Flash Fiction: Out of Time (G1) - PG
Title: Out of Time
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Characters: Combaticons
Universe: G1
Prompt: Running out of time
Summary: The Combaticon's coup has failed, and Shockwave's troops are closing in. Flashfiction, 30 minute doing-laundry fic.
Everything was falling apart.
Onslaught stared at the comm unit, feeling his carefully laid plans crumbling around him. Everything had gone so well, moved so smoothly - and then with no warning, it was all coming apart. What had he overlooked? Some tiny detail, a thread that started everything unravelling?
“Onslaught?”
Onslaught turned to find Vortex hovering behind him, an unaccustomed air of uncertainty about him, rotors twitching and twisting with agitation.
“What to we do now?” Vortex asked. Behind the helicopter, the rest of the team waited for his answer, all looking at him with a strange sort of desperate hope.
They trusted him. Onslaught looked away. He’d gathered them together, forced them to become a team in more than just name. Each one was hand-picked, the very best, independent and - with the exception of Brawl - brilliant. He’d broke them down and put them back together, re-assembling to fit his needs, his plans. He’d made them trust him, and in the process, made them dependent on him.
Maybe that was his mistake. If they hadn’t put so much trust in his plan, maybe they would have seen the breakdown coming. Maybe each of them would have plotted their own escape route. Maybe they would have had the sense to run when everything fell apart, instead of looking at him for the next step, hoping that he would tell them that he’d already planned for this. They’d thrown themselves completely into his cause, for the first time in their lives not holding anything back, and he’d failed them.
“Onslaught?” Vortex said again, sounding strangely small and helpless. “What do we do?”
What could they do? As soon as he’d heard Shockwave’s voice come back over the radio, he’d known they’d failed. The plot hadn’t worked, and the commander had gotten clear of the blast. Everything had depended on his being out of the way. And Shockwave was coming for them.
A soft scrape, then a tentative touch on his arm. Why hadn’t they ran? They had to know that it was over. Onslaught opened his mouth to order them to flee, but the words stuck in his vocalizer.
What had gone wrong? Everything had been perfect. He’d thrown everything he had into the plan. Every resource, every contact, every piece of blackmail and intimidation. Had he simply reached too high?
The howl of engines outside cut into his thoughts. Around him, his team shifted uneasily.
“C’mon, Onslaught,” Swindle said nervously. “We’re running out of time.”
Brawl growled from the window. “There’s a fraggin’ lot of them, and they’re headin’ straight this way.”
“What do we do?” Vortex repeated again.
Onslaught glanced over to Blast Off, slumped silently against the wall. Blast Off lifted his head to meet his commander’s gaze, a tired acceptance in his posture. They were beat, and the shuttle knew it as well as he did.
“Ons?” Swindle asked, real fear creeping into his voice. “You gotta backup plan, right?”
“No,” Onslaught answered softly.
“Frag,” Vortex whispered.
Onslaught reached for his rifle, even as he tried desperately to think of some way out of this for them, some way to save them if he couldn’t save himself-
The lower level doors gave way with a muffled thump that sent reverberations through their feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
They were out of time.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst
Characters: Combaticons
Universe: G1
Prompt: Running out of time
Summary: The Combaticon's coup has failed, and Shockwave's troops are closing in. Flashfiction, 30 minute doing-laundry fic.
Everything was falling apart.
Onslaught stared at the comm unit, feeling his carefully laid plans crumbling around him. Everything had gone so well, moved so smoothly - and then with no warning, it was all coming apart. What had he overlooked? Some tiny detail, a thread that started everything unravelling?
“Onslaught?”
Onslaught turned to find Vortex hovering behind him, an unaccustomed air of uncertainty about him, rotors twitching and twisting with agitation.
“What to we do now?” Vortex asked. Behind the helicopter, the rest of the team waited for his answer, all looking at him with a strange sort of desperate hope.
They trusted him. Onslaught looked away. He’d gathered them together, forced them to become a team in more than just name. Each one was hand-picked, the very best, independent and - with the exception of Brawl - brilliant. He’d broke them down and put them back together, re-assembling to fit his needs, his plans. He’d made them trust him, and in the process, made them dependent on him.
Maybe that was his mistake. If they hadn’t put so much trust in his plan, maybe they would have seen the breakdown coming. Maybe each of them would have plotted their own escape route. Maybe they would have had the sense to run when everything fell apart, instead of looking at him for the next step, hoping that he would tell them that he’d already planned for this. They’d thrown themselves completely into his cause, for the first time in their lives not holding anything back, and he’d failed them.
“Onslaught?” Vortex said again, sounding strangely small and helpless. “What do we do?”
What could they do? As soon as he’d heard Shockwave’s voice come back over the radio, he’d known they’d failed. The plot hadn’t worked, and the commander had gotten clear of the blast. Everything had depended on his being out of the way. And Shockwave was coming for them.
A soft scrape, then a tentative touch on his arm. Why hadn’t they ran? They had to know that it was over. Onslaught opened his mouth to order them to flee, but the words stuck in his vocalizer.
What had gone wrong? Everything had been perfect. He’d thrown everything he had into the plan. Every resource, every contact, every piece of blackmail and intimidation. Had he simply reached too high?
The howl of engines outside cut into his thoughts. Around him, his team shifted uneasily.
“C’mon, Onslaught,” Swindle said nervously. “We’re running out of time.”
Brawl growled from the window. “There’s a fraggin’ lot of them, and they’re headin’ straight this way.”
“What do we do?” Vortex repeated again.
Onslaught glanced over to Blast Off, slumped silently against the wall. Blast Off lifted his head to meet his commander’s gaze, a tired acceptance in his posture. They were beat, and the shuttle knew it as well as he did.
“Ons?” Swindle asked, real fear creeping into his voice. “You gotta backup plan, right?”
“No,” Onslaught answered softly.
“Frag,” Vortex whispered.
Onslaught reached for his rifle, even as he tried desperately to think of some way out of this for them, some way to save them if he couldn’t save himself-
The lower level doors gave way with a muffled thump that sent reverberations through their feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
They were out of time.