Designing the Enemy
Fic: Designing the Enemy
Author: cazcatharsis
Rating: M or R
Characters: Mikaela Banes, Barricade
Disclaimer: I don't own TF's, Mikaela, or Fear Factory
Summary: Multichapter, somewhat dark vengeancy fic. Don't know how it's going to turn out, or how quickly chapters will be completed. Just an experiment really, for when I feel angsty and don't want to contaminate OLOBA. lol
Chapter One: Shock
It was one of those mornings that make a person feel like a god. The sunlight streamed in Mikaela’s slightly open window, shining down not on her eyes, but on her belly, warming it pleasantly and letting her awaken feeling snug as a bug and happily calm. Most mornings were met with dread for her. Dread of school, dread of her dipshit girlfriends she had to act so moronic in front of just to keep up appearances, dread even for her new friends, who despite being more forgiving of her faults, still caused her to act one way when she was really something else entirely. Like she had to be ashamed of being herself.
But today was different.
She had gotten to bed early for once, and although she couldn’t sleep, it was one of those nights where she didn’t care whether she slept or not, she was just too damned excited to sleep anyway.
Once she’d slithered out of bed, wrapped toga-style in a sheet, and made her way to the mirror, she saw that she avoided the dreaded blackened eye bags, looking surprisingly refreshed. She even took note of that extra sparkle in her eye, yet another rarity for morning. It was going to be a great day.
Eleven O’clock. Shit, she was going to be late if she kept inspecting herself like some vain ho.
Soon her bedroom was a flurry of movement, clothes flying everywhere as she dug to the depths of her dresser and laundry basket for clothes that were not only clean, but ‘less slutty’ as her friends would say. She was, after all, going to see her dad…
She picked out a well fitting pair of jeans and a light turquoise blouse, threw them on over modest panties, clasped the beaded leather choker her dad had made for her around her neck and ran for the door. She didn’t need makeup today. She’d probably end up crying most of it off anyway.
Her Vespa stayed locked to the garage. No way was she bringing her dad home on the back of such a girly mode of transport. No, she’d go get him in the car he was so wonderfully obsessed about, the emerald green Chevy Chevelle that she’d kept up while he’d been away, even going so far as to replace a few things and polish it up specially for this occasion. It was worth all the overtime she’d worked, not only because she got to drive the thing, but she couldn’t wait to see her dad’s face. Not one step out of jail and he’d be staring at the car that he’d loved almost as much as her. Mikaela didn’t even try to hold in a grin when the engine roared, like a god gargling chainsaws, and the radio ironically blasting ‘Free Bird’.
It was a three hour drive to the prison her dad lived in, but after a quick stop at a coffee joint, she’d easily make it in 2 and a half. She knew shortcuts and there was no way in hell she was keeping with the speed limit. She'd have to thank her father for putting a radar detector in this thing before he went away. The last thing she needed was to trade spots with him. She grinned at the thought of tag-team jail time.
Bee had offered her a ride to and from the prison with her dad, but as cool as that’d be, she’d refused. She just wanted time alone with her dad, and to not have to put up with Bee’s ignorant yet subtle questioning all the way there. Yes, her dad was a criminal. Yes, so was she. No, they weren’t evil. Bee, as old as he was, was so young in his perceptions of humanity. He did not realize that humans did strange and outrageous things in the name of necessity. For some strange reason, to Bee, killing in the name of war was alright, but stealing a car was quite radical, taboo…
Her dad stole cars to pay off debts her mother had racked up, and keep food on the table. He didn’t ONLY steal cars, he’d worked a full time, minimum wage garage job as well, stealing cars was only a side thing that brought in some more money. Unfortunately he’d been caught with the wrong person’s car and happened to be working for the wrong sort of people.
Mikaela frowned. She didn’t want to think about that now. Her dad was free, her life and his could start over. Maybe they’d get another project car; she’d had one in mind since she first met Bumblebee. She always felt bad about calling him a piece of crap Camaro back when they first met, and after a time, she’d realized just how gorgeous that older model was, how beautiful it’d be if they’d just got the rust off him. She’d looked online and there was a dude in Vegas who was selling the same year and model, but a nice dark red rather than yellow. She wouldn’t mind getting her paws on that, fix it up, and drive it herself, if her dad would let her. He’d be the one who’d have to put up the most money and work for it anyway.
With that thought she gunned it and passed a slow moving Semi, smiling as she blasted the Clash, ever closer to seeing her daddy again after four long years.
~*~*~*
He was standing outside the prison doors and she saw him as soon as she pulled up. Mikaela’s heart leapt, the man tall and broad in the mid-afternoon sun, wearing his street clothes and long hair combed and loose around his shoulders, smiling so big she could see his teeth from across the parking lot. He looked just like he did when he went in. a little older, hair a little longer, but it was him, and he was happy.
She burst out of the car in a dead run. It was like one of those cheesy movies where everyone runs in slow motion and the violins kick in at some horribly dramatic pitch. She could almost see it in third person, camera panning from above and a close of up their faces as they smiled the smiles of the loving family reunited. It was dorkish and so bad that if it was anyone else she’d cringe and sigh.
But it was her, and her dad, and there was no wall of glass between them anymore, no miles upon miles of phone line. It was just open air, and she ran to him faster than she’d ever run, and with a heart lighter than she’d felt in years. No way was her mind going to ruin this with thinking how purely cheesy this whole scene was. Only her dad mattered.
As soon as she was within reach, the giant man wrapped his little girl in his arms and lifted her clear off the ground, swingi
ng her around as easy as a kid would a doll. It’d been years since she’d felt so cocooned in a person who loved her.
They didn’t say a thing, just held each other for a good long while, only letting each other go when another prisoner walked out and greeted Francis as he passed. Her daddy just grunted, gave his little girl one last squeeze and put her back on the ground.
“Hey Mikki.”
“Hi Daddy.”
She felt like she was 12 again.
Apparently her dad did too. With a grin he suddenly wrapped a big tattooed arm around her waist and hauled her off the ground again, tucking her against his side, and started walking. She squealed and kicked just like she did when she was little, protesting the whole way as he walked proudly to the car with her in one arm and his gym bag in the other.
“Damn.” He said suddenly, and from her humiliating position she looked up.
“What?”
“I have a conundrum.”
“What, daddy?”
“I have to put you down so you can drive.”
“And?”
“Don’t want to.”
She grinned. “It’s either that or we march all the way home like this. And I’d rather not. I’m hungry.”
Her dad reacted just like she thought he would. “Mmm, food.”
He flipped her vertical again, leaving her dizzy. “Ugh.”
“You grew.”
She crossed her arms and arched a perfect eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
Francis Banes shook his head, reaching for the door handle. “Just like your mother.”
Then it finally sunk in, what he was about to touch. “MY CAR!!!”
Mikaela smiled proudly as her father circled the Chevelle, staring appreciatively at its curves, marveling at its flawless paint, and getting down on his knees to check underneath. “Wow girl you did some good work on this while I was gone.”
She shook her head. “Yup.”
“Is that front axle still wobbly?”
“Nope. Had a friend help me fix that.”
In reality she had Ironhide lift the front and Ratchet poked at it for a second, then they fixed it together. Only thing she had help with, but it worked and it made her dad happy, so it was worth the lecture she got from Ratchet afterward for letting it get in that state. Wasn’t even her fault, dammit.
“Wow.”
She practically had to stuff him in the car with every instinct in him screaming to pop the hood and tinker. Probably not a good idea just outside the prison. Not that she wasn’t feeling the same thing. But after they ate, and when they had a fully stocked garage to play with, then they could tinker to their hearts content.
‘Man, if I ever introduced him to the Autobots he’d whine till they let him tinker with them.’
They talked and talked while she drove. About the car, about school, her boyfriends - she told him about Sam and her dad’s reaction made her laugh.
“Whatever happened to ‘really, really big arms’?”
She had no idea how to break the news regarding the Autobots to him. Sure, he’d love them, being who he was, but not love the idea of his baby girl dropped in the middle of an intergalactic war. Mikaela shuddered inside. Her dad was a sweet man; never lifted a hand against her, very kind-hearted, but even Ironhide would flee if her dad got worked up enough.
Her dad’s voice, very welcome in her ears again, interrupted her imagining THAT confrontation.
“Hey, there’s a diner up ahead. Let’s get lunch.”
“Sure!” She agreed. He smiled at her and she grinned back. Burgers, fries and a shake with her dad beat Ironhide crying any day.
~*~*~
The waitress was a bitch but even she couldn’t spoil this for Mikaela. Instead, (after they got their food, of course), they tormented her relentlessly. It was extremely entertaining to measure the different shades of red the lady turned every time she came to refill their coffees or take away their plates. The poor woman took it like a champ though; a lesser waitress would have been either reduced to frustrated tears or traded tables by now. It was all good though, it kept a smile on her daddy’s face.
Chewing slowly, savoring her double bacon cheeseburger, she watched her dad as he stared out at the desert with a spark in his eye. She asked the obvious question. “Happy to be out?”
He hummed and took her hand. It looked positively tiny in his big mitt. But he didn’t say anything. Reminded her of herself.
“Maybe… a little afraid?”
He smiled. “You still see too much Kae.”
“I’m just that good.” She said with false ego and with her chin in the air.
“Yeah, I got great genes.” He boasted proudly.
She poked a fry at his messy plate. “You keep eating like that and you’ll grow right OUT of your jeans.”
He laughed like the dudes from Beavis and Butthead (their favorite show to watch together when she was little) and kicked her under the table. “Oh, you’re clever. Huh huh huh.”
Their poor victim cum waitress refilled their coffee cups with as little gusto as she could muster and walked off quickly before they could torment her again.
“You about ready?” Francis rubbed his now slightly rounded belly with a bearish growl.
“Let me finish my coffee first?”
“Sure baby.” Her father stood and started digging around in his gym bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Payin’.”
“Daddy…”
He waved a hand at her. “Kae, it’s the least I can do for my little girl.”
Finding his wallet and the little money he made in prison, Francis wandered away to the cash register, giving the poor waitress an eyebrow waggle as he passed. Mikaela giggled at his antics and started stacking the plates out of pure habit.
‘Next stop - Home.’
She took a sip of her coffee and smiled around the rim. That wonderful feeling of pure joy in her belly felt like it was going to grow so large it would burst all over the restaurant. She was finally going to go home with her dad.
‘Shit,’ she thought, ‘I’ll probably spend all afternoon watching TV and listening to him snore.’ But she’d never hold that against him. She’d spent for a couple nights on jailhouse cots, keyword being spent - no way could anyone get a decent night’s sleep on one of those. She could only imagine how it’d be after five years, so if he got in the house and passed right out, she understand why.
She shrugged to herself and finished her cup. The waitress miraculously appeared at her side to ask if she wanted another refill, hip cocked and pot hovering over Mikaela’s cup.
“No, we’re just leaving.”
“Ready to go my girl?” Mikaela heard her father call from her left, and she turned to say yes -
And screamed.
-----
He was alone.
He’d always been a loner but never before had he felt alone. There were always others around, and that he didn’t mind, as long as they minded their own business. Now, there was nobody he could talk to if he felt like it, nobody worth his time to threaten if they got too nosy. He was alone.
Barricade rolled silently past miles of desert and suburbia and more desert, not once hearing the horrible screeching voice of his new leader, or that wonderfully deep assuring growl of his old one, who’d only given him one order in the hour he’d been revived. Primus, he’d even settle for the annoying chatter of Frenzy right now, just so he could hear a familiar if not exactly friendly voice.
He'd felt alive for that short time. Useful.
That was before the defeat. Megatron had valued his foot soldier, his spy, for his cunning and ability to blend, gain trust of the unwary, and corrupt that trust for the benefit of the cause. Whether his leader regained or lost the AllSpark, He’d wanted Barricade to remain somewhat hidden, destroy the humans from inside their society. So that’s what he’d done, and would keep doing til he heard otherwise. Some small part of him denied that his great Leader was gone, dead, buried where a mech such as himself could never retrieve and revive him. A piece of him was still waiting for his next order.
If Megatron had still been alive somehow, Barricade had a feeling he'd have ordered the death of Samuel Witwicky. And Barricade would gladly do it... If the boy didn't have around the clock protection from the Autobots.
There. Nobody around. Barricade stopped, transformed, and looked around. Desert. Desert for as far as even his long-range optics could see. The dirt scraped his armour, the sunlight burning him deeply.
He hated this fucking planet.
He plunged a clawed fist into the ground, lifting the dirt and letting it sift through his fingers. His time was running out. There was no backup, no purpose. He was stagnant, bored, useless. He might as well offline himself for all it mattered. His species would die out anyway, why not give it a head start?
“Unit 574, respond.”
Bah, humans. They were insectile, reckless, and fucking ugly. As much as he hated this planet, he hated those humans worse. There were, of course, exceptions, but they were few and far between. Not enough to save them.
“574 here.”
“What is your location?”
“Big Bud's Donut shop.”
“574 could you be more stereotypical?”
“Dispatch, yes, yes I could.”
“Unit 574, please respond to a 911 call at Herbert's Diner on...”
“Someone shot Herb?”
“... 574, don't be an asshole.”
Barricade listened to the dialogue with half-interest until the human dispatcher mentioned the death of an ex-con and the resulting melee of panicked humanity.
Something to do at least, He thought. A distraction was exactly what he needed. Watching the local police department fall all over themselves was always entertaining.
Barricade transformed and burnt out, leaving smoking tire-marks on the blackened highway, towards Herbert's Diner. There was fun to be had.
-----
AN: btw, as if you don't know, I'm Canadian, and I don't have anything to do with law enforcement besides being on the wrong end of it sometimes, and I make shit up a lot. So yeah, dispatchers, cops, all that shit, I'm making up. As always. Fuck research! Hahaha. Suspend disbelief, remember this is fiction, and enjoy the ride. It's gonna be a nasty one.
thanks for readin'.