A/N Act Two—Act One was normalcy. Now we have some change to shake things up, and rising action. And more urban combat. Because I luvs its.
5.
"Change of plan, CC 26G643AB." His CC supervisor called him into a small conference room. Two other mechs, large, warriors, sat with him, frowning.
Barricade shifted, nervously. Bad enough he woke up expecting a shadow CC on top of his brain. Now…called in by the big mechs. Who wanted him to see and feel every bit of difference between them. Their size—his size. He looked like a child compared to them, even with them sitting. They had offered him a chair, which he had of course refused. Hated his short legs dangling over the sides. Hated the awkward clamber. Wouldn't give them that spectacle. Hate me as I am, on the ground.
"Yes sirs," he said. Better to submit, at least in this.
"The matter is, 26G643AB, we were reviewing your commendations from yesterday's action." The supervisory mech narrowed his eyes at Barricade as if he should know exactly what he meant.
"Yes?"
One of the other mechs clicked on some footage—Barricade saw Five's heroic dash to save Three spool out in front of him. Damn, he thought, he was good. He made Five look damn good, to boot. Best work yet.
"This is not within Breakdown's physical capacity."
Breakdown? That was his designation? Strangely apt. Barricade suspected that 'Freakout' was probably already taken. "The footage is unaltered," Barricade said, blandly.
"We know that."
"We also know what Breakdown is capable of, 26G643AB." Barricade felt the weight of using his designation code instead of his name. He knew what that meant. Breakdown was a person. He was…a CC droneling. Not even worthy of a name. Just an alphanumeric code.
One of the supervisory mechs leaned back against his chair. "We want to know how you did it."
Play stupid or not? Might as well get it over with. "Primary systems takeover." The mech sitting next to his supervisor bolted upright.
"You can do that? You can hijack another bot's body?" One of the warriors, Bombshock, sat up, looking disturbed.
"Apparently so."
His supervisor frowned at Barricade's attitude. To the angry warrior, he said, "I told you so."
"That is not CC protocol," the other warrior snapped.
"Protocol would have gotten everyone on my team killed, yesterday," Barricade said. "If you read the report, you know the triggering device."
"That's no excuse to—take over another bot's primary systems," Bombshock said, with something like horror in his voice.
"I had Five's permission." If they were going to reduce him to an alphanumeric, he'd reduce their kind to a number.
"Five?"
"Breakdown's channel designation for the mission," the supervisor explained.
"This can't be tolerated," Bombshock said. "I recommend immediate termination." He turned to the other. "Tailwind?" Barricade felt his central core go cold. Hadn't this slagging moron realized that Barricade had saved Three? Salvaged the entire mission? And this was to be the thanks he got. Great. Well, life, he thought, nice knowing you. It sucked. And now it's over.
"No," the second warrior said. "Five was incapable of independent action at the time—he told us himself. If this unit can do that…I'd like to see what else he can do."
The supervisor nodded straight down. "You know my thoughts on the matter." The warriors nodded. Barricade—this unit—did not have the luxury of knowing his supervisor's thoughts on the matter. The supervisor frowned at him for a long moment.
"26G643AB, we are volunteering you for a special…experiment. As you know, your success rate is the highest in CC. Your fatality rate one of the lowest. And with this…news, you seem ideal for the next progression in the combat control program." He waited. Barricade eventually indulged him.
"And the next step is…?"
"Metacontrol. You would be connected not directly to front line troops, but to their CCs and through their CCs to them. We can coordinate larger scale attacks this way. Change the whole face of the war."
The thought was not a pleasant one. Bad enough ten-max warriors cluttering up his attention. They wanted more? They wanted him to be able to hijack more of them? Did they even know what they were asking? "And if I say no?"
The supervisor lifted one supraorbital ridge. "You cannot say no, Unit 26G643AB." He was not a person. Just a number. A number they wanted to wire into every slagging warrior in the field. Barricade shuttered his eyes. His answer was…irrelevant.
****
6.
"Good mission cycle, warriors," he began. "This is CC unit 26G643AB, personal designation Barricade, mission designation Meta. I will be your metacontroller for the upcoming action. And, incidentally, for the next few cycles, I am your god."
He had been Meta for seventeen long decacycles. Long enough for any thrill (there was none) to wear off, and any stress (there was plenty) to make some good toothmarks on his sanity. They'd started him small—two or three other CCs under him, easy missions. Overkill missions, really. Sending in three to four times the firepower needed. Just to…see if he could handle it. Each mission they set him new objectives—hijack one warrior. Two simultaneously. Tactical analysis while coordinating rescue. Agonizing challenges. He'd struggled to reach every one. But he'd made them. Why? Why did I push myself so hard? Why didn't I just admit something was out of my reach?
They would have kept the damn Meta program. Scaled it back to whatever he was actually capable of. Probably even kept him as the primary Meta. It didn't matter. But…he'd tried anyway. Some misguided notion not to let the big warmachines see there was something, anything, a little runty droneling like Barricade wasn't capable of. Blow their fraggin' minds. Get some respect. Get a name.
Meta was a name.
Mechs hustled for the Meta. Mechs got out of his way when he walked down a corridor now. They might stare after him, a little surprised by his stature, and, by now, freakish appearance, but there was something close to respect and very very far away from contempt in their optics.
He dropped his attention as the warriors logged in. Alphanumerics for them, too, now. The first being the code of the primary CC. Seventy warriors on this mission. Seven CCs. Seventy eight, if you wanted a full tally, minds and bodies Barricade—Meta—was responsible for. Biggest yet.
He called up the monitoring channel they'd installed on him. He was always being observed, now. Not as intrusive as a shadow CC but…eerie nonetheless. Meta suspected no bot particularly cared to be talked about behind his own back. Inside his own head.
"Getting a bit arrogant, isn't he?" Bombshock said. He'd only allowed this Meta project to go forward if he had monitoring authority.
"Always been like that. It's his sense of humor."
"Besides, with his record, he can get away with a little attitude." Tailwind had prepped by watching hours of the CC unit's footage.
"But…god?"
"He is, in a way. Choose who lives, who dies, who goes where? Even without hijacking their systems, he's in control. What other word would describe that?" Bombshock frowned—he didn't like it when Tailwind got philosophical.
"One day," Bombshock muttered, "he's going to take this too far."
That day wasn't the day he took it too far.
*****
7.
"Mission objective," the supervisor said. "Saejon Three. Autobot resupply center. This is a big one, Meta. This is our response to Bindir Hub."
"You remember Bindir Hub, Meta?" One of the monitors. The one who thought he'd go too far. What was his name? Bombshock. Right.
"Wasn't there. Damage was. But I remember." He raised one of his hands. They'd had to adapt to his processing speed with an extra set of arms. Fine when in harness, but he still hadn't gotten the hang of them in normal tasks. "Why our Intel's been so fragged up lately."
"Intel's fine," the other monitor growled. "Think you can do a better job of it?"
"Yeah, actually." He stared the monitor down. With the standard-CC-issue four eyes and now with four arms to match, not a lot of bots could outstare him. He just looked too…odd.
"The point is," the supervisor cut in, trying to regain control. "This is our chance for payback. Your chance, too." They waited for him to say something gung ho. They could wait for a long fragging time. He'd do the mission—didn't really have a choice, did he?—but all this pretending to be excited about it? That happy warrior shit was…for the warriors. This was all just a game for him. A very dull, very stressful, very un-fun game.
"Meta, are you all right?" The 'go too far' monitor.
"Fine. Oh, the hands?" His smaller set had been shifting, agitatedly. "Don't know what to do with them when not in CC." He gave a thin smile.
"You sure you can handle one hundred?" Tailwind asked.
"One hundred and ten," Meta corrected. "Monitor the CCs too. And myself. One hundred and eleven. Or am I the only one who counts myself?" Getting a little tired of how CCs didn't apparently rate as beings to these warriors. "Last mission was one hundred."
"Right. Sorry." Tailwind gave a thin smile.
He shrugged. "Can handle it. What are we facing?" About time this conversation steered away from Meta and back to the enemy.
They scrolled out the objectives. To take Saejon Three, they needed to capture an entire approach as well. Three routes, at his discretion—ground, underground, and air. The objective itself was a series of small warehouses under a force dome. Freerunning (non-CC) demolitions experts were already in place to blow the force dome generators at his mark. Once in, the mission was simple. Destroy everything.
"If it's in the dome," the supervisor said, "It's the enemy." Like he needed it to be boiled down to that stupid.
*****
8.
He'd split his teams, some taking some CC'd air support, some going ground. He didn't like underground—no birdseye. The mission set off was for the middle of recharge cycle, when most good and law-abiding bots, even Autobots, were catching their forty volts. One joy of martial law, he supposed. He held the air support back—they could make better time and the noise might alert Autobots to their presence.
Light resistance til they hit the dome. Right on cue, the dome's force generators blew, sparking pink and white into the nightcycle sky.
"In," A warrior reported—B3.
"Easy part's over," Meta cautioned. They better not think they'd accomplished anything more than a walk down a street in the dark. Not til the dome was cleared. If it's in the dome, it's the enemy. Got it? Got it. Meta, you must be a moron. Some sort of idiot savant. If it's in the fraggin' dome, it's the fraggin' enemy. Like he didn't know how to read his own registers.
"To the right, energon refinery. C and E teams—you have no explosives. You clear it. Metal slugs only." He released C and E CCs to light monitoring. Having all of the consciousnesses in his head for a long time was agonizing. Confusing. He lost track of who he was sometimes. Where he was. You, he said, are in harness. You are Meta. Meta decides to pull back from C and E and let their primary CCs do their jobs to make his life a little easier.
"H and J teams, you're on perimeter. Optics bright. Everyone in Saejon sector probably saw the dome go down. Expect…something."
"A and D, you go straight up the middle. Armory to the left, some sort of warehouse—contents unknown—to the right. Go past main doors twenty paces, stop, and use your demo to blow a new front door. No fatal funnels for us tonight."
It went like this for two cycles, directing each team as an individual unit, at the CC level. Too easy. Meta began thinking they were actually going to make it without superlative ugliness. The Autobots were going down in droves.
Until E team disappeared. Blew right off his registry. He heard the howl of the CC in agony—losing that many linked-in minds—all of those alarm systems, fatality alerts—going off at once. He reached in and shut down E's CC, pulling him offline. No survivors. Whatever blew E away seemed to have given the Autobots new spine for resistance—they opened up with renewed vigor.
"Meta, what happened?" Tailwind asked.
Meta swore. "My frag up. I'll fix it."
"What happened?" More insistent.
"Have to do fraggin' everything, don't I?" That was it. He pulled primary control for the remaining 87 operational fighters. They couldn't do the damn job, he was going to get the blame? He would do it. He could do it.
*****
In the control monitoring room, Bombshock shook his head. "He's losing it. I told you it was only a matter of time."
"He's got it," said the supervisor.
"No, he's right. Meta's losing control. We have to pull him." Tailwind's distress was obvious. He believed in the Meta program. Believed in Meta. They glared at each other. The supervisor looked down at his screen. "Primus, he's taking all of them," he said, shocked. He looked up. "Fine. Pull them."
*****
Another unit dropped off his registry. How? What now? He'd heard no explosions. What had taken out ten warriors that he didn't know about? His capacitor started racing. Where did they go? His consciousness struggled with controlling the remaining bots. Mission,simple. If it's in the dome, it's the enemy. Fine. Even overstretched, he could do that.
He called up status. Twenty two of his registering offline. At least they wouldn't fight his control. He hit his override, and the offlined mechs stirred to life, optics dim.
In the dome: ten new enemies. Not on his registry. Enemy. Where had they come from? No matter: he knew for damn sure where they were going: to the Pit.
*****
"Dammit! He's killing them!" The supervisor's voice was shrill.
"Who?" Bombshock lunged for the supervisor's screen.
"Alpha team! You pulled their connect and now he thinks they're the enemy!"
"Stop him."
The supervisor swore, and hit his comm. "Meta. This is Combat Control One. Cease action."
"Can't!" came the frantic reply. "Losing them like flies here. I cut 'em loose they'll all die."
"Meta." His voice harder. "Cease action."
"Mission not complete. If they're in the dome, they're the enemy. I can get them. I can still get them. Where are they coming from?" Meta's voice skirled up in panic.
Tailwind swore. "Doesn't realize who he's killing. Stop cutting teams loose, Bombshock. Don't you see what he's doing? If they're not on his registry, they're targets."
"Well what? Do you want us to let him run them all down?"
"Meta. Direct order. Cease action."
A long empty static.
"Meta?"
"Do you want them all to die?" Meta's voice was tight. "I can save them. Or I can kill them all. Right now. They fight me less when they're dead. Let me do my job."
The supervisor went cold. Meta, a spindly little bot barely bigger than a drone, currently had…he called up, 68 warriors' systems on hijack. Thirty of whom registered as status offline. Which he'd just said he would terminate if he wasn't allowed to continue—exterminating any team that went off registry. "Yes, fine," he said, and cut comm. "We need another solution."
"Easy. Pull his plug."
The supervisor nodded. "I'll give the order."
Tailwind shook his head. "End of the Meta program."
"Pushed him too hard. Should have known better."
Bombshock snapped, "Apologize to his corpse. I told you this would happen. And now—how many good bots are we losing?"
*****
9.
Vertigo almost made it to Meta's CC harness when he felt his entire body go rigid. "How did you get in here," a voice hissed from somewhere inside his processor. "Are you in here now too? Are you all coming after me?" Vertigo whimpered. "What is your mission?" the voice demanded. When Vertigo didn't answer, he felt a burst of pain shoot through his entire primary sensor net. Two alarms redlined. "What is your mission?" the voice demanded again.
"To…disconnect Meta."
"You are the enemy." And Vertigo fell.
*****
"What the frag just happened?" Bombshock said. "Would you please explain to me what the frag just went on down there?"
The supervisor bit his lip. "Must have…maybe. I mean, it's the only way that explains it…."
"What?"
"He must have range-hacked Vertigo. If he'd CCd him before, the firewall permissions would still be in place and he could just—" The supervisor gestured with his hands. CC was hard to explain to outsiders, "reach out and take him."
*****
"Stop!" one of the warriors—H5—shrieked at him, over his controls. "They're us. They're our guys!" H5's voice was filled with horror as he felt, saw, his own body shooting at his comrades.
"They are not. They have been suborned. They are in the dome. They are our enemy."
"Stop. Listen. Please. You have to stop!"
"H5, I am tired of your voice." Meta cut H5's vocal processors. He could still feel H5's mind thrashing around in his. But at least his audio was clear. He had enemies coming at him from all sides now. Even here in the CC. They'd sent two more after Vertigo, as if he could be distracted by one and let the other through to kill him. He had dropped them both. No need to ask their mission.