HOLYSLAGIT'SANUPDATEALREADY!
SHIT YEA YOU AWESOME READERS, THIS IS YOUR EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT, AND I WROTE IT IN TWO DAYS AFUFUFUFUFU
Yea don't expect this sorta thing to become regular, but hell when i get motivated, slashing out 12000 words in two days is a piece of oil cake LOL
But Quality is important too, and it should have that... hopefully.
BUT SERIOUSLY, YOU'LL NEED KLEENEX. GET SOME.
So this contains several plot points i've been dying to write, hence why i went WRAWRWRAWRWRAWR MUST DO CHAPTER NAAAO.
I'm keen to leave you to it and let you read, even though i'll probably submit it and go DAMN i meant to say something else here. Well, it's late, and i have work and then carolling tomorrow, so fuuu.
If you all hate this or love it or whatever, do tell me in a review. I'm a review whore dontcha noe 8D
and you might be needing just this so here it is:
nanoklik- half a second
astrosecond- 1.5 seconds
klik- about a minute
breem- 8 kliks
cycle- 80 kliks
joor- roughly one day
orn- 8 joors
COMMENCE WITH THE DRAMA AND INTENSE ANGSTS OH YES.
~Death out
"Sentinel, I know I don't have any rank to pull over your team… But just this once, you're going to listen to me and do exactly as I say, or this whole mission will go to pit, and I will not allow that to happen."
Optimus murmured low and clear, his azure gaze boring into the other Prime's.
Sentinel's expression was neutral, although Optimus knew him too well to believe the blue and yellow mech was perfectly fine with what he'd just been told.
"This once Optimus. I suppose this is your one and only chance to make up for the last time." Sentinel half sneered, half deadpanned.
Optimus narrowed his optics slightly with a terse nod of acknowledgement. Really, he would very much have liked to punch Sentinel again for that… for one, he was never to know Elita could ever have survived the explosions on that woeful planet, and what was more, he had been quite repaid by her more than once for the ordeal… not that Sentinel knew that.
Optimus opened his comm. Link to the rest of the Autobots. Alright, this is it. Team one, signal us as soon as the ship comes into your sights. Teams three and four will converge on my signal. We're going to draw them out and allow team one to sneak in and rescue Bumblebee. Teams two and three, you'll all be working with Sentinel and I to keep those 'Cons off their ship. Chances are they won't take off if they aren't all on board, so we have to keep them off their vessel until we've got Bumblebee out of there, clear?
There was a chorus of affirmatives over the line.
Team five, you two will be doing your best to keep that ship physically grounded, but be aware that Decepticon jet could come after you. You're going to have a difficult job fending him off and keeping that ship down, but I trust you're up to the task.
Affirmative Optimus Prime sir.
We will make it looking like piece of oil cake sir.
The two jet twins chimed back confidently. Optimus had been told of the two bots extraordinary capabilities and competencies through their Elite Guard training and knew they'd rise to this challenge. He was counting on it. They needed everyone's skills. This couldn't fail.
He wouldn't let it.
"The other Autobots are of no concern. We will not be engaging them. The prisoner stays on-board until he ceases to function. Have your crew ready your vessel and leave for New Kaon. I must return to Cybertron."
Shockwaves' tone was blunt and cold. It was not a voice one argued with. But all the same, Striker found herself somewhat baffled by his sudden change of plans.
"Sir? I thought these Autobots compromised your position as double agent?" The femme captain queried carefully, mindful that the high ranking mech may still yet be angry with them. She hoped his interrogation of the prisoner had at least appeased him somewhat.
"As I said, they are of no concern. It is your luck that the one bot you captured was the only eye witness with credible evidence to compromise me. The others words are nothing without that scout, and he is quite unable to testify."
By the sneer in the teal and silver mech's vocals, Striker guessed that he had indeed been satisfied by his torture time with the yellow piece of scrap.
"We will begin departure now. System and hardware repairs are complete, all we need do is initiate preparatory sequences and get out of the caves. We will not be cloaked once we leave the cover of the carbon deposits, but we will leave before the Autobots could make it to our location from their base. It will take a breem to warm the engines enough to do an atmosphere breaching run."
"Very well captain, get to it. Once you are out of the caves I take my leave. And with regard to the prisoner, you and your crew may observe his condition briefly, but you are not to touch him for 5 cycles at least, understood? You will leave him isolated." Shockwave ordered flatly, red optic resting piercingly, unreadably on her own faceplate.
Slightly bewildered, she answered "Of course sir."
Striker saluted briefly as Shockwave gave a single nod and then turned to depart for the brig again. He wanted to watch Bumblebee suffering one last time. The sense of satisfaction it gave him to see the Autobot finally degraded to a suitable level befitting him was like nothing else. And soon he would be wasted to nothing… his specialised virus would do it's work magnificently. Shockwave only wished he could watch that dying moment… oh it would be so delicious… but alas, it would be more fitting that the obnoxious bug die completely alone in the dark.
It was moments like these Shockwave relished his choice to join the Decepticons.
Bumblebee barely understood what was happening anymore.
Really, he didn't want to know. He tried to focus on something other than the unbearable ache throughout his frame and piercing icy sting that seemed permanently etched on his spark… but beyond his physical pain, the only thing he could concentrate on was the feelings reeling through his processor.
He was utterly disgusted with himself. How had he come to this? How had he allowed Shockwave to violate him so completely? He should have fought, Primus why hadn't he struggled more? It didn't matter that he was weak, it didn't matter if he'd been offlined for it, that would have been so much more preferable to… to this… to feeling so… so soiled… his very core polluted, tainted by the claws of that monster.
The worst of it was remembering what Shockwave had said.
Bumblebee choked on a whimper, feeling a dull throb under his armour as a build-up of leaking energon finally spilled through a crack in the slap-dash welding on his chassis.
Why had the decepticon even bothered to put him back together? Why was he hiding what he'd done? After all, none of the other Decepticons would doubt his assessment. Sure… he'd fought hard to spare his friends from this… but more of that was luck than his actual skill. That was evident, because all his luck had been used up on saving them… and then he'd had his optics opened by these 'Cons. He'd been so full of bravado. He'd been so sure he could take this. So sure the others would save him, and he'd just stick it out and wait, and everything would be okay eventually… he'd been so blind to what he should have guessed long ago. He'd fought the stigma most of his life hadn't he? Small, lithe, mouthy… what had he ever really achieved? Failing to find a job he could hold, failing to make it into the elite guard, failing to defend himself against Decepticons, what had he expected?
He really was only good for carnal pleasures… and that was only to others, not himself… and now he'd been forced to accept this at the servos of these disgusting, vile Decepticons and it only hurt more because he realised Shockwave was right… and he'd been running from it forever, running from this truth that he was actually useless. The only thing he was good for, these Decepticons had taken from him by force.
And now, spent, realising that he didn't think there could be life beyond this, that an existence beyond this revelation was a meaningless, agonising prospect, all Bumblebee wanted was to offline.
Bumblebee let out a broken keen of agony and frustration as something white hot sped through his circuits.
Shockwave had infected him with something… something that was killing him slowly… even more painfully… and even though he knew that he had to accept his position in this, he couldn't help thinking…
Why me? What did I do, really, that was so bad? Is this because of Wasp? Is this my universal punishment? Why am I suffering like this when there are 'Cons who've done worse and don't get punished? This isn't fair, why can't I just offline now, quickly, quietly… this isn't fair… it's isn't fair… it's not…
Shockwave watched, satisfied, as Bumblebee hung limp and shaking in his bonds, sobbing quietly as his end came painfully nearer.
Prime, I see the ship, it's backing out of the crevice slowly
Optimus felt a thrill of sick anticipation wash through his frame and he tensed, grip on his axe handle tightening.
Alright Prowl. Everyone, hold position until it's just cleared the cave. Sentinel's crew has already confirmed they won't be able to get out of the atmosphere without warming up their engines, and we don't want them to be able to duck back into those caves and hide, or they'll have the attack advantage.
Optimus received a consortium of 'understood' and 'got it prime' before the line was silent once more.
This is it.
No room for mistakes.
We're coming Bumblebee.
Just… please be online.
"They're not going to get away from us this time. These 'Cons are going to pay."
Optimus looked around, slightly startled by Sentinel's dark, hard tone.
The Blue and yellow Prime gave Optimus a look that said they were in this together, no matter their differences.
Prime, the ship has cleared the caves.
Optimus nodded with a look of pure conviction.
All teams, GO GO GO!
At first, Oilslick wasn't quite sure what was going on. He had to shutter his optics a few times before it sunk in and he felt the information settle like a lead weight in his tanks.
"SLAG!"
"What?" Striker spat in his direction.
"Autobot signals… everywhere, they've surrounded us, our scanners couldn't pick them up from in the cave-"
BOOOOM!!!
The two Decepticons on the bridge grasped at the control boards as the ship trembled violently.
"Bring up outside scanner feeds, now! I want to know exactly how many and what firepower they have." Striker ordered sharply, Oilslick already halfway through taking out the order.
"Frag, there's 10 signals… and two are airborne, ah slag it's those new Autobot jets, Shockwave warned us about them… the rest are that spacebridge crew teamed with the elite guards."
Striker let out a growl of frustration and punched up the ship's intercom.
"Cyclonus, Blackout, get out there and defend the ship, we need time for the engines to warm up! Spitter, patrol the ship, make sure no Autobots get in, they've probably come for their precious companion, and I don't think Shockwave is willing to let him go."
"No, as a matter of fact, I'm not very keen on that." Shockwave's icy vocals cut across the command deck.
Striker turned and quickly saluted the imposing figure of Shockwave as he glared down at the two bots on the bridge.
"I must leave undetected Striker, I have been badly enough compromised already. Oilslick, you will provide cover for me then return to whatever duty is necessary here. I would very much prefer the Autobots not get their companion back. Is that understood?"
Striker merely nodded, motioning to Oilslick to go and do as their superior officer ordered.
"DECEPTICON COWARDS, COME ON OUT SO I CAN TEAR YOU SOME NEW EXHAUST OUTLETS!" Ironhide yelled as he activated his strengthened plating mods and began pounding on the purple ship's hatch.
He was actually a little surprised when the hatch opened and he was met with a rather large object and two scarlet optics.
Ironhide leapt back with a yell as Cyclonus stepped out and thrust an energy scythe in his direction.
"Oh it's YOU huh? How about round two!" Brawn growled as he slammed into Cyclonus' side. He had been standing to the side, waiting for a 'Con to take Ironhide's bait. The trick had never yet failed.
Ironhide and Brawn both proceeded to engage the purple jet in close combat. Neither saw the huge black shadow that loomed out of the ship's hatch after the first 'Con.
"Coming through!" Bulkhead yelled, driving full force towards the fight and slamming into Blackout as he stepped off the ship and raised a pede to engage his charge disruptor.
While Ironhide, Brawn and Bulkhead fought the Decepticons that had appeared, Ratchet assisted the twins in locking up the ship's engines so it couldn't take off.
Cyclonus, Blackout, I'm covering the superior officer's escape. Get those other Autobots off the ship, they're messing with the thrusters!
Oilslick's terse and snappy comm. Broke through Cyclonus and Blackout's fighting hazed processors.
With a snarl, Cyclonus leapt out of the reach of Ironhide's furious, shinning silver fists and transformed, blasting across the top of their own craft to chase down the meddling bots screwing with their ship.
Blackout was much faster than he seemed, and held his own well against the three Autobots attempting to disable his weapons… but then of course, more of them came.
Optimus ran into the fray headlong, wielding his axe with deadly accuracy, slicing a few of Blackout's rotor-blades clean in half.
Blackout released a roar of fury and doubled his vicious attempts to beat the slag out of the mass of Autobots crowding him.
Sentinel joined the fray and soon Blackout was being driven blindly further and further from his own ship.
Need some help over here, the Jet's playing pretty rough, and these kids are good but they aren't experienced enough to handle this alone! Ratchet's voice came over the Autobot comms.
Brawn, you have a good throwing arm, go throw that jet some curve balls, and by balls I mean boulders. Jazz's voice came over the link.
Optimus had the fleeting thought, as he threw his weight into another swing at the black Decepticon's head, that he would very much have liked Jazz on his team if he'd been dismissed from the academy.
Brawn did as Jazz said, leaving Optimus, Sentinel, Ironhide and Bulkhead to distract Blackout.
Ratchet was messing with the Decepticon ship's shielding using his magnetic field generators, and the Twins were having a hard time preventing the Purple seeker from getting near him. Ratchet felt a few shots soar over his helm.
"CLEAR!" came a loud, gravely voice.
Ratchet snapped his helm around, watching with a triumphant smirk as Jetstorm and Jetfire both scarpered in the air, leaving Cyclonus hanging, slightly bewildered, before he very narrowly dodged the huge rock thrown his way.
Cyclonus snarled and dived towards Brawn, but the Twins were back on him in a spark beat.
Brawn merely laughed and started haling more huge rock slabs from the base of the cliffs, getting better at warning the Jet twins via comms just before he threw. The more rocks clipped the Seeker, the more enraged he became.
Prime, I think team one can move in now, the 'Cons are pretty well distracted.
Ratchet comm'd.
Affirmative Ratchet. Team one GO.
At Optimus' command, Prowl and Jazz slunk silently across the cliff-face ledge, Prowl keeping his hologram emitter up to make it look like they were just part of the rock face.
Prowl felt like a turbo-dog let off the leash. He was having trouble even reigning himself in. All he wanted to do was charge that ship, blow it's hull open and tear the place apart until he got Bumblebee out of there… but that was not going to work, and he had to focus all his furious energies into stealth and subversion.
He and Jazz made their way down the cliff towards the left of the ship's nose.
Just as they were descending the last steep drop, there seemed to be some kind of disturbance from the underside of the wing closest to them. Black smoke poured from a section of plating.
"Looks like their repairs didn't go so well after all. Quick, now's our chance." Jazz murmured, and the two ninja-bots dropped from the rocks, kept low and ran for the ship's underside.
Jazz was the first into the thick of the black smoke, his visor enhancing his vision through the black smog. The black and white mech leapt lithely through the hole, crouching and scanning the area. He quickly ducked back out to Prowl, who wasn't moving, but hiding in the black smoke that had started to slowly dissipate, staring into it's depths as it trailed away from the ship.
"Prowl, there's a 'Con in that corridor, heading back away from this hole, but he'll probably be back to fix it, we gotta hurry."
"I thought I saw… never mind… I'm coming." Prowl muttered, low and terse as he dragged his gaze away from the too-thick swirling cloud and followed the other Ninja inside the purple hull.
Just as they moved inside, clear of the black smoke, the panel they thought had blown open slid shut behind them, not at all damaged… but a service hatch that they couldn't identify in the smog.
There was a tinkling sound as something was thrown from around the corner, bouncing off the corridor wall and towards them, smashing on the floor.
Prowl, instantly recognising the weapon, grabbed Jazz's shoulder and dragged him back down the corridor the other way, clearing them of the area before the phial's contents could hit them.
A laugh followed their hasty retreat.
"Imbeciles. Like we wouldn't notice a couple of Autoscum sneaking on board. You aren't getting him back you kno- AAAAGH!"
The oily mocking voice was cut off as a shuriken went sailing around the corner and slashed across one of his upper arms where the plating was not as re-enforced as on his chassis.
"Nice use of long-range, my man." Jazz snickered, giving Prowl a pat on the shoulder plate before he deployed his energy nun-chucks.
Striding forward slowly, he spun both sets fast, fanning air out away from himself and clearing the fumes of the toxic weapon as it slowly dissipated.
Prowl followed closely in his wake.
"Come out come out little ninja-bots… I've been waiting to kick your slippery, sorry afts for a while now. I bet you're maaaad about what I did to your friend huh? Mmmmm, we had a lot of fun with him, oh yes. You wouldn't believe how good he screams when you- HAH!"
As Prowl leapt around the corner angrily, Oilslick stopped taunting and threw a phial of his specialty mix straight at the Autobot Motorcycle's faceplate.
He couldn't wait to watch him writhe on the decking in agony as slow burn acid ate his plating before covering it in cosmic rust…
Except that didn't happen.
The Ninja-bot gave him a look cold enough to match Shockwave's, his blue visor as unreadable as the single red optic.
Oilslick had known Ninja-bots were fast… but no mech had processors quick enough to catch a phial going that fast with that much spin….
Except the black and gold mech wasn't even touching the phial. It was hovering before his faceplate in mid air… and was he… humming?
Oilslick couldn't move for shock.
Until he saw the phial come flying back at him, at which point he simply turned on his pede and ran, but the tinkling of glass at his heels told him he wasn't fast enough, and he came crashing down with a wail of agony as he felt acid splash all over the back bottom halves of his stabilising servos.
Prowl and Jazz ran down the corridor, leaping over the flailing, raging, yelling Decepticon as cosmic rust slowly and painfully began to spread from his pedes up.
How are we holding up? Optimus called over the comm., intakes heaving as he dodged a few laser shots from the huge black Decepticon. Sentinel had already been hit point blank by a few shots in the shoulder, but he seemed genuinely unfazed, his anger apparently outweighing his pain receptors. That would change once they got back, Optimus knew they'd be in for a lot of whining.
That Jet's still putting up quite a fight, Twins are ticking him off and Brawn has sustained a serious impact from a dive-bombing, I'm just patching him up. Ratchet replied.
We are Okie for Dokie, have Cycle Motor Prowl and Jazz sir gotten inside Ship yet? Jetstorm enquired as he nimbly dodged a swipe from one of Cyclonus' energy swords.
Yea Dawg, we're in. Met a Decepti-clown in here too, but Prowl gave him a taste of his own medicine, we're lookin' for their brig now. Jazz replied
Try to hurry guys. Bulkhead's terse voice came over the open comm. They all knew he wasn't saying it because he was having any sort of trouble fighting off Blackout.
We'll do our best Bulkhead, don't worry. Prowl assured him, feeling anything but as calm as he sounded.
Comm. Me when you've got him, I'll need to rendezvous with you to assess his damage. Ratchet sent hurriedly as he finished his repairs on Brawn's badly dislocated joint.
Will do Ratch-man. Jazz confirmed, no joy in his voice.
"I think we're close to the Brig now." Prowl muttered.
"What makes ya say that?" Jazz asked, keeping a watch on their backs to make sure they weren't snuck up on.
"Him." Prowl said flatly, and Jazz heard him deploy a few more shuriken down the hall.
Jazz whipped around to see two metal tentacles beaten back by the flying projectiles as a large mech bore down the narrow corridor towards them.
"Ah, I see, a guard. Let's do this."
Jazz leapt straight towards the charging 'Con, Prowl apparently on his heels.
Spitter hadn't really counted on this reaction. Generally when he charged Autobots, they scattered.
To increase his defences, Spitter flailed his tentacles around in front of him as he continued forward.
Jazz whacked the tentacles out of the way with spinning nun-chucks and went for a roundhouse aimed at the 'Con's middle, but Spitter jumped back out of the way and lashed a tentacle out, slamming Jazz against the wall.
Prowl, it seemed, had stopped dead in the middle of the corridor. Spitter assumed the mech was scared stiff, remembering what he'd done to him upon their last encounter. Spitter changed into beast-bot mode and made to do it again. His aim was true. He swallowed the mech whole…
But he met nothing solid with his jaws.
There was a moment of utter confusion, followed closely by a moment of great pain as something fell from the roof, landed on his head, and punched hard between his eyes, severely jarring his processor.
The blows reigned until Spitter went into shut-down and slumped in stasis on the floor.
"Lets go." Jazz quipped, rubbing his midriff plating a little as he tilted his head towards the dark end of the corridor.
They followed it down into the bowels of the ship, where lighting was sparse to conserve energon.
They walked past two store rooms before coming to the Brig cells.
When Prowl looked in, none of the cells energy-bar doors were activated.
Oh No…
"I smell something man. You want me to check it out or keep lookout?" Jazz asked quietly.
"I'll check." Prowl said, voice tense as his throat gears choked up with sick anticipation.
Jazz nodded, giving him a squeeze on the shoulder before Prowl turned and took in a deep intake.
He didn't bother checking through all the cells. The smell was strong, and it's source easy to find.
He walked towards the end, knowing he should hurry, but unable to make himself move any faster.
The stench of old oil, energon and lubricants was so heavy on the thick, cold, tangy metallic air that it nearly made him purge his tanks.
Trying to hold himself together, Prowl turned into the doorway to the source of the smell.
Bumblebee heard noises. Far off, not quite making sense. There was rumbling, muted shouting, such distant laser fire he wasn't even sure he wasn't imagining it. He thought he'd seen Shockwave again not long ago. But he'd stopped trying to make sense of what was real. He wanted to believe this wasn't. Wanted to think it was just a nightmare that would end when he offlined, and he'd wake in the matrix… the painless, endless nothing and everything that was the promise of the afterlife, what all Autobots believed in. What Bumblebee no longer just trusted in, but wanted, desperately, with all of his spark.
But something weird was going on… noises… those noises were different but… almost familiar…
Primus it was so hard to drag himself back to reality, mostly because he didn't want to, reality was where pain was, where he couldn't ignore it… but he had to know what that was, it was important for some reason, to know… voices… a voice…that voice…
…no.
"No… Oh Bumblebee, no…"
Prowl staggered in, but not quite all the way forward.
He wanted to look away… but he couldn't bear to tear his optics from the sight.
Bumblebee…
Pinned against the wall of the cell by cuffs and metal scraps…
Oh the injuries… mangled armour and plating and limbs, so many holes and gashes pierced into circuitry, the energon, the oil, the spattered fluids everywhere…
"Please… please no, don't be… not like this…"
Prowl staggered forward.
Bumblebee was still. Very still, and it was so dark, he couldn't tell if… but he had to know…they couldn't be too late, please, they couldn't be, it wasn't fair…
"Bumblebee." Prowl barely whispered his name, reaching out a shaking servo towards the dented, scratched, warped chassis.
Just as his fingertips rested on the metal, tapping against it with his uncontrollable trembling, the devastated frame jerked slightly and shuddered, as though the touch had caused an electric current to pass through him.
A quiet hiss of static crept from the ruined mech's vocaliser and the faintest sliver of blue shone through the dark in the battered faceplate as Bumblebee attempted to unshutter his optics.
"Bumblebee!"
Prowl stepped closer, quickly but gently taking the scout's faceplate in his servos.
It took a moment for the weary blue optics to power up and focus on him, and longer still for recognition… or perhaps comprehension, to dawn through Bumblebee's gaze.
"P-hhh-ro…"
"Shhhh, it's alright. I'm getting you out of here… we're getting you out of here."
Bumblebee attempted to say something more, but his vocaliser merely crackled and choked with static.
Prowl engaged a shuriken and slashed away the metal strips binding Bumblebee's legs open…
He then placed an arm carefully around Bumblebee's middle and held him firmly before cutting away the strip holding up the cuffs.
Bumblebee's dead weight settled on Prowl and he slowly and carefully lowered him to the floor away from the pool of rancid fluids that had collected beneath him against the wall.
Prowl felt a pang of anguish through his spark as he moved the slightly smaller mech, hearing Bumblebee's damaged ventilators hitch in pain. The only sounds he could make were bare whispers of static whines.
Prowl needed to assess the damage before moving Bumblebee… he didn't want to cause any more injury, least of all a fatal one from a damaged main line or, Primus forbid a booby-trap set by the 'Cons to kill him if they tried to remove him from the ship.
He held Bumblebee in his lap, one hand under the scout's shoulders, the other running exceedingly gently over the tortured frame, wincing internally as he felt the horrific injuries… so many…so very many…
"I'm sorry, Bumblebee, I'm so, so sorry." He was muttering low and pained as the battered mech continued to vocalise staticy bursts and whines. Prowl assumed it was because he was in pain, even from his very slight touches, or just being moved, but he soon realised Bumblebee was trying to say something.
Prowl looked into the damaged faceplate, and what he could see of it was contorted with an anguish that went beyond physical tortures. Prowl watched Bumblebee's lips move, but… what he was saying… no, he couldn't be trying to… why would he?
"S-sorry?… you're… Bumblebee no, you have nothing to be sorry for. Please, don't say that… I can't even begin to ask you to forgive us for taking so long…"
Prowl's vocals died as the intense blue optics shuttered and the frame in his grasp began trembling and clicking softly.
Prowl felt so helpless. So ashamed that this had been allowed to happen.
Automatically he drew Bumblebee into his chassis and held the sobbing, trembling frame tightly, smelling and feeling the barely warm energon and oil leak from under Bumblebee's armour and plating and down his own.
"Never… this should never have happened…never… I'm so sorry Bumblebee." Prowl murmured into the yellow audio cradled and trembling in the crook of his neck.
Bumblebee merely shook even harder.
Prowl was certain he could move Bumblebee… he could take him now, and leave, and they could bring him home at last and… and fix him, they had to be able to fix him…
But Prowl's eyes travelled with trained observation skills around the dark room, visor adapting and bringing the shadowed forms into sharper focus.
He did not miss the stain patterns on the wall.
He had not missed the position Bumblebee had been restrained in.
He had even seen the gouge marks on the berth when he had decided he couldn't lay Bumblebee on it to assess his injuries.
…It was very nearly screaming at him in the face-plate. He wished desperately that it wasn't true. Not Bumblebee… they couldn't… not to him… it wasn't fair… please don't let them have done that…
Can we fix this?
Can Ratchet?
…Can any of us?
"Prowl?" came Jazz's voice from outside the room. He had heard sounds… but he hadn't been sure what they were… he'd even been too afraid to ask, or look, all he managed was a questioning call to his team-mate…
"We're going to get you home Bumblebee." Prowl murmured as soothingly as he could, slipping an arm under Bumblebee's legs and securing his grip under the yellow and black torso.
He rose slowly and left the cell.
Bumblebee quieted in his arms now, his energy levels so low he couldn't sob for long… he couldn't even whimper or express any signs of his agony. He was in a half-aware daze as Prowl carried him out of the cell.
Jazz gasped as Prowl came up the corridor, bearing the horrifically defiled form of Bumblebee in his arms.
"He's alive. We have to go." Prowl said quietly, visor flashing overbright in the dark corridor.
Jazz nodded and opened their comm. link.
Ratchet… we've got him.
…You've…Primus, What's his status?
…Bad Doc… it's bad.
I'll be ready. Escape via the main hatch and I'll meet you there.
Ratchet and the rest of the Autobots outside returned to assaulting the Decepticon ship with renewed vigour.
Jazz and Prowl made their way quickly and quietly through the ship, following the corridors that logically led to the exit passage.
Outside, the Jet Twins were successfully keeping Cyclonus distracted, but their energy levels were waning given they had come on this mission straight from their several hours long patrol.
Optimus and Sentinel were fighting like mechs possessed, thrills of confidence spurring their attacks knowing their mission was close to success.
We won't fail you Bumblebee. Optimus chanted in his CPU as he rammed into Blackout, sending the battered 'Con sprawling.
He and Sentinel were handling the giant black mech now, Ironhide and Bulkhead had been sent to help the Jet Twins.
They were all elated by the news that Prowl and Jazz had Bumblebee and they would be out soon… even if Bumblebee was in a bad way, if he was alive, that was what mattered, they still had a chance.
When Prowl and Jazz found the hatch and leapt clear, Ratchet was attempting to get to them, but found his way peppered with laser fire from an enraged, snarling Cyclonus.
Everyone concentrated their efforts into waylaying the seeker…
None of them saw the femme commander follow the two ninja-bots out of the ship.
An explosion rent the ground in front of Prowl and Jazz, sending them both flying backwards with shouts and grunts of pain.
Prowl had hit his head hard. The shell had exploded so close. All his fuzzy CPU could do was panic…
Bumblebee, where's Bumblebee?
Static hissed from Bumblebee as he landed hard, his whole body jarred and screaming with agony. He gasped, twitching, and tried to drag himself up, tried to reconnect with reality again and draw on whatever measly energy reserves he had.
He could barely get his one functioning arm under him, let alone roll himself over. The light outside in the overcast afternoon was still too bright for his un-adjusted optics and he screwed up his faceplate with a soft crackly moan.
Then hands… callous, rough hands grasped his mangled yellow collar faring and hoisted him up.
"He's ours, Auto-scum." The femme commander said icily, striding back to her ship and firing more missiles in her wake to keep the rest of the Autobots away.
She didn't even register the stiffening and shuddering of the damaged prisoner in her grasp.
Bumblebee felt the cold fire of the virus flare through him again… he had temporarily suspended his death wish, but now it was back full force.
I hate reality, I hate reality, I hate this, let me go, please, no more…
The femme took him back on board the Decepticon ship and headed straight for the bridge.
Decepticons, we are leaving! On board now or you stay behind!
The engines were warmed up and she had been working to un-jam the thruster signal relays while all the others fought and failed against the Autobot assault.
She dumped Bumblebee unceremoniously on the decking, where he lay twitching in pain, ventilations hitching as internally he screamed for a release from this pit-spawned nightmare, barely able to discern what was happening but unable to slip into stasis due to the coding of Shockwave's virus.
Outside the ship, which had fired up and was powering to full capacity, the other Autobots were going ballistic.
Blackout gave an almighty effort to extricate himself from the two primes and made a break for his ship, managing to absorb whatever the Autobots threw at his retreating form in the way of weapons fire before he leapt for the hatch.
The Ship began to rise off the ground.
"NO!" Ratchet shouted, attempting to disable their engines again, but the femme 'Con had re-engaged emergency weapons shielding.
The Jet Twins, distracted by the commotion on the ground, were rammed out of the way by Cyclonus, who dived for the ship's open hatch..
Prowl and Jazz, both hit hard by the femme commander's initial launcher attack, staggered to their pedes, not quite able to believe it was all going so horribly wrong so very fast.
Prowl fired his boosters with a snarl, making to leap for the rising craft… he might still catch it… he could get in and…
Prowl was beaten to that idea as a whistling noise flew over-head and he saw a grappling hook fix to the inside of the ship's open hatch behind Cyclonus' retreating form.
Optimus had acted on instinct more than any real thought out plan.
They weren't getting him. Slag it they weren't, not now, not after all this, not while Bumblebee was still alive, they had promised.
Optimus engaged his winch system and felt his pedes lift off the ground as he pulled himself swiftly closer to the retreating vessel.
He wasted no time checking the corridor into which he swung himself.
He almost felt as though in a daze, as though it wasn't him doing this, but merely watching from inside another mech's body.
He ran through the corridors towards the front end of the ship.
Cyclonus and Blackout were so stunned when the Prime bust into the command deck that they sat stock still in their seats as he ignored them and located his team-mate.
Striker was so intent on getting them out of there, her mindset having been one of victory now, that the Autobot commander did not register with her until he had already dashed forward, scooped up the scout, and turned tail.
Optimus made it to the corridor before weapons fire started peppering the walls around him.
He did not stop until he reached the hatch again, which was by now closed.
Optimus, still running on pure instinct, kicked at the door lock panel.
After three furious stabs with his pede, the lock sparked and disengaged, and the hatch opened with a hiss once more.
Optimus jumped out blindly. Such was his trust in his team, that he knew… he just knew he would land safely with his precious cargo.
Sure enough, Ratchet was there in a spark beat, catching the falling Prime and battered scout in a magnetic field and lowering them both gently to the ground.
The Jet twins hovered overhead, watching the Decepticon ship continue to rise and disappear into the clouds.
As Optimus rested his stabilising servos securely on the ground, no one said a word. No one was quite able to.
Panting through his vents, Optimus looked down at the small frame held gently in his arms.
Bumblebee was still, at first… but then he seemed overcome with a violent trembling, back strut arching and ventilations struggling, light blue optics barely flickering online. He didn't quite seem aware of what was happening… but it was clear he could feel it in the nearly inaudible whisper of static that crept from his ravaged vocaliser. It looked very much like he was letting out a silent scream.
"Ratchet…" Optimus said uncertainly, looking up with almost pleading optics, begging his team-mate… his friend, for help.
"In my hold, now… we've got to hurry." Ratchet replied immediately, an almost fearful look flashing over his optics before he transformed and opened his rear hatch, allowing Optimus to carefully place the damaged bot inside.
The drive back to the plant was faster and more terrifying than any of them could ever remember.
Shockwave watched from the darkness of the cliffs. He had made it out of the ship undetected… although it had been a close call with one of those ninja-bots, but as he had hoped, the Autobots were all too distracted with their mission to really notice or pay him attention.
As it was, in the end, Shockwave was rather disappointed.
It was unfortunate that Bumblebee would not die alone, the way he deserved. But then, at least his friends would suffer seeing him die in the slow and excruciating manner that his virus would inflict. That at least was some small condolence.
All the same, Shockwave was thankful for his own backup plans. He never could rely on the competence of others.
Turning, he grudgingly changed back into the smaller form of Longarm Prime and made for his ship.
At the Plant, when the large contingent of Autobots arrived, Prowl helped Ratchet, at the medic's request, to get Bumblebee to their med-bay.
"Was he doing that when you found him?" Ratchet asked worriedly as Bumblebee arched weakly on the medical berth with a quiet whine, optics shuttered tightly as he shuddered in pain.
"I think he did it when I touched him, at first… then again, once, when I'd gotten him down."
"Gotten him down?" Ratchet said with a dreading look in his optics as he fixed an energon feed into a damaged port at the base of Bumblebee's neck that bypassed his mouth and started a steady trickle of the sustaining liquid into his tanks.
Prowl gave him an almost uncomfortable look.
"They had his hands bound in de-charged stasis cuffs and they'd welded him up against the wall with bits of scrap. I think…"
Ratchet glanced up from his work on the mangled scout at Prowl's reluctant tone.
"What did you find Prowl? I need to know… what I'm fixing… what did they do to him?"
Ratchet already suspected. He had seen too many mechs and femmes retrieved from Decepticon captivity (half the time offlined, and if ever online, he'd never seen one as badly damaged as Bumblebee), to not know what to expect. He only prayed it wasn't so…
Prowl turned a pained gaze to the medic as he continued to work, starting by sealing the broken energon lines he could reach.
"They… had his legs spread out. There were marks… in the cell, signs of struggling… and on him… Ratchet I think they…"
Prowl couldn't bring himself to say it. He could remember all too clearly Bumblebee's screams, his pleading, that desperate, broken tone when he had last heard him tortured… Primus, could they possibly have been… while they were on the comm.?
"I hate to say it, but there's only a small chance they didn't… violate him, that way. What I don't get…. Is this welding, on his armour, like it's been damaged so badly it came off and they tried to put it back on." Ratchet muttered, trying not to lose his head. His processor was reeling with the fact he was yet to absolutely confirm the worst of Bumblebee's torture.
"From the way energon is seeping out from underneath, I'd say it was taken off deliberately, injury was caused and it was replaced to cause more pain."
Prowl observed, then gasped as Bumblebee arched violently off the med-berth again, one hand shaking and clutching at his chassis over his spark chamber.
His vocaliser whined in protest as he writhed.
"I have to know what the virus is doing to him, and I can't outright uplink anything until I know the symptoms. Hold his head for me Prowl, gently, I need to fix his voice synthesiser."
Prowl did as Ratchet asked, the Medic's expression grim as Bumblebee's shaking quieted once more and his ventilators panted furiously.
It didn't take the red and white mech long. And they were both very aware of when he had successfully repaired the vocaliser, because the first thing they heard from Bumblebee was a loud whine of agony.
"Shhhh it's alright, Bumblebee, we're going to fix this, you'll be alright soon, just hold on." Prowl murmured into his audio, his face stricken at the spark wrenching sound.
"Bumblebee, you need to tell me what that virus is doing." Ratchet said softly, a servo on the scout's good shoulder ( good being the one not dislocated with a large festering hole punched through it ).
Bumblebee, panting, slowly unshuttered and onlined his optics, not looking at either of them, but staring distantly at the ceiling.
"Hnnnn… everything… h-hurts everything… near my spark… then moves out…" the scout explained shakily.
"I have to connect the software uploader via the spark chamber ports then. Can you open your chest plate?"
Ratchet wasn't prepared for the terrified keen he received in response to this request. Bumblebee shrunk away from his hand as much as possible on the berth, panting and whimpering in pain. Prowl had removed his hands from the cracked yellow helm, also bewildered and shocked by the yellow mech's response.
"Whoa, kid, it's OK, it's OK, I'm not going to hurt you… please, I just want to fix you, I'll stop the pain, but I need to access those ports or I won't be able to reach the circuitry affected by the virus. Please, trust me, I'm you're friend, I'm going to help." Ratchet soothed, hands up and back in a non-threatening way, his face betraying his devastation.
Bumblebee, tense and pressing hard against the berth, stared into Ratchet's sincere optics and gave in. After all the humiliation he'd suffered by now… why did he care about showing them what had been done to him? He hadn't been too good at following their conversation so far (this still seemed completely surreal like some cruel joke to him ) but it seemed, from the look in their optics, that they knew… they already knew he was tainted and filthy… what they didn't seem to understand was that he was useless, and fixing him? Why were they even trying? It was pointless…
Nevertheless, some deep seated trust of the medic made Bumblebee try and engage his external armour panels into sliding back… to no avail. And his ruined circuitry interfaces sparked painfully for his trouble.
Bumblebee winced and whimpered, but felt a gentle, soothing hand settle on his chassis. He couldn't help shaking with suppressed sobs as Ratchet tried to tell him it was ok. The Medic had extracted a small welder from his tools and began undoing Shockwave's handiwork.
The very memory made Bumblebee click softly in disgust and shame. Soon they'd see just how tainted he was. Maybe they wouldn't want to fix him anymore. Maybe they'd do the kinder thing and just offline him quickly and quietly and stop his pain for good.
Prowl had placed his hands around Bumblebee's helm again, his thumbs running gently across the plating, trying to keep the mangled scout calm. For some reason, shame seemed to pour off the smaller mech, and Prowl couldn't console his quiet sobs.
Anything that brought Bumblebee, of all mechs, to a state this bad, had to be entirely unthinkable…
Ratchet finished his work quickly considering Bumblebee had another attack from the virus while he was still trying to undo the welding on his left side.
Once he was absolutely sure the chest-plate was free from the catches on Bumblebee's Protoform plating, he very gently and carefully lifted it away while Bumblebee's trembling got worse.
Ratchet and Prowl gasped audibly. Bumblebee felt Prowl's hands stiffen in shock where they held his helm. He heard Ratchet's hands shaking as he nearly dropped the ruined yellow chest armour.
"Oh Bumblebee…" The medic moaned in anguish.
Where he had once known there to be perfectly smooth black protoform plating was now a cracked, brittle, warped mass of heat and acid affected metal. The circuitry beneath had been cut into in several places… but worst was the smashed glass panel that usually resided over the main power lines leading to the unseen but glimpsed spark chamber.
Ratchet could barely control his trembling as he reached his hand gently out to lay it on the gold coloured metal that was the protective plating over Bumblebee's spark chamber.
He could see, instantly, that it had been forced open… the top edges twisted and stressed, broken glass having been pushed into the circuitry it usually protected.
At Ratchet's soft touch, Bumblebee shuddered violently, but slowly, reluctantly, even obediently, he disengaged the locks on his spark chamber panels and they slid up and open.
Ratchet and Prowl couldn't say anything. Ratchet looked ready to offline at the very sight… Prowl sank to his knees, hands still gently cradling Bumblebee's head as the scout twisted his faceplate away from them both, shuttering his optics so he didn't have to witness what had to be their disgust.
Shivering within his chassis, his spark, bare for all to see… had a dark blue line right over it's surface… Shockwave's mark on him, the scar on his very core, a wound no one would ever be able to heal.
Bumblebee waited for Ratchet's verdict…waited desperately to be declared a write-off, so that they could end his suffering and just terminate his ruined spark.
But neither Ratchet nor Prowl spoke, and as the astroseconds dragged by, another wave of the virus slammed through Bumblebee's circuits and he cried out, writhing and whimpering as fire seared around his exposed spark chamber.
With his laser core exposed, for some reason Bumblebee could feel much more acutely the pattern of the virus… it was as if it was wrapping it's tendrils of ice hot pain around his spark chamber, probing, and flaring out through the rest of him when it couldn't pass his base program firewalls.
Bumblebee's virus induced fit snapped Ratchet and Prowl from their horrified trance.
"Alright Bumblebee, it's alright, I'll fix you up, it'll be alright." Ratchet murmured quietly, grabbing the leads to his de-fragging equipment and carefully opening a small hatch to the side of the exposed and scarred inner chamber.
He couldn't even begin to imagine the agony Bumblebee had endured… the gouge marks on the edge of the shu casing told of a torture more despicable than words could do justice.
Once Ratchet had linked Bumblebee up to the machine, he initiated a systems scan to properly diagnose the virus type so he could begin eliminating the foreign coding.
The moment the screen began to scroll data rapidly upwards, Ratchet felt his spark clench painfully.
"Oh my Primus… where… Bumblebee who did this? Who put this in you?" Ratchet nearly whispered, unable to prevent his vocaliser from wavering.
Prowl was staring, non-plussed at the flashing red screen and rapidly scanning data.
Bumblebee let out a few more clicks unwillingly. Why hadn't they just offlined him already? Why were they trying to fix what couldn't be saved?
"S-Shockwave." Bumblebee uttered quietly.
"Frag it… I did see him… it was him, that cloud, it was just a distraction…" Prowl whispered, horrified.
"Slag, no… please, not that pit-spawn…" Ratchet moaned as he balled one hand into a fist. Unfalteringly with his other servo, he extracted an uplink cable from his wrist and plugged it into the machine.
It was a curious sensation to Bumblebee.
The link in with the anti-viral equipment was already uncomfortably familiar to the invasive connections he'd suffered at the hands of the Decepticons… but through that link he felt the echo of Ratchet. It was a lot more detached though, because there was no energy transfer. He felt the tingling sweeps of the machine collecting data and Ratchet's clinical sorting of the code.
Bumblebee had been tensed up and edgy since opening his spark chamber, but the steady probing of unfeeling coding through his circuits was so… different to all the pain he'd become accustomed to… and he let himself relax for a moment. He slipped into an unreal daze again, processor too weary to try and sort through his warring emotions, or his situation. Prowl was running his thumbs lightly over his temples again, and even through the buckled metal of his helm it seemed to lull him further into a detached haze.
It was like this for all of a klik. Then Bumblebee felt Ratchet's sudden frantic tension through the stream of data passing from the machine to his processors.
A moment later he felt what Ratchet had just seen coming.
Pain exploded across Bumblebee's spark chamber. He screamed as white hot fire consumed his spark.
He wasn't aware what his body did… he could have been thrashing or he cold have been rigid and shaking, he couldn't tell. His CPU had no room for any thought, next to the pain his sensors were registering, stalling all his systems completely.
He thought he heard Ratchet vaguely shouting something to Prowl. He wasn't able to comprehend anything but his own frantic internal dialogue of Stop! Stop, no more, not more of this, primus please stop it!
The pain did ebb away from it's sharp, agonising stab, and Bumblebee felt his body again. It collapsed to the berth in a shaky heap. He had been arching and pressing against the surface, jerking with spasms as Prowl watched, horrified, seeing the tendrils of white hot electricity race straight through his spark, causing it to flicker wildly and jerk about in it's chamber as though trying to escape the current racing across it.
Ratchet had told him to disconnect the energon feed halfway through this short but violent attack. When it was over, Prowl realised why.
Bumblebee lay shaking, looking absolutely sick to his tanks.
Prowl hurriedly rolled him to his side and the edge of the berth, and he purged the tiny amount of fuel that had he'd only just been supplied in the last breem or so.
When Prowl laid Bumblebee back down he was shaking worse than ever, his ventilations ragged and raspy.
All Bumblebee could think of was how much that hurt like Shockwave's overload.
This was how Shockwave had said he would offline…
This would keep happening. And he couldn't shut-down for it. The attacks would get worse and…
"Ratchet what's happening, what is that virus?"
"That thing is going to overload his spark and cause it to flash out. It's the worst, cruellest, most agonising way to destroy a spark, and Shockwave has turned it into a veritable fine art. I've gotta beat this code, it keeps fluctuating, the machine can't keep up, I'll have to do it manually. Hang in there Bumblebee, please, just a little longer…"
Everyone settled down in the main room. Sentinel allowed Ironhide to perform some basic field repairs on his shattered shoulder armour in silence.
Optimus paced slightly, not weary enough to sit and too anxious to stay still. He couldn't get the image of Bumblebee out of his meta. He was so damaged… how had he even still been online? All that energon, and oil, some of it still staining his arms and chassis… Prowl had been even more covered in it. How was he still online?
Optimus wasn't sure that the silence from the direction of the med bay was good or bad. If Ratchet was yelling, then Bumblebee was in a critical situation…. But silent could mean he was too late to do anything…
The worry was wringing Optimus' spark and there was nothing he could do to ease it. And from the look on Bulkhead's face he felt exactly the same way. But neither of them dared disturb Ratchet and Prowl, they'd been told to keep clear unless called for, Ratchet needed to concentrate, and Prowl had to assist because he had been the one to extricate Bumblebee from his cell.
Optimus knew his recharge would be plagued by the images of Bumblebee writhing in pain, broken in his arms… he could only begin to imagine the horrific memories that might plague Prowl.
And neither came close to what Bumblebee himself would be dealing with.
If he survived.
Ironhide and Brawn watched solemnly as Optimus paced slowly. Ironhide hadn't seen Bumblebee up close but for a few glimpses.
Never… never even in their academy days would he have wished that fate on the sub-compact. On ANY-bot. He had visited the stockades once or twice… had seen what captivity, even the civil captivity of the Autobots had done to his once very witty and lively companion. His sense of reality had been shot to pieces. Wasp had gone mad… and after all of it, only joors ago Ironhide had found from this space-bridge unit that apparently, Wasp was innocent.
Bumblebee had sent the wrong mech to the stockades, but according to Bulkhead, he'd been played by the real spy, Longarm… A.K.A Shockwave.
Ironhide was still dubious about the whole story… if it were true… Ironhide thought he might just believe it… after all, Longarm, while he was an amazingly capable bot, had always seemed just a little… off to him… especially in regards to Bumblebee when they were all in boot camp. Longarm had gotten chummy with Bumblebee at one point, defending him from their jibes, but even as he did, Ironhide swore he could see loathing in the icy blue optics every time they fell on the yellow mech.
Ironhide had shrugged it off before. But now it stuck out in his mind like a sore bolt.
In any case… even though Bumblebee had been found online… after over an orn with those 'Cons… Ironhide sorely doubted the scout would ever be quite the same. It would be a miracle if he survived. It would be too much to hope he survived fully in tact.
The Jet Twins were slumped in a light recharge against the wall, unable to fight off their need for stasis time despite their own concerns over the retrieved scout. They barely knew him, true, but they both felt intensely involved in this whole affair, simply because they were both now forcefully reminded of their own situation, orns ago, when they had been so critically damaged and painstakingly re-assembled, re-built into their new forms. If allowed to, they wanted to stay and help him recover, knowing how painful a re-build was, wanting to put their experience to use… but that was assuming the medic could fix him the way they had been fixed. Neither of them, they realised, had been damaged through torture like that. Their injuries had been from an explosion. Quick, short, brutal, impersonal.
But the scout…
Maybe they couldn't help him…
They at least wanted to try…
They would have to discuss it with their superiors after they had recharged somewhat. Fighting that seeker had taken a lot out of them. He'd been a lot less chatty than that simulated Starscream, and a lot more wild. More easily distracted, true, and very quick to lose his focus when angry, but they had never fought an air battle so fast and furious before.
Just as they were both slipping into full recharge, a small noise outside half-roused the attention of all the bots present.
"Hey guys! I'm back from my trip with dad, so what's been… going… hey… what's with all the… and who're they… and…"
Sari had come bounding into the plant, cheery as ever. Every mech's optics had swivelled onto her, mostly with looks of blank shock and bewilderment. But in the case of Optimus and Bulkhead, there was also a measure of dread in their gaze.
Sari looked around the room, smile fading, replaced by uncertainty and confusion. Her brows knitted faintly, and finally she looked up into Optimus' blue optics.
"Where's Bumbleb-"
Every head snapped around as a loud scream echoed down the corridor to them from the med-bay. Ratchet's voice could be heard faintly as he instructed Prowl.
"Sari WAIT!" Bulkhead called, jumping to his feet, but she had already dashed down the hall. Optimus sprang after her.
With the use of her energon skates, she beat him there, and utilising her new found hybrid-cybertronian strength, she grasped the door and flung it open far enough for her to slip in.
What she saw pretty much stopped whatever she had in the way of a heart or spark (she still hadn't let Ratchet find out or tell her).
She couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.
Prowl was staring at her with shock and devastation and stress torn across his features… she had never seen him look like that…
Ratchet had his back to her, on the other side of the med berth, working furiously on a piece of equipment with speedily scrolling cybertronian glyphs flashing up it's screen.
And on the berth… trembling and clicking faintly and barely recognisable…
"B-Bumblebee?"
He didn't seem to even hear her.
Optimus pressed the door the rest of the way open and leant down to pick Sari up and take her away, but he caught sight of the scout, lain across the berth, chest plate gone and spark exposed, and he stalled momentarily.
Even at this distance, he could see the worst of the damage. Decimated dermal plating, warped golden panels, gouges around the spark chamber… then as Optimus unstuck his joints and scooped Sari up, shielding her from the sight, he straightened and saw Bumblebee's spark itself.
He shuttered his optics and turned away, leaving without a word to the two team-mates who continued to work feverishly on saving the badly defiled mech.
Optimus had seen spark damage before, but only in educational text-files.
The sight of the dark blue scar across the flickering little white-blue orb sent a horrible sickening shiver down his back strut.
What have they done to him?
"Optimus?" Sari said very quietly, tentatively, sounding much more like she had before her upgrade.
The Prime cycled deeply and strode down the corridor, but towards his own quarters, not back to the rec. room.
"O-Optimus, what were they doing to Bumblebee? What happened, why was he… all… all messed up?"
Sari was trying to keep her voice steady, but as the shock wore off, the overpowering fear and dread set in.
Optimus entered his quarters with a sigh, levelling out his normally diagonal berth and setting her down, settling next to her with a sad and defeated expression.
"While you were away with your father, we were attacked by a new group of Decepticons." He explained quietly, trying to be a soothing presence but finding it doubly difficult when he himself was anything but calmed or assured by the sight he'd met in the med-bay.
Sari sat silently, her eyes pleading for his explanation.
"Bumblebee wasn't with us when they attacked. The four of us took them on, but they overpowered us. They were going to take us all hostage to get information from us on Megatron's whereabouts… but Bumblebee arrived before they could do that. He distracted them, fought them, defended us, but he was one against five… in the end he managed to convince them to leave the rest of us and just take him.
So that's what they did…"
Another scream echoed down to them and Sari couldn't hold in a sob.
"The D-Decepticons did that… to him?"
Optimus nodded solemnly, and continued, unable to meet her gaze.
"They… held him prisoner and asked him all we knew about Megatron and what had happened to him. Then they kept him… they were hidden, we couldn't find them. He was there for almost two earth weeks. We were only given their location this morning… we just got back from rescuing him…"
"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you call me and say?" Sari asked, hurt and distraught, unable to hold back the tears now streaming down her face. Decepticons had been hurting her best friend for over a week and they hadn't even told her…
She stared at Optimus, incredulous, and he could only gaze back with intense regret and sorrow.
"We couldn't… you needed that time with your father, you needed to come to terms with yourself, with your changes… this had to wait until you got back, Sari, we never meant to hurt you. I am sorry."
Sari held his optics angrily, but the anger soon crumbled away into fear and she leant into his side, clutching his arm in her small, gangly hands, letting the tears flow.
"W-what's going to happen to him? Is… he going to be OK?"
"Ratchet is doing his best, and Prowl is helping all he can-"
Another scream, longer and more pained than the last, echoed chillingly through the corridor outside.
"We promised we'd save him… we'll do everything we can for him… absolutely everything."
Bumblebee's death-wish had come back full force within the space of a klik.
Once the electrical surges had broken his core firewalls, he had lost his tentative hold on reality again. All he knew was pain.
After each surge a deep ache settled on his circuits and he felt his spark flux wildly in protest as it attempted to pull itself back together. The positive and negative charges running through it in parallel jolts were pulling and pushing his spark in ways it wasn't meant to bend.
He had hoped never to feel anything like what Shockwave had done to him ever again… had hoped he could slip into the afterlife to escape the chance of it…
But primus now he was supposed to endure it to the death? He still didn't get it, what had he done, how did he deserve this…
Bumblebee screamed out a third time as the electric feedback arced right through his spark again. His sensors were nigh on redundant, that pain was the feeling of his very essence being messed with at a sub-atomic level. It was remarkable he was even still him, even as he felt his spark twisted and pulled by the currents, trying valiantly to settle back into it's unique pulse signature as the charge died again.
It was recovering, for now, despite the pain, but if this continued the charges would cause it to both expand and contract it's pulse frequencies at the same time, and it would tear itself apart.
Bumblebee had lost all control over his body, curling weakly into himself and twitching violently as another surge rent his laser core.
He keened in agony, Prowl trying to hold him still enough for the link to his chassis to remain uncompromised.
Ratchet was muttering to himself frantically as he poured his concentration into the machine and it's endless, flitting lines of code. Prowl couldn't make sense of any of it, but apparently Ratchet could… from the sound of it, he was chasing down the flux point in the data tracks, trying to find the point where the virus scrambled it's own message so that he could cut that section of coding clean out and attack the base, set programming, the stuff doing the real damage.
Bumblebee was clearly losing coherency, and Prowl couldn't blame him. He couldn't imagine how painful it would feel for energy to lance straight through one's very spark.
After the fifth surge, Bumblebee's physical systems began to glitch. His fuel pump made a very nasty whining sound, as he arched back with a gasp and a whimper. Then a rather nasty mix of fluids spilled across the berth. His waste tank outlets had malfunctioned again, just as they had under torture from the Motorcycle 'Con.
Bumblebee seemed to come back to himself as the surge subsided to make a noise of shame and disgust, turning his faceplate away from Prowl.
Prowl felt a lurch of intense pity. He shouldn't be reduced to this… furthermore he shouldn't feel ashamed for something he had no control over. Any mech would purge their waste tanks under that much physical strain.
Prowl grabbed a spare cloth from a shelf behind him and quickly and unflinchingly went about clearing up as much of the spent oil and energon as he could.
Soon, Bumblebee was curling in on himself again, jerking as waves of pain assaulted his spark, which flickered wildly in protest.
Prowl threw the dirty, soaked rag down into the small pool of purged, unprocessed energon on the floor before quickly cleaning his servos on a fresh rag. He rushed back to the berth side to stop Bumblebee from rolling over onto the cord still plugged into him.
The arcing energy seemed to attack him a little longer each time, and his cries became sharper, more broken. He was twitching less, his ventilations slowing drastically.
As what must have been the seventh surge wracked his frame, Bumblebee's engine could be heard under his cry of agony, straining to full torque and then sputtering out, stalling.
His ventilators worked erratically and his fuel pump seemed ready to give out, making sickening scratchy noises as it failed to find much left in Bumblebees reserves now his tanks were empty.
There was a lull after the eighth shock. Bumblebee went limp on the berth, shaking and wincing as small shocks continued to sting across his frame at random points where connections had been blown.
His ventilating was weak, shallow and unsteady. His optics flickered weakly as he tried to focus on something… he saw Prowl's anxious faceplate swimming fuzzily overhead as his spark gave a nasty throb and he whimpered.
Prowl looked intently at the small, more transparent ball of light with it's dark scar. It fluttered weakly, trying desperately to settle back into it's usual rhythm. Prowl had the urge to simply stick his hand in and shield it from the white-hot arcs of electricity that kept assaulting it within it's own shelter, but he knew better than to touch it. Touching a spark was something only bond-mates could do without causing harm to one another. A spark could transfer personal feelings and experiences without the need for a connection, simply by touch, but it was a bot's very essence… to touch it without permission, without a deep sense of trust between mechs could cause so much damage, in so many ways. A scarred spark was a testament to the worst kind of violation.
Why did he have to suffer that, after he took our place? After he saved us all from a fate like this…
"Ratchet?" Prowl voiced quietly, not needing to ask the question for the medic to understand what he wanted to know.
"Almost there." Ratchet said in quick, clipped tones. He wasn't angry or annoyed, merely concentrating exceptionally hard. He was so close…so close…
A flash startled Prowl as another electric arc surged violently through Bumblebee's spark, and the sub-compact's back strut snapped back, arching hard against the berth as he let out the worst, most energon curdling scream yet.
This one was definitely worse…
It seemed to go on forever. Prowl held Bumblebee's left servo, trying to give him some support, some ground, but it didn't seem like the yellow mech could even feel his touch, even though his digits were clenched hard around Prowl's palm.
Prowl felt a sick wave of panic… after 20 astroseconds, it still hadn't stopped. Bumblebee's scream had broken into desperate clicks and harsh sobs as he writhed in agony. He took several deep, ragged ventilations and his optics flickered on brightly. Prowl could see him struggling for coherency…
Please hold on, please hurry Ratchet, stay with us Bumblebee, please-
"R-Ratch-et… o-offlin-ne me…."
Prowl's processor went icily numb.
Ratchet spun so fast Prowl thought he might hit something. His optics looked completely unfocused, his uplink still connected to the machine and surging through the false data-trails to find the program apex.
Bumblebee fixed pain filled optics on the medic's faceplate as he continued to jerk and quiver from the shocks running through his laser core.
"Ple-ease Ratch-et… offline me, Please!"
Bumblebee grit his dentals and arched against the berth again before the surge finally cut off and he collapsed into a weak, shaking, clicking heap.
"Bumblebee… don't ask me that, please…. I can't…"
"Don't… don't make me… go through this. I can't d-do it anymo-ore Ratchet…"
Bumblebee twitched violently as a small shock lanced through his chamber briefly and he curled into himself with a few shaky sobs.
"Please Ratchet, I'm, hnnnnng… I'm begging you…"
Ratchet looked devastated as Bumblebee shuddered and broke eye contact, face-plate screwed up against another vicious throb from his spark.
"I Can't Bumblebee… I can't, I'm sorry… I'll fix this, I will, please… please hold on." the medic said desperately, vocaliser cracking as he turned quickly back to the screen with a determined yet terrified look in his optics.
He hated this part of the job… the moment where his closest team mates were on the edge of death, suffering horribly, begging for him to end their pain… but Bumblebee… never, he'd never thought, ever, that he would hear it from Bumblebee…
The scout let out static laced cries as the excruciating electrical surges started again.
He was still sobbing, begging Ratchet to end it.
I can't fail you, I won't, I CAN'T, hold on Bumblebee, please just hold on, just a little bit more…
Bumblebee felt nothing but despair as Ratchet turned back to the machine, refusing to grant him the one mercy he so desperately needed.
"No… Ratchet… please, don't make me- HUUUUUUGHNNN!!"
Overwhelming fire engulfed Bumblebee's spark, cutting him off from reality again.
Let me die, let me go, please, right now, let it stop, make it stop, please make it stop…
Bumblebee didn't know he was saying these thoughts aloud, whimpering them, then screaming again as the intense burning only got worse…
Oh primus, this was it… this had to be it… and in that nanoklik of realisation, everything seemed brought into sudden, sharp focus. His vocaliser seized as blinding agony consumed him… but through it everything was suddenly magnified, assaulting his sensors…
The smell of waste fluids and unprocessed energon, and of the clinical solvent Ratchet used to clean his tools…
The sound of Ratchet's joints as he moved ever so slightly, the crack in his voice as he yelled…
The sound of a bird outside somewhere, and cars passing on the highway…
The feeling of Prowl's firm grasp on his servo and the barely whispered words in his audio…
"Please don't go…not yet… it's not fair, you shouldn't have to… I promised I'd save you."
Bumblebee's optics flashed as another strong shock surged through him…
I don't want to hurt them…
And then, quite suddenly, the pain stopped. The arcs of electricity died away and his spark flared briefly in relief before it staggered and struggled to regain it's normal frequency… Bumblebee wasn't sure if it could.
He felt all the energy drain from him and he collapsed against the berth, allowing the darkness to overcome his processor.
Ratchet's spark nearly stopped when Bumblebee's vocaliser cut out abruptly.
"NO!" he yelled, ripping through the code…
There…
Ratchet spotted it, at last… the coding apex. Not giving a slag about possible infection, he dropped his internal firewalls and pressed his own programming right into the machine, overpowering the rogue virus code and ripping it out of Bumblebee's systems, dragging it into a contained section of the external computer and eliminating it quickly with protection software.
Pulling his externalised protocols back and re-settling his processor, Ratchet disconnected from the console and spun around to confirm his fears…
He had heard the small scraping sound of Bumblebee falling completely limp on the berth as he removed the virus… but he had no idea if he had done it in time.
"He's… alive Ratchet… but barely." Prowl whispered as their gaze met.
Ratchet leant over the prone, mangled form, focussing intently on the spark chamber.
The white-blue orb fluttered weakly, so very translucent now, even it's dark scar was see-through. And burn marks on the inside of the shu casing were all that was left of the torturous, nearly fatal arcs of current that had been assailing him… killing him.
Ratchet quickly grabbed the energon feed and re-affixed it to the port on Bumblebee's neck. The small mech was in shock stasis, most of his systems completely shut-down from energy loss and trauma, saving his limited, weakened spark some strain, but he wasn't out of the woods yet.
Once Ratchet had removed the link to the viral elimination equipment, he closed up Bumblebee's spark chamber plating and connected a monitoring device to ports in his side, beneath his right arm.
Prowl helped him repair a few critical connections that had been blown by the energy surges, and they picked out all the glass from the circuitry above Bumblebee's spark chamber.
Once Ratchet was satisfied that Bumblebee was stable, he sent Prowl to go and get some rest.
Reluctantly, and with a last glance at the monitor showing the yellow mech's now steadied spark pulse (weak though it was), Prowl left to inform the others of Bumblebee's condition before he would head to his room for what he realised was some very much needed recharge.
He had gone on the rescue after a long hard searching shift after-all… he hadn't stopped worrying about the scout long enough to feel his own weariness though.
As Prowl walked slowly and wearily into the common room, Optimus and Bulkhead jumped to their feet, Sari now in Bulkhead's arms, her face still tear-stained.
Prowl glanced wearily into every pair of optics. "Ratchet got the virus… he's… he's stable for now."
Prowl swallowed, trying not to remember Bumblebee's pleas to Ratchet to end it only kliks ago…
The tension in the room deflated significantly and Sari draped her arms around Bulkhead's helm, fresh tears pouring down her face in relief.
Optimus strode over and squeezed Prowl's shoulder, looking like he might fall to his knees.
They shared a silent, still worried look. They both knew it was far from over for the scout. And Optimus didn't even really know the half of it.
"Thankyou Prowl. Get some rest, you deserve it. You kept your promise." He said quietly.
Prowl nodded and headed back down the corridor towards his quarters. If he wasn't so utterly spent, he didn't think he would have been able to shut-down. Even if he meditated twice as much as usual, he doubted his recharge would not be plagued with images of a broken, dying Bumblebee begging to be offlined for orns to come.
As Prowl entered his room, he went to his tree, leaning on it, feeling the silent yet solid presence of the organic giant.
He slid down to the floor, leaning heavily into it, and offlined his optics, letting the whisper of it's leaves fill his audios.
The last words of his old master floated through his meta, and he suddenly shuddered.
Have we saved you, Bumblebee? Or have we condemned you?