Disclaimer: I OWN TRANSFORMERS!... hehe I almost was able to write that with a straight face... anyway if you don't already know by now, I don't own TF and I never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever will... :'(
First off I want to say thank you so much Nightshade for reviewing so consistently. It has given me more inspiration than you know... (I was in Kohl's when I saw your last ones and I started dancing in the men's clothing section... I was happy... mom was embarrassed... but I was happy...)
Also to everyone who might make it this far in reading, I am trying to think up of a new name for the whole shebang. Beginnings is just a little too vague and unoriginal. So if you like naming stories and you come up with something that sounds descent to your audios then by all means throw it my way.
Another thing, please when you read my story, if you think that sombot is acting out of character a bit let me know. It might be an honest mistake or I might be intentionally doing it with a future plot twist waiting in the background.
Chapter Four
Defeat.
That is the only word that can describe the mech and femmes that survived the battle that some are already referring to as the 'Metropolian Massacre'.
All of the citizens came out of hiding in its aftermath to look in horror at what their troops sacrificed to save their sparks. The grey frames of the offlined were a terrifying sight to these bots that had never went through an actual battle themselves. Optimus could swear as they had been clearing the supplies from the city that he heard metal clattering as the citizens shook in fright.
Families of bots huddled together, trying to shield younglings and sparklings from seeing the terrors of war. Elita1 and Chromia themselves were reunited with their young sister Optimus heard them call Arcee. The poor dark blue femmeling was outright keening in relief when she found that both of her siblings made it out of the battle alive when there was reported to be only twenty-three survivors of the city's troops.
Most of the bots living in the city had opted for going to Tyger Pax, one of the largest neutral cities of Cybertron. Even though it is a sympathizer to the Autobot cause, it will allow small numbers of Decepticons to enter its gates. Alpha Trion, the protector of the large city gave his consent to live in Tyger Pax for the citizens that wished to do so. Most of them did. Only a small number went to Praxus and an even smaller figure joined the Metropolian and Iaconic troops in going to Iacon.
Metropolis was swept through when the citizens were cleared. Anything that had value or a use was taken, least it fall into Decepticon servos. The city itself was left abandoned, an empty shell void of life with in. The base where the troops had been stationed was blown so that the military quarters would be of no use to Megatron. Metropolis was an uninhibited city awaiting the occupation of the Decepticon's forces.
The femme Commander, Elita1 was angry when she learnt of the older Prime's decision. Optimus can replay vividly her wrath when she found out that Sentinel wanted to leave the city.
"Leave Metropolis?" He remembers her voice cold and angry.
His father had replied his own patience wearing thin, "Metropolis is only a liability. Iacon cannot keep successively running for your liberation. We have lost a great amount of troops this lunar cycle; that could have been avoided if you had called the abandonment of the city yourself cycles (days) ago."
Optimus had actually been shocked that his father accused the pink femme so cruelly. His optics had gone to her and had seen her anger and pain behind its hidden façade. Her guilt was present again, lingering across her regal faceplates.
He had also been surprised when she had spoken out again against his creator, "So you would have us leave the city that so many offlined for? What then did my troops fight for those long solar cycles (1 solar cycle= 1 earth day) when Starscream beleaguered our gateways from genesis to twilight? What did they give their sparks for, Sentinel Prime?" Her even tone had bravely held back a major portion of the passion that she felt.
"Your city is a cesspit. Metropolis, if it remains occupied by Autobots, will only drain our resources and armies unnecessarily. You will pack your personal possessions, Commander, and you will evacuate this place immediately. Understand, fembot, that that was an order." Sentinel Prime's vocals had been cold, leaving no more room for argument. His final statement had made it impossible for her to do anything for her city, besides leave, without disobeying him directly.
The femme glared at Sentinel before withering gaze had traveled to Optimus. The younger Prime had watched her with optics carefully void of emotion, hoping that no one could see his own displeasure. While he approved his creator's thoughts that Metropolis was taking a lot of resources to maintain and that it was a wise decision to abandon it, he couldn't agree with how his father handled the situation.
Even now as Elita1 and her sisters are in Iacon, the femme hasn't uttered a word to betray her feelings again. She is obviously angry. Her warriors fought and offlined for the city that Sentinel Prime deemed as a waste of time. Someone has shown them their quarters, and the pink femme hasn't come out of them since.
Optimus is slightly worried about her. She seems like a delicate organic flower in the middle of an electric storm to him. Every time he sees her a protective feeling creeps over him before he can stop it. Not only protectiveness wars in his spark, but also possessiveness when he saw other mechs around her. These new feelings confuse the young Prime immensely. He wonders to himself if he should perhaps check in on her and her sisters and in the end he decides to.
As he approaches the sisters' combined living quarters a nervousness begins in his gears. What would he do? What would he say? 'Oh, Primus, sorry about your troops and your city, it's a real shame about them both?' As Optimus stands outside of the closed entrance he fidgets. He probably should just go to the Tactical Office to help his father reorganize after the chaos his brother Megatron caused and let the fembot stay in her chambers in peace.
Prime huffs loudly with aggravation at himself and his own foolishness before he turns to leave the premises without him knocking on the femme's door. As he is turning to depart though, the door opens quickly and Elita1 steps out. When she sees him she looks away quickly and wipes at her wet optics with the back of her servo. The femme appears to be ashamed that Optimus has seen her tears.
With a final sniff Elita gains her composure and meets the Prime's electric blue optics, "Can I help you?" Her tone is highly formal and Optimus can tell she is still not happy about having to leave her city. Her regal pink helm is lifted quite proudly and her previous battle wounds only serve to give her a fierce air. She is beautiful, Optimus decides with a blink of his optics, beautiful and strong. Elita's optics narrow as she waits for the Prime's delayed answer.
"Ah, yes. I came to make sure that your quarters are to your liking," Optimus mentally kicks himself for his single-byte processored recovery. That was literally the stupidest thing he has ever said in his life.
"They are fine, thank you," Elita's answer is cool and she watches the Prime like she would a nemesis. She more than likely thinks he could've swayed his creator's mind on the matter of Metropolis.
Optimus considers leaving then. She obviously doesn't want to talk to him and is doing so just out of politeness. He nods his helm to her in a tight good-bye and whirls on his pede to leave her to herself as she clearly wants. As he is walking away though, he stops and, against his own will, his frame turns halfway to look at Elita. She is watching him with evaluating optics that hold no liking for him.
"Are you…" Optimus' processor strains itself to think of what to say after he so dumbly turned around again. Why didn't he just keep going? He is making the biggest idibot out of himself right now. "Are you... alright?" He wishes he could dig a hole through the floor of the base and straight to the center of the planet. Are you alright? That is basically what he had wanted to ask her when he sought her out, but it has left his mouthplates all wrong.
Much to Optimus' surprise a quivering smile comes to Elita1's lip plates, "No, but I will be."
"Would you like me to escort you to the rec room?" How much more idiotic could he get?
She merely nods her helm and wipes her optics again from the moisture that had begun to gather there once more. Something tells the Prime that she had been heading there when she came out, but she suddenly didn't want to go there alone. Optimus gestures his servo in the direction of the rec room and she begins walking. Allowing the femme to pick the pace Optimus falls in step beside her. He is struck suddenly by how small she is standing beside him. She barely comes to his chest plating! An even stronger protectiveness than before flashes though his wires as he watches her.
As the pair enters the rec room, Optimus notes that the rush of bots that are usually here when the solar cycle (1 earth day) dawns have already passed and there is only a few sitting here and there at tables. He notices that Elita1 looks relieved at this fact and decides she probably wasn't in the mood for talking. So when the femme orders herself a regular energon cube from the bot on ration duty and sits at a corner table with him, the Prime keeps to himself.
Optimus Prime only watches her as she carefully sips at her energon. It is hard for him to believe that this is the femme that he heard stories about. Elita1 was known in every city as one of the bravest fembot warriors ever to hold a weapon. The tales of how she had taken over the command at Metropolis after Galania Prime was offlined and continuously thwarted the S.I.C. Starscream was known far and wide throughout Cybertron. Yet, as Optimus looks at this young pink femme, he finds the bot from the tales hard to reconcile with the one sitting across from him.
She just seems so fragile at this moment, like anything harsh would break her. The Commander he had heard of was a fierce and ruthless combatant that only showed mercy to the weak and defenseless. Elita's optics meet his own and Optimus' cooling fans kick in as his core heats up in awkwardness at being caught observing her.
"Tell me something, Optimus Prime," her majestic vocals startle him, "why did you not speak to Sentinel Prime on Metropolis' behalf when he made the decision to remove us from the city?" Her question lingers in the air between them.
Optimus sits fractionally straighter in his seat, "I am afraid I do not understand."
"You had planned to send a squadron of mechs to guard the city while I rebuilt my troops. And I want to know why you didn't make mention of this to Sentinel Prime?" Oh, so that is what this is about.
Optimus furrows his optic ridge slightly before answering her inquiry cautiously, "When Sentinel Prime spoke to me on this I must say I was against the idea of pulling out of Metropolis—"
"So why didn't you say anything?" Elita1 asks without looking one bit repentant that she had interrupted him midsentence. If anything the young Prime would say she appears on the verge of becoming angry all over again.
"Because after he had spoken his reasons I became in agreement with his decision." Silence fills the gap after Optimus' baritone vocals with a loudness that screams in his audios like a slowly offlining flight drone. The femme's optics are flashing at his response and he can tell her ill feelings are now being aimed at him. Optimus speaks again, feeling the need to explain himself to this femme, "I did not contest his decision because it was one that I should have thought of immediately after the battle myself. My silence wasn't a fear to speak it was accordance to his plan."
Elita1's anger is showing visibly on her trembling frame now, her servo grips her energon toightly, "Do you know how many mechs and femmes gave their sparks for that city? And now we've just abandoned it and we've let their sacrifice mean nothing. My troops offlined for nothing. I lead them to their demise… for nothing." Her vocals are biting by the time she is finished speaking. Her anger is fixed on him now; there is no doubt in his processor as he gazes calmly back into her blue optics.
"Elita1," he begins his vocal processor starting as softly as he can make them.
"Don't speak to me like I am a sparkling, Optimus Prime!" Her words are hissed out in a controlled rage at her troop's mass offlining. He really doesn't want to be harsh with her but she is being rather immature and accusing. It is not something he likes to see.
"All right then," he says his voice low and without emotion, "I am in agreement with Sentinel Prime. Metropolis is a waste of time and resources. The Decepticons have conquered the area around it and you have been waging a losing war for months now. No matter how many warriors you recruited, no matter how many snipers you acquired, Starscream would have eventually beaten you. He would have torn down the walls, killed all the bots on the inside and he would have occupied it by force. He would have taken—"
"Well, I guess you don't know that do you? Seeing as you gave up on the city so easily."
Optimus' own temper heats slightly at her accusation. She had to know deep down inside that he is right. She is taking her own anger and sorrow out on him because she feels like maybe he could have helped her keep her city alive.
"Face it Elita1," Optimus' vocals now also hold a slight edge to them, "the only reasons you had to stay are personal ones." A look of raw fury crosses the pink femme's faceplates at the young Prime's words. "Before you speak, fembot, allow me this. How many more would have you sacrificed for that cause that you knew was lost? How many more Autobots would have had to offline before you relented your own stubbornness?"
Elita1 rises suddenly, "Thank you, Prime, for bringing me here," her words are stiff, "If you will excuse me I think I shall return to my quarters." Without looking at the red and blue mech again Elita storms out of the rec room. Her pede falls clip angrily with every step, indicating to anyone in her way to move quickly.
Optimus Prime glances at her empty seat and notices that the cube has had been sipping on is gone. She has needed to refuel because her wounds have left her frame drained. At least, even in her anger, she took the rest of her energon cube with her. Optimus checks his internal chronometer and vents, it is still a few breems (1 breem= 8.3 earth min.) before he is supposed to go to the Tactical Office for counsel with his father, Ultra Magnus, Quick-plot, Piston, Ironhide, Red Alert the Head of Security, and Sonic-blaster.
It won't hurt to go early.
Optimus stands slowly, feeling suddenly way too old for how young he is. As he turns and leaves the rec room he thinks over the previous conversation. Perhaps he should apologize; he had been a little harsh with her. He blames it silently on his own anger at Megatron. His youngest brother's absence has been weighing on his processor a lot. How could it not though, with the constant waves of pain and fear the bond was transporting from Hot Rod to Optimus?
Optimus grimaces as a particularly strong pain hits him solidly in the spark. He is growing only slightly better at hiding the distress the emotions are placing on him. Not many bots know of Hot Rod's absence yet, and Sentinel wishes to keep it that way until they have come up with a solution for the problem.
As the young Prime walks steadily down the halls of the Iacon base he tries to send some security through the bond to his brother. Just as the many times he's tried before, Hot Rod's fear pushes away the comfort. His co-creation doesn't want to be consoled, he wants to be rescued. Frustration pulses through Optimus' frame as his sibling's fear grows into an outright terror. Pain begins slashing through the bond's ties again, and Optimus grits his denta. Whatever Megatron is doing to their youngest sibling Optimus prays it visits back on him tenfold.
Prowl runs over the old information again in the Tactical Office for exactly the five hundred and seventy-third time. Still nothing new shows up in his observations. He vents and runs a weary servo over his faceplates and begins searching through the data stored in his processor once more.
It is his fault that Sentinel Prime's youngest creation has been taken from this very base. He can feel it buried deep in his guilt-ridden gears. He miscalculated somewhere. Somehow he made a wrong judgment and didn't notice it when he checked his work. Somehow he overlooked the fact that Megatron was using the attack on Metropolis to draw them out so that the sick Decepticon could come here.
His processor spins wildly as he runs over more variables. He carefully evaluates every byte of info again before venting in aggravation. Once more, nothing new shows up. Maybe he is overanalyzing the problem. Prowl shoves all the information back and starts up from scratch. He has started completely over one hundred and sixty-six times in all. Nothing new shows up in the reorganization of the variables, instead the tactician only succeeds in confusing himself.
The Praxian's doorwings droop fractionally with disappointment in himself. Quick-Plot probably knows what he did wrong, but the older tactician is in the Med Bay having his cranial unite injury treated. Apparently Megatron had thrown the youngling Springer across the room and slammed Quick-Plot into the wall headfirst when the tactician had tried to intervene.
Springer himself is in Med Bay with multiple fractures on his faceplates, where the Decepticon had backhanded him, and his shoulder, where he had hit the wall. The youngling had awakened from stasis in shock and blubbering pathetically for someone to help Hot Rod. The C.M.O. Ratchet had given the poor bot some stasis inducing injections that calmed him immediately.
Someone enters the Tactical Office and Prowl nearly growls verbally at the disturbance. He turns to glower at the intruding bot and almost swallows his glossa when he realizes it is Optimus Prime. The red and blue mech's faceplates look troubled, but turn curious when he sees Prowl's stupor. The doorwinger recovers so quickly from his initial surprise that the Prime might've just imagined it.
"Prowl," the Prime greets him formally, but remains by the entrance of the office.
The Praxian only nods back an acknowledgement to Optimus. He really wishes that the Prime wouldn't have come right now. Prowl's own guilt is making his emotional core slightly unstable and the tiniest misbalance of his logic could send him crashing to the floor in a heap.
"I hope I am not interrupting you," Optimus says in the presence of the doorwinged mech's silence. Prowl blinks his optics and resists the urge to tell the Prime that, yes he was interrupting, and the Praxian didn't appreciate it.
"No." This is the only word he allows. He really didn't want to encourage Optimus to stay any longer than what is necessary. The young Prime's optic ridge furrow slightly and Prowl realizes with a sudden start how rude he sounded. "What brings you to the Tactical Office?" Optimus Prime's faceplates show such a sudden relief in having someone to talk to that the black and white doorwinger suddenly feels bad for wishing the mech would leave.
"Father is having a counsel about the current situation we have found ourselves in with Megatron. He requested that, Ultra Magnus, Quick-plot, Piston, Ironhide, Red Alert, his S.I.C. Sonic-blaster, and myself that we would be present here," the Prime is silent for a moment. His electric blue optics observe the rigidly standing mech in front of him before he speaks again, "May I request, Tactician Prowl that you would remain here when the others arrive?"
Prowl's doorwings twitch involuntarily with astonishment. Did his audios serve him correctly? Did the Prime just ask him to be at the meeting with Sentinel Prime? He should refuse, because the last time that he gave the young Prime advice it turned disastrous. They lost many mechs and Optimus' own brother was stolen from the base where they would have been at if Prowl had kept his mouthplates closed. Would it be in his place to refuse? If Optimus Prime requested his presence would it be disobeying to say no?
Carefully Prowl answers the waiting mech with his helm bent downward, "Would it be wise for me to be here, given the outcome of my last tactical advice?"
Prime is silent. Good, maybe he has realized that it would be foolish to have Prowl at the counsel. Perhaps he has remembered the catastrophic turnout of the last time the doorwinged tactician had been present. Prowl doesn't lift his helm to look at Optimus, too ashamed by his previous failure to do so.
"Prowl," the young Prime's vocals are stern and his tone makes the tactical mech think he is about to be chastised. The Praxian's doorwings lower slightly in submission to whatever Optimus' punishment for him might be. "What happened to my brother…" the Prime's words dwindle off.
"I accept whatever discipline you deem as necessary for my oversight, Prime." Prowl's helm and doorwings lower even more. The Prime is silent, probably thinking up the harshest punishment that he can get away with placing upon Prowl. Not that the Praxian would blame him. The silence goes unchallenged for an extended period of time before Optimus clears his throat pipes.
"Prowl, it is not…" the Prime's vocals seem slightly astonished and he appears to be searching for the right words in the quietness, "I do not blame you." The Praxian's helm snaps up to look in bewilderment at Optimus. "You did your duty well, and you did it to the extent of your ability. I will not find fault with you for that."
"But… if I would not have advised that you aid Metropolis then—"
"The whole city would have perished," Optimus interrupts him without remorse.
Prowl shakes his helm, "That still doesn't change the fact that I should have seen that Megatron was going to try something."
Optimus Prime looks thoughtful before he replies, "In looking over all the information again, like I am sure you have been. Did you find anything that would lead you to believe that you would have chosen differently if you had the chance?"
No. No he hadn't. Prowl shakes his cranial unite in a silent answer to the waiting mech. Every time he has looked over the variables he arrives at the same conclusion. All the information continues to lead him right to his first decision. Prowl suddenly wishes that he would have just kept his mouthplates shut when Optimus had come to Quick-plot for advice. Quick-plot would have done a much better job than he.
The mech in Prowl's thoughts enters the Tactical Office suddenly. Quick-plot glances at Prowl and then nods respectfully at Optimus. Prime returns the gesture, then his gaze travels back to Prowl.
"It would please me greatly if you would stay," with those words said the Prime turns to Quick-plot and the other mechs that Sentinel Prime had called to the office as they arrive. Prowl considers leaving now while Optimus wouldn't realize but doesn't get a chance when the young Prime in question looks at him. Optimus jerks his helm in a motion for Prowl to come and the Praxian obeys immediately, so much for him sneaking out unnoticed.
"I trust all of you know why we are here today," Sentinel Prime begins as he is turned away from them and is staring at the base's communication computers. "Megatron has become braver. He has snuck into this very base. He was in this very room and he has taken my youngest creation." The older Prime pauses and turns on his heel before continuing while looking at the eight other Autobots present, "We are here today to determine the wisest course of action to take concerning the young Hot Rod."
Prowl can hear when Sentinel detaches himself from father-mode and takes on the thinking of a Prime. There is going to be no rash decisions made here today by him. He is going to make the choice based on what is best for all of Cybertron.
"Shouldn't Blaster be here?" Red Alert asks quickly as he surveys the small group of mechs and does not see the Autobots' Communications Officer present.
Sonic-blaster answers for Sentinel, "He is debriefing the Metropolian survivors that came to the base... the ones that are functional enough to speak, that is." The H.O.S. bot merely nods in acknowledgement, his suspicions now laid to rest.
"I will now hear everyone's thoughts on the matter at hand," Sentinel says gravely drawing the attention back to the ensuing problem.
The first to speak is Ultra Magnus, "I think we should attack Kaon, break down Megatron's door and take the youngling back." Even in the mech's neutral tone Prowl can tell he is speaking purely from an emotional standpoint. Secretly the Praxian hopes that Magnus' advice is unheeded. His wish is granted immediately.
"No," this is Optimus, much to everyone's surprise, "Brother, you are thinking strictly as a sibling to the hostage. It would not be sensible to attack the Decepticon capitol."
Ultra Magnus' faceplates cloud over with a visible anger again, but he nods his helm, "What then would you do, Optimus?"
"A trade, if anything, would be wiser."
Sentinel Prime nods thoughtfully and rubs his finger digits on is chin plating with a hum.
"What would we trade?" This question comes from Sonic-blaster and it puts a damper on the idea. If they contacted Megatron and proposed a trade they would be allowing him to name the conditions. That could turn out disastrous.
Red Alert suddenly speaks up with his faceplates angry and his vocals growling, "How did he even get in?!" Prowl can tell that the paranoid mech is more bothered that the Decepticon managed to get through security than the fact that Hot Rod is gone. That is just the type of bot he is. He is worried that since one Decepticon got through that maybe it's possible for a swarm to get in also.
As Prowl thinks about the security bot's question the more suspicious he gets. How did Megatron get in? The other Autobots are conversing among themselves again, but Prowl ignores them. He may be onto something! With this thought the doorwinger's processor goes on overdrive.
Optimus Prime decided to go to Metropolis and left half of his army here to guard Iacon in case Starscream came here instead. Prowl is sure that with the risk of an attack so imminent the paranoid H.O.S., Red Alert would have doubled, or even tripled security. There should have been at least five Autobot guards at every gate. According to the report there were only two slain on the western gate. Where were the other three? Did they run? Prowl highly doubts it, Autobot warriors are skilled mechs and femmes that would never flee from a Decepticon invading their city. Did they leave early? No, the bots at the base were trained to never leave until your shift was over unless it was a personal emergency.
They never showed up. Prowl's processor forces the unpleasant idea to his attention. Why though, would they not. They would be on the guard schedule that Red Alert no doubt had set up. If they were on the list they would have had to show up right? Yes, they would have to. Unless something came up that they were called to a different assignment.
Unless someone called them to a different assignment, Prowl frowns at his line of thinking. There would have been at least five guards on the western entrance. Only two of them were there, the other three must've been called away before they assumed their post, because they are not allowed to leave their station once they are there until their shift is up. The three would have had to be replaced with other bots, but there would have been a delay until the replacements got there. Only one breem (1 breem= 8.3 earth min.) of a delay at most, but somehow Megatron knew it and offlined the two guards that were on duty. Prowl's helm begins to ache in protest to his whirling thoughts. How did Megatron know that? He could have been waiting at the gate perhaps, but he would have never been able to guess on his own that there was going to be a window big enough for him to slip in undetected.
Not only that, but how did he get out? After the new guards showed up and they found the frames of the offlined they informed Red Alert and he tripled the security. He had to have another way already planned for his escape. He came in here knowing that the guards were going to be added on duty when the two offlined mechs were found. He came in here with full confidence that he would be able to get back out with no problem. If that is the case then there could be only one possible explanation. Prowl's emotional core fires up and his engine stutters slightly as the conclusion pops into his processor before he can stop it.
He has someone on the inside.
Prowl's cooling fans kick on as his core temperature rises in anger. That really could be the only probable assumption. There is no way around it. He has an Autobot on the inside. Not just any Autobot either, it would have to be one with power. Like one in this very room.
The doorwinged mech's optics flick to each one in assessment of their loyalties and authority, his cooling systems are turned on high as his rage builds. Sentinel Prime. He was not in Iacon. He could have commed, no that would have made it too obvious. Probability of Sentinel being the traitor: 17.210%. With that Prowl pushes away the idea that Sentinel Prime is the collaborator with a great relief. That would rule out Ultra Magnus as well with only a 16.009%. Optimus Prime. The tactician feels guilty even considering this possibility. He might have been able to tamper with the guard schedule before he left for Metropolis. No. Red Alert checks that list almost fifteen times a day. Prowl is not exaggerating this fact. Optimus as the traitor is only at 10.049%. Sonic-blaster? No. The only way he would have been able to pull this off is if he was here, and he was with Optimus Prime. The S.I.C.: 20.820%. Ironhide? Prowl feels quite foolish for even considering the weapons specialist as the turncoat. The mech made no secret about his deep, undying hate for the Decepticons, particularly Megatron. He could have been putting on a front. No, even if he was just pretending he also would have had to be at the base to be able to let the warlord in. 5.999%. Piston would not even have the authority to change the guards' assignment.
Red Alert? 0.047%. It was stupid for Prowl even to consider Red Alert. Maybe he should head to the Med Bay and get his processor checked. Prowl shakes his helm in frustration before settling his gaze on the only bot left. Instantly his spark pulse quickens. This could be the one. The tactician's processor runs faster as he analyzes the probability.
He was here. He would have the authority to call bots away for a different duty. This would also explain how Megatron escaped under their optics without being detected. He has the authority to open the ground bridge.
Prowl's anger builds as he considers the facts his processor laid before him. His emotional core begins to take hold of his thinking and he glances at the mech in question who is giving Sentinel some slag filled advice on what to do.
The Praxian doorwinger's optics flits quickly and thoroughly over the black and grey mech's 'injuries' in assessment. Minor injuries to the cranial unit and nothing else to suggest he had recently fought. Prowl's gaze travels heatedly to where Megatron supposedly slammed the mech's helm against the wall. There are indeed paint flakes on the hard surface from the bot's helm there. But where are his other injuries? When Megatron had hit Springer, the mechling's whole faceplate had almost been shattered. So apparently Megatron attacked a youngling with more force than he did a full grown mech.
Prowl frowns at the sarcasm that shows up in his logic. That is never a good sign. Sarcasm takes a certain amount of logic and an even larger amount of emotion for him to process. His emotional core is taking control of his thinking. The Praxian tries to force his emotional core into submission, but only succeeds in quieting it fractionally. I will finish my calculations! Prowl's fervent anger is another bad sign so he charges into the tactical equations.
Paint on thewallis consistent with injury onhelm. No other damages presentonthe mech's frame. Megatron must have been very gentle. Focus! The helminjuryisquiteminor and still itmanaged to leave the mech instasisforsometime. There areno otherdamagestosuggest that hewas handledroughlyin any way. Logical hypothesis would bethatthemech musthaveslammed himselfintothewalltoavoid suspicion. Prowl finishes his analysis in desperation, his thoughts running together as his emotional core takes over and his anger overwhelms him. His optics flicker off as his logic systems crash defensively against the rage that tears at him. The tactician's balance fails him. He teeters forward on his pedes, and as the glitch takes hold there is only one thought left in his processor.
Conclusion reached: Quick-plot, 98.966%.Traitor detected.
Oh No! Prowl has crashed! And he has discovered the identity of the traitorous bot who dares to wear and tarnish the Autobot faction insignia! O MY WORD! Quick-plot you are an aft pipe!
Anyway, I just want to let everyone know that my characters run over me and do as they please... I am not responsible for their actions. Read and Review! lol
