierced the dust and debris to find its target. Another flier’s life ending in a violent and fiery fall from the heavens.

He coughed and fanned at the air around him as Trailbreaker ran over to him. “You okay, Blue?”

His hands were trembling and he forced a cough to hide the shakes. “I’ll be fine. Did everyone get out safely?”

The larger mech smiled and patted him on the back, “Yep! But we wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you taking out those trines. Nice shooting, kid.”

Oh, please don’t let these shakes go on.

Even in their final throes of death, the small Decepticon troop looked surprised at the young mech who extinguished their sparks with perfect aim.

He took a long and hard look at the rifle in his hand, the tip of it still trailing thin smoke from use - he had never killed anyone before. Something warm touched his foot drawing his attention away from the gun. It was the pooling energon from the laughing Decepticons he had killed. His shoulders slumped and the rifle hung limply in his hand at his side. He never wanted to be a part of this war.

What had he done?

A hand clamped firmly on his arm and he looked up to see a red Autobot symbol. "Y' okay, kid?"

He numbly stared at the visored mech who slowly pried the rifle out of his shaking hand. "Lets get y' cleaned up. Y' got a name, kid?"

One look at the black streaks of soot and the glistening blue flecks from her body smeared over his gray chassis gave him his new name. "Bluestreak. My name is Bluestreak."

You ask me why I'm weary, why I can't speak to you.

“Bluestreak?”

His optics shot open and he spun around at the voice. He never heard Optimus Prime walking up behind him. “Yes, sir?”

Kindly blue optics regarded him for a moment. “Is everything all right? You look tired.”

The practiced smile came out. “It’s been a long day, sir. Patrol shifts and the evacuation of the Neutrals, and I still have to write my report for Prowl, and I promised to take part of Blaster’s Communications shift-”

“I’ll tell Prowl to expect your report tomorrow. And don’t worry about the shift. I haven’t sat at Communications in a long time.” Optimus chuckled and patted his shoulder. “I wonder how surprised the patrols will be at hearing my voice on the comm.”

“But, sir-”

“Go get some recharge.” There was the hint of a smile in Optimus’ voice. “That’s an order, soldier.”

He wished it could be that easy. “Yes, sir.”

“And Bluestreak?”

He looked up into the kindly blue optics, “Yes, sir?”

“If you ever need to talk to someone, come find me. I’m always willing to listen.”

You blame me for my silence, say it’s time I changed and grew

“Hey! Keep to your side of the road, Blue!” Sunstreaker’s engine revved threateningly at him.

“Ooops! Sorry, Sunstreaker. It won’t happen again.” He really needed to pay attention for this shift. Any small affront to the Toughline usually ended with someone in the med bay needing repairs.

“Why aren’t you talking my audio receptors off? Not that I want you to prattle on about nothing, but you don’t seem like yourself today. What gives?”

That had to be the most the warrior had ever said to him. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Thinking, huh? Are you telling me that you can be quiet so you can think? Your mouth not running at a million parsecs per nano-second is like Sideswipe not causing trouble.”

He didn’t know what to say, if anything, to that. Two breems passed silently as the road coursed under their wheels before Sunstreaker spoke again.

“Okay. I give. What’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

The Toughline huffed in annoyance. “I said, what is wrong?”

He didn’t want to talk to the fighter. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, really. “Nothing is wrong.”

“You’re lying. Not like I care, anyways. I’m glad I’m not forced to listen to you yammer on for the entire patrol. Now if you could do this outside of the patrol…”

You see me now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars

The ground erupted in a heated blast of debris as the battle raged on around them. His unit had gotten cut off from the other Autobots and the Decepticon trines were circling their position like metal vultures. Without help soon, the Decepticons would swarm the entire area and wipe them out quickly.

He took careful aim at the trench where he knew the first wave would spring from and waited for the order to fire. The Decepticon trines shot across the skies above the battlefield and back to their front line leaving only their white contrails behind them. The area grew eerily quiet as each side waited impatiently for orders.

The Decepticon’s battle cry signaled the onslaught and the trines returned in force, carpet bombing the Autobot front line.

He could hear them laughing.

Cruel, mocking laughter echoing over the area.

The rifle took control over him and he fired at everything wearing the Decepticon insignia.

My energy's spent at last and my armor is destroyed

The intense carpet bombing had taken its heavy toll on their forces. The wounded and dead lay everywhere. Decepticon and Autobot alike. Death favored no one.

His energy levels were at 21 percent and fading fast. He rolled onto his back and reached inside his subspace pocket searching for field rations he knew he didn't have. Glancing down at his shredded armor he realized he was bleeding out through the numerous dents and gashes that spread across his body. No wonder his energy levels were so low.

There was gunfire to his right and he heard voices he didn't recognize coming up fast. He looked up into the thick and evil smoke that enveloped skies. He had seen skies just like this before… He sent a small prayer to Primus: If this is my time, please let her greet me at the gates of the Matrix.

I have used up all my weapons, and I'm helpless and bereaved

The mechs breached the trenches and Bluestreak leapt to his feet, firing the entire way. The rifle was overheating in his hand.

He would be out of ammunition shortly.

Click.

He flinched realizing that he left his flank open and he and braced himself for the shot that would end his life. But it never came. The mechs went down in a haze of smoke and crashed at his feet. The final shots from the rifle extinguished their sparks with pinpoint accuracy.

Wounds are all I'm made of

Dropping the rifle, he fell to his knees shaking violently. He wrapped his arms tightly around his body, his fingers finding more holes than solid armor. Visions of his destroyed city filled his processor and the dead Decepticons that lay at his feet became the innocent Neutrals that were gunned down in cold blood.

Just like her.

Did I hear you say that this is victory?

Somewhere behind him a cheer went up. Voices he recognized: Ironhide. Bumblebee. Cliffjumper. He saw his reflection in the puddles of the enemies’ energon. Were they really enemies now that they were dead? Did Decepticons have loved ones who would miss them? Would they have nightmares now?

He could see her dead gray face, optics cold with judgment over his actions. The shaking worsened. He had become just like them.

There were warnings flashing about his own energon levels, but he took no heed of them. His hands were numb even with the sharp and jagged rents in his armor jabbing into the softer metal.

Don't let these shakes go on, it's time we had a break from it

"Blue?" There was a voice behind him, but it sounded so far away. "Blue?" The voice had a hand and it was gently shaking his shoulder.

Send me to the rear

"Let's get you back to Ratchet."

Where the tides of madness swell and been sliding into hell

Multiple hands were lifting him up. Faces he knew were at the corners of his vision, swirling and blending together into a cacophony of visual noise. They were smiling. Laughing. Congratulating each other on a job well done. On their victory.

"Good work, Blue!"

Good. Evil. Did it really matter when death was the only release for them? “No. Leave me alone.”

Oh, please don't let these shakes go on.

--

Up for a challenge?