Thank you to Darkness_Rising for doing the beta work on my ficlet and helping me to work out the kinks. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just playing in the sand box.
Destruction surrounded him, it was all over the base. He had lost it in his office, after fighting off the anger until he managed to make it to his small space, then when the rage had finally hit him, he flipped his desk over, destroying every data pad, and smashed the chairs.
Holes were torn into the walls, actually causing his knuckles to crack, a slow leak of energon dripping down his fist. Then, after decimating his office, Onslaught took his rage out on the rest of the base. He was a massive ball of fury, destroying everything he touched, burning everything he looked at to the ground.
Lights had been torn straight from their housing units, screens had been destroyed, and sparks showered down from countless spots.
In a fit of rage, Onslaught had thoroughly destroyed his base; halls lay in shambles with rocky debris littering the walkways, smoke clogging the air.
The other Combaticons had fled to their quarters when they heard their commander lose it, when he finally snapped; and they knew he would, as whatever had snapped twisted brutally in the bulky mech's broken spark.
The others stayed hidden away until the loud noises stopped, until the crashing, the gun fire and smashing stopped. They stayed out of sight until the screaming and raging ceased and a thick silence filled the space where noise had once roared.
Only then did the other Combaticons slowly filter out of their little hovels to slowly pick their way through the wreckage, to find their commander.
Blast Off found him first, sitting in the middle of what used to be their mess hall; the energon dispensers wrecked, tables broken into pieces. Most of the lights had been destroyed, the few lights left casting an eerie glow and long shadows around the room.
On his knees, broken visor focused on the ground between his thighs, servos open in his lap, Onslaught looked more like a crumpled ball, nothing compared to what he really was. What he used to be.
Energon pooled in his palms while it leaked from a crack in his battle mask as the usually proud commander just stared brokenly at his servos.
The shuttle sighed softly as he forced his anxiety down, his own discomfort rolling in his chest, the truth of what had happened no easer on him than it was on Onslaught; his commander just dealt with it differently than he did.
Kneeling on the ground next to the shattered gestalt leader, Blast Off was silent as he took the massive servo and tugged it into his own lap. Onslaught didn't move as the shuttle did so, didn't even look up as Blast Off pulled a small med kit from his subspace to wrap the wounds.
Brawl came in next, with Swindle nearly hiding behind the massive tank, purple servos clinging to his gestalt mate's armoured elbow. His tan helm dipped low as he pressed into the green plates in front of him while Brawl's red visor examined the scene, both ready to bolt should their commander loose it again.
But for now he was calm and silent, allowing Blast Off to quietly wrap his servo. Shoulders squaring, Brawl took Swindle's servo from his elbow and held it tightly, twining their digits. Nearly dragging the jeep into the room, and having to step over the broken pieces of the tables and chairs, Brawl led Swindle to sit next to Blast Off.
None of them said a word, their gestalt bond open a sliver between them, awkward and new, still too fresh for what should have been an established bond.
Swindle shifted nervously next to Brawl, pressing himself a little tighter into the tank's body. He was trying to hide, to disappear into the warmth that was Brawl, he too just as miserable as the rest of his team.
Blast Off set one servo aside and picked up the other to begin the process anew, gently wrapping Onslaught's servo tightly.
Brawl heaved a shaky sigh through his vents, mouth working. "We're going to be okay, right Ons?"
Onslaught's helm tipped up, broken visor flickered as it focused on his subordinate, Blast Off freezing next to him. Rage ripped through Onslaught, hot and bright, dragging a deep growl from his chest, causing Brawl to flinch back.
Than a massive servo snapped up to the broken yellow visor, ripping it from his helm, tearing the little hooks clean off as he hurled the cracked glass across the room. Brawl winced as the reinforced glass bounced once and skidded across the floor, coming to a stop at Vortex's pedes as he stood by the door.
Dull red optics tracked the object as it skidded across the broken floor, bouncing lightly off his pede. Shoulders low, rotors sunken, Vortex's dull optics never left the floor as a gentle sigh heaved from the copter.
Vents hitching at the sight, Vortex stepped over the visor as Blast Off drew Onslaught's servo closer to his body while Yellow optics dropped back to the ground, almost brokenly. Reaching the group, the interrogator dropped to sit next to his commander on the cold, hard ground with the rest of his gestalt.
Brawl tried again. "I know this is bad Ons, but…we're going to be okay, right?"
They weren't sure who had sent them the surveillance video.
When Blast Off finished binding Onslaught's servo, he didn't push it from his lap, instead he gently cupped it, fighting off the next wave of desolation. The gestalt bond hummed with depression, loss, and weakness; all things the Combaticons were not known for.
They would likely never know who had sent them that video. No one would ever admit to it, fear of Megatron's wrath at having revealed the secret, sealing their silence.
The Combaticons had all gathered around when the data chip had appeared in their base, curious to find out what it was, and how it got there.
Things had been normal then, the gestalt bond closed tightly. They didn't need one another then, they were strong alone. But what played on that video changed all of that. It broke them, shattered them, and through their pain it drew them together.
The video played, the screen flickering to life, and the gestalt was surprised to see themselves, their five bodies laid out on five berths. Optics were dark and empty as they lay in forced stasis, wires and leads stringing like spiders webs from their open helms, processors exposed.
Megatron stood before them, Shockwave at his side as they regarded the vulnerable gestalt.
"It would be a shame to have to kill them." Megatron shrugged, one massive shoulder guard lifting in a half shrug. "They are too powerful a gestalt to destroy, they even had Optimus Prime worried."
Shockwave nodded in agreement, single optic bobbing. "Indeed. But to release them now, when loyalty is not ensured, would be foolhardy, my lord."
Megatron sighed as he canted his helm towards his scientist. "It would. But, I assume you already have a plan for this?"
If Shockwave could have smiled, it would have been a cold, calculated smile no doubt. "Of course my lord. A loyalty patch, written directly into their core functions will solve this problem."
They had all shuddered at that, their lives in Shockwave's servos, spoken so casually about.
"The only problem, my lord, is that it is near impossible to corrupt the core programming of a mech. There are far too many firewalls to make it worth it." Megatron frowned at his most loyal, arms crossed over his chest as Shockwave continued. "What I can do is create a copy of their personality components and their core programming, and manipulate that. The firewalls that protect the original components will not be copied, leaving it open to influence."
Purple helm tipped to the prone Combaticons. "It will be much easier to wipe out their original core programming and reinstall the copy with the loyalty programme imbedded, than try to break through their natural firewalls."
Megatron frowned, glancing at the gestalt that had nearly overthrown him. "Are there any negative side effecst to this?" A nasty grin spread across his face. "It seems like a good thing to do to Starscream."
Shockwave's helm turned back to his master. "I will not be able to reinstall the original fire walls, nor will I be able to make copies. The firewalls I will upload into them will be far weaker and less effective than their originals, and this will leave them open to manipulation, much easier to sway than everyone else."
Megatron frowned. "A pity. I can't have the Autobot's manipulating Starscream, as much of a glitch that he is."
The scientist nodded. "The other downside will be that the copies will not be perfect, causing memory loss, bouts of paranoia and moments of absolute nothing will be common. It is also possible that the copied versions may degrade, needing to be stabilized over time."
Blast Off audibly gasped at that, fear bolting through him as he thought of all the times he had found his team mates just sitting and staring at walls, mouths hung partially open, optics blank as they barely vented.
When the shuttle would shake them from their trance like state, they always roused startled, dazed and confused with no recollection of how they ended up where they were, or how long they had been there.
Often, it was Brawl he found stuck like this, but he had found the others doing in this state too. He could also recall the times when Onslaught or Vortex would wake him in the middle of a hall way, but he had no memory of how he had gotten there, or how long he had been standing there, frozen.
Megatron nodded, smirk crawling back into place. "See it done Shockwave. I want the Combaticons up and ready as soon as it is possible."
A clawed servo rested over Shockwave's spark as he half bowed to his master, helm dipped in a nod. "Of course Lord Megatron." The massive warlord made to turn away when Shockwave spoke again. "One more thing my Lord."
Megatron half turned back to face his scientist, silent to allow the purple mech to continue. "A gestalt bond is just as powerful and deep as a mate bond. Perhaps not as strong as a twin bond, but fairly close. If they are able to work as a proper gestalt, they could overcome the loyalty programme."
Megatron's crimson optics slid back over the Combaticons prone bodies, laid vulnerable before him.
Their vulnerability wasn't lost on each of the Combaticons; how easy it would have been for Megatron to take them out, then and there, when they had no means of defence.
"You say the copies will make them easier to manipulate, then manipulate Swindle. He has a lust for money, the ultimate deal, have him betray his team. I don't care how he does it, he can sell his own gestalt for all I care, just ensure that the distain and hatred towards him will prevent them from ever overcoming the loyalty programme."
Shockwave nodded, glancing back at his test subjects. "Of course my Lord, but do you believe that will be enough? Will they not overcome their animosity with Swindle?"
A cold smile cut across the warlord's face, blunt denta flashing in the dim light. "Not these mechs. Not Blast Off, not Brawl, not Vortex and certainly not Onslaught. They will hate him, despise him more than us. They will ostracize him, single him out amongst their unit. No, there will be no forgiveness from them, and the Combaticons will never escape the loyalty programme."
Shockwave nodded, and the video cut out.
Fear crept through their lines, bleeding through the gestalt link coldly, sinking into their minds like rotten fingers digging into their processors, nails scraping along the inside of their helms. Fear was something unusual for them; they didn't know how to cope with it, didn't know how to process it.
They were nothing, less than nothing. They were shadows of what they once were, echoes; their lives mere copies that could, and had been, manipulated into hurting one another. Their processors fell into moments of blankness and had the possibility of degrading into nothing.
Whoever they once were, were long dead. Their original frames melted down back on Cybertron for scrap, leaving them with the inadequate bodies they had now. Their core programming, part of who they were, was nothing but a decaying copy, a broken sham, leaving fractured memories. The only thing that remained of them was their tainted sparks, dark with the blood shed of so many eons of fighting, killing and torturing, and sparks like theirs weren't worthy of being saved or honoured, or left whole.
They were Combaticons, the ones thrown into the worst of it, expected to come back covered in life blood and be ready to go again. They were the ones to be used and abused, and who always got the raw end of deal; nothing but cheap thrills, bodies to experiment on, cannon fodder.
It ate at them that they had been reduced to nothing, and that would never change. Most Autobots would kill them without hesitating, and Decepticons would laugh when they fell.
They were worth absolutely nothing.
"Onslaught." Brawl's hesitant voice cut through the silence softly, unusually hesitant and quiet, still in shock; nothing but the echo he was. "We're going to be okay. Right?" He needed his leader's reassurance.
The commander's helm tipped up to four pairs of optics staring back at him, all varying degrees of worry and fear etched into each of them. Dull yellow optics fell onto purple briefly before Swindle ducked his helm again. They had been screwed over, but none of them as badly as Swindle.
Their burning hate and anger fizzled out to a dull ache behind their chest plates. The answer had been there the whole time, their means to escape the loyalty programming, lying silently within the gestalt bond and combiner programming.
They had just been too stupid, to angry to see they had been played.
Shame and the first whisper of a rekindling anger filled Onslaught. He, out of all of them should have known better. He should have known that not even Swindle would be stupid enough to sell his own team out to humans.
Yet even he hadn't seen past the deceit.
Closing his optics for a moment, relishing in the dark nothingness as the protective lenses covered his optics briefly, Onslaught gathered himself. Heaving a sigh, the massive mech then forced himself to his pedes, four sets of optics still on him.
The commander was silent when he reached out to Blast Off, offering to help the shuttle up before hauling Vortex to his pedes too. The copter was unusually silent, pressing his frame close to his commander's longer than necessary, leeching what little comfort he could.
Then Onslaught reached down to Brawl, dragging the tank to his pedes before finally reaching for Swindle. The jeep blinked, surprised that a servo had been offered to him as well, and lightly he took it. Onslaught's massive servo wrapped just as tightly around the smaller one as he pulled the con-mech to his pedes.
Moving his servo from Swindle's to his shoulder guard, the Combaticon commander gently gave his subordinate a squeeze; the closest thing to an apology Swindle would get. They had been so cruel to him, overly so in their fit of anger.
Now they felt as hollow as Swindle did, broken beyond repair.
Onslaught took another deep vent before he turned back to the others, arms at his side. "We're going to be fine." The usually brutal mech cringed at how brittle his voice sounded, how weak. "The first thing we will do is make sure our processors are not degrading. Maybe Hook can run a scan on us." He paused, still too shocked to think clearly. "Or something."
Processors with a core programme that contained nothing but copies of who they once were; and broken copies at that.
"Then we will find a way to beat the loyalty programme."
Vortex shifted as he looked down, his sense of loss, loss of self, nearly screaming through the bond.
"We'll get through this. We always do." Onslaught said more firmly, his voice coming stronger. "We will persevere."
"Who are you trying to convince, us, or yourself?" Vortex asked quietly, and it disturbed Onslaught to see the crazed copter so defeated.
"We will persevere because that is what we do! We are Combaticons damn it! This will not be the thing to bring us down."
Vortex stared dully at his commander before his optics dropped again, the thought slipping out into the bond before he could stop it, I want to die.
The thought drew a strangled noise from Swindle and caused Brawl to whine. Blast Off stiffened next to his commander and Onslaught was at a loss as to what to do. Out of all of them, he had expected Vortex to shrug this off and continue on as he always had.
Shifting uncomfortably, not wanting the others to know his thoughts, Vortex shrunk into himself, armour flattening against his protoform as he tried to make himself look smaller. "We're nothing but bad copies of who we used to be."
They all stood there, stuck in suspended animation as they stared at Vortex, no one really knowing what to say or do. Vortex had always been a fighter, and to see him give up made the tanks of the others churn.
Onslaught was the first to move, to reach out and grasp him by his shoulders. The copter's helm dropped lower as he stayed silent, and that was fine with Onslaught, he wanted Vortex to listen. "That is not true. We are who we were before."
Vortex snorted, voice raspy. "Liar."
Onslaught frowned. "Look at me."
Vortex shook his helm no, optics pinned on the ground.
Heaving another tired sigh, Onslaught let his helm drop into the top of Vortex's, his grip on his shoulders tightening. "We're going to get through this. We will." It was awkward to try to reassure another that they had reason to keep going, when Onslaught was having a hard time finding one himself. "But we need you. We'll never get out of this hell hole without you."
Suddenly, Swindle was at Vortex's side, his own helm resting on the copters back, Brawl at his side, green servo stroking the interrogator's side while the other clasped Swindle's hand. Blast Off came to Vortex's other side, a large, firm rock whose servo rubbed at his hub.
"We're going to be okay."
"We aren't like we were before. We're nothing." The interrogator muttered.
Onslaught shook his helm no, his grip never loosening. "We are not nothing. We're just going to be…" He paused for a moment. "Different to what we once were."
Vortex said nothing as he let his team surround him, blocking out the reality a little while longer.
"And when we figure this out, we are going to kill Megatron and Shockwave for this." Onslaught whispered roughly, pretending not to notice how Vortex pressed into his body.
The interrogator nodded. Vengeance was something he could easily get on board with. "Okay." Vortex whispered back, praying his commander didn't hear his vents hitch, or his engine stall.
"But you need to stay with us. We need you Vortex."
The interrogator shrugged. "I'll try."
Onslaught sighed, and decided he didn't care anymore. He tugged his subordinate into a tight hold, arms banding tightly around his shoulders. The Combaticons would never call it a hug, as they all clustered around their broken team mate, but a firm embrace that was sorely needed; it at least, made the gestalt bond sing while hidden away from the rest of the world, the Combaticons huddled together amongst the wreckage of their base, trying to put the broken pieces of themselves back together.