"All 911 calls have been redirected to the new station," Prowl said as he led the younger officer around, stopping back at the front desk. "Power tends to get weird and lights flicker. There's a leaky pipe that drips, so dismiss all weird noises." The mech rubbed his face, taking another sip of his steaming Energon. "Mm. And another thing. Point everyone that comes in to the new station. Some people make a few mistakes, and mostly they're older, but don't be rude. Just inform them of the new station down the road." Prowl looked around, scratching under his jaw. "I think that's it. Do you have any questions?"

Barricade shook his helm, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His gear around his hips clanked and clinked lightly. He had been an officer before the war, but when the war ended and Cybertron started up again, they overlooked his war record and years of service, starting him back over. He hated it, but he didn't let anyone know about that...

"Good. Oh, and the evidence room is being cleaned out around four in the morning, so I need you to be there when that happens. People are coming by from the Waste Disposal Unity downtown, but last I called, they were busy doing other things, so expect them around four. Too fast for you?"

He shook his helm. This was a weak duty-call, something assigned usually so a new bot on the squad, but because his war record counted less than the dirt on his windshield, it was given to him.

"Call if you need me. Energon is in the fridge in the RecRoom. Should be a quiet night. Have a good night, rookie."

"Officer," Barricade corrected under his breath. "And you, too, have a good night, ah, sir?"

"You can call me Prowl." He tilted his helm, then he walked by him. "Alright. See you in the morning." His servo curled around the handle of the door out and he smirked. "I am going to see you in the morning, right? Or do you need to hand over your belt right now?"

"Sir, with all due respect, they did not give me this belt because I could not handle myself."

"Alright. See you." Prowl locked up, leaving Barricade alone.

It was nine at night, according to the little Earth clock Prowl got from his romps on Earth. Barricade pulled out his datapad, grabbed a chair, and propped his pedes up to read. He should be with Ravage right now, laying on a couch and watching stupid horror movies that give humans reasons to pee themselves and stay awake all night. But he was called to work because a huge party was taking place in Iacon and every other officer was invited...except Barricade. It was probably because while every other insignia was scraped off, he decided to keep his. It through mechs and femmes off, making them less willing to talk to him. He wanted to shake them. An insignia didn't make him less funny, less interesting. It was just there...

He read for a bit, interested in the novel he was muscling through. As he read, he absently rubbed his thigh where Ravage's head normally was. He stopped when he heard a strange rattling sound, like a cell door opening and closing with a slam. Keys jingled lightly.

He set his datapad down and he got up, standing in the hall, staring down at the furthest darkened room Prowl avoided showing him due to the reasoning that he didn't need to go down there for any reason.

"Anybody there?" Even though Prowl said no one would show up, ever, he wasn't so sure that someone wasn't there, secretly monitoring him.

The noises stopped almost immediately and Barricade frowned. He wanted to investigate, but he had seen enough horror movies. So instead, he shut the door to the front desk area and he locked it.

The little room Barricade was in had a desk in the middle of the room. If Barricade sat at the desk, he would be facing a glass wall that allowed him to watch the front doors, the sidewalk, and the street outside. To his right was a smaller viewport, cabinets that had been emptied of their contents, and a "coffee" machine that burbled contentedly, inserting caffeine into Energon. To his left were more cabinets, and behind him were cabinets with cranks that moved to allow people to walk between them and grab things. They were mostly empty, but a few sealed boxes sat, collecting dust. They were put in their "normal" position, meaning only Barricade's arm could fit between each gap of the cabinets.

Barricade sat down at the desk and lifted his datapad, but his audios were pricked and ready to hear if the noises returned.

11:01 PM

Barricade jolted when the phone rang. He rubbed his optics, having fallen asleep. His datapad, when he sat up, slid into his lap. He reacted just in time to catch it. He monitored the phone in its cradle, rubbing his optics again with his knuckles. Who would be calling at this time?

He reached for the phone, lifting it off the cradle. It cradled it between his cheek and shoulder as he checked his datapad's battery status. 87%. Cool. "This is Barricade at the old police station. How may I help you?"

Ragged breathing. "Help, help, please!"
Barricade sat forward, his processor clicking into police-mode. "Hello. What is the situation?"

"I've been kidnapped! I can't get out! Help me, please!"

"Shh, shh..." Barricade tried to calm the femme down as he reached for a pen and a pad of paper. "Okay. I need you to calm down and tell me your name."

"My name is Starcry."

"Hello, Starcry. My name is Barricade."

"Help me," she whimpered.

"I'm going to. Do you know where you are? What are you hearing around you?"

"Uh, uh, uh...Insecticons...I think I'm at an old farm..."

Barricade wrote down what she was saying, nodding. So far so good. But one part of his processor kept nagging him. Something was off about this call... "Okay. That's good. Do you think you can get out? Look around you. Is there a window?"

CLICK

He jerked the phone away from his audio, looked down at the flashing button that suddenly died out. The call was disconnected. He sighed and set the phone down on the cradle again, looking down at his notes. He had the urge to call back, but he knew from stories of other officers that learned from their mistakes that it wasn't the best idea, especially since a ringtone could spell death out very fast for a victim. So instead, Barricade sat back and waited, his spark hammering in his chamber.

His processor nagged at him, and when he went to check on what set it off, the only thing that he came back with was that he should report this call. The second reason his processor was nagging him had retreated angrily at his forgetfullness.

"This is 911, how can I help you?"

Barricade leaned back and he sighed. "I just got a 911 call. A femme has been kidnapped and is being held at an old farm?"

"That's not possible. All calls have been redirected. I will look into the call, but you should not be getting any. Thank you for reporting it. Perhaps the minicons are still redirecting the calls. I will look into that. Have a nice evening."

"Thank you." He hung up, sighing. That's what made his processor twitchy. The calls have been redirected. So how is he getting called?

He was still puzzling through that when he heard a crash in the back room. He frowned and got up, resting a servo on his favorite hand-held blaster, though he doubted he'd need it if there was a ghost or demon.

Get it together, Barricade. Those only exist in horror movies.

He walked down to the dark room and he flipped on the lights.