Chapter 8 - Sympathy and Statistics

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Whirl laid on the medical berth, the tip of his claw tracing the nasty hole that was left behind. Deep down, he was disappointed. Upset to be alive. What was wrong with him? Thinking such things? A small part of him, however, did want to die. It would've shown him the mercy he couldn't find in life.

"Oh. Whirly, Whirly, Whirly. What did you get yourself into this time?" A familiar voice came. A somewhat short shadow fell over his wound, and a yellowish reflection blinded him.

"Really. I understand you're a bit of a loose cannon, but that doesn't give you the excuse to waltz around and tempt fate," Goldgears said with a smirk, putting her hands on her hips.

Whirl snickered, laying his head back down. Everything still hurt, even if Ratchet did drug him with about fifteen different drugs. He grew dizzy if he held his helm up for too long, but he could sit up. He just didn't know why he was still laying down. Perhaps it felt nice to relax for once.

Gears pushed him over to the side, just enough to where she could sit down. She looked closely at his scar, just thinking it had to hurt. She cautiously touch it, and Whirl jerked his stomach. Flinched, most likely, though he'd never admit it. He was completely and utterly 'unvincible'.

"Perhaps now you've learned your lesson," Gears said flatly, retracting her servo and crossing her arms. "Did you ever consider someone just might worry about you?"

"Really? You were worried?" Whirl asked, a snicker following. "Pu-lease. If you were so completely worried, where were you?"

"With Trailcutter," she lied. "He's a great mech. Personally, I think people give him little credit. He deserves--"

"More? Yeah, well, we all deserve more," Whirl interrupted. There was a clear sense of sarcasm in his voice. "Thanks for carin'."

Gears rolled her optics. Whirl was certainly hard to work with. Tough-headed, as someone would say. Thick-skulled. Gears didn't know whether he counted her as a friend or not, but deep down she hoped he did. She cared about him; she could almost feel his pain. Though she couldn't solve him. She could solve puzzles beyond puzzles, but Whirl was certainly one puzzle that was better left unsolved to the universe. Trying to get to know him was like counting the stars. It was near impossible. If only he felt at least a little bit comfortable around her.

"Whirl?" She questioned. The blue mech looked at her. If he had optic ridges, one would certainly be raised.

"What is it?" He asked.

"Drift. He was once a Decepticon, yes? Named Deadlock. But he did what was near impossible. He switch sides."

"Yeah, yeah. You got it."

"And then there was something about . . . the Decepticon Justice Division. What is it?"

"Why do you wanna know?" Whirl asked. Gears held her anger back. The ex-Wrecker knew all the wires to tug; all the nerves to pull. She wanted answers, and she was going to get them, no matter the cost. It was just hardwired into her processor.

"You're good at keeping secrets, yes?" She asked. 

He nodded.

"Then, perhaps, I can trust you then . . . " She said, leaning in a little closer, her voice falling down to a low whisper. "I overheard Rodimus and Drift speaking of the Decepticon Justice Division. Said something about a Black Shadow fellow being murdered. Betrayed the Decepticons, so says the Prime. What is this . . . Division?"

"A walking freak show," Whirl replied. "It's like, ughh. Here! I'll use this crap; an oven, an electric wheelchair, talking boombox, a gun, and a blender. Clarification? Helex, Kaon, Tarn, Vox, and Tesarus. Aaallllll named from fallen 'Con cities. They hunt down Decepticon backstabbers. And, heh. You probably know the rest."

Gears nodded, answering with, "You seem to know your information. What about Drift? They could be coming for him, yes or no?"

"Yeah, probably," Whirl replied. "You see, they got this list. Doesn't really have a name, it's just called 'The List'. Probably have volumes of it. They jot down the names of 'Cons they got to kill. You catch my drift? Very loyal, extremely dangerous. Kinda makes you wanna fight 'em."

"No," Gears rolled her optics. "No, it doesn't. Doesn't make me wish to meet them either."

"Why not? I'm sure they're delightful."

"I'm not sure if your head is screwed on tight enough. After the whole 'Fortress Maximus taking his gun to it' dilemma."

" . . . Shut up," Whirl ordered.

"Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Now, are they just going after traitors?"

Whirl shook his head. "Hell to the nah. You know Overlord? Dude Maxxy's afraid of? I heard he's their biggest target. I'd like to know why though. He doesn't look that tough. I could take him on with one claw tied behind my back."

"Overconfidence. Your processor must still be broken," Gears said. 

She straightened up again, sighing. Her questions still stood, though Whirl answered most of them. She secretly didn't want them to find Drift, because if they found him, everyone on the ship would die. They sounded like those kind of Decepticons. Gears glanced over at Whirl, who released a sigh and put his claw over the wound on his stomach.

"I have everything I wanted," Gears told him, taking his claw up in her servo. "These remind me of cranes. Or tweezers. They suit you, honestly. Very fitting."

"I had hands like you once," he said. "But that's a long story."

"I do enjoy long stories," Gears said. "I can remember them as well. Perhaps you could vent to me? After all, Rung isn't exactly speaking. Or listening, for that matter."

"Heh," Whirl vented. "Nah. No sense in talking about things that aren't perfect."

"Well I think they're . . . certainly different," Gears said. "Whirl? Do you have something you aren't telling me?"

"No," he responded, sitting up. "I just don't want you going 'round and asking about things that just shouldn't be spoken about. You could hurt yourself or something."

"No one will lay a hand on me," Gears stated.

"Not really what I'm worried about," Whirl said. "Just be careful. Some people's ears tend to . . . wander. And people tend to listen to things they shouldn't."

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