Burn it. Burn it all. At least that way we know he can't bring it back in.
Title: The Nine Rings of Vos: Rebellion
A Transformers G1 Fanfic
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: Take a leap of faith, and trust in another's better nature.
Timeline: More fic found here.
=/=
(In which Interceptor passes on the torch.)
Ratchet had seen many things in his life - first as an orator for the Senate and then more as a medic - he was intimately aware of the corruption that was rife amongst the upper echelons of Cybertronian society. It was the main reason why Ratchet had decided to become a medic in the first place. Ratchet felt he could do far more good with a laser-scalpel than he ever had while on the government’s payroll. So really, he had to wonder why the events of the last rotation cycle got to him so much.
It started when one of the few Enforcers that Ratchet genuinely liked and respected landed himself in Ratchet’s surgery.
“Fraggit Interceptor, what the slag happened to you?” Ratchet frowned as the scans came back. The damage was so extensive it was hard to find a place to begin, plus, “Who the slag did you torque off enough to get hit with high-intensity impact rounds?”
“Chancellor Ratchet.” Interceptor’s optics were dim - one was badly cracked - and his vocalizer crackled with static, but smelt Ratchet if the blasted fragger did not sound as calm as if he were at some dignified social function rather than leaking all over Ratchet’s medbay.
“I’m not a Chancellor anymore, afthead.” Ratchet growled, pulling out his tools, “You know that.”
“Ah, of course. Your pardon.” Interceptor’s optics flickered and Ratchet bit back a curse - Interceptor was well into system’s shock, energon and fluid levels too low for proper function, the stress would overheat Interceptor’s systems and he would start seizing if something was not done now - the problem was that there were too many leaks, the impact rounds had reduced Interceptor’s internals to little better than shrapnel, no sooner had Ratchet sealed up one leak than his scans would locate another. Interceptor was loosing fluids faster than Ratchet could replace them, the emergency hook-up could only buy them time. Ratchet’s little clinic was just not equipped to handle this sort of damage.
“You know, I think you were one of the few members of the Senate that I did not mind protecting.” Interceptor mused aloud as Ratchet fought to keep him from going offline, “I was quite saddened when you left, but perhaps it is for the best. At least this way you stand a better chance of survival when the time comes. Medics are always useful.”
“Stop wasting your energy.” Ratchet snapped, wishing he could spare a moment to put Interceptor in stasis but too caught up in the frantic repairs to really pay any attention to what the Praxian mech was babbling about.
“Perhaps Tor was right, and Primus does have a hand in offering us our choices.” Interceptor’s dreamy tone was at distinct odds with the speed and strength of his grip as he lashed out at Ratchet, “Please accept this gesture of trust, Medic Ratchet, and be true to your oath to heal and defend.”
The data-jack slid in before Ratchet could process the need to move. The download was rushed, the information being shoved down the link at desperate speed. A flash - an arena - mechs ringing the stands - Senator’s and Council members in the prime seats - younglings forced to fight for entertainment and profit - small sparks bought and traded like toys, forced through upgrades they were not ready for - sparklings and younglings treated like pets and drones by remorseless figures who cared not at all when the little ones sickened and died - breaking in, breaking them out - so many small forms being carried away by faceless, trusted companions - grabbing his own charges and running - explosions stirring the crowd into riot - a safe hidden place to keep the younglings until the streets calmed - scouting a safe path - spying another Enforcer, one who wore the brand of the Elite Guard, the Senate’s personally chosen forces - wariness justified - the muzzle of the illegal armament flaring bright - dodging, only to be struck from behind - pain - fighting free and loosing his pursuers - regret - the younglings Prowl needed protecting Barricade duty Genitor Cardinal apology - the world going dark.
Ratchet was flung from the data-stream as Interceptor’s transmission fragmented into nothing and clung to the side of the medical berth as Interceptor’s hand loosened its grip on Ratchet’s wrist, falling to the side - limp, grey.
“You slagger! Tin-plated, cross-wired, rusted bolthead!” Ratchet snarled, fisting trembling hands as he cursed over the empty grey shell, “Why couldn’t you wait until I finished your repairs you stupid glitching duty-bound moron! Frag it…”
Ratchet forced himself to calm down, cycling large intakes of air over his internals in hopes of cooling his processors enough to think rationally. It worked - to a degree - enough that when a pair of Elite Guards showed up looking for Enforcer Officer Interceptor, a Praxian build in black and white with gold, perhaps he ended up here, he went missing during the riot, and maybe you have seen him - Ratchet was able to keep his wits about him.
“Him? He bled out by the time we got him on the table, the poor slagger. You said he was an Enforcer? The riot must have been a real bad one then.” Ratchet frowned, handing over the medical record that backed up his claim, “I’ve had wounded coming in all cycle. None as bad as him, thank Primus for small mercies, but he’s not the only one with damage from weapons fire.”
“Yes, it’s terrible.” The Guard said, taking the datapad from Ratchet with a certain satisfied gleam in his optics, “Did he happen to say anything that might give us a clue as to who shot him?”
“No. Unfortunately fatal systems shock doesn’t leave a mech in any condition for conversation.” Ratchet scowled, folding his arms, “Now if that’s all, I have a full roster of live patients to see to, so I need you both out of my medbay. Everything you should need to know is in the report. You can set something up with my assistant if you need to know more.”
“This should be all, medic.” The other Guard said, shaking his head, “Thank you for you assistance. We’ll be in touch about transporting the shell.”
“You do that.” Ratchet growled, turning back to his patients, but remaining keenly aware of every move the two Elite Guards made until they left the range of his scanners. Only then did Ratchet start to relax, letting himself sink into the mindset that allowed no room for any other thoughts but those concerning the repairs he was making. It was late in the megacycle when Ratchet sent the last patient home with a stern set of instructions to take it easy until the repairs integrated.
Leaving his clinic in the hands of his associate, Ratchet headed out into the city. Hyper-aware of his surroundings, Ratchet put his medical scanners to a rather unorthodox use - one made possible thanks to Wheeljack’s incurable urge to tinker - but Ratchet was thankful for his bondmate’s obsessive little compulsion as he used his non-standard medical scanners to search for watchers or tails. Ratchet did not relax when he found no sign of being followed, but took it as a good indication that the Guards had believed him.
Borrowed memory - the last desperate act of a dead mech - led Ratchet through a maze of alleyways and switchbacks, to a hidden recess, and a door that led down, down into a warren of tunnels that opened up at last into a cavernous, dimly lit room.
“Hello?” Ratchet called out, “Please don’t be afraid. My designation is Ratchet. I’m a medic. Interceptor sent me to get you.”
“Liar.” Duel voices hissed out of the shadows, marked by the furious blaze of blue-white optics, “You’ve killed him, haven’t you? His fluids stain your hands. We can smell the death on you.”
“That’s because I was trying to save his damned fool life!” Ratchet snapped right back, refusing to be intimidated by this little show, “Now get your shiny little afts over here so I can make sure that you aren’t about to bleed out too!”
Something about Ratchet, something in his stance or how he spoke, must have convinced them that he was genuine - maybe it was the helpless fury he showed at the mention of losing a patient - but a figure in the shadows shifted. Paired red to gold, the two younglings slunk towards Ratchet like starving turbo-wolves. They put on a good show, but the white-flame intensity of their optics betrayed their unease.
“Easy now, younglings.” Ratchet murmured, keeping absolutely still as he carefully scanned them for injury, “Easy.”
The younglings jumped and shied back at the first scan, but slowly crept closer again when nothing else happened. Ratchet noted the action, and savagely repressed the flare of temper that threatened to break loose. The younglings - and younglings they were, for all they wore adult shells - showed signs of energon depletion, had recently repaired battle damage, and their sparks showed signs of premature upgrade strain, but thankfully no spark damage or mutations showed up on Ratchet’s scans. He would need to get them into his medbay for a series of more in depth scans to be sure though.
“Well, they two of you seem healthy.” Ratchet said, well aware that their trust was a fragile thing and that he would be taking his own life in this hands if he betrayed it - these two younglings had been bred as warriors. Taught to fight and kill from the first moment on - one wrong move and they would take Ratchet apart. Ignoring all that for the moment, Ratchet smiled reassuringly, holding out empty hands, “How about we get out of here, hm? What are your designations?”
“No one’s ever really wanted to know that before.” The red one said wonderingly while the gold youngling examined Ratchet curiously, “I’m Sideswipe, and this’s my twin, Sunstreaker.”
Primus Below. Twins. Ratchet resisted the urge to bang his head off the conveniently nearby wall. Everything was twice as bad with twins. But in the end, all Ratchet said was, “Nice to meet you both. Now come on, we need to get going.”
(Word Count: 1684)
=/=
Hope this answers the quesitons you all had about Interceptor's fate. And you should all be pleased to know that other than a few bits on Prowl and Jazz in school, I'm done with the backstories. ^_^
Dragons! Yay for new species! XD
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A Transformers G1 Fanfic
Author: Sanjuno Shori Niko
Summary: Take a leap of faith, and trust in another's better nature.
Timeline: More fic found here.
=/=
(In which Interceptor passes on the torch.)
Ratchet had seen many things in his life - first as an orator for the Senate and then more as a medic - he was intimately aware of the corruption that was rife amongst the upper echelons of Cybertronian society. It was the main reason why Ratchet had decided to become a medic in the first place. Ratchet felt he could do far more good with a laser-scalpel than he ever had while on the government’s payroll. So really, he had to wonder why the events of the last rotation cycle got to him so much.
It started when one of the few Enforcers that Ratchet genuinely liked and respected landed himself in Ratchet’s surgery.
“Fraggit Interceptor, what the slag happened to you?” Ratchet frowned as the scans came back. The damage was so extensive it was hard to find a place to begin, plus, “Who the slag did you torque off enough to get hit with high-intensity impact rounds?”
“Chancellor Ratchet.” Interceptor’s optics were dim - one was badly cracked - and his vocalizer crackled with static, but smelt Ratchet if the blasted fragger did not sound as calm as if he were at some dignified social function rather than leaking all over Ratchet’s medbay.
“I’m not a Chancellor anymore, afthead.” Ratchet growled, pulling out his tools, “You know that.”
“Ah, of course. Your pardon.” Interceptor’s optics flickered and Ratchet bit back a curse - Interceptor was well into system’s shock, energon and fluid levels too low for proper function, the stress would overheat Interceptor’s systems and he would start seizing if something was not done now - the problem was that there were too many leaks, the impact rounds had reduced Interceptor’s internals to little better than shrapnel, no sooner had Ratchet sealed up one leak than his scans would locate another. Interceptor was loosing fluids faster than Ratchet could replace them, the emergency hook-up could only buy them time. Ratchet’s little clinic was just not equipped to handle this sort of damage.
“You know, I think you were one of the few members of the Senate that I did not mind protecting.” Interceptor mused aloud as Ratchet fought to keep him from going offline, “I was quite saddened when you left, but perhaps it is for the best. At least this way you stand a better chance of survival when the time comes. Medics are always useful.”
“Stop wasting your energy.” Ratchet snapped, wishing he could spare a moment to put Interceptor in stasis but too caught up in the frantic repairs to really pay any attention to what the Praxian mech was babbling about.
“Perhaps Tor was right, and Primus does have a hand in offering us our choices.” Interceptor’s dreamy tone was at distinct odds with the speed and strength of his grip as he lashed out at Ratchet, “Please accept this gesture of trust, Medic Ratchet, and be true to your oath to heal and defend.”
The data-jack slid in before Ratchet could process the need to move. The download was rushed, the information being shoved down the link at desperate speed. A flash - an arena - mechs ringing the stands - Senator’s and Council members in the prime seats - younglings forced to fight for entertainment and profit - small sparks bought and traded like toys, forced through upgrades they were not ready for - sparklings and younglings treated like pets and drones by remorseless figures who cared not at all when the little ones sickened and died - breaking in, breaking them out - so many small forms being carried away by faceless, trusted companions - grabbing his own charges and running - explosions stirring the crowd into riot - a safe hidden place to keep the younglings until the streets calmed - scouting a safe path - spying another Enforcer, one who wore the brand of the Elite Guard, the Senate’s personally chosen forces - wariness justified - the muzzle of the illegal armament flaring bright - dodging, only to be struck from behind - pain - fighting free and loosing his pursuers - regret - the younglings Prowl needed protecting Barricade duty Genitor Cardinal apology - the world going dark.
Ratchet was flung from the data-stream as Interceptor’s transmission fragmented into nothing and clung to the side of the medical berth as Interceptor’s hand loosened its grip on Ratchet’s wrist, falling to the side - limp, grey.
“You slagger! Tin-plated, cross-wired, rusted bolthead!” Ratchet snarled, fisting trembling hands as he cursed over the empty grey shell, “Why couldn’t you wait until I finished your repairs you stupid glitching duty-bound moron! Frag it…”
Ratchet forced himself to calm down, cycling large intakes of air over his internals in hopes of cooling his processors enough to think rationally. It worked - to a degree - enough that when a pair of Elite Guards showed up looking for Enforcer Officer Interceptor, a Praxian build in black and white with gold, perhaps he ended up here, he went missing during the riot, and maybe you have seen him - Ratchet was able to keep his wits about him.
“Him? He bled out by the time we got him on the table, the poor slagger. You said he was an Enforcer? The riot must have been a real bad one then.” Ratchet frowned, handing over the medical record that backed up his claim, “I’ve had wounded coming in all cycle. None as bad as him, thank Primus for small mercies, but he’s not the only one with damage from weapons fire.”
“Yes, it’s terrible.” The Guard said, taking the datapad from Ratchet with a certain satisfied gleam in his optics, “Did he happen to say anything that might give us a clue as to who shot him?”
“No. Unfortunately fatal systems shock doesn’t leave a mech in any condition for conversation.” Ratchet scowled, folding his arms, “Now if that’s all, I have a full roster of live patients to see to, so I need you both out of my medbay. Everything you should need to know is in the report. You can set something up with my assistant if you need to know more.”
“This should be all, medic.” The other Guard said, shaking his head, “Thank you for you assistance. We’ll be in touch about transporting the shell.”
“You do that.” Ratchet growled, turning back to his patients, but remaining keenly aware of every move the two Elite Guards made until they left the range of his scanners. Only then did Ratchet start to relax, letting himself sink into the mindset that allowed no room for any other thoughts but those concerning the repairs he was making. It was late in the megacycle when Ratchet sent the last patient home with a stern set of instructions to take it easy until the repairs integrated.
Leaving his clinic in the hands of his associate, Ratchet headed out into the city. Hyper-aware of his surroundings, Ratchet put his medical scanners to a rather unorthodox use - one made possible thanks to Wheeljack’s incurable urge to tinker - but Ratchet was thankful for his bondmate’s obsessive little compulsion as he used his non-standard medical scanners to search for watchers or tails. Ratchet did not relax when he found no sign of being followed, but took it as a good indication that the Guards had believed him.
Borrowed memory - the last desperate act of a dead mech - led Ratchet through a maze of alleyways and switchbacks, to a hidden recess, and a door that led down, down into a warren of tunnels that opened up at last into a cavernous, dimly lit room.
“Hello?” Ratchet called out, “Please don’t be afraid. My designation is Ratchet. I’m a medic. Interceptor sent me to get you.”
“Liar.” Duel voices hissed out of the shadows, marked by the furious blaze of blue-white optics, “You’ve killed him, haven’t you? His fluids stain your hands. We can smell the death on you.”
“That’s because I was trying to save his damned fool life!” Ratchet snapped right back, refusing to be intimidated by this little show, “Now get your shiny little afts over here so I can make sure that you aren’t about to bleed out too!”
Something about Ratchet, something in his stance or how he spoke, must have convinced them that he was genuine - maybe it was the helpless fury he showed at the mention of losing a patient - but a figure in the shadows shifted. Paired red to gold, the two younglings slunk towards Ratchet like starving turbo-wolves. They put on a good show, but the white-flame intensity of their optics betrayed their unease.
“Easy now, younglings.” Ratchet murmured, keeping absolutely still as he carefully scanned them for injury, “Easy.”
The younglings jumped and shied back at the first scan, but slowly crept closer again when nothing else happened. Ratchet noted the action, and savagely repressed the flare of temper that threatened to break loose. The younglings - and younglings they were, for all they wore adult shells - showed signs of energon depletion, had recently repaired battle damage, and their sparks showed signs of premature upgrade strain, but thankfully no spark damage or mutations showed up on Ratchet’s scans. He would need to get them into his medbay for a series of more in depth scans to be sure though.
“Well, they two of you seem healthy.” Ratchet said, well aware that their trust was a fragile thing and that he would be taking his own life in this hands if he betrayed it - these two younglings had been bred as warriors. Taught to fight and kill from the first moment on - one wrong move and they would take Ratchet apart. Ignoring all that for the moment, Ratchet smiled reassuringly, holding out empty hands, “How about we get out of here, hm? What are your designations?”
“No one’s ever really wanted to know that before.” The red one said wonderingly while the gold youngling examined Ratchet curiously, “I’m Sideswipe, and this’s my twin, Sunstreaker.”
Primus Below. Twins. Ratchet resisted the urge to bang his head off the conveniently nearby wall. Everything was twice as bad with twins. But in the end, all Ratchet said was, “Nice to meet you both. Now come on, we need to get going.”
(Word Count: 1684)
=/=
Hope this answers the quesitons you all had about Interceptor's fate. And you should all be pleased to know that other than a few bits on Prowl and Jazz in school, I'm done with the backstories. ^_^
Dragons! Yay for new species! XD
♠
♣
♠
♣
♠
♣
♠
♣