Anxiety: Chapter 1, a Transformers fanfic

Title: Anxiety
Rating: T
Summary: Stranded on an unknown planet, a desperate Cyclonus tries to reunite himself with Galvatron and the Decepticons. But is it all that easy?
Warnings: Slash, fluff.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: This is my first multichap in years. A multichap where the chapters are more than a page long! I have to say I'm quite proud of this but as of writing this note I, uh, haven't finished it. Title might change, due to me not being TOTALLY happy with it. Enjoy. Also, can YOU spot the Furmanism?

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Something was strange. It was evident in the way their leader, his wounds and pride smarting from their bitter defeat, had not said a word while they retreated as fast as possible to their headquarters. Galvatron's followers, obviously puzzled at his silence, did the same, only daring to give each other troubled glances.

They needn't have worried. Once they had returned, he practically detonated. He made a sound, a soft growl at first, which quickly grew into a rumbling, guttural roar which bounced off every surface and penetrated every audio receptor. Some of the more impressionable Decepticons cowered with fear as Galvatron made short work of a solid, three-inch thick wall. Despite the fact that they were the only ones who had reacted visibly, each and every one of them knew that when he was in this mood, Galvatron could shred them up just as effortlessly as he had the wall.

It was as though they had never lost a battle before. That's how the leader was reacting; it was as though they were warriors who had a perfect track record all this time. Needless to say, they were far from having that.

Cyclonus remembered what had happened next: he had attempted to calm the raging Galvatron, whose broken components were barely a deterrence to his violent actions. "Galvatron, please, you're in need of repairs, you need to calm-"

"NO! I need no repairs!" The mighty tyrant's head whipped around, anger gleaming dangerously in his optics. "I'll tell you what I need. I need to feel my hands around Rodimus Prime's neck!" His hands had formed a clenching motion, as though he were slowly throttling an invisible version of the Autobot leader. It worried Cyclonus to see how vivid his master's imagination was, especially since he knew that he would probably be on the receiving end of those murderous actions. "I long to squeeze the life out of him, until his spark fades..."

"If we don't fix you soon, we'll have no chance of beating them the next time either." The gloom-ridden comment came from none other than Dead End, which, surprisingly enough, did not enrage Galvatron further. In fact, Galvatron seemed to consider these words carefully before throwing his arms down in frustration and stomping off to the medical bay.

Cyclonus looked at Scourge, his fellow lieutenant, and shrugged. They each had the same thought in their cerebral processors; if it had been either one of them that had said what the Stunticon did, Galvatron would have administered a harsh beating. But then, Galvatron was Galvatron: it was extremely difficult, if not impossible, to know what was going on in that processor of his. Cyclonus had been trying to not let thoughts (or concerns, even) of that nature bother him, but that in itself was a terrific feat. After all, hadn't he been created for the purpose of being a servant for the Decepticon cause? To him, it meant being as loyal to Galvatron as possible.

Which is why you're out here, and not in there, he thought, casting a concious look towards the complex which housed the Decepticon force and their necessities. Cyclonus knew that at this very moment, Galvatron would be having welders and precise operations applied to his metallic frame, all while complaining bitterly about the speed at which the poor Decepticon on medic duty worked at. He supposed it was fear.

It was a ridiculous notion at first, but when Cyclonus thought hard about it, it made sense. After all, if there was one thing he could do, it was to admit to himself that he had felt a sense of terror when Galvatron gripped thin air, his powerful steel fingers something something. It made him realise just how strong and ruthless the leader was. Despite his fear, it made him all the more glad to be a Decepticon. With a leader like Galvatron, there was no way the Decepticons could lose.

But still he waited, with a sort of nervousness, for Galvatron to summon him. He leaned back on the rock he sat on, stretching his arms out and taking in the rather barren view of Chaar. A few buildings were beginning to sprout up here and there, thanks to the Decepticon leader's orders and the hard work of the Constructicons. Cyclonus began to wonder how long it would take to turn the planet into a world that actually looked inhabited, but was interrupted by a Sweep who informed him that Galvatron wished to see him.

“Ah, Cyclonus,” Galvatron said, once his lieutenant had arrived, “You certainly took your time getting here, didn't you?”

Cyclonus bowed apologetically. “Forgive me, lord Galvatron.”

“Yes, yes.” The leader waved his hand impatiently. “I require your expertise, Cyclonus. After all, you enjoy that... thing. Strategy.” He turned towards the door and signaled a Sweep, who immediately carried a single block of energon in. “This is all the energon we have left.”

“What?” Cyclonus stared at it. Perhaps he had taken their energon stores for granted; a single energon cube was what they each got per day. He couldn't even begin to imagine the amount of squabbling that would go on if word got out to the rest of the force – although it was likely to be more controlled than the time when they had no leader, when Galvatron had been stuck in a pool of lava on Thrull. Stating the obvious, he said, “This could be dangerous to our troops' morale, mighty Galvatron. Even more so since we've just returned from a loss.”

The Decepticon leader narrowed his eyes at this reminder, shrilling, “Don't you think I would have figured that out already?” Lowering his voice to a more respectable volume, he continued, pointing up to a map on the monitor. “There's a planet that seems to have a suitably large stock. The planet Qium. If we can conduct a raid, we should have enough to last us a fair while. Of course, we'll have to use stealth if we don't want to alert those Autobot fools to our plan.”

Cyclonus nodded. Needless to say, he was rather impressed that Galvatron was taking a more strategic stance rather than going in with pure, brute force. He wondered why, though; perhaps whoever fixed him up did a job good enough to leave him in an uncharacteristically amicable mood. “Good plan, Galvatron. When do we commence?”

“Now.”

“Now? B-but Galvatron, our forces have barely recovered. We need time and we need to plan carefully-”

“We need no such thing! Just find the ones that function and move out!”

Once he was out of earshot, Cyclonus sighed. Galvatron's plan was a good one and his use of strategy was to be commended, but would it really kill him to sit down and think it through a little more? It probably would, he mused. Still, at least it was a first for Galvatron. Now he could only hope that the plan was successful.

*

Astroseconds later, Galvatron, Cyclonus, Scourge and Astrotrain had taken off. They travelled slowly, firstly in order to conserve energy and secondly in order to make sure that they did not attract the attention of any Autobot patrols.

Cyclonus, though, wondered exactly how long it would take for them to get to the planet. At this rate, it seemed as though it would several cycles before they did so – more than enough time to send the remaining Decepticon troops into fits of hunger and frenzy. He didn't understand why he felt such a large amount of responsibility to the remainder of the Decepticons; maybe it was because he knew no one else would bother wasting their time. Besides, being one of Galvatron's right-hand men was not without its bad points. He felt as though he was a sort of messenger for him, reporting the announcements when Galvatron wasn't in the mood. He never was in the mood.

“Just how far is this damn planet, anyway?” Astrotrain could be heard grumbling from behind the other three.

Galvatron merely laughed, his good mood obviously not spoiled yet. “Patience, Astrotrain. Just a few hundred hics from here. The rewards will be well worth it.”

“This is assuming we leech the whole planet dry, right?”

“Would we do any less?”

This answer seemed to satisfy Astrotrain, who promptly sped forward slightly in order to be neck and neck with Scourge.

They floated past a planet with a strange green atmosphere, almost as though some kind of gaseous substance cloaked it. Looking past it, Cyclonus noted that it seemed like a very populated planet, with several structures and roads visible from deep space. Scourge also seemed to notice, for he asked Galvatron: “Hey, why don't we go raid that planet down there?”

Galvatron frowned. “You moron, Scourge. It's obvious that without a large team, a planet with a population of that size would eventually overpower us. Qium is far smaller, but its energon supply should sustain us...”

He trailed off, having spotted something before the others did. They followed his line of vision to see the green surface of the planet they were passing form a large, twisting tornado. Stunned for a moment, they hovered as though time had stopped, all staring in shock. After all, who had ever heard of a tornado in outer space?

“Decepticons, move!” Galvatron's voice, urgent, caused them to speed forward as best they could. Yet despite his best efforts, Cyclonus was unable to escape the power of the tornado as it sucked the debris from the universe, pulling him down with it. He struggled against it, too proud to call Scourge or Astrotrain for help, yet too desperate to have them leave without him. Soon, the pull was too great. His last shred of energy was exhausted just as Scourge turned, and upon seeing his fellow lieutenant fall, shouted for Galvatron.

But Cyclonus couldn't resist any further. He surrendered to the drag of the twister, his entire frame weak as he closed his eyes and waited for his plummet downwards.

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Never More, a Persona 4 fanfic

Title: Never More
Summary: Yosuke's last battle.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Snuff, graphic gore.
Disclaimer: P4 is not mine.

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It's been a long day. All you want to do is get to the top floor of this damned place, confront this sick bastard behind the recent Inaba murders, head home and collapse on your futon. But at this point, your focus outweighs your fatigue. You're even beginning to block out that horrible, quasi-electronic tune. This game-like setting is not doing it for you at all.

Behind you, your trusted allies. There's Kanji, whose enthusiasm in battle so far betrays the scowl he currently wears on his face. Then Teddie, the adorable plush bear, squeaking with every step. And of course, Yosuke, who is arguably your closest friend. His cheer is almost infectious, and you admire his will to fight as he hurls himself at every group of Shadows you encounter. “C'mon, we need to get stronger, right?” He'd say, and emerge from almost every battle totally unscathed, sweat shining on his brow.

You round the corner and a Shadow's there, its solitary eye staring the four of you down. Quick as a flash, you raise your long sword, smacking it down the middle, splitting it open. It melts away, another Shadow taking its place. It's a trio of those Dancer enemies. You don't recall having seen this particular one before, but it doesn't really bother you. This battle should be a piece of cake.

You can tell Rise's done scanning as he chirps, “It's an Ardent Dancer. Use Agi skills, senpai!” But you don't have any with that particular elemental attack, so it seems you'll have to take it out with physical attacks. You nod at Yosuke, who grins widely and lunges towards one of the Shadow, his kunai glinting in the artificial light of the 8-bit torch.

But something else flashes first. Yosuke stops dead in his tracks. What's up, you wonder, nothing happened. But you hear an odd spraying sound accompanied by a thump. And a second later, Yosuke looks down to see where those sounds came from and why his sleeve suddenly feels so wet.

All four of you realise what has happened at the same time, but Yosuke reacts first, screaming and collapsing to his knees, scrambling to retrieve his disembodied hand. It's still gripping the kunai. It's still twitching.

You hear footsteps, and somehow manage to tear your gaze away from your best friend to see Kanji running up towards the Ardent Dancer, raising his steel plate to bludgeon the Shadow into oblivion. Another pair, joined at the hip, merely raise their arms in sync, casting a Garula spell that sends him flying back.

The first Ardent Dancer is turning facelessly towards Yosuke, who's struggling to stand up. It's as if the Shadows know how much he's suffering and want to cause more of it to him. It slashes at him, this time almost severing his leg below his knee. You didn't know blood could spray like that. Teddie, standing closest, trying to claw at the third Shadow is hit with a geyser of it. It stains his prized fur a dark, meaty crimson.

Yosuke screams again, louder than before. This one isn't even a clean cut; the lower half of his leg is flopping wildly as he's thrashing around, the exposed bone brilliantly white. Somewhere, you can hear Rise cry, “Oh my god, Yosuke-senpai!” The Shadow looks down at it for a moment, then at Yosuke's blood-splattered face, still swaying soundlessly from side to side. You can only hope that it ends his torture.

It stops swaying. You breathe a sigh of relief, only to realise that the male figure in the pair of Dancers is lifting a whimpering Yosuke up by the throat, oblivious to his feeble attempts at pushing him away with his remaining but equally bloody hand. The female seems to make a giggling sound as she bends over, taking Yosuke's dangling right leg in her hands. “Please, no.” He gasps a gasp tinged with pain. But the Shadow's fingers sink into his leg, gripping it hard and she begins to pull. “No, STOP!” His hysterical shriek melts flawlessly into another tortured scream as the muscle, sinew and skin rips away, and the female Dancer is sent tumbling backwards, clutching his leg. The skin is ragged, stringy bits of flesh clinging to what is left of his pants. The male Dancer tosses the writhing Yosuke to the ground as he walks over to his companion, helping her up as a gentleman would do before waltzing back over to your friend.

Yosuke's eyes are wide with fear as they loom closer and he squeals “Help me!” while trying to wriggle away from the Shadow as fast as he can, his single foot squeaking and sliding in his own blood. You know there's only you. Teddie and Kanji have their hands full fighting the other Shadows. But you can't move. The whole scene is painful for you to watch and to bear, but you can't move your own two legs to stop the monsters from prolonging Yosuke's suffering, or to get him away from them yourself. It's as though something in your mind has snapped.

“Souji! HELP ME!” The Ardent Dancer is above him now, and both the man and the woman seem to mock him despite their lack of heads. Both their hands grip the sword they hold tightly, lowering it level with Yosuke's stomach. His face, a mask of red filth with two stark white orbs bulging out of it, is filled with utter terror. “I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! Oh god I don't wanna d-”

His desperate pleas stop short as the sword plunges into his soft, fleshy side. With their combined strength, the Dancers pull the sword back towards them, splitting Yosuke's belly open, another fountain of blood gushing out, along with some dark lumps and what looks like a long, rope. He's trying to scream again, trying to do anything to lessen the pain you can only imagine he's feeling. But he receives no such relief, no matter how small. Instead of a scream, a gurgling sound comes forth, along with another waterfall of blood and bile.

The Shadow kicks Yosuke in his side, causing him to cough up a fresh mouthful of liquid. It's amazing he's still alive. But the Shadow seems to have gotten bored of him, tired of seeing that particular face contorted with suffering. Or maybe it's doing a merciful thing. Both the man and the woman raise their legs and ready the sword again, bringing them all down in perfect harmony, crushing all of Yosuke's ribs and impaling his throat. There is a wet crunch and a slicing sound and the light in your friend's eyes fade, his brutalised body going limp.

Rise's screaming and crying and begging for Yosuke to get up.

Of all the times to be able to move again. The blood from every single one of his wounds is pooling around your shoes, splashing as you rush towards the Dancers, unspeakable rage filling you. You swing your longsword into it, destroying it instantly, and you fall beside Yosuke's corpse. You'd never thought this would happen. And yet, you know that if you hadn't faltered, Yosuke would still be alive.

Teddie and Kanji are finished too, standing silently, shocked, on either side of you. There's no way any of you can go on. You remove your jacket, bundle up his remains in it, and fish a Goho-M out of your pocket.

END Notes: No, I don't hate Yosuke. I love Yosuke. He's a bro. He just seems... vulnerable. Inspired by some fanart I saw. The title is the name of the song that plays during P4's credits.

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