CHAPTER: ONE - "Years of Bad Luck"
CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics; Shattered Glass
RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore. Do expect canon-level of gore throughout this story.
SUMMARY: The war is not so over in some places, and Krok's crew is a little different than expected.
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.
NOTE: This story has been proofread by many people, including my friends Mindy and Ty. Thank you both for all of your feedback; it would not be what it is without either of you. I also want to acknowledge evilcleverdog on tumblr for your brilliant idea for the Shattered Glass variations of the DJD and letting me use your idea.
It's a tough choice to determine whether or not Krok is appreciating the fretting that Fulcrum has going on with him. The attack from the Decepticon Justice Division hasn't been that long ago and the repairs on his face took a little while to be fixed. It isn't perfect, Krok is fully aware of that, but it's improved. He can walk around and his optics function. The battlemask hides most of the actual damage anyway and he can bear everything else. The more he physically expresses, the more painful it is, so he's just careful to try to not to show anything outside of tone of voice. So perhaps Fulcrum's worry is warranted, but it's a tad unusual from another Decepticon.
"Krok, look, I'm just not sure I'm... I'm real keen that, uh," Fulcrum wrings his hands. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?"
"I've been scavenging in worse conditions." Krok exhales slowly, careful to not push his vents too hard.
"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel all the more secure about this."
Krok places a hand to Fulcrum's upper arm. "Listen, I get it. You feel bad about what happened. But you didn't kill Flywheels and you didn't get my face torn off."
There's a small huff from the K-Con's vents. "I sure feel like I set it in motion."
"It was the D.J.D.; I'm not interested in who you were before we found you. Whatever you did is done, and you stuck by us when you didn't have to. There's nothing for me to forgive. Got it?"
There's an uncertain glance from Fulcrum, then eventually he sighs and looks away. "Yeah. All right. Just... be careful?"
"I will be. Let's move out, hm?"
There's one last wary noise from Fulcrum as Krok turns away and begins to head down to the cargo bay with the technician following closely behind. Their find this time could yield some interesting results. It's a fairly humbly sized site, admittedly, and Krok isn't sure what it used to be for. It's Decepticon in origin. That's enough for him.
"Still not sure how I feel about you bunch bringing Grimlock onto our ship," Krok offers up as a different topic, not wanting attention drawn to his injuries.
In response, Fulcrum gives a helpless shrug. "He's kind of just been minding his own business ever since we dragged him along. I don't think Misfire's wrong particularly about bringing him, either."
The cargo bay doors open, and Krok leads the way as they step out. The lab site is located on a desolate moon, out in the middle of no where, which will hopefully give them the opportunity to be able to find some halfway decent material inside. Maybe. The exterior seems hastily assembled, not particularly impressive, which usually means something good might have been left behind.
As the both of them step into the building, they're met with an ordinary hallway with teal walls and rust creeping down from the corners.
Krok comments to Fulcrum, "I'm just a bit twitchy at the thought of having an infamous Decepticon killer on board. Call me paranoid."
"Can't say I blame you," Fulcrum replies with a nervous laugh. "But he's been behaving himself so far. Hell, Misfire's got him playing board games sometimes. Not that he's very good at it."
"Misfire or Grimlock?"
"Doesn't matter," Fulcrum muses.
Krok snorts in amusement, then flinches at the pain that shoots through his face. There's a mumbled apology from the K-Con, but Krok just shakes his head.
The pair of them make it inside to the main room where the remaining three members of their crew have already started to pick away. The abandoned lab's interior is much like its exterior: not overly impressive, but Krok doesn't doubt it has some hidden goods that they could make use of.
Krok glances over his crew that's present and working. While Spinister's unsurprisingly interested in whatever medical equipment's been left over, Misfire's busied himself with investigating some strangely colored vials. Briefly, Krok considers telling the jet to not ingest any of the contents, but suspects it's probably too late. He sighs, then glances in Crankcase's direction as the mechanic tries to get a computer back online.
"Give him a hand?" Krok directs Fulcrum to the pilot. The technician nods and jogs over to assist Crankcase.
As Krok moves on to check with the others, he hears the pair of them immediately begin to interact.
"Piece of scrap," Crankcase grouses. "We'd be better off just gutting it for parts. The cables are frayed!"
"C'mon, that's the easy way out. We could replace the cables and figure out if the power still even works in this place," Fulcrum points out. "Aren't you curious about what information's stored on these computers?"
Crankcase snorts. "And from the sounds of it, you're already completely invested in what could be on them. Aaaand you're nodding, so that's a yes. You realize the last time we got curious about something left behind we found a Dynobot."
"Hey, just think of it this way: if we found Grimlock last time, maybe we'll find a Phase Sixer now," Fulcrum jokes.
"Yeah, I'm gonna hope not. Help me gets this scrap replaced and I'll find the power source."
Briefly, Krok glances over the tables. They don't have much in the way of equipment, or at least anything that Krok can find immediately useful. Not that he feels he'll be the best judge of that right off the bat, and that's why Crankcase and Fulcrum are present: of anyone in his crew, they're the most technically gifted, and the best pair to tell him what's potentially useful and what's not in regards to what's been left behind. Otherwise, it all looks like senseless objects to him. The only thing that really sticks out immediately is one device left in a corner: there are steps leading up to it, and it basically looks like a giant metal hoop standing vertically.
Huh.
Krok shrugs and turns his attention to Spinister, checking on his medic. "Locate anything worthwhile?"
Turning around, Spinister says enthusiastically, "I found a jar full of eyes!"
Krok just pats Spinister on the arm almost proudly. "That's a good find. Keep looking."
"Yep." Spinister immediately turns his head back to his work, sorting through some boxes that were left behind.
Krok goes on to busy himself with other objects that have been left behind. There are some datapads, but they're cracked, broken, and basically useless, even to them. A shame. He crouches to some of the lower drawers at one of the workstations, giving it a tug. The drawer remains where it is, stubborn and stuck. Figures. Krok gives it a firmer yank and finally it pulls out.
The contents are not what he expects. There are badges in here, more than a few. One red Autobot badge, a few purple Autobot badges, a couple of the typically colored Decepticon ones, and several red Decepticon badges. That's a bit unusual if somewhat forgettable.
"Oh, nice!" Snatching the badge out of the drawer, Misfire holds up a red Decepticon badge. He squints one optic before holding it up to his wing. "What do you think, Krok? Goes with my paint job or what?"
"I think you probably shouldn't change your colors," Krok says flatly.
Across the room, Crankcase snorts and says, "Yeah, you'll just confuse Spinister!"
"Confuse me with what huh?" Spinister perks up, looking successfully confused.
"Yeah, no." Krok gingerly plucks it out of Misfire's fingers. "Back to work."
"Fine, fine." Misfire sighs dramatically before heading back to a crate of beakers and bottles.
There's a pause as Krok glances down at the badge in his hand and he peers at it, as if trying to convince the object to tell him what the hell this is about and if it means anything.
It doesn't really tell him anything.
The lights suddenly flicker on, which tears a panicked snarl from Spinister, nearly causing him to drop a jar from his hands. Krok puts a hand to the medic's arm to try to steady his reaction.
"There! I'm surprised there's any power left in this place," Crankcase says, dusting off the console that he and Fulcrum have managed to successfully turn on.
"That means there should be a generator somewhere," Krok realizes, "Crankcase, find it. When we're done here, I want it."
"Fine, fine," Crankcase grumbles, marching off to investigate further into the complex.
"Fulcrum, mind trying to figure out what this place was for?"
The K-Classer shrugs. "I'll try. I don't know that it'll do us much good. What are you looking for, Krok?"
"Just getting an uneasy feeling." Krok tosses the badge back into the drawer. "My instincts are usually not that off."
Misfire sniffs the contents of a large beaker, "Well, no offense, but most of the scientists I've ever met are usually crazy. I knew one that was obsessed with bees and would make nothing but cyberbees all day long. Cyberbees full of viruses, cyberbees with cameras, cyberbees with little mini-missiles, cyberbees just because why not - that sort of thing."
Krok isn't about to deny that most of them have a habit of being unsettling. He approaches Fulcrum as the technician gets to work typing in commands to the console he and Crankcase managed to get working. As Fulcrum concentrates on the screen, Krok wordlessly puts his hand onto his shoulder.
"This might shock you, but this is one of Shockwave's old sites," Fulcrum points out, sounding stunned. He pauses for a moment, as if he needs to let that fact sink in for himself before he can continue. "Anyway, um. He had some other assistants with him. Astroscope and Spanner. Doesn't look like Shockwave's left behind much in the way of notes. I might be able to pull up something, though."
Krok gives an intriguied grunt. "Try."
"All right." There's a glimmer of excitement and anxiety in Fulcrum's optics. The technician's inherently curious, but getting a chance to touch some of Shockwave's infamous data and projects is undoubtedly both fascinating and worrying to the K-Con. He squints in thought as he continues to work. "Hm. Most of it's encrypted or deleted. All I can really get out of it is that they were working on a way to trace Metrotitans and copy their teleportation ability. Space bridges and the like, but... something else happened and that got Astroscope's attention." There's a look of sincere interest on Fulcrum's face as he continues to investigate the screen and whatever data the console can provide him. There's a mechnical hum in the room; Krok writes it off as the fans running in the main console.
"Well?" Krok prompts Fulcrum.
"Right. Sorry. While they were working, something else happened that wasn't anticipated. Hold on, I'm trying to recover some more details." Fulcrum trails off, working on glancing through notes until he can get a clarified answer.
The lights flicker, catching everyone's attention and Spinister giving a startled, displeased noise. Fulcrum turns to face Krok, about to say something as the humming behind the historian gets louder.
Then Fulcrum looks startled. "Krok!"
"What?" is all that Krok can say before a blast of pain runs through his body without any explanation. His face feels like it is on fire. Krok can't even manage to make a sound, but the heat rushing through his frame feels strong enough to melt his plating.
He blacks out.
It must have been temporary, because by the time he comes to a pounding ache is beating throughout his helm, right down to his processor. The pain spreads into his optics, sending little spikes of discomfort through his body. Maybe Fulcrum was right, maybe he was pushing himself too much and he ended up passing out. He isn't sure, honestly, but he feels like maybe something hit him.
Sometime during when he'd gone unconscious, his radio link had triggered on. Krok can feel it in his wrist, and he can hear the static-filled voices of his crew.
"Lost sight of him." Misfire, sounding a little more serious than usual. Something really off must have happened.
"Are you fraggin' kiddin' me?" Fulcrum, his tone furious.
Spinister's voice chimes in with, "Well, unless he suddenly developed a sense of humor-"
Eventually, they end up bickering over the radio. That in itself isn't unusual, but something feels off about it. Mannerisms in their voices, but it's probably just him thinking too hard about it. Either way, he's glad to hear them. Relief settles in. Krok's arm twitches as he tries to reach for his commlink. It's a struggle, and his voice sputters out barely anything other than static. "Kh- ah-"
"Where th' frag are ya?!" Fulcrum demands over the radio signal.
Words can't be pronounced. Something garbled it up. Spinister did tell him that the repair done was delicate and he should be careful. Fulcrum was right, he really was pushing it. He can't emit much other than noise. Krok's optics brighten a little and he turns his head slowly and painfully.
This is definitely not the lab.
The street he's in is a mess. Most of the buildings look demolished or ready to crumble. It's an absolute warzone. It's not unlike the beginning of the war, something Krok remembers it well. Only, it seems worse somehow; there are chasms into the streets, and fire spews forth, as if the planet itself is in fury due to what state it's in. Slowly dusting down from the billowing flames like fresh snowfall are ashes. They land calmly on his plating, collecting slowly in a humble pile.
The familiar scent of burnt metal and sulfur fills the air along with the heat. As Krok looks around slowly, he recognizes this decimated street. It's one of the roads that belong in Harmonex. The architecture of what remains of the buildings gives that much away to Krok.
If that's true, though, then that means he's on Cybertron.
How the hell did he end up back here? The only thing that he can fathom is maybe he passed out in the lab. Maybe the crew had to carry him back. Could he have been unconscious for the whole ride back to Cybertron?
It's a stretch of an idea, but Krok isn't sure what else to believe right now.
"You had him in your sights last! Where is he?!" That's a voice he distinctly does not recognize, and it's coming not too far from where he is. There's a noise that comes afterward, like someone hitting metal.
Krok can only groan out a confused sound, struggling as he tries to force himself up. He can hear a few pair of footsteps approach, but he doesn't have the strength to turn his head and look up at who it might be. Eventually, he doesn't have to when a figure stands over him.
The lighting of the fire must be messing with his optical sensors.
There's a distinct glint of gold plating, well polished and taken care of. Vanity illuminates from this particular individual, which is shocking considering who it is. Krok never knew him very well, but he never took Ambulon as one who cared that much about his appearances.
Despite his injuries, Krok does his best scowl at the traitor.
Calmly, Ambulon looks down at him with red optics. There's a pause, then he takes out a pistol and levels it to Krok's forehead, making the Decepticon twitch, still unable to move. "If I wasn't completely sure that Optimus Prime would have me killed for it, I'd just finish you off here," Ambulon states, looking mildly annoyed. "But I'm not an idiot." He turns his head and calmly motions for his company to approach his way. "First Aid, over here."
Ambulon's company swiftly approaches. Looming over Krok are two other Autobots. One that he certainly does recognize and only an idiot Decepticon wouldn't: Whirl peers down at him, but seems generally disconnected at the situation, either bored or just resigned despite the clear dent in his head that looks relatively fresh. He looks a bit different than Krok remembers, but reformats and paint job switches happen. Whirl seems to have taken up an appearance with mostly white plating and a few red accents here and their, but it's still Whirl.
Next to him is a shorter Autobot who Krok assumes is First Aid. He's not terribly intimidating by appearance, but Krok isn't about to judge him immediately by that alone. The Autobot generally has dark gray and black paint with some sharp green along his shoulders and parts of his helm, and his visor glows a vibrant red. His expression is generally hard to read on account of his visor and faceplate, but Krok isn't getting a good gut feeling about him.
All three of them have purple Autobot badges. The color change is noted, but frankly doesn't matter. No matter the color, they're definitely not friendlies.
"There he is," First Aid murmurs, and Krok immediately connects that his voice is the one that was shouting before. He rests his hand to Whirl's shoulder.
Ambulon gives a wry look to First Aid. "I can't tell if your assassin either did incredibly well or needs to be more thorough."
"No no, this is much better than I hoped for." First Aid gives a soft laugh. "Whirl, pick him up."
Immediately obeying, Whirl grabs Krok by the arms, holding onto him tightly with his claws. To his dismay, Krok finds that he can hardly move, and instead is almost completely limp in Whirl's hold. He gives an irritated grunt and flinches in the Autobot's hold, but he can't do much else.
Leaning in close, First Aid quickly observes Krok. "Your injuries have left you burnt out. Your nerve endings will recover and you'll be able to move. Eventually. But not for quite sometime."
First Aid pauses as Krok's radio link comes to life again. As Spinister's voice comes through, Whirl distinctly stiffens up, his grip tighter. "Captain! C'mon, please speak up! I was just kidding about the sense of humor thing, haha! But I'm totally serious now, where-"
"Let's just take care of that," First Aid murmurs, placing his hand over the link. Despair starts to sink in as First Aid forces it to shut off, completely cutting Krok off from his only hope of rescue.
Whirl seems to relax somewhat when Spinister's voice stops coming through. Reaching up, First Aid runs his fingers over the dent in Whirl's helm. "You understand why I hit you, don't you? Of course you do," First Aid murmurs. "If you do well, I'll fix it when we head back."
It earns no verbal response from Whirl, but his single optic does flicker.
"You'll want to head back before his crew gets any ideas," Ambulon points out. "I can stay behind and cover you for now."
"You're too kind." First Aid snaps his fingers at Whirl. "Come on. Back to Garrus-2."
Turning off his radio link had sealed the deal that he was trapped, but the order First Aid gives to Whirl only seals his fate. As Krok watches First Aid transform into his vehicle mode and drive off, he realizes that he's stuck. He's been captured by the Autobots, and there will be no rescue. Loyal as his crew is to him, they would never succeed in finding him in time and saving him.
He's on his own, and that does not comfort him.
Whirl suddenly tosses Krok in the air. A sputter of startled static is earned and Krok expects to hit the street, but the Autobot is fast; Whirl leaps into the air and transforms into his distinct helicopter mode, keeping his arms extended in order to snag Krok midair into his claws. It leaves Krok facing down at the ground as they fly up and follow First Aid. On one hand, it gives him a good overview of the battle scarred area. On the other hand, he's definitely far less than thrilled to be held up like this. Krok is just Krok, a monoformer with no ability to transform and save himself.
Suffice it to say, he's trying his best to ignore the slight hint of terror in his mind that he's this high up from the ground in the clutches of a deranged Autobot.
From this angle, he can confirm his suspicions for sure. If there was any bit of doubt that he was on Cybertron, he can tell for certain now. The strangest point to him is that despite the message that they clearly received about the war being over, it's still marching on here. How much time passed while he was unconscious? Are they back to fighting?
He doubts he'll receive many answers from the Autobots, even if he had the strength to ask.
As they continue to fly, Krok can see a large facility that they're approaching. The shape vaguely reminds him of Garrus-1 on Luna 2, so the impression he's taking away from this is that this must be Garrus-2. A large set of walls surrounds the octagonal building, tall and proud as any mountain. There are some distinct cracks and damages, but nothing quite noteworthy that would imply weakness.
As they start to dip down closer, he can see several Autobot soldiers patrolling silently outside. Gradually, Krok is starting to get the impression that this is more of a fortress than it is a prison.
Once again, Whirl throws him in the air. After transforming back to his root mode, he catches Krok by the arms, his grip tight and unyielding just as before, even though there isn't even a bit of a chance of Krok escaping him. Not unlike before, he's too weak to properly lift his head or do much of anything, so his gaze is primarily directed towards the ground. He can look around in his peripheral vision, but no more than that.
Driving up near them, First Aid transforms and falls into step smoothly. Turning on his radio link, he commands with, "Red Alert, get the security doors open and have Perceptor arrange Krok's new quarters."
The single order starts to cause the giant, thick security door in front of them to start to open. It's slow and agonizing, forcing Krok to truly dwell on his situation. The more it opens, the closer Krok is to realizing he's going in there and probably never coming out again.
"Perceptor still hasn't returned yet," Krok hears a voice inform First Aid over the radio link. "For that matter, neither has Atomizer."
"Then I guess you'll just have to get Fortress Maximus to do it himself," First Aid replies flatly.
Once the door is finally open, First Aid is the first one to step inside towards the second set of doors. Closely, Whirl follows, and Krok cringes at the sound of the security door shutting and locking behind him, cementing his presence at Garrus-2. The second security door opens a little more quickly in comparison to the first, allowing them to step through much more promptly.
The first thing Krok notices is the distinct and clear sounds of people screaming. Joined with that is muffled laughter, but it's the way the shrieking sounds that makes Krok's plating crawl. He can smell freshly spilled energon bleeding out of someone, a scent that he knows well from both war and scavenging alike. His head is tipped down, and considering the smells and sounds, he isn't sure he even wants to look up anyway.
First Aid isn't having any of that, it seems.
"Don't be rude, Whirl." First Aid leans closer, murmuring his command, "Show Krok our decor."
The tip of a claw presses under his chin, tipping Krok's gaze up.
Krok has witnessed several violent things in the war, and thereafter. That doesn't mean he's been dulled to it, and it certainly doesn't mean he's experienced everything. With wide optics, Krok looks on. There's plenty of activity in the courtyard, and he doesn't even know where to start - not that he wants to, but he takes everything in. Dangling over the walls are corpses, hanging from chains and hooks. They've been there awhile, apparent by the old stains of when fuel had once been bleeding from them. Pikes have been set up along parts of perimeter, more as a decoration than anything else. That much is obvious with the several heads of dead Decepticons that have been speared onto them.
That alone is enough to make his spark skip a pulse or two, but he can see at the other end of the courtyard where Autobots are laughing to themselves, nudging each other in a friendly manner as they casually work on brutally peeling off the plating of a Decepticon that's been pinned down to the ground, spikes through his hands and feet. The Decepticon is screaming, and he isn't the only one. Not by a long shot, not when Krok can see another one being slowly torn apart by machinary operated by other Autobots. Even if Krok decided to shut off his optics, he would not be able to block out their shrieks from the mutilation they cannot escape from. The entire courtyard is a means of torture and horrific execution, and little else.
A weary, pained vent of air escapes Krok with a troubled groan. He can't express his distress much more than that, but it feels like his spark chamber is practically quaking.
First Aid laughs softly, leaning in to murmur into Krok's auditory sensor: "We decided to make a few more changes to the place since the last time a Decepticon broke out of here. I think it helps with morale, don't you?"
Krok flinches trying to move his head away from First Aid. He fails.
"Take him down. Pharma will set him up. I'll make sure to join you soon after I have a talk with Optimus Prime." First Aid gives a light pat to Whirl's shoulder. "You did well, Whirl."
There's little reaction from Whirl, or at least nothing that Krok can decipher from his position. First Aid departs for now, but it doesn't bring any amount of relief. Not when Krok knows how well trapped he is.
When Whirl moves, he turns to the right and starts to head towards one of the buildings set up in the courtyard. Another pair of doors open for them on cue, allowing Whirl to step inside with Krok in his grip. Here, it's a short hallway but it feels like a long crawl. The walls and ceiling feel cramped to Krok, downright claustrophobic, though the fact that he knows he's caught inside of this prison with a seemingly mute Autobot warrior likely doesn't do much to help with that feeling. Honestly, Krok doesn't know if Whirl talking would help or make things worse at this point.
They approach an elevator. Whirl is quickly elbowing a button to summon and have the doors slide open for them. Even the elevator inside feels too small to Krok. When the doors close after they step into it, it feels like his spark shrivels. Silence hangs in the air as they go down, like a slow fall. Deeper and deeper, and further away from any scrap of hope that Krok had of escaping. He lets out a weary noise. Whirl does not react.
Finally, they hit the bottom and the doors slide open. There's another hallway, just as narrow but far longer. The lightning seems worse down here, and Krok can hear sounds echoing: pained moans and screams and pleas for help from several different voices. It's absolutely haunting.
Not fazed in the slightest, Whirl walks through the hallway. The further they go in, the louder the voices become, and it feels like the sounds crawl all over Krok and dig into him. He can only imagine what the Autobots do to prisoners here considering what he saw in the courtyard.
They come across a fork in the hallway, and Whirl turns to take the leftmost option. Oddly enough, this choice causes them to travel further away from the torturous voices of other prisoners in Garrus-2 crying out in the halls.
Eventually, they stand in front of a pair of thick steel doors. There's a brief tense squeeze from Whirl's claws before he roughly elbows one of them twice, signifying his arrival. Slowly, they part and allow just enough room for both of them to pass through inside into a room.
It looks like this used to be a medibay at one point considering how it's arranged. It's a little more spacious than the hallways have been, though that's a bit of a laughable comparison. There's a single medical slab set up, though it's been arranged inside of a set of thick, strong bars. Medical equipment has been lined up on the wall, as well as some more revised tools. Working on a computer console is another Autobot medic, one that Krok is pretty sure he recognizes.
Then it does occur to him. Another change in a paint job, he assumes. It doesn't really matter, but Krok knows who Pharma is. Only, he's lost his more colorful appearance and most of his plating is colored black with some blue biolights and accents. Additionally, somewhere along the way he's ended up missing a hand, as a good portion of his left arm is a chainsaw. Its weight seems to weigh him down and make him struggle as he moves and types with his right hand.
Pharma looks up with tired optics as he glances between Krok and Whirl for a moment. Then he points to the open cell where the medical slab is. "Go ahead and lock him in place," Pharma instructs cautiously.
There's a tilt of Whirl's head, but the Autobot complies. They turn and Krok is forced to be pinned against the medical slab. Around his wrists and ankles, shackles lock into place, keeping him upright and vertical. After backing out of the cell, Whirl goes to stand beside Pharma. The jet gives Krok a look, then turns his attention back to the console as he punches in a command to lock the cell doors.
"You don't need to wait for First Aid. I can handle this," Pharma informs Whirl, his voice sounding stiff and wary. The only answer that Pharma receives is absolute silence from Whirl, who doesn't even look at Pharma. Sighing, the surgeon starts keying more commands into his computer.
"He'll go when I say he goes," First Aid's voice chimes in.
Pharma flinches before he looks up, watching First Aid approach. "I'm sorry. It's just- his presence unnerves me."
"I promise, he's completely loyal now." A small laugh escapes First Aid. "We've worked out any potential complications. Haven't we, Whirl?"
Despite the conversation clearly mentioning his name, Whirl doesn't move. He doesn't react.
As if to show his point, First Aid grabs onto one of the fins lined up on Whirl's back and gives it a brutal twist. There's a twitch in Whirl's frame. He doesn't exactly cower before First Aid, but he certainly trembles from the pain of his plating being wrenched in such a way. As much as Krok fears for his own situation, he almost wants to pity Whirl. Almost. Most people regardless of their faction know about Whirl's history with Megatron, so the feeling honestly does not go beyond the inclination. In any case, Krok doesn't enjoy seeing the display.
Pharma's expression doesn't look any calmer then before and instead seems even more uncomfortable. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry for doubting you. I'll get to work on the medical scans."
"Excellent." First Aid sounds quite satisfied. Finally, he releases Whirl and instead starts to approach the cell that Krok is locked in. "Be thorough. I need a full report."
Despite the briefest sensation of sympathy that Krok almost had for Whirl, he's not thrilled to have First Aid's attention. Krok's optics flicker and he squints as equipment power on and lights scan over his body to feed information back to Pharma.
"I'm getting pinged by Fortress Maximus. Should I put him through?" Pharma offers.
"No. Carry on." First Aid shakes his head. "This is more important."
"Understood." Pharma returns to work.
First Aid narrows his visor as he gets closer to the bars, keeping his gaze fixated on Krok. "I thought you should like to know that Optimus Prime is on his way. He would love to have your execution done public, and available for your team to witness. I know that it'll be Prime who finishes you off, but I know how to kill you in other ways, Krok."
His fingers slide up the bars, almost delicately as his fingers curl around them. First Aid leans in, hissing softly, "It was one of your own that caused you to be here. I want you to think about that as time passes, as minutes tick by and we inch closer to your execution. I want you to-"
"This is impossible!" Pharma blurts out, startled by whatever information he's viewing. When First Aid's head whips around to face Pharma, the jet cringes and holds up his only hand. "I'm sorry for interrupting. It was an accident, but this data... you should. You should really have a look at this. I mean, I'm not ordering you to, I'm just suggesting that maybe you ought to consider looking it over?"
There's a pause of silence that hangs in the air. Krok watches the Autobots, uncertain of what's about to happen next. He doesn't know what to anticipate; this lot is clearly unpredictable, and he doesn't know what First Aid even means by all of that! One of his own, his crew caused him to end up getting captured? Unthinkable.
First Aid slowly approaches Pharma, which causes the taller Autobot to cringe and brace himself. The tenseness of the moment continues to hang thickly in the air as First Aid's red visor glows fiercely, staring at Pharma. Suddenly, his fist strikes out, hitting Whirl hard enough in the optic to crack it. As Whirl stumbles back into the wall, Pharma flinches and tries to not look over in Whirl's direction.
"I know," First Aid says, his tone a mockery of being soothing. "I'm not upset with you yet, Pharma. Let me have a read?"
"Of... of course," Pharma sputters out, backing away in order to give First Aid as much room as he demands.
There's a moment of silence as First Aid looks over the screen. Eventually, the glow of his visor dims and he looks more curious than angry. Rubbing his chin, he asks Pharma, "And you ran a check on everything prior to scanning?"
"Yes! Yes, I swear. I looked over everything to make sure we were in good shape." Pharma's voice starts to sound increasingly more nervous.
"Shh, shh. Pharma." First Aid grabs onto the other medic's wrist, his grip tight. "I believe you. But it still appears as though our scanners are faulty. Krok is still alive after all, so there's no real reason for him to show up as nothing. So, if you did your job as you say, then we'll just have to check him the old fashioned way."
Pharma's eyes widen. "Oh, but... but I'm sure I could run a scan a second time."
"Now, now. Why not put Ratchet's gift to good use?" Gesturing towards the cell, First Aid tells him, "Go on. I'll even open it for you."
Eventually, Pharma's wrist slides free from First Aid's hold. Stiffly, Pharma shuffles over to the cell. Watching carefully, First Aid types in a command to have the door slide open for Pharma. With a wince, Pharma lifts up his chainsaw arm with the help of his right hand, and he starts to come closer.
It then occurs to Krok what First Aid meant.
Hissing out distressed static, all Krok can do is struggle pathetically in his bonds as Pharma inches nearer and nearer. Finally, he presses his chainsaw flush against Krok's chest plating. The look Pharma gives Krok is one of fear and guilt, a strange expression that Krok wouldn't have anticipated from any Autobot in this place.
Pharma whispers, "I'm sorry." It's barely audible.
The chainsaw roars to life and cuts into Krok. Before, all he could do was give bursts of white noise, but it seems as though pain is a great motivator. Krok lets out a scream, his optics widening as he watches the chainsaw rip into his torso. Energon spills and bleeds out, noisily dripping to the floor. It doesn't go far enough in to kill Krok, but enough to go past armor.
In horror, Krok watches as Pharma carefully guides the chainsaw down to continue to rip into him. From collar to hip, Krok's abdomen is cut open in one of the least efficient ways, and all he can do is howl out from the pain shrieking through his body.
When it's done, the chainsaw shuts off and pulls away. Krok feels his body go limp and his senses dull, but he can feel air touching his now exposed gaping wound. Something presses into the gap, and something that sounds like a crank starts to force his chest to open, peeling plating back violently. Krok can only groan before his voice trails off into nothing.
"I... I have no idea what this is," Pharma stammers out. "I think this is keeping him alive."
"Hmm." Krok can hear footsteps as First Aid approaches. A finger presses under Krok's chin, forcing his head up so that his tired optics look into First Aid's visor. It'd be easy to shut off his eyes and cut off the gaze, but Krok remains as defiant as he can afford to be right now.
First Aid turns his attention down to his chest, then gently taps on Krok's spark casing. It makes Krok jerk and hiss, but words refuse to come out. He tries to form them, but he lacks even more strength now.
"I've never seen an ember like this before," First Aid mumbles, sounding intriguied.
Ember? Krok's eyes flicker in confusion, but ultimately he decides it doesn't matter or change things right now.
First Aid continues, "This requires more study. I'll have to see if I can postpone Krok's execution."
There's a strangled, gargling noise coming out of Krok as he feels First Aid's hands groping around inside his chest, exploring it. He can't say a word, he can't even struggle, and First Aid is absolutely invested on his insides. A tremor passes through his frame as skilled hands work in and map him out.
Briefly, Krok is distracted by a creaking noise. What in the hell-?
There's something bursting out of the veiling vent and slamming into the floor. At the sound, First Aid pulls his hands roughly out from Krok's chest, earning a pained groan in return. Tiredly, Krok glances over what's suddenly in the room with them, and his eyes widen. No, this isn't good.
Standing ready on their feet are two very familiar individuals with all of the wrong color schemes. Krok knows them so thoroughly that even silhouettes are enough for him, so the color palette change really doesn't mean anything to him. He can ignore that Misfire is mostly dark green with bright blue optics, though he wonders when the hell he decided to place a targeting visor over his right optic because that sure isn't going to help with the aim. Somewhere, sometime, Crankcase has gotten the head fixed; there is no gaping wound, and now the colors the mechanic sports are purple and pink shades, bright and cheery.
Really, it doesn't mean anything because now Krok is terrified for them. On one hand, he's impressed they snuck in, but now they're just going to die with him. He has no real illusions of them escaping, and he wishes they weren't so blasted loyal to try to get him. It only means they'll suffer with him.
"Get the hell away from 'im!" Crankcase snaps, cradling a shotgun at the ready.
First Aid ducks his helm and dashes out of the way, scrambling to get out. While the Autobot makes a break for it, Misfire is moving smoothly towards Krok. It bewilders Krok to see First Aid reacting with such fear in regards to his crew, but he won't complain.
Cursing loudly, Crankcase fires at First Aid and misses when the Autobot ducks; the shot ends up hitting only the wall while First Aid makes his escape. "Smeltin' son of a glitch-"
Looking almost lost, Whirl stares after First Aid before stumbling after him. "Whirl, wait!" Crankcase cries out after him. The engineer starts to go after the Autobot, but Misfire catches Crankcase by the shoulder and shakes his head. "But... Misfire, are you sure?" Crankcase asks, frowning.
Krok must be out of sorts. Crankcase is asking for advice from Misfire. Maybe he's dying. Maybe he's already dead.
"No. We're here for the captain. Much as I would like to see him put down," Misfire responds, his voice cold and detached. Not very like Misfire at all. "Your message was appreciated, Pharma. As well as the location of an entrance we could utilize."
Pharma. Krok slowly concludes what's going on here. Pharma had reached out to his crew somehow to get them in so he can get out. True, maybe Pharma seemed reluctant to be involved in what was going on, but it still surprises him that an Autobot would assist. It's inherently suspicious to him. After all, what does Pharma have to gain from that action?
Krok tries to speak, but white noise hisses out instead. Noticing, Misfire calmly places a hand to his shoulder. "We're getting you out," Misfire tells him. The tone doesn't convey comfort, but he sounds confident enough to state his words as fact.
"I... I can show you the way. I just-" Pharma looks at Crankcase nervously. "Are you sure that the cameras have been scrambled?"
"You ain't got a thing to worry about, Doc. All taken care of by yours truly!" Crankcase smiles reassuringly. Smiles! "Help me get Krok loose, if y'could?"
"Right. I suppose we don't have time to burn." Quickly, Pharma circles around to the main console to assist Crankcase. "Let me just input the code- there!"
The shackles holding up Krok suddenly release him. The war historian would have quickly met with the floor painfully if Misfire hadn't been ready to catch him. Gently as possible, Misfire rearranges him so that Krok is draped over his back so that he can at least reach his firearms. That alone greatly concerns Krok. He gives a distressed groan, peering down warily at the pistol in Misfire's hand.
Misfire doesn't even seem to notice.
"Pharma, lead the way," Misfire calls out for the doctor.
At the instruction, Pharma gestures for them, hoisting his chainsaw arm against his own shoulder so it's out of the way as they run. "There's a sewer drainage area that would be the easiest method of escape. It's..." Pharma looks uncomfortable and disgusted. "It's where we end up throwing away a lot of bodies and the energon bled from soldiers."
As they exit the room, Crankcase increases his walking pace to catch up to Pharma. "You're still welcome to come with us, y'know. Fulcrum might pitch a fit, but-"
"No." Pharma looks terrified at the suggestion. "You can't promise I'd be safe. None of you can, and you know it."
Crankcase's optics narrow a little, making him look sullen. It doesn't seem like he has much of a retort for that.
The hallway is familiar all over again, only this time they head down the corridor where the sounds of tortured prisoners moan their distress. Although Krok is jostled painfully by how fast they're running, he doesn't blame them. They don't want to waste anymore time being here and he's definitely on board with that plan.
They stop midway through the hallway, blocked off by a large set of shut and locked doors.
"Smelting son of a-" Crankcase starts to curse.
"I can unlock it! Just give me some time." Pharma pops open a control panel next to the thick doors, immediately getting to work.
"Time is something we're very limited on," Misfire reminds him coldly. "Make it quick."
The doctor focuses as best as he can, punching in the codes necessary to unlock the set of doors. Slowly, the doors start to crank open, but Krok can tell that it won't be fast enough. Despite his own physical weakness, Krok feels his fuel pump constrict and increase its rhythm anxiously.
He can hear footsteps approaching. He doubts it's friendly.
Wordlessly, Misfire turns and raises his pistol, preparing to take fire. That alone makes Krok definitely sure that this will end badly. Strangely, Crankcase doesn't seem worried, and instead the mechanic is making sure to prepare fire as well.
"Heads up, Doc," Crankcase warns.
"I know, I know!" Pharma cringes. He glances at Crankcase, then says, "Point your gun at me, do it now!"
Hesitantly, Crankcase levels his shotgun towards Pharma, just barely resting his finger on the trigger. Still, the way he stands doesn't give Krok the impression that Crankcase has any real intention of shooting Pharma. From what Krok can surmise, Pharma is trying to protect himself and come off as if he was threatened to assist them. Which, strangely enough, doesn't seem to be the case.
As soon as an Autobot comes around the corner, Misfire immediately starts firing. While Krok had been prepared for the worst, what happens next is completely unexpected: the two shots he takes go between the optics of the Autobot, shooting cleanly through his head. The soldier's body collapses to the floor.
That's just absolutely insane. Did Misfire accidently hit his mark that time? It must have been a lucky shot! But Misfire doesn't seem surprised by his own aim in the least. When did he improve?
There's a pause from Misfire, then he shoots the Autobot one more time. "Never too sure," he mutters, mostly to himself before turning his head to speak to Crankcase and Pharma. "There will be more, and that won't be something we can manage in a small hallway like this."
"It won't go any faster," Pharma says, defeated. "This might be enough for us to squeeze through."
"You'll go last," Misfire tells him, walking quickly up to the painfully slow doors that are still gradually opening. He pauses, exercising caution in regards to Krok's well-being and how to arrange him as they pass through the tight passage. The way he's held is closer to a protective embrace as they shuffle between the doors.
Once they're through, he motions for Crankcase. "You're next. Come on."
"Comin'! I hear more 'bots runnin' our way, too," Crankcase warns as he starts to work his way through now.
Misfire frowns a little more, raising his pistol in preparation. Between the doors, Krok can see Crankcase trying to hurry as best as he can while Pharma looks frantic and tries to follow.
But Crankcase is right. They're out of time. Krok watches in dread as more soldiers come around the corner, lifting up their guns and prepared to fire. Pharma whirls around to face them, then raises his only hand.
"Wait-!" Pharma calls out, but he's painfully ignored.
The Autobots don't wait. They start firing, and the first thing to go is how Pharma's hand is torn to shreds by ammo. He doesn't scream, most likely out of shock as he collapses to the floor. Not dead, but injured.
"Crankcase!" Misfire snaps, starting to shoot over the other Decepticon in order to get at the Autobots.
"But what about-" Crankcase starts.
"Now!"
Closing his mouth tightly, Crankcase makes it the rest of the way through the doors, looking a bit distressed at leaving Pharma behind to the Autobots. Once Crankcase is through, Misfire nudges him to follow before they take off down the rest of the hall. Over Misfire's shoulder, Krok can observe that the Autobots are starting to squeeze through the doors as well, undoubtedly planning on following them.
Whatever happened to Pharma, Krok isn't sure if he's alive or not. It's impossible to tell from his angle.
"There's supposed to be a sewage passage of some kind. That'll take us out back," Crankcase advises, sounding a little sullen. Why the hell he'd be upset about an Autobot, Krok isn't sure.
Misfire nods as they continue down, raising a wrist to his mouth. "Spinister, bring the ship around to the designated exit. You should see sewage coming out somewhere. That's where we'll be."
Spinister, sounding unusually very energetic and chipper, responds with, "Yes sir you got it sir! On my way! Man oh man, by the way, I'm really not as good at piloting this as Crankcase, so I'm reeeeeally sorry about all the scratches."
"Ain't nothin' I can't buff out, Spin," Crankcase promises, looking a little more complacent. "See you in a bit."
They finally make it down to what seems to be a cell block. Dead or dying Decepticons are locked in their own cramped cells, and it earns a familiar twinge of pity from Krok. If he could speak, he'd want to see about freeing them or putting them out of their misery, but with the regretful look Crankcase wears it implies that they don't have time for either.
Misfire stops in front of a grate, tapping his foot on top of it. "It's here."
"I got it," Crankcase mumbles, crouching down and placing his fingers into the gaps of the cover.
As soon as Crankcase successfully pries it open, there's a strong familiar smell wafting up from below. The scent of spilled, old energon bled from a body.
"Go down," Misfire orders Crankcase.
With one nod, Crankcase hops down below. It's dark and Krok can't see just yet what exactly is down there, but he hears a splash when Crankcase lands. Misfire carefully adjusts his hold on Krok, following Crankcase down below. Just as they land, Crankcase lifts up an electronic torch, bringing light to where exactly they are.
They weren't wrong to call it a sewer. The waste products down here seem to primarily be the remains of energon. Down here, this is probably where the Autobots drain their prisoners. Essentially, they're disposing blood into these tunnels. Instinctively, Krok would almost call it a waste, but maybe that's the point. Maybe the Autobots don't even consider their energon worth keeping.
Crankcase pulls the grate cover down, taking a minute to weld it shut. "Ain't much, but hopefully it'll slow 'em down," he murmurs. "All right, so we just go down this way, right?"
"If Pharma was being honest." Misfire starts to make his way down the tunnel, liquid sloshing noisily around his ankles. His body language seems more stiff, as if he's actually disgusted to be down here.
Crankcase sighs quietly, following close. "I really wish we didn't ditch 'im, Misfire."
"He's an Autobot," Misfire says distantly.
"That don't make him all bad. Just kinda bad."
Misfire peers at Crankcase. "Do you want to tell Fulcrum that?"
"I- no." Crankcase shrugs helplessly. "Sorry."
"Your ember is in the right place." There's a pause, as if Misfire is struggling to find the right words to say. Something very uncharacteristic of him. That, and the word comes up again - ember. "But we did come for Krok. And just Krok. Remember that."
"I know," Crankcase says, placing a hand on Misfire's arm. "Thanks for hearin' me out a bit. I know what we're here to do."
"Mm." Misfire nods once.
Dim light comes into view the further they go down the tunnel. As they get closer and Crankcase holds out his torch, it becomes clear that it's another grate, but it's on the wall this time. From what little Krok can see from his angle, it seems to lead outside.
A relieved sigh comes from Crankcase, and Krok feels similarly. Maybe they really will make it out of here. The dismal acceptance of his fate from not that long ago seems to have turned around, and even if Krok could speak he honestly wouldn't know what to say. While he was grateful to have his teammates come rescue him, it just didn't seem plausible that they would manage it.
Yet, here they are.
"No time to relax yet," Misfire reminds. "We're still being followed."
"Right." Crankcase grunts as he kicks the grate. It bends the first time, but is successfully kicked off the second round.
Once the grate is gone, there's a clearer view of the outside. From the way they're positioned, Krok thinks that maybe they're at the back of the facility, but he isn't entirely sure. It definitely isn't the front gate, that much he can tell. Not far from where they're standing, he can hear the all too familiar sounds of battle and orders being shouted. In any case, they're still trapped, the wall around the facility blockading them from any exit.
Looking down over where the grate was, Krok can also see that it's a long way down. They'd survive the fall, but not without some injuries. Jumping is not the preferred plan here, clearly.
Misfire peers up at the sky, frowning. Lifting his wrist up, he asks, "Spinister?"
"I don't think that I can make it! There's too much shooting, you know? I can't bring the ship!" Spinister answers frantically.
"I understand." Misfire lets out a hiss of frustration. "If I fly over the wall, I'll be too slow to dodge anything. And I can't leave Crankcase behind."
In the tunnel behind them, Krok can hear stomping feet and the distinct splash of liquid as soldiers are undoubtedly charging them from behind. He twitches, static bursting from his vents as he tries to grip Misfire's arm.
"I know." Misfire cringes before he's letting out another command, "Fulcrum! Come into my position. Spinister, draw their attention with the ship if you have to. Crankcase? Hold onto me." Misfire holds out a free arm, putting it around Crankcase's shoulders. Quickly, Crankcase loops his bulkier arm around Misfire's waist.
Tilting all of their weight forward, Misfire grunts and fires up his thrusters on his feet and back alike. It's barely enough to level them out and soften their landing to the ground below, but it's one step closer to possibly escaping.
But they're still distinctly trapped. Krok is too cumbersome for Misfire to fly especially well, and as he mentioned he isn't about to leave Crankcase. Looking up, Krok can see soldiers coming closer to the edge of the sewer. If they stay here, they'll be perfect targets to be shot at.
Immediately, Crankcase brings up his shotgun, shooting relentlessly as Misfire takes a few more precise shots. They don't remain still fortunately, but they aren't making it to cover fast enough.
Crankcase ducks behind a pile of crates, and Misfire goes to follow and misjudges how slowly he moves. A shot clips his helm, causing his head to jerk and for them to stumble into the ground, Krok thrown from his arms.
"Misfire! Captain!" Crankcase shouts, about to rise from his position.
This is it. Maybe it was wrong to become hopeful at the end. They were close, so close to escaping. Krok lets out a ragged vent of air as he watches the Autobots take their aim at them. Even if Crankcase rises to protect them, it'll be pointless. They'll die or worse: be recaptured.
There's a shriek in the air, the noise directly coming from an enormous missile flying overhead. It seems to be targetted at the cluster of the Autobots that are either taking aim or starting to climb down and make their way towards them. Krok stares a bit helplessly; if a missile that size goes off, it'll kill the Autobots but take Krok, Misfire, and Crankcase with it with nothing left but molten scrap.
But the missile transforms and lands on top of one of the Autobots with enough force to cause plating to crunch. The other Autobot soldiers immediately look like they're actually having second thoughts about approaching with at least one of them starting to slowly back off from the new arrival. Standing upright from tackling the soldier earlier and rolling his shoulders back is to his shock-
"Fulcrum!" Crankcase calls out, looking relieved.
Most of Fulcrum's plating color-wise is unchanged, still a bronze hue, but there are some various blue stripes running down his back. For the most part, he's recognizible, especially with that impressive chin, and he even looks like he's still K-Class, just some minor differences. Little wings stick out from upper arms and his back alike, no doubt due to his missile alt-mode. He's bulkier instead of the lanky K-Con he remembers, but Krok does recognize him.
Fulcrum cracks an incredibly smarmy grin, shrugging his shoulders as plating slides open on his arms. Tiny rockets launch from him, exploding into the Autobots right behind him. Not all of them have been successfully blown up, though, and that becomes apparent as a pair of soldiers attempt to take on Fulcrum from behind.
Two shots are fired, precisely shooting the pair of Autobots in the head. Krok glances out of the corner of his optics, seeing that Misfire has recooperated enough to have been able to defend his teammate, but barely. Fresh energon runs down the side of his head where he'd been clipped.
"You're still too careless," Misfire mutters, touching his injury gingerly with his fingertips.
"I'm still walkin', ain't I?" Fulcrum says with a snort as he approaches. Rolling his shoulders back reveals a slot opening itself along his upper left arm. A rocket shoots out, impacting the sewer exit that they utilized before.
"They'll have heard that," Misfire says with a sigh.
Fulcrum barks out a laugh. "Let 'em." After glancing over his shoulder, there's a pleased, low chuckle from the fiery mess, as if he's getting a kick out of it before he comes closer and crouches down to look at Krok. The war historian can only gaze back up with a wide, unsure gaze.
It seems to make Fulcrum bark with laughter before he remarks in a gruff voice, "You look surprised, darlin'."
"How bad is it out front?" Crankcase asks, coming out of cover to help Krok up into a sitting position.
"Not as fun since I left it." Fulcrum shrugs. "Deadlock and Spinister are baiting, but I'm pretty sure that the Autobots know what the hell is going on here. They'll be floodin' out this way soon."
That makes Krok's head spin worse than the injuries on his person. Deadlock. Deadlock is out there, fighting? The way Fulcrum says it makes it seem like that Deadlock is helping them, but why would that traitor ever come assist them?
For the last time, what the hell is going on here?
Misfire stands up, shaking his head and ignoring the injury on his head. "Then we need to move."
"Wow, why didn't I think of that?" Fulcrum says flatly. "All right. I'll make us an exit. Give me some room."
The way Fulcrum walks isn't with caution. The way Krok remembers him, he'd always step around as if he was certain that if he walked wrong something would blow up in his face. Here and now? Fulcrum is practically stomping with confidence, making his way to the wall as he starts removing explosives from his arms and planting them onto the wall.
"We'll need to place a few more on the other side," Misfire points out. "The wall is too thick for that to go all the way through."
"Well then, darlin'. You just leave that to me." A mock salute is given to Misfire before Fulcrum crouches and leaps. Quickly, he transforms back into his missile alt-mode, taking off into the air without any fear.
Misfire gives himself a moment to rub the bridge of his nose before he shakes his head. As he crouches down and gingerly picks up Krok into his arms again, Crankcase approaches from behind.
"You okay with that?" he asks, gesturing to his head.
"It'll be fine. More of a distraction than an injury," Misfire assures.
The moment gives Krok a chance to reflect on this situation. So far, it seems that the rescue has been, amazingly, successful. He still aches, and he knows that his chest is still cracked open, his injuries overwhelming for even most medics. Spinister is a good surgeon, but he knows with their limited supplies that it'll be too much for him. In any case, that's ironically his biggest worry. His main concern are all of the startingly different personalities his crew is suddenly portraying. Crankcase being incredibly cheerful and positive, somehow Misfire is taking the situation seriously, Spinister sounds jovial to the point that Krok isn't even sure it's sincere, and Fulcrum is so eager for a fight. What could have changed his team so drastically?
If they do manage to escape, he'll learn soon enough. All he can really do is speculate.
His thoughts are interrupted by Fulcrum's voice warning them from their shared radio links: "All right. Keep your distance. I'm gonna activate these bad boys."
Warily, Misfire takes the advice with Crankcase. They step away from the explosives attached to the wall.
"We're clear," Misfire replies.
"Countdown. Three, two, and one."
A fiery explosion rips through the air in front of them, spewing out debris and flames. Shifting his weight, Misfire moves just enough to shield Krok, just in case, but fortunately the worst they all receive are a few angry pebbles bouncing off of their plating. A hastily made tunnel via bombs is now before them, with Fulcrum standing at the other end of the hole. Clutched between two fingers is a cy-gar, and Fulcrum is exhaling smoke from his vents.
"Ta-dah," the K-Con says, gesturing to the smoldering exit.
Misfire takes off through the hole in the thick, protective wall, cautious about where he steps. Activating his radio link, he begins to send out competent commands: "Spinister, bring in the ship. Fulcrum, hold off the Autobots as much as you can. Everyone else, retreat immediately."
"Now that sounds like hell of a time!" Fulcrum grins broadly. "Let's make it fun, darlin'."
Just as Misfire and Crankcase make it out to the other side, Fulcrum is already turning around and facing the battlefield. Here, Krok is able to take a proper look at it as well from the front.
The familiar smells and sounds of weapons firing and soldiers bleeding fill the air. For a small team, somehow they've done incredibly well. Knowing that it's his crew? It's so impressive that Krok isn't even sure that these are the same people. They're all various degrees of clever, but they've never been powerhouses. Not by a long shot. So, to see Fulcrum laughing and taking into the fight recklessly is a foreign thing indeed.
Speeding up to them is a red vehicle with white accents; it transforms, revealing a familiar frame: Deadlock. True to the implications, he wears a Decepticon brand again and he wears various cuts and scorch marks from the fight he's been in. Maybe that's it, that his team was so desperate for help that they accepted Deadlock into their ranks once more? It's an act of treason, but that's not surprising. They do make a habit of using their resources.
"Ahh, there he is! No need to crack up on us, Krok." Deadlock grins and points at his own chest. "But no, seriously, you've looked better. I'm guessing the Autobots didn't quite give you the make-over you were expecting!"
"Not now," Misfire interrupts him.
Lowering from the sky is a sight for sore eyes. The W.A.P. looks familiar, but more sleek and properly equipped. Hell, it even looks downright new in comparison to when he'd seen it last, but it seems smaller than Krok remembers it being.
A platform lowers from the ship, and Krok can see Spinister waiting inside. Most of his plating has been changed around in colors as well, most of him in shades of red. Specifically, his chevron is actually a golden color, making him stand out in a very different way as he lacks his traditional Decepticon paint job.
Quickly, they board onto the platform. Deadlock lets out a loud whistle and shouts, "Hey! 'Splosion Man! Time to bail!"
Fulcrum does pause in his solo attempt to defend them, his arms dripping with spilled fuel that Krok hopes isn't his. Then he crouches and exposes his back, revealing an arsenal of tiny missiles and bombs just before he launches them at the Autobots. Just as he turns away from the following explosions behind him, he flicks away his cy-gar and transforms, flying into the ship.
"That's everyone!" Spinister says, sounding relieved. "Misfire, I can take him."
Gently, Misfire passes Krok into Spinister's arms; behind both of them, Crankcase is dashing away to the bridge where Krok can see him taking the pilot's seat.
They made it. They really made it. It's unbelievable, but Krok is really going to have to commend them for this when he's able to actually speak and move.
"Man they really did a number on you," Spinister says quietly as he marches down the hallway. "We're gonna need fresh energon for him."
"I'll take care of it," Misfire says, slipping away.
As they walk, it occurs to Krok that the interior of this ship really is a little smaller than the W.A.P. It's more narrow, far less rooms. It's more like a transport vehicle than a ship that they can actually live on. Which is definitely odd; how do they expect to travel long distance? In any case, Krok shakes off the thought. That isn't important just yet.
Spinister pulls out a sliding medical slab from the wall, carefully placing Krok onto it. As Spinister starts to examine him, Krok can see Fulcrum impatiently pacing while Deadlock is leaning against the wall close to the K-Classer.
The surgeon peers in close, looking confused at Krok's sliced open chest before he tilts his head.
"Something's wrong with your ember," Spinister murmurs to himself without explaining what an ember even is. "Well, that besides a number of other things. Oh, but that doesn't mean that we can't fix you! I'm, uh, just saying. This is pretty strange."
"What's it mean, Spin?" Fulcrum growls.
Spinister shrugs and waves his hand a little in a non-committal way. "Ehhh? I really don't know."
Misfire comes back into view, holding out a tall glass of energon to Spinister. "So what can be done?"
"Well..." Spinister gently helps Krok sit up, tilting the glass so he can start refueling. The taste is crisp, and it flows down his intake smoothly. This is high quality, and Krok is almost downright suspicious about how they got their hands on something so good, but for now he just focuses on refueling. "I can give him a basic patch job, but that's seriously it. This ship isn't exactly equipped with a super awesome medibay, you know! Plus, I can't really investigate what's going on with his ember and figure out what the smelt happened to him."
"We don't have time to take him back to the main base," Misfire says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.
Spinister coughs awkwardly. "You're not gonna like my suggestion, but hey! Here's a thought: why don't we call up Tarn and the others and see if we can use their facility?"
What?! The sheer thought of being anywhere close to Tarn and the others makes Krok choke and sputter out energon. Alarmed, Spinister pulls the glass away and softly pats his back. "Okay, I know you don't like them much, Captain, but we don't have much choice," Spinister tells him.
"The answer is a big no," Fulcrum snaps, turning his head and spitting. "We can take care of ourselves. We have for ages!"
"That isn't up to you, Fulcrum." Misfire folds his arms. "Although I know the captain's never favored them terribly, but this is his life at stake. We may not have time to reach Megatron and have their medical station prepared."
"I want nothin' to do with the DJD! They've done enough!" Fulcrum snarls. "Bunch of-"
"Do you want Krok repaired or not?" Misfire asks coldly.
That makes Fulcrum pause, then he looks away sharply. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I do!"
"Then this is what we'll need to do. I'll have Crankcase take us to the Decepticon Justice Division." At the news, Krok gives a distressed noise. Why? Why are they choosing this? They just saved him, and now they want to go back into danger? Misfire ignores him, continuing, "In addition, I'll attempt to reach out to Megatron and see if he can send Starscream our way. We could use all the scientific help that we can get."
No, no, no. This can't be happening. Why are they choosing this? Krok feels his head spinning, and his vents wheeze anxiously. He twitches, trying to struggle, trying to speak.
"Captain, easy. Easy!" Spinister attempts to steady him. "Krok, careful! You have to be careful!"
Krok lets out a groan, his head pounding. He tries to will words to life, to have them emit clearly, to beg them to not take him anywhere near the DJD. The threat of it almost physically pains him! He hisses, feeling his frame tremble.
He loses consciousness.