Chapter Text
For what felt like eons, all Torse could hear was the wind. His rage at being struck down by the last of the Corrodi Primarch’s followers eventually simmered down, as fear began to swell inside of him. Fear of being left behind, forgotten, separated from his loved ones, his newly arisen family, the rust overtaking his body and giving him a slow and torturous death.
He did not regret taking that final blow, allowing his fellow fighters the retreat they very much needed, but he did regret that battle. They were ill-prepared and should not have proceeded into this obvious trap. He mourned not spending more time with his people. He grieved not visiting Gath. He lamented that he would not be seeing the Wind Riders again. He regretted… not seeing Maxwell Gotch ever again.
His unmoving body, buried in the rubble of the battle, longed to emerge but he couldn’t get even a twitch of his fingers, couldn’t get one digit, mechanism, or gear to move. All he had was the steady ticking of his heart, slow and desperately clinging to life. How sick that he had his consciousness to witness his own death. No sight, no movement, no voice, just his thoughts and the sound of the wind.
Torse slipped into his mind, the agony and inevitability of his demise making each second tick by like an eternity.
The gale howled, louder and louder, until it began to sound more like a ship than the wind.
Hope blossomed in Torse’s chest at the prospect of an ally ship but it could’ve very well have been the enemy’s. There was hope for discovery, or hope for a quick death, either would be preferable than this silent slow rotting.
For a while, the ship circled the area. Torse could hear little else. He begged his body to scream out, to move, to provide some kind of sign of life to whomever scoured this land. His heart ticked faster at the thought of what was to come. He hoped that he would be able to fight back if an enemy were to approach, or move even a little to signal an ally. He focused on his legs, trying to force motion into the limbs, but it was no use. He scrampled and calculated how he could make even one movement in his current condition, but his desperate thoughts screeched to a halt as he began to focus on the approaching voices.
“Maxwell, you couldn’t have spotted him here. The other Aganti Zernia said he was further ahead!”
The sickening, nasally voice of that wretched Gotch brother Wealwell had never been such a balm on Torse’s soul. He waited for a response, yearning to hear the voice he had not heard in so long.
“Quiet, Wealwell! I know I saw him.”
Maxwell. Maxwell Gotch. Nearby. Torse screamed in frustration, though no sound emerged, once more commanding his body to move. Move. MOVE. Make a noise. Twitch. Glow. Anything.
The sound of rustling metal scraps, steps of familiar shoes that were unfit for Zern’s landscape, getting closer. Closer. Torse pushed all his circuitry to the hand that felt like it was closest to the sun, imploring it to move and summon his Maxwell.
A scrape of metal and a gasp.
“Torse! My good man, what has happened to you?”
Maxwell’s fingers brushed debris from Torse’s helm, finally discovering his wretched, useless body. Torse tried to get his vision strip to flicker on and allow him his sight. He saw nothing, still trapped in his world of darkness.
He felt Maxwell wrap his arms around his torso, pulling him from the mess of scrap, and laying him out under the sun of Zern. The relief Torse felt at being freed moved through his circuitry rapidly, and he nearly wept from the overwhelming wave of joy. He could not weep, and there was no movement nor release, but he still felt so much triumph as Maxwell began to inspect him.
“Maxwell! Does he still live?” chimed in Wealwell.
“I’m not sure. I’m not... Sure. It’s hard to- I’m no engineer, Wealwell.” Something in Maxwell’s voice painfully electrified Torse’s internal wiring. He sounded wrecked. He felt warmth press onto his chest and Maxwell’s hair brushing his iron ribcage. Maxwell was pressing his head to his chest to listen for his heartbeat. Torse pleaded with his iron heart to beat faster and give him a sign.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A small inhale, and a single droplet of liquid entered Torse’s chassis. Torse was shaken to his core at the feeling of Maxwell’s tears.
“His heart still beats.” Maxwell sounded quiet and shaky, but relieved.
“Well! Let’s take him back to the ship. Perhaps we can strip him for parts and sell them on the black market, Maxwell!” Wealwell’s voice was like a knife against his receptors and he suddenly wished to toss the Gotch brother over the hills of scrap.
“Quit it, Wealwell, you jest!” Maxwell exclaimed furiously, as if he could hear Torse’s thoughts.
“I’m joking, brother!” and then a small yelp as Maxwell perhaps lightly punched him. Then there was movement as Maxwell wrapped Torse’s arms around his shoulders, hauling him onto his back with a “hup hup!”
As they moved back to the ship, (which ship? Torse had no idea), Wealwell kept up his chattering in Maxwell’s ear, but Maxwell remained silent. Torse was so curious as to what he looked like now, effortlessly carrying Torse across the landscape, and why he was so quiet. Torse could feel Maxwell’s heart rate through his back. It was racing, perhaps from the effort of carrying Torse?
As they got onto the deck, Torse heard the voice of the other Gotch brother.
“It seems you found him. Excellent work, Maxwell. Where to next? Back to the Aganti Zernai?” Samwell’s even tone seemed to settle Maxwell.
“I’m not sure, Samwell. They probably would have the means and the knowledge to repair him, but…” Maxwell hesitated, for reasons Torse did not understand. Maxwell spoke up again, “I almost think we should take him to Marya. Ludmila and her could repair him, and he’s so… He’s been ripped apart, Samwell. I fear we need an expert.”
“You don’t think an expert would exist amongst his creators? His people? That seems unreasonable, Maxwell.”
Maxwell’s heartrate picked back up and Torse heard a gruff sigh escape his lips.
“You’re right, but I still think that… I want to take him to Marya, Samwell, please.”
“Very well, brother. An unreasonable request made reasonably and politely. I cannot refuse.”
Torse heard a brotherly pat administered to Maxwell’s shoulder, and felt the bob of Maxwell’s head as he nodded at Samwell. Maxwell then began to move, carrying Torse with purpose somewhere. Torse felt heat seeping through Maxwell’s back, and he finally heard the wind fade away as they entered the lower deck.
Maxwell removed a hand supporting Torse’s body to open a door, there was a sound as he pushed something with his foot, and then he gently sat Torse down on some kind of surface, perhaps a chair. He placed Torse’s legs so that they could support Torse’s weight, moved Torse’s arms to rest in his lap, and finally sighed loudly as he stepped back.
There was silence for a long while, then a hand on Torse’s shoulder.
“I will fix this. I promise. You won’t be stuck like this for long, Torse. I know- I know you cannot hear me, but I hope you know that you’ll be protected and taken care of.”
Torse heard every word, and wanted to give Maxwell a sign. He felt some guilt at being able to hear Maxwell’s private confessions. He was forced to listen instead.
“I apologize that we have to meet again like this. I had hoped to see you thriving among your people. I wanted to-”
Maxwell swallowed.
“I have words to share with you. I have regrets on how we departed. I’ll make sure that you hear them, my friend.”
Then the hand left his shoulder, he heard some retreating steps, and the door quietly shutting.
Isolated again, Torse raged in his own mind.