Disclaimer:  I don't own Transformers and I'm making no profit from this.  Never have and I never will.  It's kind of saddening really…

Pointless fic really that's the result of me listening to "Bring it Low" by The Julian Theory one too many times.  Oh, Venture and Fallout belong to me.  My couch potatoes…

Fullstasis

A soft and melodious tune resonated through the corridors of an Autobot outpost on Cybertron.  It was meant to have a calming affect on its listeners, but for the blue, grey and orange Decepticon it was perhaps the dreariest thing he had ever heard.

He sat there in the corner of his cell, a sparse chamber with nothing more to it than the recharging berth he was resting on.  Looking out his cell's containment field he could see the Autobot guard on duty and the computer console he was monitoring at the opposite side of the room with the exit corridor beyond.  Aside from that there was little else to observe, ever since the war between the Autobots and Decepticons had started Cybertronian architecture had become strictly utilitarian.  Form would follow function and there was little room for anything else.  Appearances were the least of their concerns…

The Decepticon frowned as he noticed a bit of grime on his leg and brushed it off.    

Well, at least for some it wasn't a concern.

And so, with nothing better to do the POW proceeded to count the number of metal panels his cell was composed of just as he had done for the entire solarcycle.  After a couple of breems the mech gave up his task with a shrug, checked his internal chronometer and smiled.  Almost time, it's up to him now.

The guard shifted nervously, switching his gun from his left to his right hand when he noticed this.  As far as he was concerned the prisoner—Venture, that was his name—had no reason to be smiling.  And if there was one thing I know, the guard thought to himself, it's that smiling 'con is never a good thing…

The guard rapped his fist sharply against the wall to gain Venture's attention.  "You having a good time in there or something?  You just remembered you left the lights back home on, right?"

Still smiling, Venture shook his head.  "It just occurred to me, you and I, we're more alike than one would believe."

The guard stared at Venture blankly before making a coughing noise.  "You're a Decepticon prisoner of war and I'm the Autobot guarding you.  Can't get much more different than that."

"Autobots, Decepticons—labels, nothing more."

The guard tilted his head inquisitively and pointed to the sigil on Venture's chest.  "And it's a label you see fit to wear." 

Venture lowered his gaze and smiled as he raised his hand to the Decepticon symbol on his chest.  "Yes well, I wouldn't be much of a game player without one."

"Game?"  The guard turned completely away from console he sat at to face Venture.   "You think this war is a game?!  Why you sick—"

That's it, don't look at the console.  Venture thought with a malicious smile.   Nothing interesting is happening.  "There's no need to resort to name calling," Venture interjected quickly.  "You rudely interrupted me before I could explain."

"I'm not entirely certain I want you to explain," the guard replied bitterly.

Venture chuckled lightly and scooted over on the berth until he sat directly across from the guard.  "Tell me, is it really so hard for you to believe that?"

The guard once again made a coughing noise and Venture frowned momentarily.  Proper maintenance doesn't seem to be one of the Autobot's priorities, he noted.  Just as well…

"What do you think, 'con?" 

Venture crossed his arms over his chest and leaned backwards against the wall.  "And here I though the Autobots were supposed to be the open minded ones.  It's not as though you have anything better to do.  I bet your shift doesn't end for megacycles."

The guard mentally sighed.  He's got a point; my shift isn't even close to ending.  I guess it won't hurt to listen; I can always shut off my audios if he gets too annoying.  "Okay then, spill it."

    

Venture continued, "Think of it objectively now.  It's a game of strategy, like fullstasis.  You have played it before, haven't you?"

The guard could do nothing more than stare.

A frown of disgust graced Venture's visage.  "You newer models are completely without culture."  Shaking his head, Venture's feature smoothed and he recommenced with his explanation.  "Fullstasis is a war game played by two mechs who command one army each.  The white army," Venture indicated by sweeping out an arm.  "And the black army," Venture motioned with the other arm.  "In each army there are the pawns, the monitors, ministers, sentinels, the vigo and the overlord.  Every piece has a give function and value, much like any soldier in an army does really. 

Some game pieces are vital in achieving the game's objective, that is, to capture the adverse king.  In order to gain a long range positional advantage a game piece is often sacrificed.  The pawns, the weakest game pieces, are the first to be eliminated while the figureheads are preserved.  This war isn't any different."

A red light began to flash urgently at the computer console.  Venture ignored it and continued.  "Countless soldiers from both factions have been sent to their death because as far as their commanders are concerned they have but one function:  cannon fodder.  They are pawns of fullstasis.  They die unknown and without a name.  Only the elite warriors—Optimus Prime, Megatron and so on—are remembered.     

"This war isn't about ruling Cybertron or putting an end to the Decepticon's rule of terror; it's about winning the game.  Both factions want to win the game—so we fight."

There was a pause of silence between the two and only the music droning in the background was heard.  The guard leaned back into his chair.  "Okay, so it's like a game.  The Autobots are one team and you 'cons make up the other." 

Venture nodded with a faint smile.  "You could say that."

"I'd hate to be on your team then."  The guard said with a wry grin.  "Your company up and ran when we showed up, leaving you behind.  Looks like you're going to be here for a very long time."

Venture's optics flared.  "If that's what you think…" he said carefully enunciating each syllable.     

"Oh, I know it," the guard replied confidently.  "I also know that the Autobots aren't like that.  We would never knowingly send out our own to die.  Our dead are honored and remembered for their sacrifices, which is more than I can say for you Decepticons."

"Oh really?"  Venture asked with a smirk.  "Does your commanding officer know your name then?"

The guard thought for a moment, then looked away.  "No, no he doesn't," he admitted softly.

Venture raised a hand as if to offer comfort.  "No need to look so down; my commanding officer doesn't know my name either.  We're both just a couple of pawns lost in the game and with no where to move.  It's a shame really what little consideration the pay gets.  Everyone seems to forget that while a pawn might start off weak it is possible for them rise to power and over throw the figureheads they work for."  The guard didn't respond.

Hey you glitch! the guard visibly jumped at the voice of his commander on his comm.  Snap out of it, will you!  I've been trying to contact you but there's been no response. 

"A 'con has infiltrated the base; we think he's headed your way.  Make sure the blast doors are sealed.  Backup is being sent to your location now; don't let anyone in without the clearance code.  Crux out. 

With that the connection was terminated and the guard rushed to the door in an effort to obey his commander's orders.  Then the shadows moved.

A volley of fire rained down on him and sent him crashing back first into floor.  The shadow stepped into the light and took form.

"Fallout," Venture pronounced carefully while checking the time.  "You're late.  As usual.  I was beginning to run out of things to say."

          Fallout shrugged as he walked past the crawling Autobot to the containment fields controls and started typing in commands.  "Oh, you know how it is.  I took a couple of wrong turns here and there, it's not exactly easy navigating without a map."  With a final keystroke the field deactivated, Fallout grinned and added.  "Besides, you could have improvised." Fallout stepped around the console and helped Venture to his feet.  "It's nice to see you too."

"Hmm, and it'll be even nicer once we're out of this place."  A sudden movement from the ground caught Venture's attention.  Venture frowned when he saw that it was the guard crawling on the ground.  "It seems your aim is off, you failed to kill the guard." 

Fallout offered Venture his gun.  "It's your kill, not mine." 

The guard heard footsteps approaching him and scrambled frantically to the door, his strength quickly fading.  Then Venture stood over him; gun in hand with the room's light eclipsing around him.  The guard froze.  "Another one dies, without a name." 

And then he knew no more.

"Oh, will you look at the mess," Venture groused while hastily wiping away the fluids which had spattered on him.  "You know how much I hate killing at close quarters."

Fallout sighed and grabbed Venture by the arm.  "C'mon, they'll be time to clean up later.  Right now we have to blow this joint."

Reluctantly Venture rose and bowed deeply and flourished.  "Since you insist, after you."

"Smart aleck."

"Sigh."

******

The explosion could be seen from miles, a brilliant crimson flare reaching up into the sky.  Venture and Fallout paused in their journey to watch the blaze in silence for a moment.  "Hmm.  Fallout, do you think you used enough explosives?"

"Oh, don't you even start complaining.  I like my job."

Venture chuckled.  "So you do.  How many more outposts do we have to hit?"

"Four more, then we can head back to Polyhex," Fallout replied. 

"Excellent, we'll be back at headquarters soon enough."  Ventured frowned as he once again caught sight of oil on his leg.  "I really will have to clean myself soon." 

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."  Fallout looked down to Venture.  "So, what exactly were you and the guard talking about?"

Venture exaggerated a sighed and raised his optics skyward.  "Does it really matter?  As far as I'm concerned," Venture announced, a hit of malice creeping into his voice, "it was just another game."

So, what did you all think? Anything I need to fix? No flames please, unless you want to be responsible for another huge fire in the desert southwest...