Shards, a Prequel
Title: Shards, a Prequel
Author: AotA
Rating: K+
Warnings: mentions of torture, death
Characters: Incinerator (he’s not actually an OC and I bet Shards readers can name him), OC Charter, OC Diver, that mysterious masked-er silver mech, Ratchet, Optimus.
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse (Shards)
Summary: As an infiltrator he was called Incinerator and did his merry best to sabotage his infiltratee’s efforts and, well, steal their less than loyal mechs.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.
Notes: This was Prompt #4 off of tf_speedwriting and I took 97 minutes. Does this make Shards readers happy? ^___^
Incinerator paused outside the central data center and sent a subtle scan through the door, quickly enough that it wouldn’t seem that he had done so. He had garnered enough “trust” that he could enter a data center and not seem out of place or be questioned, but he also did not have a legitimate reason to consulting one this time.
He smiled grimly behind his ever present battle mask and coded into the door. He locked it behind him and quickly sat at the terminal, bringing up screens and indexes that the needed. Verifying that he had the proper data sets, he drew a secure drive out of subspace and hooked it up to the systems.
With a few nudges of the systems the data was quickly copying itself to the drive and Incinerator had to wait.
And that was the most dangerous time.
Central data centers were always secured and only certain mechs with the proper codes could access them, but that only meant that while there were fewer mechs that could interrupt him, the ones that could would know that he was not supposed to be there.
Incinerator watched the percentages creep towards completion and wished that there was a way to do this faster.
Incinerator froze as sensory panels, diminutive and folded up as he had made them, picked up a resonance outside the door to the data center. Incinerator bit back a curse one moment and then thanked Primus the next as the data drive lit up, showing that it had finished the data transfer. With precise movements, he disconnected the drive, subspaced it, and shut down the terminal.
In less than a klik, he was standing before the door and opened it-before whoever it was outside finished entering their access code.
Incinerator feigned surprise.
“Charter, sir! I have been looking for you everywhere!”
Charter eyed Incinerator, unimpressed, “And I have been looking for you. What are you doing in here?”
Incinerator scavenged up a tinge of embarrassment, and proceeded to pretend to hide it, “I wanted your opinion on a new strategy handed down from the squad TO. You always have a great perspective on battle plans, and I thought… Well… And since I couldn’t find you anywhere else, I thought you might be here.”
Charter’s lip components quirked just enough to form a smirk that Incinerator knew to be at his expense, “Show me then.”
Incinerator pulled out a small data pad that he had kept on hand in case he had run into Charter specifically, “These are the plans, sir.”
Charter plucked the pad out of his hands to get a better look at it and shoved Incinerator back inside the data center. Incinerator waited as Charter read through the pad and turned on the terminal simultaneously. Making alterations to the pad and scanning through information that Incinerator was pretty sure that he had collected on the terminal at the same time, he muttered to himself for a moment before shoving the data pad back into Incinerator’s hands, “There. Show your TO that. Tell him that sloppiness is no excuse when he’s in his position. If I see another pad like that, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Incinerator said, “and thank you, sir.”
Charter turned to focus on the terminal, but when Incinerator didn’t move, eyed him again, “What are you waiting for? Permission? Leave already. And before I forget, report to the commander before you hand your Tactical Officer his aft for pure stupidity. Mech wanted to talk to you about something.”
Incinerator felt apprehension form at the command but hid it behind an ingratiating, “Yes sir.”
“Good, now shoo. I have actual work to do instead of cleaning up after idiots who don’t know their helms from their afts.”
Incinerator quickly left, but similar grumbles from Charter followed him out into the hall until the door to the central data center closed behind him. Incinerator felt almost euphoric relief flow through him. He had evaded one obstacle, but now he had another in the form of his commanding officer.
Trepidation dogged his heels as he headed toward the bridge. Why would he want to talk to him? Had he done something that would display his true allegiances? He didn’t think so, but it was impossible to know if he had done something that would advertise it.
Coming onto the bridge of the Armistice, a purposely ironically named ship, Incinerator paused for a moment to take in the atmosphere. Tension floated through the air, warning him that this probably wasn’t going to be pleasant to interrupt anything that may be going on. He steadied himself and immediately headed over to the commander who was letting his intakes wash over a nervous to the point of panicking navigator.
Pausing just a little ways away from the pair, enough to not be in immediate range of any sort of outburst, Incinerator called Diver’s attention, “You called for me, Commander Diver?”
Diver looked up, but didn’t remove his menacing hands from where they pinned the worried navigator, “Ah, Incinerator, just the mech I was needing.”
For some reason the terror of the navigator skyrocketed. “Ah,” Incinerator nodded, even though he wasn’t liking where this was going, “how may I be of assistance, Commander sir?” He demanded of himself that he be as genuine as possible even though he was sure that this wasn’t going to end pretty, again. Anything less would end in disaster.
Diver’s smile was a grotesque thing to behold, “I need you to have a …talk, with this mech here. I’ve heard that you are quite …efficient at ferreting out traitors.”
Incinerator nodded, with a forcing a hint of excited servility, “Yes Commander Diver!” And if they didn’t quite happen to actually be traitors …well. That was just too bad then wasn’t it? So long at the command didn’t catch him terminating mechs that were loyal to their deranged beliefs, he could hide away those mechs that weren’t, and send them either to the Autobots or to a neutral faction depending on their beliefs. Either way, he left no trace of a mech once he was “finished” with them. Hence the name “Incinerator” after the high heat that he used to cremate the bodies of his, more adamant, victims.
He let some get away of course, but just as often as not, an officer asking him to “ferret out a traitor” was a death sentence to said traitor.
It wasn’t initially part of his role but all too often he had been given mechs that weren’t Decepticon loyal and it was either kill fellow Autobots and Neutrals at heart who wanted nothing to do with the war in the first place, or find some way to save them.
Incinerator simply used the original plan to ingratiate himself with the command on the Armistice and took advantage of the abilities given to him to save lives, collect the data that he had been sent for …and to fulfill his own, more personal, goal.
Incinerator was sure that he had the information that he needed, both for the Autobots and himself, but he hadn’t had the chance to look at it yet.
Still, he had activated the beacon that notified the Autobots that he was ready for extraction the moment the data transfer had completed. Likely, this one mech wouldn’t have time be incinerated or smuggled out of Decepticon hands, whichever it would be.
Incinerator placed a hand heavily on the navigator’s shoulder, continuing the charade and asked with faked kindness veiling just as faked menace, “What is your designation, navigator?”
The navigator would have to simply remain “the navigator” because just as the scared to death mech tried to choke out his designation, proximity alarms began to scream all across the bridge.
Even as Incinerator began to run for battle stations, he smiled fiercely behind his battle mask.
It was time to go home.
When the fighting erupted, Incinerator worked his way towards the center of the melee where he could give the proper signal. For a moment though, he stopped to stare at the arrival of another troop of Decepticons and the arrival of on particular vicious silver mech that began wading his way through the battle field striking swaths of death in his wake.
Incinerator cursed, but as the silver mech spared little care for his comrades’ health, he dared not intercept him. He forced himself to continue onward.
Eventually, he spotted Ratchet and he sent the ridiculously heavily encrypted transmission that, in truth, said nothing at all. Ratchet would recognize it because it was an encryption that they had created before he had ever left on this mission.
Ratchet’s head twisted this way and that until he spotted him. Once he did, the yellow mech nodded subtly.
Incinerator paced the flow of the battle and, just as soon as Optimus took down Diver, permanently, Ratchet struck.
In the split second that he had to think before everything went offline, he had a moment to spare to feel the full extent of his horror when he realized what it was that Ratchet had struck him down with.
A disruptor! No!
Ostentatiously patterned magenta winked out of existence and Prowl fell offline, to all appearances, dead.
Shards (I), (II), (III)
Author: AotA
Rating: K+
Warnings: mentions of torture, death
Characters: Incinerator (he’s not actually an OC and I bet Shards readers can name him), OC Charter, OC Diver, that mysterious masked-er silver mech, Ratchet, Optimus.
Setting: very AU tf-bayverse (Shards)
Summary: As an infiltrator he was called Incinerator and did his merry best to sabotage his infiltratee’s efforts and, well, steal their less than loyal mechs.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.
Notes: This was Prompt #4 off of tf_speedwriting and I took 97 minutes. Does this make Shards readers happy? ^___^
Incinerator paused outside the central data center and sent a subtle scan through the door, quickly enough that it wouldn’t seem that he had done so. He had garnered enough “trust” that he could enter a data center and not seem out of place or be questioned, but he also did not have a legitimate reason to consulting one this time.
He smiled grimly behind his ever present battle mask and coded into the door. He locked it behind him and quickly sat at the terminal, bringing up screens and indexes that the needed. Verifying that he had the proper data sets, he drew a secure drive out of subspace and hooked it up to the systems.
With a few nudges of the systems the data was quickly copying itself to the drive and Incinerator had to wait.
And that was the most dangerous time.
Central data centers were always secured and only certain mechs with the proper codes could access them, but that only meant that while there were fewer mechs that could interrupt him, the ones that could would know that he was not supposed to be there.
Incinerator watched the percentages creep towards completion and wished that there was a way to do this faster.
Incinerator froze as sensory panels, diminutive and folded up as he had made them, picked up a resonance outside the door to the data center. Incinerator bit back a curse one moment and then thanked Primus the next as the data drive lit up, showing that it had finished the data transfer. With precise movements, he disconnected the drive, subspaced it, and shut down the terminal.
In less than a klik, he was standing before the door and opened it-before whoever it was outside finished entering their access code.
Incinerator feigned surprise.
“Charter, sir! I have been looking for you everywhere!”
Charter eyed Incinerator, unimpressed, “And I have been looking for you. What are you doing in here?”
Incinerator scavenged up a tinge of embarrassment, and proceeded to pretend to hide it, “I wanted your opinion on a new strategy handed down from the squad TO. You always have a great perspective on battle plans, and I thought… Well… And since I couldn’t find you anywhere else, I thought you might be here.”
Charter’s lip components quirked just enough to form a smirk that Incinerator knew to be at his expense, “Show me then.”
Incinerator pulled out a small data pad that he had kept on hand in case he had run into Charter specifically, “These are the plans, sir.”
Charter plucked the pad out of his hands to get a better look at it and shoved Incinerator back inside the data center. Incinerator waited as Charter read through the pad and turned on the terminal simultaneously. Making alterations to the pad and scanning through information that Incinerator was pretty sure that he had collected on the terminal at the same time, he muttered to himself for a moment before shoving the data pad back into Incinerator’s hands, “There. Show your TO that. Tell him that sloppiness is no excuse when he’s in his position. If I see another pad like that, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Yes, sir,” Incinerator said, “and thank you, sir.”
Charter turned to focus on the terminal, but when Incinerator didn’t move, eyed him again, “What are you waiting for? Permission? Leave already. And before I forget, report to the commander before you hand your Tactical Officer his aft for pure stupidity. Mech wanted to talk to you about something.”
Incinerator felt apprehension form at the command but hid it behind an ingratiating, “Yes sir.”
“Good, now shoo. I have actual work to do instead of cleaning up after idiots who don’t know their helms from their afts.”
Incinerator quickly left, but similar grumbles from Charter followed him out into the hall until the door to the central data center closed behind him. Incinerator felt almost euphoric relief flow through him. He had evaded one obstacle, but now he had another in the form of his commanding officer.
Trepidation dogged his heels as he headed toward the bridge. Why would he want to talk to him? Had he done something that would display his true allegiances? He didn’t think so, but it was impossible to know if he had done something that would advertise it.
Coming onto the bridge of the Armistice, a purposely ironically named ship, Incinerator paused for a moment to take in the atmosphere. Tension floated through the air, warning him that this probably wasn’t going to be pleasant to interrupt anything that may be going on. He steadied himself and immediately headed over to the commander who was letting his intakes wash over a nervous to the point of panicking navigator.
Pausing just a little ways away from the pair, enough to not be in immediate range of any sort of outburst, Incinerator called Diver’s attention, “You called for me, Commander Diver?”
Diver looked up, but didn’t remove his menacing hands from where they pinned the worried navigator, “Ah, Incinerator, just the mech I was needing.”
For some reason the terror of the navigator skyrocketed. “Ah,” Incinerator nodded, even though he wasn’t liking where this was going, “how may I be of assistance, Commander sir?” He demanded of himself that he be as genuine as possible even though he was sure that this wasn’t going to end pretty, again. Anything less would end in disaster.
Diver’s smile was a grotesque thing to behold, “I need you to have a …talk, with this mech here. I’ve heard that you are quite …efficient at ferreting out traitors.”
Incinerator nodded, with a forcing a hint of excited servility, “Yes Commander Diver!” And if they didn’t quite happen to actually be traitors …well. That was just too bad then wasn’t it? So long at the command didn’t catch him terminating mechs that were loyal to their deranged beliefs, he could hide away those mechs that weren’t, and send them either to the Autobots or to a neutral faction depending on their beliefs. Either way, he left no trace of a mech once he was “finished” with them. Hence the name “Incinerator” after the high heat that he used to cremate the bodies of his, more adamant, victims.
He let some get away of course, but just as often as not, an officer asking him to “ferret out a traitor” was a death sentence to said traitor.
It wasn’t initially part of his role but all too often he had been given mechs that weren’t Decepticon loyal and it was either kill fellow Autobots and Neutrals at heart who wanted nothing to do with the war in the first place, or find some way to save them.
Incinerator simply used the original plan to ingratiate himself with the command on the Armistice and took advantage of the abilities given to him to save lives, collect the data that he had been sent for …and to fulfill his own, more personal, goal.
Incinerator was sure that he had the information that he needed, both for the Autobots and himself, but he hadn’t had the chance to look at it yet.
Still, he had activated the beacon that notified the Autobots that he was ready for extraction the moment the data transfer had completed. Likely, this one mech wouldn’t have time be incinerated or smuggled out of Decepticon hands, whichever it would be.
Incinerator placed a hand heavily on the navigator’s shoulder, continuing the charade and asked with faked kindness veiling just as faked menace, “What is your designation, navigator?”
The navigator would have to simply remain “the navigator” because just as the scared to death mech tried to choke out his designation, proximity alarms began to scream all across the bridge.
Even as Incinerator began to run for battle stations, he smiled fiercely behind his battle mask.
It was time to go home.
When the fighting erupted, Incinerator worked his way towards the center of the melee where he could give the proper signal. For a moment though, he stopped to stare at the arrival of another troop of Decepticons and the arrival of on particular vicious silver mech that began wading his way through the battle field striking swaths of death in his wake.
Incinerator cursed, but as the silver mech spared little care for his comrades’ health, he dared not intercept him. He forced himself to continue onward.
Eventually, he spotted Ratchet and he sent the ridiculously heavily encrypted transmission that, in truth, said nothing at all. Ratchet would recognize it because it was an encryption that they had created before he had ever left on this mission.
Ratchet’s head twisted this way and that until he spotted him. Once he did, the yellow mech nodded subtly.
Incinerator paced the flow of the battle and, just as soon as Optimus took down Diver, permanently, Ratchet struck.
In the split second that he had to think before everything went offline, he had a moment to spare to feel the full extent of his horror when he realized what it was that Ratchet had struck him down with.
A disruptor! No!
Ostentatiously patterned magenta winked out of existence and Prowl fell offline, to all appearances, dead.
Shards (I), (II), (III)