Divided Loyalties

Chapter 1

by BitterEloquence and Wyntir Rose

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara, and are licensed to IDW and Dreamworks. Our original characters are our own and any similarity between them and any existing characters from canon or fandom is purely coincidental. We claim no ownership by writing this work.

Authors' Note: Thanks go out to Okami_Myrhibis for betaing this fic for us.


Kup stood outside the door of the interrogation room, preparing mentally for the upcoming interview. It wouldn't be easy; not by any stretch of the imagination, but he wouldn't have changed his assignment for all the energon in Iacon. The moment he had learned of the capture of the Combaticons, he knew that he had to be in on the interrogations; and there was one Combaticon in particular who he knew he had to question. The unit was a vicious, psychotic lot of sociopaths and violent psychopaths but Vortex was the most twisted out of the bunch. Pit-spawned demons like him were rare nowadays, and that was why Kup knew that he had to be the one to do the questioning. The sparklings who made up the Autobot Security force were in no way equipped to handle a sparkless monster like Vortex.

Steeling himself, Kup entered the interrogation cell and locked the door behind him. As he did, bored, and flat optics that were devoid of emotion or even interest turned to face him. It was as if Vortex was staring right through him like he wasn't even there. Ignoring the gaze, or lack thereof, Kup casually walked up to the table in the center of the room and examined the Decepticon chained behind it. Vortex was slouched in the chair, looking bored out of his processor. He really wasn't much to look at; there was just no way to tell that this lithely built flier took such sadistic glee and pleasure in tearing his fellow Cybertronians apart without remorse or pity.

Remembering that Vortex was quick, deadly, and cunning, Kup crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at the Decepticon.

"Hello, Vortex. I think it's time we had a little chat. You need to answer a few questions before we move on."

After a long time of staring at the far wall, Vortex finally shifted, rotors spinning lazily as he stretched like a primitive and feigned a yawn. "They sent you? How insulting. Surely you should realize by now that I'm not going to talk and that answers don't come cheap."

Kup slid into a chair opposite the flyer, ensuring that he wasn't in reach of either Vortex's hands or rotors. He watched the display of nonchalance with careful amusement. The Decepticon was going to be a hard one to crack. Sly games and subtle hints wouldn't work on him. No, the direct approach was always best when dealing with the dangerously insane - still, that didn't mean that he couldn't poke at that over-inflated ego a little bit.

"Yes, they sent me. Apparently, you don't warrant anything better than a mere grunt. Not surprising really, all things considered," Kup replied, sounding bored. "And we wouldn't dream of asking for any information free of charge. The deal is this. You tell us what you know of Decepticon activities and we don't turn you and your cronies over to Megatron for punishment. Assuming of course that we like what we hear."

Vortex watched him with open amusement for a moment before looking down at his hands. He picked at a few flecks of dried energon still sticking to his hands. "You're going to have to do better than that, Autobot. I know who you are and you're a bit more than a grunt. I'm just disappointed that they didn't send me a professional. I hate dealing with dilettantes. "

He knew better than to rise to the bait. True he was much more than a mere grunt, but he wasn't some rookie Towers brat either. "I ain't no dilettante, boy. And you may know me, but I know you just as well. You're just a little wannabe killer, thinking that he's being creative and artistic, when really, you're just a pale shadow of the masters. Nothing but a Scrapper wannabe."

The Combaticon snorted scornfully and flicked a few flakes across the table at Kup. "Please, I have no interest in turning another Cybertronian into a living sculpture. If that's your idea of 'art' then so be it. Personally, I much prefer...making music." He laughed quietly at his own joke, a cold and sinister light shining in his optics as his rotors spun lazily.

"You interrupted my fun, you know. I love it when they get to the part where you can hear the madness and pain mingling amongst the static. Music to my audios." He shivered delicately as if savoring an especially fine brew of high grade. "But they were so sweet. You know, I love family units; they're always a personal favorite. Especially when they have a sparkling with them. There are so many...opportunities when you have wide selection to choose from. And of course, there has to be some spice, some variety otherwise it gets boring."

Kup's hands clenched for a moment and his optics hardened at the casual mention of the family Vortex had butchered, but he quickly regained his control and allowed the Combaticon to continue his monologue.

Vortex leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling with a happy little smile. "I remember that furlough they gave us a few vorns ago. Oh, what was that little city called? They all kind of run together after a time." Tsking to himself, Vortex pretended to rummage through his memory banks. "Oh who cares, it was just full of delicious little Autobot troops. Must have been some kind of training camp. Heheheh, I certainly gave them a nice workout before we executed them."

"Call it what you like, Vortex," Kup said finally, tightly controlled anger still smoldering in his optics. "No matter what title you put to it, everyone knows that you're just a nut job with a scalpel and that's all you'll ever be. After all, if you had anything resembling skill you wouldn't be going after sparklings. You'd actually focus on prey that offered a challenge."

Vortex smirked when he saw the flash of anger. "But that time it wasn't sparklings. Well ... not that half-trained Autoboscum really presented much of a challenge so they were about as vulnerable as sparklings." He shot Kup a chastising look. "You really should see about training them better. If you Autobots were more of a challenge, I wouldn't get bored and have to go pick on Neutrals and their adorable little offspring."

Kup leaned forward in his chair and placed one hand on the table that separated him from Vortex.

"Again, little challenge. But Decepticons; now they would be - assuming that you actually want one. We might just be convinced to look the other way in regards to your activities if you focused on more dangerous prey. And made it worth our while, that is."

The sadistic mech tilted his head to the side as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Say, aren't you one of the mechs in charge of training new recruits? If you want, I'll give you some pointers on how to really train your cute little sparklings on how to withstand capture and torture. And please, why would I torture members of my own faction? That hardly makes sense."

He was determined to remain cool and collected, but the truth was, Vortex was beginning to get to him. He had been so sure that he could handle this sociopath; that he was just like every other maniac out there. But the fact of the matter was that Vortex was far cooler than he would have thought. It was time to put more emphasis on the interrogator's future rather than the past.

Vortex was an expert at reading mechs and he knew he was beginning to get to Kup. The problem was, he liked getting under other mech's plating and Kup had unwittingly turned this into a game now.

"I think I hit a nerve," he purred. "Feeling the weight of your failure as a teacher? It must be frustrating to know you're sending all those fresh new-builds out to be slaughtered by the likes of me and my team. Heh, when Brawl and I get really bored, we like to tie them to his chassis then I'll fly upwards and we'll pull at the mechs until they snap. Whoever gets the larger piece wins."

Kup's gun hand twitched ever so slightly as Vortex described the deaths of his troops in such graphic detail, but he continued to control himself.

"Tell me something Vortex, are you really this obtuse or are you being dense on purpose? You don't have a faction anymore. Megatron's sold you out. There's a bounty on your head so large it could buy Iacon. Every hunter on the planet is looking for you and we Autobots are the only things standing between you and them. And from where I'm sitting, you're not giving us much incentive to keep you lot safe."

At mention of the bounty and so-called Autobot clemency, Vortex laughed outright. "Please, you're not offering us anything. The moment we tell you what you want to know, you'll put us down like the mad turbo wolves you think we are. Not that anyone would want to be Autoscum to begin with. You're going to lose the war and we're going to munch on your sparks with our morning energon."

"Yeah, Vortex, you're right," Kup said, not bothering to hide the disdain and disgust from his voice now. "If it were up to me I would put you down. Pit! I wouldn't even be offering you this much of a deal. You never would have seen the outside of that warehouse if I'd had my druthers." He then sat back in the chair and was once again calmly aloof. "But this new Prime has ideas when it comes to pit-spawn like you and your team. He believes that there's a place for you bolt-sucking, diode-cracking glitches in the future of our society. And while I would dearly love to put you down right now, I have a job to do. The Prime wants me to present our offer. So it's presented. You take it, you live. Either with us as Autobots or off world as Neutrals. Either way, Megatron doesn't get his claws into you. Turn it down and I will happily hand you over to the Unmaker myself. I may be an Autobot but that doesn't mean I don't have uses for that bounty."

Vortex grinned, a mad little grin. "Ohhhh you'll let me play with Autobots? How quaint. Ahhh ... too bad I'm not allowed to make decisions like that. I'd just love to play with you too. For a second-gen, I'll bet you have all sorts of fun tricks. Too bad you're probably too old and rusted to hold your own against a real mech. Which is probably why you're in charge of training the cannon fodder...oh wait, I mean the green troops." He leaned forward and looked at Kup almost conspiratorially. "Unless the rumors are true of course. I've heard you like 'em young. Aren't they so much easier to mold and shape to your vision that way?"

Up until this point, Kup had been irritated. More than irritated in fact. He had been ready to take the Decepticon out right then regardless of the Special Ops orders to keep him alive. But that last crack about his age and the implication of his tastes ... Kup's mouth twisted and compressed then, suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

"Ah, now sparkling, you're just grasping at straws. And here I thought you might actually be a challenge to me. But I suppose not. Maybe in a few dozen vorns when you get some experience under your plating ... oh, wait, you probably won't live that long. I guess you'd better hope that whichever one of you lot who can make decisions makes the right one."

Vortex gave the old Autobot a coy look. "Why, Kup, does that mean I might interest you after all? From the sounds of it, I might be young and impressionable enough for your tastes. Come on, don't you want to show me the wonders and advantages of the Autobot lifestyle? Maybe mentor me and show me the errors of my way?" He chuckled softly. "I've heard you love teaching young mechs all your secret tricks. Didn't you take the new Prime under your wing? I'll be he's made you oh so proud too."

Kup leaned forward in his chair again and smiled slightly. "Yeah, if you were to switch sides I guess it would fall to me to train you in all the proper ways of doing things. I suppose I could even start now if you'd like." He moved to stand then sat back down again with a look on his face as if he had just remembered something important. "Oh wait, that wouldn't work. After all, you're all alone in here and, well everybody knows that you can't manage a thing without Brawl holding your hand."

The Combaticon''s optics brightened with interest when Kup moved to sit up. For a moment, he almost thought the Autobot would be foolish enough to get within reach but then he teased him by sitting down again.

"Oh, don't worry, I don't need Brawl to hold my hand. I can play by myself though I'm always on the lookout for new playmates. Won't you play with me, Kup?" he purred, ann evil gleam lighting his optics. "Or am I too much for you? Poor old mech, they really didn't prep you very well for this."

He snickered nastily and leaned back in his chair, rotors spinning lazily once again. "You tell whoever is monitoring this that the next time they want to try and outmatch me with wits or crawl into my processors, they shouldn't come unarmed to the battle. You're boring me, you can leave now. Tell them to send someone more interesting next time." He feigned another yawn.

Kup sat crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Vortex smugly.

"You're right. I am no match for you. But as I said at the beginning of this little interview, you didn't warrant anyone better." He cocked his head to the side as if receiving an internal comm on an antiquated system. When he looked back up at Vortex his grin was even more smug than before. "And considering that I'm really just a messenger in all this, it's not my job to get into your head. I'm only here to keep you busy and talking just long enough for someone else to figure out how you tick. And apparently, you've just spilled an awful lot of data."

"Of course! You're right! I'm just a poor misunderstood sparkling looking for someone to love me!" Vortex gushed dramatically. "Or maybe I just need a sparkling to love. Preferably one who's bleeding and crying out for mercy as I slowly strip away ever hint of metal from their chassis until the endoskeleton is bared and twitching beneath my hands. Mnn....so sweet." Another dreamy look took hold in Vortex's optics.

Kup's look hardened slightly but he schooled his features quickly. "That's it. Keep trying. There's really nothing you can say that'll bother me enough to make me take a swipe at you, if that's what you're after. Worse mechs than you have tried, believe me. And while you're busy trying to bother me our people have taken what they need and have moved on to more interesting vistas."

"Oh boy, does this mean they'll actually give me someone interesting to play with after this?" Vortex taunted in a bored tone of voice. "Goodie, I was getting kind of bored anyway-"

Before his insulting could continue, a feral scream and a resounding crash splintered the air from the room next door. Metal screeched against metal as a deep bass voice rose in a torrent of nearly incoherent screams and curses.

"Hmph, at least someone is having fun."


Brawl glared at the red Autobot from his place behind the overturned and smashed table before straining at his restraints again. He roared in anger as he pulled at the bonds that kept him chained in place. Already the two holding him to the floor had been shattered when he succeeded in throwing the heavy metal table at Ironhide, and now one of the chains binding him to the wall was starting to give way.

"LET! ME! GO!" he roared as he strained forward, hands grasping for the Autobot's throat.

"Aw, quit yer yapping." Ironhide grumbled, un-slinging the rifle he'd carried into the room. He made sure it was on one of its lower settings before shooting the raging Combaticon. "Yer makin' mah processors ache with all that carrying on."

Brawl staggered back as the stun beam hit him. For a moment, his optics flickered slightly, but they cleared as he shook his head.

With another roar of anger, he lunged at Ironhide, straining and pulling at his bonds. The chains began to crack and spark under the continued strain, threatening to give way at any moment.

"GET OVER HERE!"

"Ah'll say this fer ya. Yer one stubborn spawnuvaglitch." Ironhide just upped the voltage a bit and shot him again.

This time Brawl actually stumbled as the shot hit home. Electricity danced over his armor causing him to twitch slightly. His fans kicked in, cooling his overheated systems and he huffed angrily. One massive hand wrapped around one of the chains keeping him to the wall and he yanked at it with all of his strength. Finally it came loose in his hands, and with a feral grin and a howling roar, he launched himself once more at the Autobot.

Ironhide liked to think he was a rather brave and unmovable mech but watching the sheer destructive power and hateful will for destruction coming from this enraged mech was enough to unnerve even him.

Then, Brawl broke free. "Aw, frag," He didn't even bother trying to stun the other mech, he just opened fire and backed towards the door.

'Hide, why don't you get outta there 'till he calms down a bit, it's obvious he ain't gonna be cooperating anytime soon,' Jazz's calm voice said over the comm.

'Frag that! Ah can handle one slagged-off idiot just fine, Jazz!' the red mech snapped back, obviously offended at the suggestion.

Brawl strained against the last bond, nearly pulling his arm out of it's joint in a desperate bid to grab Ironhide. He grunted and screamed at each shot that hit him, but he was being carried by raw programming now and nothing was going to keep him from his target. But while the programming and the spark were willing, the body was not, and the enraged Combaticon was starting to falter under the barrage.

'I ain't playin' 'Hide you need to get yer aft outta there now,' Jazz shot back, all pretense of calm left behind as the situation continued to devolve.

Ironhide growled and fired a volley of liquid nitrogen at the raging Combaticon in an attempt to slow him down.

'Ah'm headin' to the door now. We can't jus' let 'em run wild in the room. He's gonna break out eventually so we might as well cut him off now.'

Brawl stumbled back as the liquid nitrogen hit. He screamed out a half-intelligible curse as he fell to one knee, his optics flickering as his body started to finally give out under the constant strikes.

"Will you please shut up already?! We don't need to hear it anymore, Brawl!" an irritated tenor yelled from the next room.


Up in the observation booth, Jazz had been lounging with his feet propped up on the terminals as he watched the various monitors intently.

"Aw, spawn of a-," the saboteur cursed, sitting upright in his chair suddenly when he watched Brawl break free and lunge for Ironhide.

"I told you this was a bad idea," Red Alert muttered as he rapidly assessed the situation from his station. "Order him out of there so I can put that psychopath down!"

The security chief brought the emergency systems online preparing to fill the room with enough electricity to short out everything inside of it.

On the other side of the room, Smokescreen took in all the screens, carefully assessing the situation, studiously avoiding the last one and the room holding a stumpy tan mech. At Red Alert's order, however, he wrenched his optics away from the visuals and glared at the security director.

"Red, are you out of your processor? Hold off on that! You don't know what kind of a dose it'll take to put him down! You might kill him and we need all five of them alive! Tell him, Jazz!"

"Whoa now, jus' chill out mechs." Jazz tried to calm them both with hands held out at his sides in a non-threatening manner as he communicated with Ironhide through his internal comm..

"Chill out? Are you completely failing to grasp the severity of the situation?" Red Alert asked incredulously. "If Brawl escapes that last bond and gets out of the room there's no guarantee that we'll be able to stop him before he threatens the security of this outpost. Now order Ironhide out of there or I'll have to take him down along with the Decepticon."

Smokescreen stepped forward and glared at Red Alert, door wing flared out angrily. "You're the one who has completely lost it, Red! You can't activate the grid with Ironhide still in there! 'Hide can handle this, you just have to give him a breem to-"

Red Alert cut Smokescreen off with an impatient shake of his head. "We don't have the luxury of a breem. Jazz I'm activating the grid in 30 klicks. With or without Ironhide out of there."

"The frag you will, Red! I'm still in charge o' this operation and I ain't lettin' you fry an Autobot. Just pipe down and sit yer aft down in that chair." It was rare for the cheerful, affable mask Jazz always wore to slip but in that moment, the security mech was faced with the cold-sparked leader of Spec Ops, not the friendly mech who brought him energon when he was too tired to get up and walk to the dispenser.

Red Alert glared at Jazz, resentment burning in his optics, but he did move away from the console.

"I am officially registering my disapproval of this, Jazz. I will not be held responsible when that maniac escapes."

"Duly noted," Jazz muttered grimly, letting go a weary cycle of air when he saw Brawl finally start to go down. "There, crisis averted. Told ya 'Hide could handle 'em."


Stuck in the room with Blast Off, Mirage frowned when the shuttle shouted abruptly. "Must you raise your voice as well?" The former aristocrat muttered, crossing his arms over his chest with a disapproving look.

Blast Off huffed imperiously as Brawl's tantrum finally ended. With a final glare at the wall, he sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and went back to staring at a spot on the wall just to the left of Mirage's shoulder. He was fully willing to wait until they provided him with an interrogator worthy of his position rather than the Towers Brat they'd sent.

Mirage glowered right back at him before contacting Jazz audibly over the comms. "Jazz, do I really have to be here? This slagger is a complete waste of my time. Why didn't you give me someone important to interview, huh?"

Up in the command center, Jazz snorted to himself, instantly catching onto Mirage's game.

Sorry, 'Raj, we're fresh out of 'fun and interesting'. Unless you wanna go play with Brawl?

Back in the room Blast Off smirked at the communication.

"Oh now that would be interesting. I imagine it would take Brawl all of a breem to rip your spark out and eat it. That is, if he didn't let Vortex play with you first. I will admit, it would be very nice to see you put in your place, Brat. Right next to the rest of the Tower corpses." He never looked at Mirage as he spoke.

"Oh please, like a rag-tag useless bunch of slotheads like could even touch me." Mirage finally looked at Blast Off and smirked. "Who do you think is the one who tracked Vortex back to your hideout? For the supposed elite of the Decepticon battle forces you lot sure were...disappointing. I was hoping for at least some challenge, instead it was like tracking a limping and dying turbo-rat back to their den."

"Oh yes, sparkling. Keep telling yourself that you did it all by your lonesome with no help from that commander of yours. ... Oh yes, we've heard all about how you bought your way into the head fool's service. Not surprising really. The Towers Wastes were never good at anything really. If you were, you wouldn't have tried to buy your safety as you did," Blast Off said in a cool, almost off-hand tone, finally looking Mirage over as if he was examining a piece of waste on the bottom of his foot.

Mirage smirked again. "Aw, does it offend you to think that one spoiled Towers Brat was the one who landed you and your team in this sleezehole? Must be insulting and a little demeaning. If I were in your place, I think I'd just pull out my energon lines rather than deal with the disgrace of being held by 'weak' Autobots. Heh, you spent how long avoiding Megatron's best assassins to be brought in by a Towers mech."

"Yes, well, you aren't me, now are you? But I do have to grant you one thing. If I were you, then yes, I probably would pull my energon lines out. Better that I suppose than live with that ridiculously petite frame. ... Out of curiosity, is the problem that your creator couldn't settle on a gender for you?" Blast Off asked in a bored tone.

He turned away from Blast off and chuckled nastily. "You know, you seem to have some experience with the Towers. Actually you look a little familiar. Didn't you used to work as a garbage carrier? With your bulky alt mode it was probably all you were good for before the war. Of course, you fit in so well here in this squalor that it's kind of hard to tell the difference between one flying model and another." The smirking noblemech shrugged carelessly as he turned back to meet Blast Off's visor and shook his head as if he found the Decepticon pitiful. "Poor thing, being so inundated with the slag that you can't tell true Towers quality. Of course, I guess with your bulky and unsightly frame you can't help but be envious of me. It's okay, I'm used to Commoners envying me and wanting me."

"Ah, yes, 'quality'," Blast Off said slowly, as if tasting the word and finding it to be rotten. "That always is the defense of those blinded by their own thin veneer, isn't it? I have to wonder, do scraplets consider themselves to be of a higher quality than cosmic rust? I suppose it doesn't matter in the end. After all, you can polish it up, make it pretty, and teach it all the manners you like, but trash will always remain trash.

"Hmnn," Mirage looked him up and down critically. "You've certainly tried to pretty yourself up but in the end, you're still shoddy second-hand materials so I guess you would know more about that then I."


Up in the command center Smokescreen made no attempt to bite back a chuckle as he came to stand behind Jazz.

"That kid has got to learn to curb the superiority complex before someone hands him his head," he said softly. "I'm still not seeing what you see in him, Jazz."

Jazz shot Smokescreen an amused smirk as he watched his protégé work the room. "Trust me, he's a complete slagger but he knows how to get under a mech's plating faster than anyone I've ever mech. Even you. Mech's a natural at reading."

Smokescreen examined the screen and the Towers mech carefully.

"Hmm ... might be good to test. I can't say that I'd mind having that mech under my plating ...," he said with a crooked, and somewhat predatory, grin.

At the back of the room, Red Alert shook his head in disgust but said nothing.

Jazz raised an optic ridge and slanted a look at Smokescreen. "Far be it for me to tell you where you drink your energon but I think you're setting yerself up fer failure. 'Raj makes outer space seem warm. All that cold, Towers programming I s'pose."

"Hey, you know me. Always up for a challenge," Smokescreen replied, flashing a brilliant smile at Jazz's look.

"Heh, should be fun to watch I suppose." He smirked at Smokescreen, visor flashing slightly. "'Course, you end up hurting my agent and you and I are gonna have words, Smokey."

Smokescreen's demeanour sobered slightly but his smile remained firmly in place as he continued to banter lightly with the chief of Special Ops.

"Oh come now, Jazzy, you know me better than that. I never leave them hurt."

Jazz continued to smile as well though there was a pronounced sharpness to that expression. "Right, just a fair warnin' is all."

Smokescreen caught the look and his smile softened to a more apologetic one.

"Hey Jazz, you want me to back off, I will. I've never been one to step on another mech's feet after all." He looked back at the screen and vented his fans softly. "It's obvious that we're not going to get anything out of Blast Off though. As good as your boy is, I don't think he's gonna make a dent in that arrogance."

"It ain't like that, Smokey. 'Raj is just my agent. But I don' like ta see any of my agents have to deal with drama outside of the job," Jazz said carefully

Smokescreen nodded and moved to the next screen. "What about Prowl? You think he'll make any headway with Onslaught?"

At the back of the room Red Alert huffed softly.

"May I remind you that I told you this was a bad idea? Placing Prowl in a room with Onslaught is foolish and risky. We should not put our Lead Tactician at risk in this fruitless endeavor! As good as Prowl is, Onslaught is a cold, hard killer and he will not hesitate to take out an officer if given the opportunity!"

"I...don't think that'll be a problem," Jazz snorted as he glanced at the monitor showing Onslaught and Prowl sitting across the table from one another. A tactical game was set up between them as the two mechs talked civilly and matched wits with one another.