Barricaded -- Chapter 10

Mar 13, 2013 21:29

When the bunnies bite, they bite hard. -_-

Title: Barricaded -- Chapter 10
Rating: T
Continuity: AU Movieverse with G1 influences
Warnings: Reprogramming


Chapter 10

“Bluestreak, huh?” Smokescreen asked as he sat down next to the gray and red mech.

The newly dubbed Bluestreak nodded happily. “Yup! I thought it fit, what with my talking so much, and it starts with the same sound, at least in English, and I liked it, so...”

“I'm glad. It'll take some getting used to, but... I like it, too,” the red and blue mech said with a smile. The two exchanged grins, and Smokescreen lifted his energon cube and took a drink. “You know this means that everyone coming in will... well, think...”

“What? That I’m a neutral or something? Or was? To be honest, Smokey, I don't care. I mean, that's... kinda better than the truth. I told you. I don't want to be Barricade anymore. I don't... I don't like who he was. I’m Bluestreak.”

“I know. Autobot, sniper... Just stay away from the front lines. I... You've got retractable claws, like all Praxians now, and... well, Barricade's fighting style was very... distinct.”

Bluestreak smiled gently, doorwings flicking in agreement. “I know. And trust me, I will. I prefer fighting from behind a gun. Anyways... did you hear? Two new arrivals today! Prowl's not sure who it is, or so he said, but they'll be landing sometime tonight.”

“Yeah,” Smokescreen said, taking another long pull of energon. “I have a sneaking suspicion, though. There are very few mechs who feel confident enough to travel in pairs. It's either alone, or in a small group.”

“Why's that? Oh, wait, wait, I know this - because one mech is hard to spot, and a group is hard to attack, but two mechs is easy to spot and easy to attack?”

“Right. Good job.”

Bluestreak rolled his optics. “Yeah, right. It's one of those lessons they, uh, pound into you. And something you should know when you're, um, a shock trooper. Like I was.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyways, you going to greet them?”

Bluestreak tilted his helm to the side. “I think I will. I mean, why not?”

Smokescreen smiled and drained the last of the energon in hid cube. “Why not indeed?”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

They waited on the shore, all seven of them. Optimus Prime stood in the lead, with Prowl and Jazz flanking him. Ratchet and Ironhide stood a ways behind, and Smokescreen and Bluestreak stood behind them.

Prowl frowned. “I'm picking up more than two signatures. I think...”

Optimus glanced at his Second. “You think...?” he prompted, raising an optic ridge.

Prowl stood stock still for a moment, save for his doorwings, which twitched erratically. Smokescreen and Bluestreak twitched theirs as well, trying to pick up what the tactician was obviously reading.

“Decepticons!” Prowl hissed after another klik, just as two flaming meteorites - the arriving Autobots - appeared on the horizon.

“What? I thought they were Autobots!” Bluestreak protested as Smokescreen yanked him back.

“They are!” the blue and red Praxian hissed into his audio as he flattened both of them to the ground. “There are 'Cons following them!”

“Oh. Then I should get my gun out?”

“Yes!”

Bluestreak smiled mischievously as he unsubspaced his rifle and scooted backwards, tucking himself behind a small hillock. The other Autobots did the same, hiding themselves. A moment later, the two Autobots crashed to the ground, dirt spraying up around them. They transformed quickly, red and yellow armor replacing the dark gray-black armor of the entry-pod form.

“Primus slaggit!” one of them, the yellow one, cursed. “My paint is ruined!”

“Forget your fragging paint! Last time I got a reading there were ten on our tails, bro! It's gonna get worse!”

“Fragging Primus on a pogo stick!”

“... Learning from Ironhide, are we?”

“Mute it.”

The red mech snickered, then sobered rapidly as five, then eight, then twelve more flaming meteorites appeared in the darkening sky.

“Ten, Sides?”

“Last I counted. Looks like they called in backup. And- hey!”

Bluestreak peeked over the hill to see Optimus, Ironhide, Prowl, and Jazz striding forward. “It looks,” the Prime began, smiling, “that you called in some backup as well.”

::Blue?::

::Yeah, Smokes?::

::You ready?::

::More than.::

The comm line quieted, and Bluestreak took one more long intake as his gun settled easily into his hands. His doorwings spread flat, parallel to the ground, barely hovering above the grass. Vibrations transferred through the dirt were easily picked up and read, giving the sniper a much easier time following the mechs on the battlefield. Or what would soon become the battlefield.

The Prime talked for a moment with the newly arrived 'Bots before they ducked to the side to avoid the incoming 'Cons. Twelve sprays of dirt and torn vegetation flew through the air, and the mechanical whirring of transformations echoed through the clearing.

::Time to go to work,:: Bluestreak muttered over his comm link with Smokescreen. The diversionary tactician didn't answer, but the gray and red mech hadn't expected a response.

A moment later, the first 'Con stood up, and Bluestreak let off his first shot. The Decepticon went down in a spray of his own fluids; the shot had hit him square in the helm, burning through his processors and offlining him instantly. He would be dead in a breem.

A second 'Con stood, and was instantly tackled by the red mech. The next mech to stand was similarly attacked by the yellow Autobot, and the subsequent Decepticons who stood were engaged by the other four Autobots.

Bluestreak grinned. That was seven either taken out or otherwise engaged. That left five left for him.

Everything in him stilled. His fans slowed, His processors focused only on the targeting systems he had installed and the instinctive parts of his coding that seemed dedicated to shooting. His attention was riveted on the 'Cons.

Everything froze as another Decepticon stood. His finger tightened on the trigger - an old fashioned method of shooting (most guns were integrated into a bot's arm, nowadays), but the one he favored - and the gun went off. The plasma bolt, glowing hot, slammed into the mech's neck, right between his helm and his chassis armor, and he went down hard.

Next target.

A taller bot, this time. Thinner armor. Finger tightened. Plasma bolt to the chassis. He was down.

Next target.

Heavier. Thick armor. Aim for gaps. There; where his arm connected. Gap when he lifted the arm to shoot. Tighten finger. Shoot.

The mech reeled back, clutching the damaged arm, which was dangling limply from his side, most of the tension wires in the shoulder burned through. There; chink in the armor where it met his abdominal plating. Shoot; hit.

He went down.

Next target.

Fighting with the red bot. Too tangled together to hit. Come back later.

Next target.

A host. One symbiote, already slinking off to the side. Take out host, symbiote crippled and easily killed. Weaker armor over spark, hollow spot for storing symbiote. Pull trigger. Shoot.

Host down, symbiote crying. Tighten finger. Plasma bolt through the bottom of the jaw, into the processor. Host dead, symbiote dead.

Next target.

Tall, thick red and blue armor. Built for fighting. Familiar frame. Tighten finger.

Bluestreak gasped and jerked back, practically dropped the gun, realizing who he had been aiming at, and glanced around. The last 'Con dropped under the combined force of the new arrivals.

Intakes heaving, the gray and red Praxian slowly subspaced his gun.

“Hey! Which sniper is here?” one of the new arrivals asked, examining one of the 'Cons Bluestreak had shot.

“Perceptor?” the red one asked, examining the pinpoint accuracy of the shots.

“No,” Smokescreen said as he ducked out from the brush he had been sheltering behind, blaster integrating back into his arm. “Not Percy. He's not on Earth yet.”

“Prowl was fighting with us... Mirage?”

“Nope. He's still back at th' base,” Jazz said, grinning. ::Hey, li'l boy Blue, stay back fer a sec.::

::Okay?:: the gray gunner said hesitantly, still trying to settle his processors. He had almost shot Prime.

“Umm... Streetwise?”

“Nope.”

“Who else... Hound?”

“Wrong again.”

The two exchanged glances, then scanned the area around them. Bluestreak pressed himself deeper into the ground as their gazes skimmed over his hill.

“Well, who is it? I can't think of anyone else. Well, anyone else who isn't confirmed dead.”

“Hey, Bluestreak? Wanna come out?”

The gray mech pulled up a smile as he stood, genuinely amused by the puzzled, startled looks on the two new mechs' faces. “Hello!” he said cheerily, waving. “My name's Bluestreak. But you already knew that, 'cause Smokes called me by it. I don't know who you are, though. Oh, right, I should tell you that I’m new. You wouldn't have met me before. Which would make sense, 'cause we don't know each other, and-”

“Enough, Blue,” Prowl said with a small smile. “Bluestreak, these are the Twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, this is Bluestreak.”

“I can see why he's called that,” the red mech said thoughtfully, a smirk spreading over his face. “Praxian, eh? You a neutral or something?”

Bluestreak shifted from pede to pede, glancing at Prowl. “Uh...”

Sideswipe raised an optic ridge. “Cat got your glossa? What happened to 'Bluestreak'?”

“I'd... really rather not talk about it.”

The Twins exchanged a glance. “Understood,” Sunstreaker said with a nod. “Now, what about this base we've been hearing about? Because I really need to visit the washracks.”

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

~That sniper. Bluestreak,~ Sunstreaker murmured to his brother across their bond as they drove for the C-17 that would take them to Diego Garcia.

~What about him?~

~Where does he come from? I mean... a neutral, here, on Earth? It just doesn't make sense.~

~Well, what else does?~

~I'm not sure. But there's something about him...~

Sideswipe, had he been in bipedal mode, would have cast his brother a dry look. And he would have rolled his optics.

~I'm serious, Sides!~ Sunstreaker protested, engine rumbling lowly. ~He's... Well... I mean, I guess I like him and all. He did take out, like, five 'Cons, but... He seems familiar.~

~He does look like Smokescreen. And Prowl. Could he be their brother or something?~

~I guess. Maybe? But they've never mentioned him. And hey... wasn't Smokey confirmed dead?~

~No, just Missing in Action. His frame was never found.~

~Right. Huh. Weird. Did he have a creation?~

~... Sunny? Are you feeling okay? Should we maybe have Ratchet check your processor when we get to base?~

~Stop it, I’m fine! I’m just throwing out possible theories. Bluestreak did call him “Smokes,” and I’ve only ever heard Prowl call him that before.~

~True. I'd go with “long-lost brother.”~

~Yeah, seems most likely. Ugh. This planet is gross. You're helping me in the washracks when we get to base.~

~What? Clean your own frame!~

~... I’ll help you with a prank.~

~... Okay, fine. Deal.~

.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.oOo.

::Hey, Smokes?::

::Yeah, Blue?::

::I think the Twins suspect something. Everyone on base knows not to mention me being Barricade, right?::

::I'm sure. Everyone knows you wanna put that behind you.::

::Good. And Red Alert removed all records, and Ratchet changed my name in all his documents... I hope they don't find anything... After everything I’ve heard about them, I really, really don't want them finding out I was a 'Con.::

Smokescreen shuddered. ::No, I can understand that. Frag, we thought Red Alert was hard to handle...:: There was a lull in the conversation, then Smokescreen spoke again. ::Hey, Blue, if they ever do... find out... and they start bugging you... let me and Prowl know. You know we'd help, right?::

::Of course, Smokes.::

The miles passed quickly under their tires. A few hours later, they were back at base.

character: smokescreen, character: bluestreak, fandom: transformers movie'verse, fandom: transformers au'verse, character: optimus prime, content: fanfic, character: sideswipe, content: request, character: sunstreaker, character: prowl, story: barricaded, character: barricade

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