Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own The Transformers. I harass their giant robots for fun.
Warnings: Lockdown is creepy, critters are bitey, mayhem, and mentioned deaths.
A/N: So…a full-length response has been a long time coming, eh? Pardon, before I was trying to keep the word count down.
That aside, I just wanted to say thanks for the feedback and presence, guys. It's great to know somebody out there likes this! Originally, I wasn't taking this story too seriously. It was supposed to be small side project, but one flashback turned into a 500-word challenge. Now it's taking on a life of its own for three reasons: 1: The readers deserve it. 2: The characters need it. 3: On paper, I can't shut up. So, many thanks, you all pushed me to make a better story. ;)
Here's some info….
Prowl and friends backstory ties in heavily to what has happened in the previous installment. This story will fill in the gaps for the Cybertronian cast and set up what will happen later on. As of this chapter, we're dipping more into the AU part and this story isn't following any existing TF universe. It's just plot, characters, and scenarios I like all mixed up. If you can't find something mentioned in here on TF-Wiki it's probably fan-cannon, off-cannon, or a typo. Example: in this fic 'Predacon' is a blanket term for all forms of beast-mode Transformers, not a faction or ancient dragons/griffons.
Back to the road trip!
"Breaking Down"
The next cycle, they were still stuck in the Depths, but the mood had lightened to something more like grudging carpool than a hostage situation. Lockdown blamed it on the hyperactive one driving while harassing Prowl now.
Even if that harassment was sounding more and more like casual talk.
"What are you reading?"
"The Watchmaker's Folly."
"The pad sucks, all the characters are scenery chewers."
"You read?"
Jazz probably saw his processor when he rolled his optics. "Mech, take mah word for it, just watch the movie."
"It's never the same. Besides my parentages said holo-movies are a waste of time. It's easier to pretend I'm studying with a data-pad."
"An we've established your parents are afts. Yah need tah get out more."
"In the next city-state, let's go see a horror flick." Lockdown piped up from the back.
"Nope, ahm not fallin for that one again! You'll scare him into offlining."
Prowl raised an optic ridge at his new seatmate, "Just out of curiosity, what did you get imprisoned for?"
"Being greedy. He wouldn't let me have the berth beside the window!"
"First come, first serve," Lockdown snapped before acknowledging Prowl. "I was merchant caste, someone broke in to our store, trying to steal, and I got too…enthusiastic."
Realization leaked into Prowl's optics like oil from a sieve. "You're the one who took off that mech's arm."
"Oh, you heard about that, huh? Don't worry about it the other guy's fine; he's in rehab."
"I didn't know merchant caste had access to add-ons like that saw."
"We don't. I got it from the thief. By the time they caught up to me, it had already healed in nicely. The courts tacked on three vorns for that act."
"You—took it out of him?"
His grin was genuine when he replied. "Yeah, with a pair of crystal shears. It's not hard, I can show you how."
Prowl looked sick and Jazz shifted the conversation, "So the 'Cons are coming north now?"
Lockdown tapped at his comm. absently, "Been listening to some bulletins. They're spreading like rust. Guess Kaon wasn't enough for 'em. I heard 'formers were killed in the fighting."
"Yup. That's a riot for you. Bettah get ta rollin'." Jazz called before making a game out of listing what different piles of rubble looked like as they passed.
Prowl raised an optic ridge, "If you guys are such good criminals, why didn't you steal a shuttle?"
His seatmate snorted, "Three younglings flying a shuttle doesn't sound a little suspect to you, 'Forcer? Besides, I lost my pilot's license when I got arrested."
"Exactly how do you plan to survive in space?"
Lockdown dug through his subspace with ease and shoved a notice into Prowl's servos.
It read: 600,000 credits for Xandin of Nyon On/Off Line
"You can earn a living hunting mechs down. In all the ancient battles, there've been 'formers with no side. Like go-betweens. Bounty hunting's a great gig; no one to order you around, you set your own hours, and it's a job that's not going away anytime soon."
Prowl was hit with the idea the retail field had not been kind to Lockdown to drive him to this, but even he had to admit it was a doable plan.
"How are we even going to find him?"
"You tell me 'Forcer. Jazz was in special forces and your old mech is tactician, right?"
"Yes."
"Boom. Instant hunting party."
"I'm not skilled in strategy."
"Basic knowhow is fine. You have to be good at something."
Prowl shrugged. "I'm good at subterfuge and I've an interest in martial arts…may I ask what your profession was?"
"I told ya, merchant."
"He used tah work in a pretty crystal shop!"
"Shut up, Jazz!"
Amidst the petty argument that followed Prowl found something more interesting outside the cab.
"Hey, stop the rig!"
The brakes screeched while Lockdown's faceplate unexpectedly met the seat in front of him. "What is it?"
Prowl sat on his peds, wings sweeping to their full height on his back. "Look at the turbofoxes."
To Jazz, anyone having that positive of a reaction to the scrub critters was unheard of. "What's so special about… Yah never seen turbofoxes before?"
"Not in person."
Four of the mechanimals in question were on the run, spiky, silver pelts standing out against the rubble. What caught Prowl's attention was the strikingly orange one at the rear, urging the others on as a sulk of turbofoxes chased after them. Something was odd about the ones behind them… Their sides were sunken in, their plating loose with the beginnings of rust infection setting in, and all were frothing at the snout.
The yellow optics of the orange one found their truck and it altered its course straight toward them.
Somehow…in some way…the closer the fox got the more each youngling began to realize something was horribly wrong. Whether it was from a documentary or experience, several life facts came to mind.
Normal turbofoxes did not froth.
For several vorns the Vesania Plague had remained active in areas of the Depths and nobody knew why.
While once pet mechanimals would have strange colors to differentiate them from wild ones, they did not wear bifocals.
That "turbofox" was a Predacon and the ones chasing them were ill.
Prowl wrenched his door open and offered a servo.
The mech took a huge leap.
Then faster than anyone could process one sick fox surged forward and dragged him down. The disguised mech broke free and made another jump for the semi, only to meet the slick metal of a truck door.
Prowl looked down at the mech leaned across his lap, digits firmly holding the latch shut against the other 'former clawing it, "Lockdown! We can help him! Jazz!"
Neither of the seemed to hear though; their optics were riveted on the gory scene unfolding outside. The Praxian edged backwards only to jump when Lockdown sat up speaking. "There's nothing we can do, he was a dead mech walking. Vesania Plague spreads fast," he nodded at Jazz, "Let's get out of here."
~o~o~o~o~o~
Joors later they were passing through the Depth's center with Prowl was still upset and hunkered on his side of the backseat.
Lockdown sent out a long ex-vent. "So anybody still up for a horror flick?"
"Too soon." Jazz called.
"At least after this it will make Sparkeater less scary."
"Someone just died, have some respect," Prowl sat up, finally breaking his silence, "Besides, there's no such thing as sparkeaters."
"Um, did you not see the five turbofoxes outside?"
"They have a sickness and they didn't cannibalize the spark. They shredded him. They're acting hyper-aggressive. Normally, they wouldn't turn on their own. There's a condition in organics that has similar effects—"
Lockdown quickly tuned him out, :: Nerd. Am I right? ::
He found his comment ignored as Jazz was more concerned with looking in the rear-view mirror, seemingly hanging on every word.
:: Quit staring at him, it's getting weird. If you really want some doorwings of your own I know a guy in medical— ::
:: Ew, Lock. It's just…he's aint so bad when he's not all grouchy. ::
:: Don't get attached. ::
:: Ahm not. From the sound of it, everyone had it in for the kid. ::
:: Tough. People get hurt and die. Nothing you can do but look out for you and yours. This is why you shouldn't get to know your targets. :: Crimson optics met a blue visor in the mirror, ::You're slipping mech, don't go soft on me. ::
Jazz quickly broke the comm. in favor of changing the audible conversation.
"Speaking 'o foxes, Lock, you gonna introduce me to you friend on the dash when we get off-planet?"
"No."
"Who's that in the picture?" Prowl piped up. It wasn't he was interested, but anything would be better than discussing the mauling they'd witnessed.
"My cuz, RoadRage. They moved off planet a while ago. Might go visit once we get to space."
"Yah cuz is smokin'!"
"You lay off!"
Jazz crowed from the front and the other mech waved his saw arm at him.
Then the back glass shattered and a single hole appeared to the left of the photo, barely missing the Polyhexian's arm.
Silence reigned until a hail of laser fire sprayed through the cab.
"Helms down!"
"What's going on?"
Jazz hazarded a glance behind them. "Some moron's shooting at us! Something you wanna share with the class 'Lock?"
"I thought they were your friends."
"Nah ah paid everybody on mah end off."
A blast narrowly missed Prowl's forehelm and he clenched his fists, "Guys? Priorities!"
"Fine. No one else knew where we were going, so they're not after any of us. It's gotta be the truck."
Jazz steered the truck down an alley, debris being plowed under the semi as he looped the vehicle back to an attached side street where their pursuers would pass.
"What are you doing," Lockdown scolded, "We still need the cargo!"
"They want tha truck, they'll get tha truck. They messed with the wrong rig."
"What is he—"
"Oooohhh slaggit. Hold on to something, nerd!"
Prowl scrabbled for a restraint as the livid Polyhexian turned around and rammed a smaller, sentient truck. The momentum sent the other 'former crashing through a collapsed building and Jazz started to turn the vehicle even while it was moving at a high rate of speed.
The semi jackknifed, tipped onto its side, rolled once, and skidded into a pillar of debris with a sharp jolt.
Inside the cab, all Prowl registered was that the world had spun briefly and he was now upside down, coated with safety foam. To make matters worse, his tank and lunch didn't seem to be on speaking terms anymore.
Jazz seemed to be having the time of his life as he scaled his way off the ceiling. "Whoo! Everybody in one piece?!"
"Yup." Lockdown freed himself and dropped to the floor, turning back to get the fuming Praxian down.
"YOU CRASHED THE RIG!"
"And we aren't offline yet. C'mon, out of the truck Prowler, we gotta go."
Outside, Lockdown tugged the shredded remains of the trailer apart and began tossing out boxes. "Stuff what you can in subspace and let's move out…" he trailed off as one case broke open to reveal, not only arc welders and mesh, but heavy military grade weaponry.
"Well…there's our problem."
Prowl's right doorwing twitched, "We're all going to die."
"Okay, we have five mechs coming at us," Jazz called, peering from the end of the overturned cab, "Any suggestions?"
The flame printed went to see for himself, "Actually it's more like eight…"
"Oh, ahm sorry ah wasn't specific enough! Look we got a problem, do yah have an idea?!"
There were three rapid shots and both younglings stared at their barricade to see Prowl plastered against the top of the trailer with wings raised just high enough to catch signals, his still warm acid pistol in servo, and three of the mechs downed with non-life threatening injuries. "You two are indolent liars. Get your tools and give me a servo."
"Those were hidden—" Lockdown contested, latching onto the Praxian's servo to climb up before they turned back to hoist Jazz up.
"Ay it wasn't my fault!"
"I'm not mad! It's just if we were hauling contraband with that type of shielding… we're dealing with some dangerous mechs. Graze 'em so it'll be hard for 'em to follow and we'll run for it."
Prowl made to speak but instead turned his back to the approaching hoard and shrank against the trailer.
Lockdown groaned, "What's got you scared now—?" Abruptly, there were shots, screams, and noises no creature should ever hear. He barely registered Jazz pushing them over the opposite edge, landing everyone in a heap of limbs. He heard those two arguing about something though the haze, but they quickly went silent.
In front of them, their pursuers were very dead and whoever had done them in was swiftly moving toward them. Fine metal crunched beneath peds that obviously belonged to someone who outranked them in size and—judging from the exit wounds on his victims—skill. The mech approached their trailer, audibly rifled through some boxes, and left.
A joor passed before anyone thought to move.
"Lockdown…" Prowl ventured.
"What?"
"I wanna go back to the Center."
The flame-printed mech stifled the trembling in his vocalizer and got up, "Kinda late for that, huh?"
He wasn't scared.
He never got scared.
At least, not until he felt the icy rifle barrel at the back of his helm.
Prowl's doorwings did a disappearing trick and Lockdown refused to believe he himself was the source of that un-mechly whine. And for the life of him he couldn't figure out why Jazz was bouncing up and down like an overexcited sparkling.
Deus-ex Mech-ina!
