Chute de Lune
Barricade's atrocities on Cybertron had yet to be surpassed. But he was getting there.
Prowl thought his processor line would have snapped from being shoved harshly onto the floor. The Decepticons had all seemingly had their fill of trying to get Prowl to talk; but none had any effect save for nearly killing the injured mech. Barricade had stepped in at that point, refusing to allow the mech he loved to die, no matter what. Unable to do much else, the Decepticons dragged the limp form of the tactician before Megatron, ready to admit their failure.
"We did the best we could! He won't even make a noise!"
The Decepticon warlord slammed his fists down in terrible anger, "Idiots! The lot of you! How hard can it be to get information out of a half-dead Autobot?"
Prowl couldn't help but smirk inwardly at that, the Decepticons on either side of him cowering in fear. 'They must be new recruits…' He mused to himself.
Megatron turned to bark at the mech standing by the security monitors, "SOUNDWAVE!"
The telepath looked over his shoulder before turning to walk obediently towards his master. Telepathy wasn't needed to know what Megatron wanted from him, and the blue mech shooed the two Decepticon guards away from Prowl before kneeling in front of him. Lifting his chin with cold digits, Prowl looked dazed into the cloaked face. Prowl always thought Jazz was prettier with his cerulean blue visor, but for a fleeting moment wondered what he would have looked like with red.
Prowl realized, a little too late, that Soundwave had already uplinked with him and had read his bizarre thoughts. Cursing to himself, Prowl immediately threw up his firewalls and forced himself to concentrate on keeping the Decepticon out.
Soundwave, on his part, didn't try to use mental force to push through Prowl's barriers. Instead, his presence seemed to hesitate before spreading out and testing certain points with gentle probes; trying to learn weak points in the mental defenses. Soundwave, the ever patient mech, didn't seem to have anything but time.
He had to resist; Jazz's life depended on it.
-O-O-
In this war, medics rarely 'walked and talked'.
Wheeljack and Perceptor were sprinting to keep up with Prime as they dashed to the command deck.
"Jazz has stabilized but will require more repairs after he's rested for a bit. Whatever happened with his spark has strained his systems into exhaustion."
"Inferno's spark casing was slightly punctured and cracked real bad, he'll need Ratchet to fix it later, I did the best I could but…"
"Smokescreen's damage was mostly superficial. We have successfully repaired him and he is currently assisting Trailbreaker on the Command deck."
"A lot of Sideswipe's injuries were Sunny's fault- apparently they were rough-housing at the 'Con's base. But he'll pull through to get revenge later. For now, he's on bed rest."
"Ratchet's problem is that he refuses to lay down long enough to rest properly, but most of his injuries have been repaired."
"Can he function in the field yet?"
"He would be out there one way or another regardless, but yes."
"And Blaster?"
They had reached the doors to the command deck, Prime turned to look at the two temporary medics, who both looked down and away from his gaze. Optimus' spark seized for a moment.
"Blaster fell into stasis lock; we can't bring him out of it…"
"He won't wake up?" He feared the answer.
Perceptor raised his helm with a crestfallen look, "His damage and blood loss were too great. His body had to shut down many programs and necessary hardware in order to survive. We don't know if he's even able to come out of it."
Optimus let out a shaky sigh, a horrible feeling tugging at his spark, though he tried to ignore it. "Do you think that Ratchet might be able to help him?"
The door suddenly swished open behind them, startling all three mechs. A scratched, dented, and worn-looking Ratchet stood with his hands on his hips, "One step ahead of you, Prime, Blaster's unresponsive. We'll have to wait and hope that he comes-to." He stepped aside, "In the mean time, we have another Autobot that needs saved."
Optimus nodded and stepped inside the much too quiet room. He glanced over at Trailbreaker and Smokescreen who were hurrying to his side. "Status?"
Smokescreen tilted his head in the direction of Teletraan's massive screen, "Prowl's signal hasn't moved, which makes it easier for us to get back to the D-Con's base." Prime looked over the Datsun once or twice; banged up, scratched, and one optic covered with a patch, but otherwise whole and alive.
He sincerely hoped Prowl was the same.
Nodding, he looked at the red dot on the screen, displaying the captured Autobot's current location.
"Er, Prime?"
Optimus looked over to see Bumblebee at Teletraan's controls, "Cosmos just relayed energy spikes in Decepticon quadrant 24-C."
The Prime's optics narrowed in confusion.
"They're firing up the space bridge…"
~ O~O ~
Prowl was thankful he didn't need to breathe to live. Or maybe he wasn't and he envied those who could just suffocate.
His body had fallen limp save for the repetitious twitches and convulsions. It hurt, everything hurt like it had been lit on fire. The Decepticons hadn't thought to stop his bleeding, and Prowl faintly wondered if he was simply going bleed out. His limbs ached, feeling as if they weighed tons; the slightest movements sending a fury of agony through his body. Someone grabbed his collar and hauled him upwards, causing a quiet gasp and an overflow of energon running down his mouth, his helm and arms burning as they hung limply.
"You have one last chance, Autobot. Codes. Now."
Prowl couldn't even see who had spoken, his optics heavy and half opened. If he had been able to summon his voice, he would have delivered a snappy comeback or jest in the Decepticon's direction.
But he was voiceless, powerless, hopeless.
And he just lay as limp as a dead body in his captor's grip, optics shuttered, waiting for that final blow to be dealt. A violent shake caught his breath and wrangled it out of his body.
"If that's how you want it, fine, I'll simply take you apart until I get it out of you."
Something jolted Prowl in his side; pain laced its way up his body. He gave a startled half-yelp, his optics flitting to life for the barest of moments to see blurs of violet and gray.
It hurt. Primus, it hurt so much.
-O-O-
"I'm comin' with ya!" Jazz croaked, barely able to stand as firm as he wanted to; the fact that he could stand at all after so soon after major repairs nothing short of a miracle. To his right, Ratchet took a step towards him with a grumpy look on his faceplates.
"The frag you are!"
Optimus Prime's large, blue hand stalled the irate medic before he could reach Jazz; he looked pleadingly to his saboteur. "Jazz, please consider-"
"I ain't leavin' Prowl!" Jazz snapped, pointing an accusatory digit towards Ratchet, "Ya'd do the same for 'Hide! And you-" He turned to Optimus, "You've done it for 'Lita!"
A low blow. But quite an effective one. Both mechs could not argue with Jazz. Any faithful bonded mech would rather die than let any harm come to their bondmate; they were no exception.
"You're injured." Optimus pointed out, not going down without a fight.
"So's Ratchet." To be honest, Jazz and Ratchet were the only one's up and moving around, albeit a little shakily; Blaster, Inferno, Smokescreen (who was sent back to rest), and Sideswipe still laying in the medbay, all recovering after their repairs.
Ratchet, still embarrassed at his own shortcomings of love, put his hands on his hips, "You were nearly ripped in half."
Jazz returned his glare, "Cut, actually. And besides, I'll survive-"
"Debatable." Ratchet pointed out.
"-But Prowl might not!"
Optimus fixed him a nervous look, "You...can't feel him?"
Jazz's glare slowly dissolved into worried despair, "No, I..." the saboteur brought his face into his hands, "S'like he's just vanished."
While Jazz reigned in his emotions, Optimus turned to Ratchet. The medic had a face of shock, which quickly molded into something much deeper. A fearful, dreaded revelation.
"Ratchet? What's that mean?"
The medic didn't respond for a moment that seemed like hours. "It means that their bond has been replaced," Jazz shuddered, "or Prowl's spark has been extinguished."
Optimus glanced from one mech to the other, and made a conclusion that it was futile to argue at this point.
"Ironhide! Take command, Red Alert, I want you to take Perceptor, Grapple, and Hook and disable the space bridge; whatever they're using it for, it can't be good for Prowl." The two officers nodded and waited for more orders, "Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, Wheeljack, Gears, Hound, Mirage, Brawn, Bluestreak, with me!" Optimus nodded to Ratchet and Jazz, "Both of you will find your way there regardless; stick to my orders and do not leave our perimeter, understood?"
"Yes, sir." Both mechs replied, realizing Optimus had slipped into his no-nonsense leader role.
The Prime looked to his assembled mechs, "Wheeljack, I hate to say this, but we're going to need backup."
The engineer cocked his helm, "What'd you have in mind, Prime?"
-O-O-
Prowl opened his optics after a while of no pain, wondering if he simply hadn't gone numb all over.
He was being carried like a sparkling in some large mech's arms. It hardly mattered who it was holding him, the tactician's head lolled forward and he caught a glimpse of his body.
Whoever had been with him last had literally meant 'taking him apart'. He could see broken circuitry blazing bare through what would appear to be chucks of his own metal flesh missing.
His chassis, waist, groin, and legs all had numerous pieces of derma-plating missing with blood, dried and flowing, all around the wounds. 'Ouch…' Prowl thought groggily to himself.
Black still clung to his vision in the corners, threatening to reclaim his consciousness. He just felt so tired now; maybe it would be alright to nod off for a little while, just to recover some of his strength.
Slumping back into the shoulder of the mech holding him, the jostling eventually became somewhat soothing as he fell into recharge.
-O-O-
In the dark of the night, with no light from the moon or any surrounding sources, the base didn't even look like much. Set against an overhang, it all but disappeared into the shadows of the evening, only those avidly looking for such a place would find it tonight.
But it helped to have a night-vision scope.
"Bluestreak, report." A voice behind him murmured lowly.
The young sharpshooter didn't look up from his rifle's scope, optics darting everywhere. "No patrols, no guards, no outer security systems; absolutely dead down there." Bluestreak opted to skip any unneeded adjectives or drawn out sentences; this wasn't a good time to make someone's audio receptor malfunction.
Optimus, Jazz, and Hound were gathered around the little Datsun, lying on their stomachs on the outcropping the Autobot's had congregated on. They had sent Mirage and Bumblebee to inspect the fortress at a closer range, the larger spy enshrouding them both with his electro-disruptor.
But both had reported nothing. Even the entrance of the Decepticon base had been left wide open.
A trap. It had to be.
"They probably know we're here already." Hound whispered, his optics fixed on the space between them and the base, watching for his lover and the youngling with him.
Wheeljack piped up from behind, his voice low and unusually somber, "Red's team is approaching the space bridge, but they're not reporting any Decepticon look-outs."
"Maybe they're in a hurry to get out before Jazz brings down unholy wrath?" Someone attempted humor. And promptly failed.
Optimus turned back to the group of Autobots behind him, "Ratchet, stay here with Jazz; if this turns ugly, I don't want you involved."
"Prime!" Ratchet began, looking panicked. But Optimus wouldn't hear of it, he refused to risk the best medic they'd ever had.
"Stay here. That's an order." He looked down to the much too silent Bluestreak, "You too, we might need you to cover us out there."
Bluestreak looked frightful for a moment, but nodded and clutched his rifle. Jazz approached him hastily, "I'm not stayin' behind."
Optimus held up a hand, stopping his adopted youngling. "I can't risk you aggravating your wounds, Jazz. It's better if you stay up here and provide cover-fire." He had almost lost Jazz twice now, there would be no more close calls; not for Jazz or anyone else under his command.
Jazz stepped forward to jab Optimus in his chest. "I already told ya, I aint leavin' Prowl. I'm comin' with ya down there!"
Prime narrowed his optics, his patience on this subject growing thin. He grabbed the black hand in his own large, blue one, "I will not allow you to further injure yourself, Jazz, you are no good to Prowl dead."
Jazz snarled, and Optimus could swear he was being glared at from behind the repaired cerulean visor, "Jus' cause I'm injured don' make me any less good at what I do! I'm still the head of black ops; a rescue ain't outta my ability range!"
The other Autobots had grown quiet as they watched their leader quarrel with their SIC, unsure of which side was right, but they all kept to themselves regardless.
Optimus was quiet for a moment. It was true, he hadn't appointed Jazz to be the leader of special operations for nothing; the youngling had been bred for black ops- his parents being designed for stealth and flexibility. Jazz had worked hard to hone his skills as a saboteur, and as the Autobot's saboteur, he had garnered a 98% success rate, as Prowl had so neatly calculated before they even left Cybertron. Jazz was the best; plain and simple.
He gave into the youngling far too often for his own good, but there was no arguing with someone who had been raised on Elita-1's wiles and Ironhide and Ratchet's stubbornness. Optimus sighed tiredly, "All right, but you will stick with us all the way; understand?"
Jazz's face melted into a triumphant smirk.
Behind them, an unsatisfied grunt interrupted them;
"Me Grimlock bored, when we Dinobots get to smash stuff?"
Prowl was rudely awoken when he felt himself be dropped onto his side, the one missing a doo with a gaping wound in its stead, much to his luck. After the paralyzing, searing pain receded a little, he managed to open his optics and lift his helm a little, only to stare down the black muzzle of Megatron's fusion cannon.
The tactician looked up into the ruby optics of Megatron, who seemed to be seething, then looked over the warlord's shoulder, at Barricade, who was much too supine and quiet for Prowl's liking. What was going on? Where-
"You made it come to this, Autobyte. Goodbye." Megatron growled.
A blinding flash of light and a roaring in his audio receptors was all that Prowl could recognize as one last shot of pain coursed through him.
And then there was nothing.
-O-O-
Infiltrating bases with Dinobots, bored Dinobots nonetheless, was as easy as getting Sunstreaker to talk about how amazing he looked.
A few smashed walls as the rest of the Autobots simply walked through the unguarded doorway gave Grimlock's entourage the grand entrance they so obviously wanted. Wheeljack must have programmed them with his incessant need for flashiness, Optimus mused.
As Mirage, Bumblebee, and Bluestreak had all reported, the base was dead. No lights, no movements, even the security systems were offline. There was something seriously wrong here, and every mech there, save for the Dinobots, could feel it.
"Autobots, fan out, locate Prowl and report back. That is our objective. Hound, Mirage; with me, Grimlock; take the Dinobots and find any Decepticons here, got it? Brawn, Sunstreaker, Bumblebee; go with Jazz to the dungeons, that's where Barricade apparently held all his captives. Wheeljack, Gears; get to the control room and see if there's any security footage. The Decepticons have to be around here somewhere, stay sharp!"
The Autobots either nodded or saluted, with the exception of the Dinobots, taking off in various directions down darkened hallways, guns raised to defend themselves. Optimus sincerely hoped they would all come back alive; he didn't want to find himself at anyone's funeral anytime soon.
He turned back to the waiting scout and spy, "We're going to find Barricade's quarters."
Mirage looked to the doorway outside, to the outcropping where Ratchet and Bluestreak were waiting for them, "Decepticon quarters are usually below the command decks."
Optimus nodded and turned to move into the darkness, his gun raised and digit already at the trigger. This was dangerous, and he was risking the lives of his men with every minute they remained here. Surely the Decepticons wouldn't just abandon their base, not when they had the Autobot tactician, with all his knowledge of their base's workings, as a captive! Why? When all they had to do was hold him hostage!
But this was Barricade, a mech of incredible violence, unspeakable crimes, and an apparent obsession with claiming Prowl for his own. He probably wouldn't allow the black and white to escape his grasp a third time. And that's what scared the Prime the most…
Hound found the lift, but they all agreed it was far too risky, and they promptly their teammates to stay away from the elevators, just to be safe. All the others responded with an A okay, and they resumed their trek, looking for a flight of stairs downwards. But it would appear that Decepticons were very lazy beings, as their stairs were narrow and probably only used for emergencies.
The three made their way down into the murky darkness, silent as the grave. It was difficult to find which room belonged to which Decepticon; like the Autobot base, the violet walls of the base had no individual identification, nothing that would inform them of whose quarters they were looking into. Searching each room was a nightmare; there were very few personal items in each to tell them apart. Mostly the decorations of a room were war trophies the soldier had brought back with them from the battlefield. Mirage had almost had a processor freeze upon finding one Decepticons stash of harvested interfacing cables. But figuring out which was Barricade's was hardly a challenge.
Upon entering the room, Hound immediately stilled, the stench of the room smelled like the rusting of a corpse mixed with purged energon. Flicking on his headlights, the scout found nothing as far as personal items; there was a berth, a small table, and a small shelf, but nothing graced the surfaces of any of them. It was the walls that made the room distinguishable.
Horrible writings of Cybertronian, English, and various nonsense's were written, and carved, on the walls of the room. Most of it made no sense at all; the rest was single words that were an everyday part of Decepticon vocabulary.
Death, kill, torture, reclaim, slaughter, triumph, and destroy were the easiest ones to read from the doorway. "Prime, Mirage? Come check this out."
The other two followed him into the darkened room, Optimus flicking on his lights as well.
Mirage's olfactory sensor wrinkled at the smell, or maybe he was disgusted at the foul writings, "And here I thought Barricade was just a Decepticon who was good at his job."
Hound shook his head and glanced up, finding the writings even continued onto the ceiling, "He's crazier than a glitching Red!"
Optimus just glanced at the one word written in uncommonly neat handwriting above the head of the berth; 'Retribution.'
For some reason, he shuddered in the silence.
A scream as clear as the night shot through the murky corridors and echoed into the hallway, one that he recognized all too well.
Jazz.
Instantly, Optimus reacted, lurching down the hall and leaving Hound and Mirage to call after him, sprinting to follow him. If Barricade had so much as touched his youngling…
The twisting, turning expanse of the Decepticon base caused more frustration that added to his fearful adrenaline. He managed to find the emergency stairway again and descended again and again until he reached the bottom floor; the Decepticon torture rooms. More stressful hallways made his life difficult as panic increased in his spark. Finally the sickening violet faded as he turned to find Jazz crumpled on the hallway floor, Bumblebee and Sunstreaker tending to him as Brawn looked into the open doorway in front of them. The mini-bot turned to look at him with a shockingly helpless look. "Prime…"
His spark ran cold as numb legs brought him forward, past the wildly sobbing Jazz and into the room. He didn't need a light; the blood was easy to see as it glowed all over the room, covering discarded body parts on the floor and illuminating the writing on the wall.
'If he won't be mine, he won't be anyone's! His death is on you, Jazz dear.'
Optimus' helm dipped downwards in disbelief. From the light of the doorway, he could see a broken chevron glinting red in the light, a blood covered, mangled doorwing, and pieces of Cybertronian flesh littering the ground. So much blood; pools and little streams of rosy life fluid.
"I-I checked, Prime, there…there wasn't a whole corpse." Brawn called softly, polar opposite than his usually demeanor.
"That bastard 'Con must've taken the body with him! Sick fragger!" Sunstreaker snarled in barely controlled anger. Optimus shuttered his optics, fighting the need to purge his tanks at the sight, the thought. "Bumblebee, Sunstreaker, take Jazz back to base," he turned to see Hound and Mirage finally arriving at the scene, "You two, search the premises for a body. Take the others with you, look through every hallway, every room, even the ventilation systems. Not one inch of this base is to go unsearched!" The two hesitated for a moment, looking confused and scared at the same time, before snapping off proper salutes and dashing back the way they came. Optimus watched them go, and then knelt down to help Bumblebee and Sunstreaker with the distraught Jazz. "Brawn, go inform the others." The mech obeyed without question, leaving him to tend to the saboteur.
"Prowl could still be alive, Jazz, those parts…they aren't vital, he could have just been taken somewhere else! We can still find him! Right, guys?" Bumblebee attempted to comfort Jazz, looking to Sunstreaker and Optimus for confirmation. The golden front-liner didn't say anything, Optimus doubted Sunstreaker could think of saying anything at this point, but grabbed Jazz's arm gently and helped the mech to his feet.
But Optimus already knew the answer. It was written on the wall next to them.
"We'll find Prowl, eventually. It's only a matter of time."
Jazz hesitated, before he finally looked up and desperately searched Optimus' face, for something, anything to give him hope. He probably found none. Jazz opened his mouth to say something, but he was suddenly interrupted by a voice behind them.
"Prime," someone called, softly, brokenly. The Autobot leader turned to see Ratchet, the medic unarmed and looking absolutely devastated. He had never seen his friend look so…vulnerable.
"Red . The Decepticon's already destroyed the space bridge."