Series: The Ghost Unit
Title: Flagship - Second Chances (3)
Setting: IDW Transformers, inspired by the "What's Wrong with a Little Destruction" verse by ajremix

Building the Team: Flagship - Second Chances
"A hunter of shadows, himself a shade."
~ Homer, The Odyssey

Approximately 11000 B.C.

It wasn't that no one tried. Many had, as a matter of fact. After the Disaster of Haven, it had been a miracle that any of his old associates would even consider acknowledging his existence. Most mechs refused to work under his command. Others openly sneered at him, regardless of rank or witness. A scapegoat had been needed for people to blame for what had happened, and by the nature of his rank and post, he had been the one chosen.

And yet Command hadn't hung him out to dry, as some believed. In fact, a large majority of Command had tried to support him, to make it clear that sometimes even the best of plans might crumble under the weight of unknowable factors, that the most well thought out offensive could and did succumb to a well laid trap. But the loss had been so great and the ensuing outpouring of confusion and pain so overwhelming that in the end, even his superior officers had to stand back and bow their heads in the face of the inevitable. Few would even consider the possibility of his innocence save those who had survived and those off the field of combat who knew better. The tide of public opinion prevailed and his career was ruined.

He, least of all, could blame anyone for any of their actions or deeds. Had he been of such a persuasion, he'd likely have found a quiet place to end his life; a poor, pitiful appeasement to offer in the place of all the brave soldiers who had died under his command on that fateful day, regardless of who was truly to blame for what had occurred. He'd thought on the matter long and hard despite his personal abhorrence for suicide, carefully weighing whether the act might suffice in salvaging something from the whole situation, eventually determining that it would not. It would only mean another loss, even as lackluster as his days were now that he stood behind the sidelines and wasted away in a small office no one ever visited, doing work no one ever looked at. The chance, the mere possibility that he might be able to do something once more, one day, anything at all, meant he was to live and endure. And wait for the day when he could once more be of use, however long it took.

~*~

Approximately 8000 B.C.

The two mechs standing in his office finally accepted the offer to sit down once it became clear he wasn't going to budge on the issue. It was, he supposed, rude of him to make it a requirement before they were allowed to go on any further, but few things were under his own control these days. This was one of them and as minor as the pleasantries were, he stood by them still. His office was neatly, meticulously organized. His files were just as painstakingly sorted, for all that still no one would look at them. Decades and centuries of clerical work, both official and unofficial rotted around him. It was, he sometimes thought wryly, miraculous that he himself hadn't as well. But he'd known what he was in for when he'd made the decision to stay and wait things out, as long as it took. He could wait longer still, for a chance to redeem himself. Time was a small price to pay.

"So. Let's get to the point, shall we gentlemechs?" Cutting across the conversation was easy, despite the fact that he'd had so few to speak to in the past couple of millennia. Or perhaps, simply, because of it. "You want me to lead a team, once more." The nods of confirmation nearly drew a response, flat and uncompromising - but he bit it down, giving them instead the same courtesy they were giving him. He processed the information they'd given him once more, and found it lacking. There were still some things they weren't telling him, their angle in this still very much concealed. "As it stands, then, I must say it's not been long enough. You bring me out of this office and people will dig up files and remember Haven." Despite all the time that had passed and the iron control he exerted over his vocalizer, the word still resonated with feelings of powerlessness and loss which felt as bright and sharp as the day his world had been destroyed. "The moment I lead a unit into combat, your very tempting concept will be pointed at by everyone in sight, and it will fail."

Not once did he imply that he thought he couldn’t do the job. In fact, what they'd offered so far seemed ideally suited to his knowledge and abilities. The concept "unable to" had never even crossed his processors. Then the larger of the mechs shook his head, glancing at the other before speaking up.

"That's the thing. First, a full shell refit and new identity is mandatory for anyone joining this unit. No one will know who you were. Second... we don't need you to go into combat situations." A hand wave dismissed the concept out of hand, rendering the point seemingly moot.

The other picked up where his companion had stopped, leaning forward intently as though he might be able to convince his audience through willpower alone.

"In fact, it won't be necessary save on rare occasions, if all goes according to plan." The mech who had been locked up in an office for centuries didn't even wince as he said this, watching the dark green bot speak as though nothing had ever happened to turn him into a monster, responsible for the deaths of thousands. "What we need is for you to help plan missions of a particular nature, and then guide your people in the field as necessary... but most of all, we need you to keep them out of traditional combat situations. They'll sometimes be working individually, sometimes in pairs and sometimes, maybe, they'll have to work as an entire unit. But... each mission will be particular in nature and require various levels of expertise in specific fields. Fields which your agents will be able to cover, between all of them."

There it was. What they'd not been saying, what they had been dancing around the entire time. It was obvious now, revealed in a few of the words chosen, displayed in full with the nature of the missions suggestions.

"You're talking about Intel work." It a statement rather than a question. Neither of the two visitors in his office denied it.

"No restrictions. No politics. No higher command to frame how you work. Once the unit is done with basic training and deemed ready for active duty, missions will be handed to you or decided upon by yourselves on the field, based on the information you collect. You and yours will be encouraged to display initiative, ingenuity and improvisation. Each of your team members will, when training is done and after further experience on the field, be able to command should it be required. They'll be able to rely solely on themselves deep behind enemy lines as needed. But most of all, they'll be able to rely on each other in any situation as well, whatever the nature of the mission."

The contradictions were noted, the last sentence selected as the most important one of all. A team, an Intel team rather than a coterie of individual operatives. It was a novel concept. Missions filtered down to them from what the regular Intel operatives could not handle or didn't have the bandwidth to take care of. With additional missions decided upon by the team itself... He leaned back in his seat and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, building frameworks and laying out patterns, highlighting possible flaws and certain strengths. His HUD gleamed with possibilities.

Maybes and what ifs, each more brilliant than the other.

"Yes."

"Wait - you don't want to talk details?"

"My people and I will decide on the details ourselves. You already said we would." He gazed back at them, absolute and sure. If they were going to use him for this, he was setting down the ground rules from the very start.

Both mechs stared at him a moment, even as he offered them a sharp slash of a smile, then nodded as they relaxed, realizing he'd understood exactly what it was they were talking about. They'd laid terms he wasn't going to give up. Ever.

Never another Haven.

The words burned deep within his processors and the future loomed before him once more, full of shadows and light... and fragile, burning hope.

Current Mood: bouncy