Star-crossed: Blown Off Part 2 (No surprise it split, right?)
Star-crossed: Blown Off Part 1
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The two subsequent explosions had Read more... rattled their Decepticon opposition. The guns wavered, the mechs behind them glancing around uncertainly. The three Autobots had no trouble taking out the two groups they met following the map’s path. The mapmaker seemed to have even managed to plot a path through the lowest level of resistance after the initial explosion. The Decepticons would be heading for the blast area, minimizing patrols elsewhere.
The third explosion caused a panic. Several Decepticons ran right by the escaping Autobots, not even pausing to look at the blatant red insignias on the other mechs. The ones that did stopped-unarmed, hands reaching for their subspace access-quickly moved on when the Autobots simply lifted their weapons.
Prowl’s leg twisted under him, and, concentrating on the map in his processor so intently, he went down. His fingers shrieked down Sideswipe’s arm, catching against the grooves in his wrist in a futile attempt to stop his fall. He lost a few astroseconds to lag as his audio receptors drowned in the crashes and shrieks of his landing. He stared up at the ceiling in confusion, he didn’t understand what had happened. He’d been hyperaware of every part of his anatomy, leaving little room for his other auxiliary processes, and the sudden loss of sensation in his leg had caught him completely off guard.
Metal clanged to his left and Prowl turned his head sharply toward the sound. Sideswipe peered down at him, his near leg wobbly bracing his weight as he reached down for the tactician. His hand pulled back, the spread fingers curling closed. His bright blue optics stared down at the mech lying on the floor.
Sunstreaker peered over his brother’s shoulder, no readable expression on his face. “What the frag just happened?”
Prowl still wondered that very thing. The sensors refused to respond, and he batted at the appendage to see if his leg had somehow detached. He said nothing, aware of how little time they had before the charge detonated would come to an end, or worse the Decepticons organized themselves. Experimentally, he moved his toe joint, watching it twitch obediently about. Prowl looked up at the twins’ worried faces, the remains of his doortwings shuddered with the implication of what had just happened. The sensors that tracked the position of that leg had just shorted out, but as long as his leg remained responsive there was no need to worry the two mechs.
“Is your leg acting up?” Sideswipe asked.
Sunstreaker snorted. “No, it’s not his leg, idiot. It’s his fragging arm, after all that’s why he fell. Because his arm gave out.”
Sideswipe’s dim optics brightened, and motors whined within his frame.
They had no time to argue. “Enough. Get me to my feet, and I’ll manage.” If he could get the recalcitrant limb under him, he would make it cooperate, even if he could no longer detect its presence. He knew the commands to give it.
He could hear every word of their soft conversation as they attempted to decide how to manage this.
“Can’t we fix it first?” Sunstreaker snarled, optics flashing down at Prowl.
“He won’t let us. Notice how he’s pushing us?”
Prowl shook his head, rolling off his back. “I do not want to be caught here attempting repairs. I will manage.” He would simply have to monitor his sensors more closely to prevent another collapse.
Unperturbed at having their conversation overheard, Sideswipe nodded in agreement, before bending down to grab hold of Prowl’s hand.
Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around Sideswipe’s torso, bracing him as he pulled Prowl to his feet. Prowl’s other hand slapped against Sideswipe’s chest with a clang and he held on tenaciously as his leg threatened to give again. His sensors told him that there was nothing to hold him up, even though he detected the hiss of working hydraulics.
“Slaggit, I fixed that leg,” Sunstreaker said.
Prowl didn’t argue, forcing himself to trust his absent leg to his weight. He didn’t allow himself to react when it held. “It’ll hold.” He took some of Sideswipe’s weight. “Move.”
Another explosion, another wave of panicking Decepticons. These mechs however paused when they noticed the Autobots. Those unarmed continued on, optics bright in terror. Prowl didn’t necessarily blame them, the explosion had been alarmingly close to the generators. The agents’ wouldn’t blow the base. Not Prime’s style. Too much loss of life…
Prowl hesitated, startled by sudden inspiration. Almost forgetting the armed Decepticons they faced. Laser fire splattered across his chest. His vocalizer burst on with a pained cry, and he fired almost automatically. He plotted out his idea as he took down the Decepticons before him.
They moved as the numbers thinned, and Prowl guided them a little off the path that Jazz had traced. As a result, they encountered heavier and heavier resistance, and they had to switch out charges on the guns again.
Sunstreaker swore as Prowl cautiously slid up to a corner. “Where the frag are we headed? I’d almost think we’re near the center of the base.”
Prowl didn’t look back at the mech, the ragged edges of his doorwings scraping the wall. “Then logically, I would say we are.”
Sunstreaker dragged back n Sideswipe, blue optics flaring brightly. “Why the slag would you do something suicidal like that? I thought you were a fragging tactician.”
Sideswipe regarded Prowl dimly, his expression unreadable.
“I deduce that this course will assure our escape more readily than the one suggested by our ‘friend’.”
Sunstreaker sputtered, and Sideswipe frowned.
“Trust me.”
The golden warrior shifted his grip on his brother. “Tch, like I have a choice. You’re the one with the map.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Lead on.”
Prowl nodded, giving the corridor one more glance. “Even if you hadn’t asked.”
Without any further warning he dragged the two into the hallway and hurried down the corridor. Sideswipe limped between them, jaw set in determination as he put one foot in front of another. Sunstreaker, however, dragged his feet with every step, his sullen expression darkening.
The number of mechs unexpectedly thinned out, surprising the Autobots. Prowl hastily checked their position against the diagram in his imaging processor, but they were indeed on the correct route. They actually shouldn’t be too far from their goal. The hum of the giant reactors pulsed across his plating, growing louder as they progressed through the alarmingly empty corridors.
Vertigo met them at the final cross section. The mechs flanking him held their rifles unwavering at the three Autobots, despite the next explosion that shook their base.
Sideswipe tensed in Prowl’s hand, drawing his flare gun close to his chest. Air hissed out of Sunstreaker’s head vents, frustration leaking from his joints. His pulse rifle leveled on the Decepticons, the power cells in his hand humming to life.
Prowl didn’t give them any of his attention, though. He only had eyes for the Decepticon base commander, for just behind him, within easy toss of a grenade even, lay his goal; the reactors that powered the base.
“Going somewhere?” Vertigo asked, as though they were guests leaving before saying farewell to their host.
Sunstreaker leveled his gun at the Decepticon, one arm reaching back to shove Sideswipe and Prowl behind him. “You expect us to stay and look at your ugly paint job forever? Did Slog do that for you?”
The Decepticon narrowed his optics.
Sideswipe chuckled, leaning his weight on Prowl. “Oh, come on, don’t compliment him, even Slog can’t make something that ugly.”
The Decepticon’s engine growled. “You think you’re so funny don’t you, cretins? But we’re not done entertaining you, so you can’t leave yet.”
Prowl’s fingers clenched the metal of Sideswipe’s upper arm, taking the full weight of the heavier Toughline. His dental plates gritted together and his optics flared, his balance . “I’m afraid we’ll have to refuse your continued invitation, Vertigo. I find your cordiality lacking.”
Sideswipe shifted against Prowl. “Actually,” he grunted, optics flashing with malice, “I find your accommodations less than standard.” He swung his gun into position and let loose with a round of flares.
Prowl snapped his optics off, staggering from the recoil of the shot. Heat rolled across his plating in painful, burning waves.
Mechs screamed, guns clattering to the floor in surprise.
Prowl slammed into the wall, Sunstreaker’s weight pressing into him and holding him there. Sideswipe yelped, shoving at Prowl’s chest where it dug into him, but Prowl could do nothing to change his position, stunned by Sunstreaker’s weight.
The heat faded, evaporating into the chill of the base.
Prowl activated his optics, sensors screaming at him to move. He shoved Sunstreaker off, his chest screeching horribly against Sideswipe’s dull finish as he turned to face the Decepticons.
The air vibrated with the clash of metal, and Sunstreaker shouted in fury. A hand snatched at the dull gold plating, but Sunstreaker easily slapped the thin arm away. He fired a shot from his pulse rifle, and, as if it was a signal, the Decepticons opened fire.
Prowl cried out, his sensors going haywire. The shots blistered the air, and cracked across his audio receivers. He couldn’t even tell if he’d been shot. Sunstreaker added to the cacophony; holding a Decepticon to his frame as a shield while he released intermittent streams of bolts from his pulse rifle. Prowl faced the Decepticons, his numb leg shuddering noisily beneath his weight, but it held with him constantly monitoring the controls and keeping it aligned.
He lifted his acid rifle, and took aim, his targeting array dominating his vision. His pellets spattered over the Decepticons, burning holes into the armor. Unfortunately it also drew their attention to the tactician and the warrior he covered.
And the world slowed.
Sunstreaker stood with the Decepticon shielding him. His mouth formed words, but the sounds glitched and guttered in his audio receivers before Prowl could interpret them.
Bolts flashed past. Long streams of light that burned the walls. Seared Sunstreaker. Punched holes in Prowl’s armor.
Sunstreaker charged the line of mechs, damaged arm once again hanging limp.
Pain came in disjointed fits, blazing in and out with the lagging of his processor. Too much happened at once: sight, sound, targeting, motion, tactile. His sensors ran hot with data, building in his processor and overrunning all other processes. Images ran by his vision, noise rattled plating in incomprehensible waves. Even his chronometer could not mark the passage of time as it continued to count astroseconds between jumps in his vision.
The entire time that he lagged, he didn’t stop pulling the trigger of his rifle.
Armor splintered: the armor that covered the Decepticons; the dull gold of Sunstreaker’s plating.
He mustn’t stop.
Broken images, meaningless sounds. Prowl could only fire, using the still images that his lagging visual software gave him as a target.
His fingers slipped on the grip of the rifle, and the weapon suddenly disappeared from his hand.
Prowl glanced down in surprise. There it was. Still in his hand as it had been. His processor caught up with the data input, and he vented a sigh in relief.
A curse half-formed in the tactician’s processor.
Decepticons surrounded him, a multitude of gun barrels (ten) pointed down at him, the hum of their power cores vibrating through his plating.
Vertigo stood amongst them, leering down at Prowl.
A hand touched Prowl’s canopy, but the tactician didn’t turn to look at Sideswipe.
“Are you quite done resisting, now?”
Prowl glared at the Decepticon, not moving in favor of running tactics through his processor. Simulations coursed through his processor, deleted to make room for more ideas as the previous were discarded as failures. One conclusion kept popping up. One that made fear jitter through Prowl, fear that he pushed aside. He had to.
They would not give up.
Because giving up would be defeat, and, for Prowl, defeat might eventually end in death, but not before the Decepticons had depleted him of everything: information, pride, memories, dignity. Happiness. They would take Sideswipe, without knowing what they had until it was too late; Sideswipe would be dead by the time they forced their relationship from Prowl’s databanks. He knew that the red mech would not last much longer in the Decepticon’s tender mercies.
Sideswipe’s finger’s pressed into Prowl’s back, a silent, worried query.
Prowl continued to count the astroseconds as they ticked by one by one. It had taken him twenty astroseconds to reach an acceptable solution. Then he had to formulate an approach to the solution, another ten astrosconds.
A silence that did not go unnoticed by their Decepticon captor.
Vertigo laughed. “Have you blown your motherboard, Autobot? It took a lot less time than I thought it would.”
Prowl remained carefully still and expressionless. This could play right into his plans. He couldn’t respond, though. Not to the hand jostling him from behind, the incessant voice calling his name. Nor to the Decepticon drawing closer, or the painful blow that landed across shattered and crushed housing of his hoodlight. He needed another player to make his move.
The hand on Prowl’s back hooked onto his canopy, and pulled him back. “Get back, or I’ll slagging blow all of your optics out,” Sideswipe snarled. The barrel of his flare gun appeared in Prowl’s peripheral vision, propped against the shoulder of his numb arm. “Think you can knock it away before I pull the trigger?” The sneer in the warrior’s voice dared the base commander to even try.
Prowl could not feel the gun against his magplate, only its weight pressing down on components lower down in his torso. He could not feel the rifle in his hand, or feel it lying on his left leg.
Vertigo took a cautious step back, optics on the gun. “Oh, you really don’t want to do that.”
The hand on Prowl’s canopy tightened, and the barrel of the flare gun shifted its aim behind Prowl. “Like slag I don’t.”
Vertigo gestured to something on his right, beyond the range of Prowl’s vision. “Certainly you don’t want to endanger your brother?”
Prowl couldn’t see it, but he could hear the shriek and scrape of metal on metal, of a body being pulled across the floor. The clanks of someone being stood on their feet, and the grumble of an engine as it tried to restart.
The grip on Prowl’s back went lax, and then tightened again. “If you hurt him…”
The red optics narrowed, smug victory leaking out of the commander’s joints. “You’ll do what?” The squeal of tortured metal punctuated the question.
Sideswipe jerked his hand back, rocking Prowl. “You fragger…”
Prowl didn’t need to see to know the cause of that awful racket.
Astroseconds ticked by, punctuated only by the uncertain revs from damaged systems. Prowl continued feigning computer lock, staring at the
opening behind Vertigo which led directly to the main reactors.
Vertigo snarled impatiently, and he lashed out with a club hand. Three times he struck out, pink energon glowing on his club arm.
Sunstreaker cried out, the sound cutting off as quickly as it had started. Metal squealed with agony and feet stuttered on the floor. “Don’t do a damned thing, Sides,” Sunstreaker spat over the hum of his hydraulics pulling him upright.
A puff of sound brushed against the back of Prowl’s neck, a plea that sent a surge of anger through Prowl’s emotional relays. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
It took all of Prowl’s willpower not to make a move right then. Sideswipe had never sounded so pitiful and weak as he did right then. It made Prowl want to rip apart the cause for his lover’s pain. Made him want to crush the spark of the one that had brought the strong mech to such lows. It firmed his resolve to go with his plan, no matter how distasteful.
“Oh, you don’t want me to hurt him?” Vertigo asked, in a sickly sweet voice. The Decepticon’s gaze slid to Prowl’s still form. “Pity. Here I was going to use him as leverage against your commander.”
Sideswipe’s arm whined softly, and the mech shifted about behind him. “What the slag are you talking about?”
Vertigo hummed, optics narrowed in his wicked smirk once more. “Oh, well, it’s just that I figured if your commander might be trying to fool me, then this would be a way to draw him out.”
Sunstreaker staggered into Prowl’s line of sight, pushed by one of the other guards surrounding him.
“After all,” Vertigo said in a conversational tone, “what sentimental Autobot would stand by while their fellow was hurt.” The conversational overlay never left his vocalizer as he casually reached over to Sunstreaker and hooked one claw finger over the first golden slat in his left vent.
The Decepticon drew his arm down, ripping the slats right off Sunstreaker’s helm.
Firm hands held Sunstreaker still as Vertigo proceeded to give his other audio vent the same treatment. Sunstreaker groaned, his limbs jerking in an abortive effort to stop Vertigo.
The gun shifted against Prowl’s shoulder again.
Vertigo whipped about, flicking his club arm at the Decepticons holding the golden warrior. “You really want to blow out your own brother’s optics as well as ours, Autobot.”
The guards tore into Sunstreaker, fingers sinking under paneling to rip it up. Wires sparked, exposed and broken. Fists crashed into the Autobot’s chest, the plating buckling under the repeated blows.
Sunstreaker screamed, short, sharp gasps of sound as pieces of armor were torn from his body. His hands, pinned to his side, curled into ineffectual fists, and his entire body jerked as they tore out sensor circuits and wires.
“Better blind than at your mercy,” Sideswipe growled, and the gun exploded right next Prowl’s audio receiver.
Prowl lunged away from Sideswipe in that astrosecond of time before the flare impacted against Vertigo. He couldn’t move very fast, but he had Vertigo’s position fixed in his targeting arrays.
Bright light and static filled his vision, scorching heat washing over his plating, but he knew when he came into contact with the larger mech. He knew he had the right mech when clubs battered into his arm.
Prowl dragged out his interface cord. His hand collided with Vertigo’s chest, and he followed the first seam he found down past the edge of the chest and over the ventral curve of the torso. Hyperactive sensors detected the minute unevenness of the Decepticon’s interface cover. Prowl tore that open, flinching at the blows that impacted his ragged doorwings as the Decepticon realized what he was doing. Vertigo’s voice jumbled up in his blown receiver, and Prowl could only depend on his sensors to track the mech’s movements.
Prowl jammed his plug into the open connection and initiated the connection. His processor pounding with information, he couldn’t even hack his way through the most basic of firewalls.
Not that he needed to.
He only needed a handful of astroseconds.
The virus didn’t hesitate. It attacked.
Vertigo shrieked, shoving Prowl away for all the good it would do him.
The cord yanked out before Prowl could catch himself.
He couldn’t afford to stop. Voices screamed at him, and he thought he recognized Sideswipe’s panicked tones.
Prowl fumbled under his bumper, numb fingers scraping over nothing. He should be lagging, but if he was, he couldn’t tell. Heat still scorched over his plating, and his audio receptors continued to shriek with feedback. Static continued to overlay his vision. But nobody had moved, and that just didn’t seem right, they should be moving. He brought his other hand up and scraped the disruptor out of the joining of his chestplate and his torso. He activated it and lifted his arm.
A hand seized his wrist.“Pr-l!”
No time to recognize the voice, except to recognize the concern.. “The reactor!”
The disruptor disappeared from his hand, and Prowl directed extra power to his optics. The static cleared just in time to catch the disruptor performing a perfect arc straight into the reactor’s containment field.
It was as though the world had frozen, and Prowl used those few precious astroseconds to dump useless sensory data from his memory banks.
The field shuddered, flickering fitfully.
Then it died.
Prowl turned, meeting Sunstreaker’s gaze. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Little problem.”
Prowl realized then that Vertigo still shrieked, but the static had cleared from his receptors, and he finally made out the words scattered
throughout the screams. “Kill them! I don’t care how you do it, just kill them all!”
Again the world froze as Prowl faced the Decepticons inching toward them.
He glanced back at the reactor, and as though it had awaited a cue, the security lights activated and an alarm blared throughout the base. Prowl glanced at the Decepticons. “Your choice,” he said simply, vocalizer hitching and glitching with static.
The Decepticons looked at the two Autobots, both still grasping their guns.
Their optics turned to Vertigo, laying on the ground still shrieking in pain from the sensory overload.
They looked at the reactors, as the unstable core blew the containment fields of the other two reactors.
The Decepticons turned and as one they bolted for their lives.
Prowl glanced down at himself, ensuring that his limbs remained intact. His legs had both gone numb, as a matter of fact he could feel the sensors from his gyroscopic hub fading in and out uncertainly.
They needed to get out of there.
Prowl slapped his numb fingers around Sunstreaker’s arm and hauled the mech the five steps to Sideswipe. “Get him up. Move it!”
Sunstreaker needed no further prodding. He slung Sideswipe’s arm over his shoulders and started down the hallway without waiting for any further commands from the officer.
Prowl followed, using a hand on the wall to steady himself.
Behind them Vertigo no longer screamed, but Prowl could detect no other movement from him. How long did Prowl lay there while the virus worked its way through his sensors? While the world exploded around him in an onslaught of data and pain.
“Where to?”
Prowl looked up at Sunstreaker’s sudden snarl. They were at an intersection. Which direction had they taken from the reactor? His processor was slow to respond when he pulled the plans back up. The map appeared in his imaging software, piecing itself together byte by byte.
“Prowl, which way?”
The image still hovered incomplete in his CPU when Prowl grit his dental plates and strode forward to grab Sideswipe’s other side. He had no time for weakness. He recalled being on the fifteenth floor from his earlier uses of the map, and discarded the layouts of the higher levels and those below the surface. He located the reactors on the map, following the paths from to their first four way junctions. Then he traced the pathways until he hit a deadend, or unknown corridors. Decision made in thirty astroseconds, Prowl draped Sideswipe’s arm over his shoulders, wincing as he scraped broken wires against the mech’s plating. “Straight.”
Sunstreaker didn't question him, but moved immediately. He dragged himself down the hallway, leaning against the wall as much as Sideswipe leaned on him.
How long would they have until the reactor blew? Nothing came out over the external speaker units. Or had the reactor’s meltdown already blown the delicate wiring in the walls? How long did it take for a reactor to blow after the loss of a containment field? He couldn’t recall. A joor? Less? Less, Prowl decided. A lot less, judging from the frantic vibrations that rippled through the wall.
Prowl guided them through corridors, blind. He had no way of knowing where the closed doors led, no way of tracking their progress throughout the maze of the Decepticon base.
Suddenly, Sunstreaker steered Sideswipe into a door off the main corridor. Prowl opened his mouth to protest, but a hot glare from the warrior silenced him.
A single window lit the interior of the room they entered. A conference room, if the large table with the display at the center was any indication. The window captured Prowl’s attention, and his doorwings brushed against the wall as he circled round the table. He stopped before the window, and his hyperactive sensory network took the initiative to pull up a measurement scale on its own.
Sunstreaker sat Sideswipe in the chair, and then joined Prowl at the window. “Can you find us on the map now?”
Prowl glanced at the mech in surprise, disrupted from his current task for a few bare astroseconds. Had he been so obvious?
“Fraggit, Prowl, you have no idea where you’re going, and don’t try to tell me that you do, because I fragging know that we’re completely and utterly lost. Now, either find us on the map, or slagging give it to me, and I’ll navigate.” Sunstreaker thrust his hand out, fingers outspread in an expectant gesture.
Prowl stared askance at the warrior. Surely he couldn't be serious? “Sunstreaker, there is absolutely no way that you could possibly convince me to give you this map. If you download the map from my memory banks, you'll get the virus ,too.”
Sunstreaker was silent for exactly 10.87 astroseconds. “You still have that drivestick, right?”
The tactician didn’t answer; instead he turned his scrutiny to the ground several hundred meters below. A ledge jutted out half way down the side of the main building, but it could be cleared easily enough with the right amount of momentum.
“Prowl...”
Sunstreaker's growl drew Prowl's attention back to the golden mech still holding his hand out. “That may not be necessary.”
Sunstreaker's face twisted in confusion, but his gaze followed Prowl's line of thought easily enough. “You are joking!”
“The fall shouldn't damage us too badly...”
“No! No way! Not happening!”
Sideswipe's weak voice drifted over from where he still sat at the table. “'t's goin' on, y' two?”
Sunstreaker's attention snapped over to his brother. “Your crazy-aft sparkles is turning suicidal.”
Sideswipe lifted his head up from where it lay on the table. “Huh?”
Sunstreaker stalked over to his brother, and bristled protectively over him. “Prowl is suggesting that we jump out a fragging window!”
Wide optics regarded Prowl before the mech's head sagged back to the table. “Really?”
Sunstreaker sputtered indignantly. “Don't sound so happy about it, slaggit!”
Prowl turned away from the window to join the two brothers at the table. “We need to get out of here, and that is the quickest way down.” He rested one hand on the red mech's shoulder. “Sometimes crazy works, after all.”
Sideswipe stared ahead in silent contemplation. “How high are we?”
Prowl withdrew his hand at the mech's quiet tone, but Sunstreaker beat him to answering.
“Fragging half a kilometer up. He thinks we can make it with only minimal damage!”
Prowl didn't have a chance to answer.
Sideswipe's hand clanked against his leg, something pulling his face into an expression that Prowl had never seen before on the brave warrior. “I don't think I can make that.”
Prowl couldn't drop to his knees. He teetered uncertainly as it was on his numb leg. He bent over his lover-his soldier and slapped his numb hand down. “Don't talk like that!”
Sunstreaker glared at Prowl, snarling silently.
Prowl returned the glare with equal fervor, though he continued to speak to Sideswipe. “Do you think that I would even suggest such a thing if I thought your chances were negligible. Half a kilometer is an overestimate by at least two hundred meters-”
“And that's going to make a fragload of difference is it, Prowl?” Sunstreaker snapped at Prowl. “This whole stupid situation is your fault for ever thinking that you could actually hide 'facing with my brother forever. We wouldn't be here if you had just done the right thing and requested a transfer in the first plate.”
Every joint in Prowl's frame locked in fury, and power surged through his optics. “Your brother has no choice in this?”
Sunstreaker narrowed his optics and leaned forward to hiss viciously back, “He's not a fragging officer.”
Prowl's fist clenched on Sideswipe's shoulder. “Now is not the time for this, Sunstreaker. Our chances are at 56% if we exit through the window, but that number continues to decrease for every astrosecond we waste debating. We cannot make it out of this base in time by walking. Let's move.”
He put action to word and grabbed Sideswipe's arm and levered him partially up.
60.587 astroseconds passed before Sunstreaker moved. Prowl didn't know if he had been making a point, or if he truly had to process the information for that long. Sunstreaker pulled a majority of Sideswipe's weight away from Prowl.
The window had a thick shielding glass, but it had been designed with a method to bypass any electronic controls. Prowl unlatched the window, and shoved it open. He stared down at the mass of vehicles retreating from the main building. Prowl scanned the grounds again, seeking an area to aim for.
“Are we doing this or not?” Sunstreaker grumbled.
Location confirmed, Prowl gestured Sunstreaker up first assisting the scuffed mech in helping his twin up on the ledge. There was no room for Prowl to join them. “Pull up your battle grid and aim for quadrant -84/29/30. I'll follow.”
Sunstreaker nodded, and his grip shifted to a more secure hold on his brother. Then he jumped.
Prowl didn't allow himself to watch their descent, or listen for their screams. He dragged himself onto the ledge, his grip and footing uncertain with his numb limbs. Wind whistled past his damaged chevron and shivered his broken doorwings. He oriented himself for five astroseconds, verifying that his chosen landing area remained clear. One last thing, he took the drivestick and jammed it deep up into his hood. He jostled it until it would not move no matter how much he fidgeted it. Reassured that it would survive the fall and remain on his person, he coiled himself; physically, mentally, emotionally.
And jumped.
Air screamed over his plating, burning hyperactive sensor relays out one by one. It was too much. His processor lagged and everything jumbled together into a single confused knot inside his processor.
The ground loomed closer and closer with each flash of awareness. No time to brace himself. No time to position himself. No time to prepare. No time to find his two soldiers.
The impact ignited every sensor in his body. Metal clattered and shrieked in a disconnected symphony. Sensors flared in a single bright, broken pulse and the world froze.
His processor caught up with him staring blankly at the ground. His entire sensory net ached with searing pain. He ached with the memory of slamming into the ground; he ached anew as sensors recalled being wrenched from their housing. His body burned with a suffocating heat, and he gasped. His ventilators chuttered uncertainly, one fan jammed to a complete stop, the other wobbling loosely in his chest. Diagnostic scans came up with far too many errors,
He needed to move. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. He had to locate them. They needed to find better shelter.
A gun barrel prodded at the back of his head.
Prowl twisted his head about to glance behind him.
Blue plating greeted him, a visage he should be all too familiar with. Prowl could only focus on the purple emblem centered on the mech’s chest.
“What do we have here?” the Decepticon officer purred.
No.
Nononono! They couldn’t be captured again! Not like this! Not when they couldn't fight back.
“Firecracker, Earthquake, Riptide, get your afts over here.”
“What do you want now, Crosswind? We need to get out of here before the reactor blows.”
Prowl's vocalizer whined involuntarily when he received no response from any of his limbs. Had they been ripped off? Had the sensors finally overloaded? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see past his chestplate.
“Not without him. Grab ‘im, and let’s go.”
One of the other mech buzzed in protest. “Whatever for? He’s scrap anyways. Let’s get out of here!”
Another moved into Prowl’s line of vision. “That’s the Autobot tactician!”
A chorus followed right on the heels of that exclamation.
Prowl shuddered, and sent the commands to bring one of his hands into sight just to see. Metal scraped over the concrete ground and his hand creeped into view. Gun, where had his gun gone?
A weight settled on Prowl’s shoulder. A hand, Prowl decided. The Decepticon rocked Prowl on his bumper, knocking him onto his side. The clang from landing on his side reverberated through the remains of his sensory net. He caught only fleeting glimpses of a forest of legs before the distinct sound of a rifle powering up drew the Decepticons’ attention.
No word of warning preceded the volley of pulse beams that splattered against the Decepticons heads. One beam caught the blue mech, Crosswind, right in the face. He crumpled to the ground, shrieking in pain. Another beam cut through one of the mechs’ legs, and that mech toppled.
“Get the slag away from him, Decepticreeps.”
Prowl couldn't see him, but he knew Sunstreaker's voice, even when it was broken and distorted. His relief was short-lived however as the ground shook beneath him, and an explosion sounded behind him.
“Let’s get out of here,” one of the Decepticons snarled.
The legs disappeared in the rapid transformation of two Ridgeriders.
“So long Autotoast!” the other chimed as they zoomed off.
Sunstreaker cursed emphatically as his voice drew closer to Prowl.
“Sunstreaker,” Prowl grunted, “visual diagnostic.”
The harsh footsteps faltered. “What the frag is that supposed to mean?”
“Am I intact?”
Sunstreaker came into view then, bent over to grab Prowl’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Yeah.” His pale blue optics narrowed. “Can you move?” The mech’s grip tightened as though he anticipated Prowl to suddenly drop to the ground.
The ground continued to shudder, but Prowl forced his legs to support his weight. He straightened out of Sunstreaker's hands and stepped out of his reach. “Where's Sideswipe?”
Sunstreaker put a steady hand on Prowl's shoulder, and turned the tactician around. “That way.”
Ah. Now he could see him. Sideswipe lay in a limp heap a six meters away from where Prowl had landed.
“I need some help moving him.”
Prowl's gaze drifted upward, drawn to the small explosions that burst out of windows and vents higher up in the base. “We need to hurry.”
“No, really?” Sunstreaker retorted.
Prowl hurried as best he could, depending on his sight to maintain his balance.
Sideswipe whimpered as they lifted him to his feet. Sunstreaker murmured reassuring words, but Sideswipe shook his head. “There's no time. You should leave me.”
“Frag, no!”
Prowl frowned, though he couldn't spare a glance toward the red mech. “That is absolutely not happening.”
Prowl guided them toward the bunkers that he had spied. Something suddenly latched onto his leg. Alarm surged through his frame, and he lashed out blindly.
“No, please wait! Don't hurt me!”
Three pairs of blue optics turned toward the source of the voice. The Decepticon Sunstreaker had shot lay prone on the ground, one of his legs missing from the thigh down. “Help me! You're Autodolts-I mean bots. You can't just leave me here to die. You can't.”
A snarl rumbled through Sunstreaker's entire frame.
Sideswipe scoffed softly, even damaged as he was. “You've got to be kidding.”
Prowl shook off the hand that tried to grab his leg again. “I believe you are confusing me with our Prime.”
“No, you can't do this!”
Prowl kicked at the Decepticon for good measure, and then led his two soldiers away. They didn't have much time.
The three Autobots ducked one of the armored bunkers that lined the wall. The Decepticon continued to beg and plead on the other side, out of their sight.
Prowl had only just leaned against the wall when the world became awash in light. Everything disappeared in fire and heat that burned plating and melted circuitry. He didn't know if he screamed, he couldn't hear his two soldiers. He couldn't even make out the Decepticon's continued pleas, if they still went on.
Everything was pain and noise and heat, all melded into a single entity. It lasted for astroseconds, it lasted for eternity, and one may as well have been the other as far as Prowl could tell.
Because as sensors died in the heat, and his joints melted, the world slowed into interminable bursts of static and sound and heat and sight.
Gun, he needed a gun. It was his only conscious, broken thought. He needed a gun. Gun. Gun. Where was his gun? He needed his gun.
'Why' escaped him. It didn't matter. It was of no consequence.
He didn't know how long he lay there, blindly seeking his gun, if only in his processor. He could have laid there for a few astroseconds... or eternity for all he could tell.
Shadows flickered across his vision, but whether from searchers that passed them by or the furious waves of fires crackling around them. His reserves dwindled past the stasis point, and he didn't even remember having reset those particular settings.
It didn't matter. He just needed his gun.
Everything was red around him. Red and orange, hatred and heat, and evil. He hated it, and needed his gun to be rid of it all.
To protect his two soldiers, defend his lover. To do his duty.
Shadows flickered in front of his optics, and these he recognized as Cybertronians. Power surged through his empty hand. Defend. Protect. Defend that which was precious to him.
Until he saw the blue. Blue, blue, all around blue. And voices, he realized, voices that spoke in unintelligible whispers (or had his audio sensors completely burnt out in the explosion?). Not grating. Not harsh. Warm. Friendly. Autobots.
His gun. He needed to tell them.
He needed his gun.
~*~*~*~
The two subsequent explosions had Read more... rattled their Decepticon opposition. The guns wavered, the mechs behind them glancing around uncertainly. The three Autobots had no trouble taking out the two groups they met following the map’s path. The mapmaker seemed to have even managed to plot a path through the lowest level of resistance after the initial explosion. The Decepticons would be heading for the blast area, minimizing patrols elsewhere.
The third explosion caused a panic. Several Decepticons ran right by the escaping Autobots, not even pausing to look at the blatant red insignias on the other mechs. The ones that did stopped-unarmed, hands reaching for their subspace access-quickly moved on when the Autobots simply lifted their weapons.
Prowl’s leg twisted under him, and, concentrating on the map in his processor so intently, he went down. His fingers shrieked down Sideswipe’s arm, catching against the grooves in his wrist in a futile attempt to stop his fall. He lost a few astroseconds to lag as his audio receptors drowned in the crashes and shrieks of his landing. He stared up at the ceiling in confusion, he didn’t understand what had happened. He’d been hyperaware of every part of his anatomy, leaving little room for his other auxiliary processes, and the sudden loss of sensation in his leg had caught him completely off guard.
Metal clanged to his left and Prowl turned his head sharply toward the sound. Sideswipe peered down at him, his near leg wobbly bracing his weight as he reached down for the tactician. His hand pulled back, the spread fingers curling closed. His bright blue optics stared down at the mech lying on the floor.
Sunstreaker peered over his brother’s shoulder, no readable expression on his face. “What the frag just happened?”
Prowl still wondered that very thing. The sensors refused to respond, and he batted at the appendage to see if his leg had somehow detached. He said nothing, aware of how little time they had before the charge detonated would come to an end, or worse the Decepticons organized themselves. Experimentally, he moved his toe joint, watching it twitch obediently about. Prowl looked up at the twins’ worried faces, the remains of his doortwings shuddered with the implication of what had just happened. The sensors that tracked the position of that leg had just shorted out, but as long as his leg remained responsive there was no need to worry the two mechs.
“Is your leg acting up?” Sideswipe asked.
Sunstreaker snorted. “No, it’s not his leg, idiot. It’s his fragging arm, after all that’s why he fell. Because his arm gave out.”
Sideswipe’s dim optics brightened, and motors whined within his frame.
They had no time to argue. “Enough. Get me to my feet, and I’ll manage.” If he could get the recalcitrant limb under him, he would make it cooperate, even if he could no longer detect its presence. He knew the commands to give it.
He could hear every word of their soft conversation as they attempted to decide how to manage this.
“Can’t we fix it first?” Sunstreaker snarled, optics flashing down at Prowl.
“He won’t let us. Notice how he’s pushing us?”
Prowl shook his head, rolling off his back. “I do not want to be caught here attempting repairs. I will manage.” He would simply have to monitor his sensors more closely to prevent another collapse.
Unperturbed at having their conversation overheard, Sideswipe nodded in agreement, before bending down to grab hold of Prowl’s hand.
Sunstreaker wrapped an arm around Sideswipe’s torso, bracing him as he pulled Prowl to his feet. Prowl’s other hand slapped against Sideswipe’s chest with a clang and he held on tenaciously as his leg threatened to give again. His sensors told him that there was nothing to hold him up, even though he detected the hiss of working hydraulics.
“Slaggit, I fixed that leg,” Sunstreaker said.
Prowl didn’t argue, forcing himself to trust his absent leg to his weight. He didn’t allow himself to react when it held. “It’ll hold.” He took some of Sideswipe’s weight. “Move.”
Another explosion, another wave of panicking Decepticons. These mechs however paused when they noticed the Autobots. Those unarmed continued on, optics bright in terror. Prowl didn’t necessarily blame them, the explosion had been alarmingly close to the generators. The agents’ wouldn’t blow the base. Not Prime’s style. Too much loss of life…
Prowl hesitated, startled by sudden inspiration. Almost forgetting the armed Decepticons they faced. Laser fire splattered across his chest. His vocalizer burst on with a pained cry, and he fired almost automatically. He plotted out his idea as he took down the Decepticons before him.
They moved as the numbers thinned, and Prowl guided them a little off the path that Jazz had traced. As a result, they encountered heavier and heavier resistance, and they had to switch out charges on the guns again.
Sunstreaker swore as Prowl cautiously slid up to a corner. “Where the frag are we headed? I’d almost think we’re near the center of the base.”
Prowl didn’t look back at the mech, the ragged edges of his doorwings scraping the wall. “Then logically, I would say we are.”
Sunstreaker dragged back n Sideswipe, blue optics flaring brightly. “Why the slag would you do something suicidal like that? I thought you were a fragging tactician.”
Sideswipe regarded Prowl dimly, his expression unreadable.
“I deduce that this course will assure our escape more readily than the one suggested by our ‘friend’.”
Sunstreaker sputtered, and Sideswipe frowned.
“Trust me.”
The golden warrior shifted his grip on his brother. “Tch, like I have a choice. You’re the one with the map.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Lead on.”
Prowl nodded, giving the corridor one more glance. “Even if you hadn’t asked.”
Without any further warning he dragged the two into the hallway and hurried down the corridor. Sideswipe limped between them, jaw set in determination as he put one foot in front of another. Sunstreaker, however, dragged his feet with every step, his sullen expression darkening.
The number of mechs unexpectedly thinned out, surprising the Autobots. Prowl hastily checked their position against the diagram in his imaging processor, but they were indeed on the correct route. They actually shouldn’t be too far from their goal. The hum of the giant reactors pulsed across his plating, growing louder as they progressed through the alarmingly empty corridors.
Vertigo met them at the final cross section. The mechs flanking him held their rifles unwavering at the three Autobots, despite the next explosion that shook their base.
Sideswipe tensed in Prowl’s hand, drawing his flare gun close to his chest. Air hissed out of Sunstreaker’s head vents, frustration leaking from his joints. His pulse rifle leveled on the Decepticons, the power cells in his hand humming to life.
Prowl didn’t give them any of his attention, though. He only had eyes for the Decepticon base commander, for just behind him, within easy toss of a grenade even, lay his goal; the reactors that powered the base.
“Going somewhere?” Vertigo asked, as though they were guests leaving before saying farewell to their host.
Sunstreaker leveled his gun at the Decepticon, one arm reaching back to shove Sideswipe and Prowl behind him. “You expect us to stay and look at your ugly paint job forever? Did Slog do that for you?”
The Decepticon narrowed his optics.
Sideswipe chuckled, leaning his weight on Prowl. “Oh, come on, don’t compliment him, even Slog can’t make something that ugly.”
The Decepticon’s engine growled. “You think you’re so funny don’t you, cretins? But we’re not done entertaining you, so you can’t leave yet.”
Prowl’s fingers clenched the metal of Sideswipe’s upper arm, taking the full weight of the heavier Toughline. His dental plates gritted together and his optics flared, his balance . “I’m afraid we’ll have to refuse your continued invitation, Vertigo. I find your cordiality lacking.”
Sideswipe shifted against Prowl. “Actually,” he grunted, optics flashing with malice, “I find your accommodations less than standard.” He swung his gun into position and let loose with a round of flares.
Prowl snapped his optics off, staggering from the recoil of the shot. Heat rolled across his plating in painful, burning waves.
Mechs screamed, guns clattering to the floor in surprise.
Prowl slammed into the wall, Sunstreaker’s weight pressing into him and holding him there. Sideswipe yelped, shoving at Prowl’s chest where it dug into him, but Prowl could do nothing to change his position, stunned by Sunstreaker’s weight.
The heat faded, evaporating into the chill of the base.
Prowl activated his optics, sensors screaming at him to move. He shoved Sunstreaker off, his chest screeching horribly against Sideswipe’s dull finish as he turned to face the Decepticons.
The air vibrated with the clash of metal, and Sunstreaker shouted in fury. A hand snatched at the dull gold plating, but Sunstreaker easily slapped the thin arm away. He fired a shot from his pulse rifle, and, as if it was a signal, the Decepticons opened fire.
Prowl cried out, his sensors going haywire. The shots blistered the air, and cracked across his audio receivers. He couldn’t even tell if he’d been shot. Sunstreaker added to the cacophony; holding a Decepticon to his frame as a shield while he released intermittent streams of bolts from his pulse rifle. Prowl faced the Decepticons, his numb leg shuddering noisily beneath his weight, but it held with him constantly monitoring the controls and keeping it aligned.
He lifted his acid rifle, and took aim, his targeting array dominating his vision. His pellets spattered over the Decepticons, burning holes into the armor. Unfortunately it also drew their attention to the tactician and the warrior he covered.
And the world slowed.
Sunstreaker stood with the Decepticon shielding him. His mouth formed words, but the sounds glitched and guttered in his audio receivers before Prowl could interpret them.
Bolts flashed past. Long streams of light that burned the walls. Seared Sunstreaker. Punched holes in Prowl’s armor.
Sunstreaker charged the line of mechs, damaged arm once again hanging limp.
Pain came in disjointed fits, blazing in and out with the lagging of his processor. Too much happened at once: sight, sound, targeting, motion, tactile. His sensors ran hot with data, building in his processor and overrunning all other processes. Images ran by his vision, noise rattled plating in incomprehensible waves. Even his chronometer could not mark the passage of time as it continued to count astroseconds between jumps in his vision.
The entire time that he lagged, he didn’t stop pulling the trigger of his rifle.
Armor splintered: the armor that covered the Decepticons; the dull gold of Sunstreaker’s plating.
He mustn’t stop.
Broken images, meaningless sounds. Prowl could only fire, using the still images that his lagging visual software gave him as a target.
His fingers slipped on the grip of the rifle, and the weapon suddenly disappeared from his hand.
Prowl glanced down in surprise. There it was. Still in his hand as it had been. His processor caught up with the data input, and he vented a sigh in relief.
A curse half-formed in the tactician’s processor.
Decepticons surrounded him, a multitude of gun barrels (ten) pointed down at him, the hum of their power cores vibrating through his plating.
Vertigo stood amongst them, leering down at Prowl.
A hand touched Prowl’s canopy, but the tactician didn’t turn to look at Sideswipe.
“Are you quite done resisting, now?”
Prowl glared at the Decepticon, not moving in favor of running tactics through his processor. Simulations coursed through his processor, deleted to make room for more ideas as the previous were discarded as failures. One conclusion kept popping up. One that made fear jitter through Prowl, fear that he pushed aside. He had to.
They would not give up.
Because giving up would be defeat, and, for Prowl, defeat might eventually end in death, but not before the Decepticons had depleted him of everything: information, pride, memories, dignity. Happiness. They would take Sideswipe, without knowing what they had until it was too late; Sideswipe would be dead by the time they forced their relationship from Prowl’s databanks. He knew that the red mech would not last much longer in the Decepticon’s tender mercies.
Sideswipe’s finger’s pressed into Prowl’s back, a silent, worried query.
Prowl continued to count the astroseconds as they ticked by one by one. It had taken him twenty astroseconds to reach an acceptable solution. Then he had to formulate an approach to the solution, another ten astrosconds.
A silence that did not go unnoticed by their Decepticon captor.
Vertigo laughed. “Have you blown your motherboard, Autobot? It took a lot less time than I thought it would.”
Prowl remained carefully still and expressionless. This could play right into his plans. He couldn’t respond, though. Not to the hand jostling him from behind, the incessant voice calling his name. Nor to the Decepticon drawing closer, or the painful blow that landed across shattered and crushed housing of his hoodlight. He needed another player to make his move.
The hand on Prowl’s back hooked onto his canopy, and pulled him back. “Get back, or I’ll slagging blow all of your optics out,” Sideswipe snarled. The barrel of his flare gun appeared in Prowl’s peripheral vision, propped against the shoulder of his numb arm. “Think you can knock it away before I pull the trigger?” The sneer in the warrior’s voice dared the base commander to even try.
Prowl could not feel the gun against his magplate, only its weight pressing down on components lower down in his torso. He could not feel the rifle in his hand, or feel it lying on his left leg.
Vertigo took a cautious step back, optics on the gun. “Oh, you really don’t want to do that.”
The hand on Prowl’s canopy tightened, and the barrel of the flare gun shifted its aim behind Prowl. “Like slag I don’t.”
Vertigo gestured to something on his right, beyond the range of Prowl’s vision. “Certainly you don’t want to endanger your brother?”
Prowl couldn’t see it, but he could hear the shriek and scrape of metal on metal, of a body being pulled across the floor. The clanks of someone being stood on their feet, and the grumble of an engine as it tried to restart.
The grip on Prowl’s back went lax, and then tightened again. “If you hurt him…”
The red optics narrowed, smug victory leaking out of the commander’s joints. “You’ll do what?” The squeal of tortured metal punctuated the question.
Sideswipe jerked his hand back, rocking Prowl. “You fragger…”
Prowl didn’t need to see to know the cause of that awful racket.
Astroseconds ticked by, punctuated only by the uncertain revs from damaged systems. Prowl continued feigning computer lock, staring at the
opening behind Vertigo which led directly to the main reactors.
Vertigo snarled impatiently, and he lashed out with a club hand. Three times he struck out, pink energon glowing on his club arm.
Sunstreaker cried out, the sound cutting off as quickly as it had started. Metal squealed with agony and feet stuttered on the floor. “Don’t do a damned thing, Sides,” Sunstreaker spat over the hum of his hydraulics pulling him upright.
A puff of sound brushed against the back of Prowl’s neck, a plea that sent a surge of anger through Prowl’s emotional relays. “Please, don’t hurt him.”
It took all of Prowl’s willpower not to make a move right then. Sideswipe had never sounded so pitiful and weak as he did right then. It made Prowl want to rip apart the cause for his lover’s pain. Made him want to crush the spark of the one that had brought the strong mech to such lows. It firmed his resolve to go with his plan, no matter how distasteful.
“Oh, you don’t want me to hurt him?” Vertigo asked, in a sickly sweet voice. The Decepticon’s gaze slid to Prowl’s still form. “Pity. Here I was going to use him as leverage against your commander.”
Sideswipe’s arm whined softly, and the mech shifted about behind him. “What the slag are you talking about?”
Vertigo hummed, optics narrowed in his wicked smirk once more. “Oh, well, it’s just that I figured if your commander might be trying to fool me, then this would be a way to draw him out.”
Sunstreaker staggered into Prowl’s line of sight, pushed by one of the other guards surrounding him.
“After all,” Vertigo said in a conversational tone, “what sentimental Autobot would stand by while their fellow was hurt.” The conversational overlay never left his vocalizer as he casually reached over to Sunstreaker and hooked one claw finger over the first golden slat in his left vent.
The Decepticon drew his arm down, ripping the slats right off Sunstreaker’s helm.
Firm hands held Sunstreaker still as Vertigo proceeded to give his other audio vent the same treatment. Sunstreaker groaned, his limbs jerking in an abortive effort to stop Vertigo.
The gun shifted against Prowl’s shoulder again.
Vertigo whipped about, flicking his club arm at the Decepticons holding the golden warrior. “You really want to blow out your own brother’s optics as well as ours, Autobot.”
The guards tore into Sunstreaker, fingers sinking under paneling to rip it up. Wires sparked, exposed and broken. Fists crashed into the Autobot’s chest, the plating buckling under the repeated blows.
Sunstreaker screamed, short, sharp gasps of sound as pieces of armor were torn from his body. His hands, pinned to his side, curled into ineffectual fists, and his entire body jerked as they tore out sensor circuits and wires.
“Better blind than at your mercy,” Sideswipe growled, and the gun exploded right next Prowl’s audio receiver.
Prowl lunged away from Sideswipe in that astrosecond of time before the flare impacted against Vertigo. He couldn’t move very fast, but he had Vertigo’s position fixed in his targeting arrays.
Bright light and static filled his vision, scorching heat washing over his plating, but he knew when he came into contact with the larger mech. He knew he had the right mech when clubs battered into his arm.
Prowl dragged out his interface cord. His hand collided with Vertigo’s chest, and he followed the first seam he found down past the edge of the chest and over the ventral curve of the torso. Hyperactive sensors detected the minute unevenness of the Decepticon’s interface cover. Prowl tore that open, flinching at the blows that impacted his ragged doorwings as the Decepticon realized what he was doing. Vertigo’s voice jumbled up in his blown receiver, and Prowl could only depend on his sensors to track the mech’s movements.
Prowl jammed his plug into the open connection and initiated the connection. His processor pounding with information, he couldn’t even hack his way through the most basic of firewalls.
Not that he needed to.
He only needed a handful of astroseconds.
The virus didn’t hesitate. It attacked.
Vertigo shrieked, shoving Prowl away for all the good it would do him.
The cord yanked out before Prowl could catch himself.
He couldn’t afford to stop. Voices screamed at him, and he thought he recognized Sideswipe’s panicked tones.
Prowl fumbled under his bumper, numb fingers scraping over nothing. He should be lagging, but if he was, he couldn’t tell. Heat still scorched over his plating, and his audio receptors continued to shriek with feedback. Static continued to overlay his vision. But nobody had moved, and that just didn’t seem right, they should be moving. He brought his other hand up and scraped the disruptor out of the joining of his chestplate and his torso. He activated it and lifted his arm.
A hand seized his wrist.“Pr-l!”
No time to recognize the voice, except to recognize the concern.. “The reactor!”
The disruptor disappeared from his hand, and Prowl directed extra power to his optics. The static cleared just in time to catch the disruptor performing a perfect arc straight into the reactor’s containment field.
It was as though the world had frozen, and Prowl used those few precious astroseconds to dump useless sensory data from his memory banks.
The field shuddered, flickering fitfully.
Then it died.
Prowl turned, meeting Sunstreaker’s gaze. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Little problem.”
Prowl realized then that Vertigo still shrieked, but the static had cleared from his receptors, and he finally made out the words scattered
throughout the screams. “Kill them! I don’t care how you do it, just kill them all!”
Again the world froze as Prowl faced the Decepticons inching toward them.
He glanced back at the reactor, and as though it had awaited a cue, the security lights activated and an alarm blared throughout the base. Prowl glanced at the Decepticons. “Your choice,” he said simply, vocalizer hitching and glitching with static.
The Decepticons looked at the two Autobots, both still grasping their guns.
Their optics turned to Vertigo, laying on the ground still shrieking in pain from the sensory overload.
They looked at the reactors, as the unstable core blew the containment fields of the other two reactors.
The Decepticons turned and as one they bolted for their lives.
Prowl glanced down at himself, ensuring that his limbs remained intact. His legs had both gone numb, as a matter of fact he could feel the sensors from his gyroscopic hub fading in and out uncertainly.
They needed to get out of there.
Prowl slapped his numb fingers around Sunstreaker’s arm and hauled the mech the five steps to Sideswipe. “Get him up. Move it!”
Sunstreaker needed no further prodding. He slung Sideswipe’s arm over his shoulders and started down the hallway without waiting for any further commands from the officer.
Prowl followed, using a hand on the wall to steady himself.
Behind them Vertigo no longer screamed, but Prowl could detect no other movement from him. How long did Prowl lay there while the virus worked its way through his sensors? While the world exploded around him in an onslaught of data and pain.
“Where to?”
Prowl looked up at Sunstreaker’s sudden snarl. They were at an intersection. Which direction had they taken from the reactor? His processor was slow to respond when he pulled the plans back up. The map appeared in his imaging software, piecing itself together byte by byte.
“Prowl, which way?”
The image still hovered incomplete in his CPU when Prowl grit his dental plates and strode forward to grab Sideswipe’s other side. He had no time for weakness. He recalled being on the fifteenth floor from his earlier uses of the map, and discarded the layouts of the higher levels and those below the surface. He located the reactors on the map, following the paths from to their first four way junctions. Then he traced the pathways until he hit a deadend, or unknown corridors. Decision made in thirty astroseconds, Prowl draped Sideswipe’s arm over his shoulders, wincing as he scraped broken wires against the mech’s plating. “Straight.”
Sunstreaker didn't question him, but moved immediately. He dragged himself down the hallway, leaning against the wall as much as Sideswipe leaned on him.
How long would they have until the reactor blew? Nothing came out over the external speaker units. Or had the reactor’s meltdown already blown the delicate wiring in the walls? How long did it take for a reactor to blow after the loss of a containment field? He couldn’t recall. A joor? Less? Less, Prowl decided. A lot less, judging from the frantic vibrations that rippled through the wall.
Prowl guided them through corridors, blind. He had no way of knowing where the closed doors led, no way of tracking their progress throughout the maze of the Decepticon base.
Suddenly, Sunstreaker steered Sideswipe into a door off the main corridor. Prowl opened his mouth to protest, but a hot glare from the warrior silenced him.
A single window lit the interior of the room they entered. A conference room, if the large table with the display at the center was any indication. The window captured Prowl’s attention, and his doorwings brushed against the wall as he circled round the table. He stopped before the window, and his hyperactive sensory network took the initiative to pull up a measurement scale on its own.
Sunstreaker sat Sideswipe in the chair, and then joined Prowl at the window. “Can you find us on the map now?”
Prowl glanced at the mech in surprise, disrupted from his current task for a few bare astroseconds. Had he been so obvious?
“Fraggit, Prowl, you have no idea where you’re going, and don’t try to tell me that you do, because I fragging know that we’re completely and utterly lost. Now, either find us on the map, or slagging give it to me, and I’ll navigate.” Sunstreaker thrust his hand out, fingers outspread in an expectant gesture.
Prowl stared askance at the warrior. Surely he couldn't be serious? “Sunstreaker, there is absolutely no way that you could possibly convince me to give you this map. If you download the map from my memory banks, you'll get the virus ,too.”
Sunstreaker was silent for exactly 10.87 astroseconds. “You still have that drivestick, right?”
The tactician didn’t answer; instead he turned his scrutiny to the ground several hundred meters below. A ledge jutted out half way down the side of the main building, but it could be cleared easily enough with the right amount of momentum.
“Prowl...”
Sunstreaker's growl drew Prowl's attention back to the golden mech still holding his hand out. “That may not be necessary.”
Sunstreaker's face twisted in confusion, but his gaze followed Prowl's line of thought easily enough. “You are joking!”
“The fall shouldn't damage us too badly...”
“No! No way! Not happening!”
Sideswipe's weak voice drifted over from where he still sat at the table. “'t's goin' on, y' two?”
Sunstreaker's attention snapped over to his brother. “Your crazy-aft sparkles is turning suicidal.”
Sideswipe lifted his head up from where it lay on the table. “Huh?”
Sunstreaker stalked over to his brother, and bristled protectively over him. “Prowl is suggesting that we jump out a fragging window!”
Wide optics regarded Prowl before the mech's head sagged back to the table. “Really?”
Sunstreaker sputtered indignantly. “Don't sound so happy about it, slaggit!”
Prowl turned away from the window to join the two brothers at the table. “We need to get out of here, and that is the quickest way down.” He rested one hand on the red mech's shoulder. “Sometimes crazy works, after all.”
Sideswipe stared ahead in silent contemplation. “How high are we?”
Prowl withdrew his hand at the mech's quiet tone, but Sunstreaker beat him to answering.
“Fragging half a kilometer up. He thinks we can make it with only minimal damage!”
Prowl didn't have a chance to answer.
Sideswipe's hand clanked against his leg, something pulling his face into an expression that Prowl had never seen before on the brave warrior. “I don't think I can make that.”
Prowl couldn't drop to his knees. He teetered uncertainly as it was on his numb leg. He bent over his lover-his soldier and slapped his numb hand down. “Don't talk like that!”
Sunstreaker glared at Prowl, snarling silently.
Prowl returned the glare with equal fervor, though he continued to speak to Sideswipe. “Do you think that I would even suggest such a thing if I thought your chances were negligible. Half a kilometer is an overestimate by at least two hundred meters-”
“And that's going to make a fragload of difference is it, Prowl?” Sunstreaker snapped at Prowl. “This whole stupid situation is your fault for ever thinking that you could actually hide 'facing with my brother forever. We wouldn't be here if you had just done the right thing and requested a transfer in the first plate.”
Every joint in Prowl's frame locked in fury, and power surged through his optics. “Your brother has no choice in this?”
Sunstreaker narrowed his optics and leaned forward to hiss viciously back, “He's not a fragging officer.”
Prowl's fist clenched on Sideswipe's shoulder. “Now is not the time for this, Sunstreaker. Our chances are at 56% if we exit through the window, but that number continues to decrease for every astrosecond we waste debating. We cannot make it out of this base in time by walking. Let's move.”
He put action to word and grabbed Sideswipe's arm and levered him partially up.
60.587 astroseconds passed before Sunstreaker moved. Prowl didn't know if he had been making a point, or if he truly had to process the information for that long. Sunstreaker pulled a majority of Sideswipe's weight away from Prowl.
The window had a thick shielding glass, but it had been designed with a method to bypass any electronic controls. Prowl unlatched the window, and shoved it open. He stared down at the mass of vehicles retreating from the main building. Prowl scanned the grounds again, seeking an area to aim for.
“Are we doing this or not?” Sunstreaker grumbled.
Location confirmed, Prowl gestured Sunstreaker up first assisting the scuffed mech in helping his twin up on the ledge. There was no room for Prowl to join them. “Pull up your battle grid and aim for quadrant -84/29/30. I'll follow.”
Sunstreaker nodded, and his grip shifted to a more secure hold on his brother. Then he jumped.
Prowl didn't allow himself to watch their descent, or listen for their screams. He dragged himself onto the ledge, his grip and footing uncertain with his numb limbs. Wind whistled past his damaged chevron and shivered his broken doorwings. He oriented himself for five astroseconds, verifying that his chosen landing area remained clear. One last thing, he took the drivestick and jammed it deep up into his hood. He jostled it until it would not move no matter how much he fidgeted it. Reassured that it would survive the fall and remain on his person, he coiled himself; physically, mentally, emotionally.
And jumped.
Air screamed over his plating, burning hyperactive sensor relays out one by one. It was too much. His processor lagged and everything jumbled together into a single confused knot inside his processor.
The ground loomed closer and closer with each flash of awareness. No time to brace himself. No time to position himself. No time to prepare. No time to find his two soldiers.
The impact ignited every sensor in his body. Metal clattered and shrieked in a disconnected symphony. Sensors flared in a single bright, broken pulse and the world froze.
His processor caught up with him staring blankly at the ground. His entire sensory net ached with searing pain. He ached with the memory of slamming into the ground; he ached anew as sensors recalled being wrenched from their housing. His body burned with a suffocating heat, and he gasped. His ventilators chuttered uncertainly, one fan jammed to a complete stop, the other wobbling loosely in his chest. Diagnostic scans came up with far too many errors,
He needed to move. Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. He had to locate them. They needed to find better shelter.
A gun barrel prodded at the back of his head.
Prowl twisted his head about to glance behind him.
Blue plating greeted him, a visage he should be all too familiar with. Prowl could only focus on the purple emblem centered on the mech’s chest.
“What do we have here?” the Decepticon officer purred.
No.
Nononono! They couldn’t be captured again! Not like this! Not when they couldn't fight back.
“Firecracker, Earthquake, Riptide, get your afts over here.”
“What do you want now, Crosswind? We need to get out of here before the reactor blows.”
Prowl's vocalizer whined involuntarily when he received no response from any of his limbs. Had they been ripped off? Had the sensors finally overloaded? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t see past his chestplate.
“Not without him. Grab ‘im, and let’s go.”
One of the other mech buzzed in protest. “Whatever for? He’s scrap anyways. Let’s get out of here!”
Another moved into Prowl’s line of vision. “That’s the Autobot tactician!”
A chorus followed right on the heels of that exclamation.
Prowl shuddered, and sent the commands to bring one of his hands into sight just to see. Metal scraped over the concrete ground and his hand creeped into view. Gun, where had his gun gone?
A weight settled on Prowl’s shoulder. A hand, Prowl decided. The Decepticon rocked Prowl on his bumper, knocking him onto his side. The clang from landing on his side reverberated through the remains of his sensory net. He caught only fleeting glimpses of a forest of legs before the distinct sound of a rifle powering up drew the Decepticons’ attention.
No word of warning preceded the volley of pulse beams that splattered against the Decepticons heads. One beam caught the blue mech, Crosswind, right in the face. He crumpled to the ground, shrieking in pain. Another beam cut through one of the mechs’ legs, and that mech toppled.
“Get the slag away from him, Decepticreeps.”
Prowl couldn't see him, but he knew Sunstreaker's voice, even when it was broken and distorted. His relief was short-lived however as the ground shook beneath him, and an explosion sounded behind him.
“Let’s get out of here,” one of the Decepticons snarled.
The legs disappeared in the rapid transformation of two Ridgeriders.
“So long Autotoast!” the other chimed as they zoomed off.
Sunstreaker cursed emphatically as his voice drew closer to Prowl.
“Sunstreaker,” Prowl grunted, “visual diagnostic.”
The harsh footsteps faltered. “What the frag is that supposed to mean?”
“Am I intact?”
Sunstreaker came into view then, bent over to grab Prowl’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Yeah.” His pale blue optics narrowed. “Can you move?” The mech’s grip tightened as though he anticipated Prowl to suddenly drop to the ground.
The ground continued to shudder, but Prowl forced his legs to support his weight. He straightened out of Sunstreaker's hands and stepped out of his reach. “Where's Sideswipe?”
Sunstreaker put a steady hand on Prowl's shoulder, and turned the tactician around. “That way.”
Ah. Now he could see him. Sideswipe lay in a limp heap a six meters away from where Prowl had landed.
“I need some help moving him.”
Prowl's gaze drifted upward, drawn to the small explosions that burst out of windows and vents higher up in the base. “We need to hurry.”
“No, really?” Sunstreaker retorted.
Prowl hurried as best he could, depending on his sight to maintain his balance.
Sideswipe whimpered as they lifted him to his feet. Sunstreaker murmured reassuring words, but Sideswipe shook his head. “There's no time. You should leave me.”
“Frag, no!”
Prowl frowned, though he couldn't spare a glance toward the red mech. “That is absolutely not happening.”
Prowl guided them toward the bunkers that he had spied. Something suddenly latched onto his leg. Alarm surged through his frame, and he lashed out blindly.
“No, please wait! Don't hurt me!”
Three pairs of blue optics turned toward the source of the voice. The Decepticon Sunstreaker had shot lay prone on the ground, one of his legs missing from the thigh down. “Help me! You're Autodolts-I mean bots. You can't just leave me here to die. You can't.”
A snarl rumbled through Sunstreaker's entire frame.
Sideswipe scoffed softly, even damaged as he was. “You've got to be kidding.”
Prowl shook off the hand that tried to grab his leg again. “I believe you are confusing me with our Prime.”
“No, you can't do this!”
Prowl kicked at the Decepticon for good measure, and then led his two soldiers away. They didn't have much time.
The three Autobots ducked one of the armored bunkers that lined the wall. The Decepticon continued to beg and plead on the other side, out of their sight.
Prowl had only just leaned against the wall when the world became awash in light. Everything disappeared in fire and heat that burned plating and melted circuitry. He didn't know if he screamed, he couldn't hear his two soldiers. He couldn't even make out the Decepticon's continued pleas, if they still went on.
Everything was pain and noise and heat, all melded into a single entity. It lasted for astroseconds, it lasted for eternity, and one may as well have been the other as far as Prowl could tell.
Because as sensors died in the heat, and his joints melted, the world slowed into interminable bursts of static and sound and heat and sight.
Gun, he needed a gun. It was his only conscious, broken thought. He needed a gun. Gun. Gun. Where was his gun? He needed his gun.
'Why' escaped him. It didn't matter. It was of no consequence.
He didn't know how long he lay there, blindly seeking his gun, if only in his processor. He could have laid there for a few astroseconds... or eternity for all he could tell.
Shadows flickered across his vision, but whether from searchers that passed them by or the furious waves of fires crackling around them. His reserves dwindled past the stasis point, and he didn't even remember having reset those particular settings.
It didn't matter. He just needed his gun.
Everything was red around him. Red and orange, hatred and heat, and evil. He hated it, and needed his gun to be rid of it all.
To protect his two soldiers, defend his lover. To do his duty.
Shadows flickered in front of his optics, and these he recognized as Cybertronians. Power surged through his empty hand. Defend. Protect. Defend that which was precious to him.
Until he saw the blue. Blue, blue, all around blue. And voices, he realized, voices that spoke in unintelligible whispers (or had his audio sensors completely burnt out in the explosion?). Not grating. Not harsh. Warm. Friendly. Autobots.
His gun. He needed to tell them.
He needed his gun.