Chapter Eleven

Plenoptic

Hello again! I'm posting two chapters together, as they're both short. So consider it one mega-chapter. So the mission team has assembled, more or less, and Megatron is going to extremes to extract the Ellipses program…are the Autobots already too late? Please enjoy, please review, in that order.

I know you stay true when my world is false/ everything around's breaking down to chaos/

I only see you when my sight is lost/ everything around's breaking down to chaos/

Mute Math's "Chaos"

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . R E S U M E D .

Primus it hurt. She wanted to die. She wanted it to end. Everything blurred, nothing was real, sentences no longer had any structure everything was falling apart…chaos arose swallowed her whole and through it all she didn't know if she was screaming or if someone else was forcing the awful anguished cries upon her audio receptors and oh it hurt it hurt nothing made sense anymore the line between reality and make belief blurred what was there and what wasn't? she couldn't tell so confused too confused it hurt it hurt it hurt…

OPTIMUS.

That one word rang through her mind she couldn't let it go she was terrified of letting it go it stood out against the anonymous screams OPTIMUS OPTIMUS OPTIMUS like it was her only shred of sanity left like that one word was all that would get her through it everything chaos…

OPTIMUS.

Kaon

Outside Perimeter

At that moment, said savior was crouching in the shadows, his optics dimmed as they followed the slow, lazy procession of the sentries around the base's exterior. Lifting his head slightly, he squinted up to the balcony levels to see his loyal, trigger-happy friend easily silence the two guards above. He averted his gaze in time to see Prowl leap out from his right. Those poor sentries were going to be indisposed for some time.

"All clear," Prowl muttered into his comm. link. "Optimus, Ironhide, we're ready to go. Ultra Magnus, Kup, Chromia? You guys ready on your end?"

"We're good," Chromia replied, her voice nearly drowned out by the awful static their comms. were being subjected to. "Primus, Kaon gets bad reception. Where're Jetfire, Ratchet, and Jazz?"

"Converging on the roof, I believe," Optimus murmured, hunkering down in his hiding place as a few pedestrians wandered by. "How Ratchet and Jazz plan on getting up there I have no idea…"

"Well, whatever. Let's just get on with this, who knows what's going on in there."

"Agreed."

Optimus, Ironhide, and Prowl advanced fast, keeping to the shadows as they came up to the door. Prowl leaned over the number pad and inserted the code he'd gleaned from one of the unconscious guard's hard drives, and the doors slid open almost too slowly, releasing a highly audible hiss that made them all wince. Someone was bound to have heard that.

As a general rule, Kaon's main headquarters was a painfully bleak, desolate place. The halls consisted of purely unpainted steel, and were lit only by dim green lights that ran along the ceiling panels. The three large mechs moved down the main corridor as quietly as their huge frames allowed, though each footfall felt far too loud. Some stealth mission.

"Where would they be keeping her?" Prowl asked softly, his optics over bright in the poor light.

"Th' prison 'old, Ah'd imagine," Ironhide replied, and the other two jumped; the senior mech hadn't even tried to keep his voice down. "Pro'bly on th' basement levels."

"Radio Magnus's and Jetfire's teams and tell them," Optimus ordered. "We'll rendezvous down in that area…hopefully your guess is correct and—"

"Hey!"

They all turned, startled, to see ten or so Decepticon soldiers standing at the doors, open mouthed and staring.

"Au-Autobots!" one shouted loudly, waving his gun around in the air. Which, surprisingly, was much less threatening than actually shooting the thing. "All of you, stop right there!"

"Um, no?" Prowl suggested, and not a word more was exchanged before Ironhide's cannons came out and all Pit broke loose.

Megatron's quarters

Megatron lifted his head, frowning, as the sounds of unmistakable gunfire rose from below. What the Pit were those aft shafts doing, holding target practice in the main hall? He sighed and shook his head; he was preoccupied. He'd let Soundwave deal with it…

He glanced over at the corner of his room as a dull moan sounded from his recharge bunk. Elita stirred uncomfortably, her fingers twitching as though searching for someone to hold on to. Megatron's optics narrowed slightly as he watched her toss and turn in her sleep, his audio receptors almost stinging as she continually mumbled the name of his elder brother.

Elita was a wreck. A determined, stubborn, loyal wreck, but a wreck all the same. Her armor had been all but stripped away in areas, and energon leaked from the wounds that marred her shapely body. Wires had been torn, circuits blown, energon spilled, screams released, but not once had she revealed any information. Not of the Ellipses program, not of Autobot Headquarters' inner workings, not of their plans, not of their classified ranks. And eventually, a frustrated Blackout had thrown in the towel. No method of torture he'd been sadistic enough to inflict had broken the femme's indomitable spirit.

So there Megatron sat, with nothing but a stubbornly silent femme to keep him company. And still—still—the Ellipses program eluded his clutches. He groaned loudly and leaned back in his chair, stretching the sore joints in his legs. He was running out of options. Barricade and Frenzy had not yet reported, so Alpha Trion's knowledge wasn't anything he could depend upon just yet. The thought that the ancient old mech was eluding two of his top officers was unnerving, but Megatron had rather come to expect failure before success when it came to his fickle comrades.

The warlord rose from his seat and approached the recharge berth, his expression stormy. Elita shuddered as he ran a claw-like finger down her beauteous face. So cold… his touch was so different from the warm caress that had always accompanied Optimus Prime's nervous half-smile…

"You know," the warlord murmured, leaning close to whisper into her audio receptors. "I know you are well aware of the extraction methods of the Ellipses program. And I will force you to tell me."

Had she been conscious, Elita would've hit him in the face. Had she been conscious, she would've insisted that she had no idea how to remove the program. Had she been conscious, she would have told him to go eat slag, she didn't know a thing about the stupid time-stop program. Had she been conscious, she would've yelled at him, screamed abuse at him.

But she was not, and his declaration went unchallenged.

Kaon

Lower floors

The air was hot. Unbearably hot. It was smothering, it was suffocating. Coolant vents screamed in agony as each exhausted mech struggled to draw breath from the toxic air. Prowl fell hard, gasping, his vision clouding as the toxins surged through his systems…he felt large hands pull him up, drag him along as the small force beat it the Pit out of there. The Decepticons lagged behind, as they had been closer to the gas pipe Ironhide had been smart/stupid enough to kick until it cracked, releasing its poisonous contents.

They ran, Optimus half carrying, half dragging Prowl after them. Each and every one of them had just enough nerve to want to turn around and go back, go back and finish the battle they had unwittingly brought upon themselves, but none of them were that stupid. But the feeling of retreat stung their pride, and the silence was a standing reminder.

"Stop," Optimus panted after ten minutes, and all abided without hesitation. Ratchet hurried over to his commander and relieved Prowl's weight from his shoulders; Optimus fell to his hands and knees, coughing to rid the last of the toxin from his air systems. "That was both the most brilliant and the most idiotic thing you have ever done," he informed Ironhide between gasps.

"Ah thought so," Ironhide laughed weakly, and Chromia rolled her optics.

"Is he okay?" Ultra Magnus puffed, indicating Prowl with a limp wave of his hand.

"I believe so," Ratchet replied, though he felt unsure of his diagnosis without his equipment with him. "We can't be sure until he comes back online. For now he is in a state of very near stasis lock, probably caused by an excess of toxin in his—"

"Ratch," Optimus moaned, lifting a hand to silence his medic. "Please. Not now."

"Right. Sorry."

"So, since that was a total bust, what do we do next?" Jetfire asked, sitting down and exhaling loudly. "She's not in the prison hold. Nice try, though, Ironhide. Must be a record—one guess and you almost get us all killed. It usually takes at least two or three."

"Shaddap."

"Both of you off your vocal capacitors, or I'll scrap you both right here and now," Optimus growled, and they fell silent. As did the rest of the team. Prime got to his feet with some difficulty and leaned against the wall, closing off his optics and bowing his head as he did so. As the outside world faded away one image burst in his mind:

Elita.

He could still visualize every detail of her delicate body, of her beautiful face. He could still imagine the soft velvet of her voice when she whispered to him in the dark. Still felt the warm caress of her small hands upon his face. He remembered the taste of her lips.

His optics came online. He lifted his head and stared hard at each member of his team in turn; not one allowed his or her optics to sway from his when he locked them in his gaze. With a curt nod he pushed off of the wall, his determination renewed, passion burning in his spark.

"Ratchet, stay here with Prowl. Jetfire, standby and protect them. Contact us if you need backup, we'll be here in a second. The rest of you, with me."

"Boss," Ultra Magnus said tentatively, "where are we going? We don't know where Elita is…"

"…I do."

Megatron's Quarters

Consciousness came slowly. It faded in, it faded out, faded in…and when it tried to escape once more, she reached out, grabbed it, sat on it. It wasn't getting away. Elita felt something in her spark—something was going to happen, and she couldn't be unconscious when it occurred.

"Awake, are you?" a cold voice demanded quietly, and she jolted on the recharge bunk. Megatron's icy optics gazed at her, oddly bright in the gathering darkness. She sat up fast, her spark pulsing uncomfortably. As discreetly as she could, she ran a fast systems check; her interface systems were uncontaminated. He hadn't touched her, at least not in that sense.

"What am I doing here?" she asked loudly, suddenly feeling completely disoriented. With a sigh he got to his feet and approached her, lowering himself onto the end of the recharge berth. She scooted away, farther up against the wall.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he snorted, seemingly amused at her discomfort. "What are you doing here? Well, you'd be living it up with Primus if you weren't so stubborn."

"I didn't ask where I could be. I want to know why I'm here right now."

"Because I'm actually quite the gentlemen," he replied, and she snorted. "That wasn't a joke."

"I couldn't tell."

He scowled darkly and continued, "You're beautiful, Elita. I'm sure someone's told you that once or twice" –Optimus, she thought—"and you were attracting a lot of attention just lying in Starscream's lab. I'm sure if I had left you, your interface systems would have been thoroughly soiled by the time I went to check on you. So I brought you here."

"How courteous," she said, though there was no conviction in her voice. "If you're so concerned about my well being, why not let me go?"

"Because you've yet to give me what I desire most," he replied flatly. "The Ellipses program is still somewhere I can't reach. That irritates me, Elita, it irritates me deeply. So I will not be releasing you until I'm satisfied again."

Elita grimaced; she didn't like the way he was looking at her. No, she didn't like that look at all. It was the same look passing recruits gave her; that same hungry, lustful look. But his expression was worse. It was almost barbaric. So different from the affectionate gaze that always accompanied her lover's sincere blue optics.

Primus, she thought, shaking her head slightly. Just listening to myself think is making me nauseous. What would Chromia call this? She'd say I had a 'Prime complex' or something…

"Starscream can't read your hard drive," Megatron said abruptly, and her thoughts were pulled grudgingly from her mate back to his hardened brother. "However, there are more ways than one to familiarize oneself with another's systems…"

Elita blinked, not understanding. But it only took one look at his face, one look at the lustful, loathing expression for it to click. Before she could cry out, before she could even think to knee him where mechs do not like to be kneed, he was upon her, his weight crushing her beneath his massive chassis. She'd come to understand interface as being a primal, animalistic confrontation; and Megatron plus animalistic just didn't bode well for any femme. She turned her face away as his lips came down, as he tried to lock her in his kiss. She wanted to scream, but she knew, deep down, that such actions would be fruitless. Who would come rescue her? She was deep, deep within Decepticon territory; if Megatron's cohorts knew there was femme in his quarters they'd probably be banging on his door, asking for a turn.

Primus, she felt weak. And she hated it. She hated feeling as if she were at any mech's disposal; in all honesty, the only recharge bed she wanted to be dragged onto was Optimus's. But to be treated like a pleasure bot by this? By Megatron? The loathing boiled within her spark, hot and blinding—either that, or her interface systems were kicking in.

Oh, Primus, don't be the latter. Don't don't don't don't…

Two seconds later, she realized interface wasn't his intention. His hands weren't anywhere near her interface port; instead, they were prying apart his own chest plates.

Which, in conclusion, was ten million times worse.

The armor came loose, and then it was before her. His spark. Dark, pulsing madly, rabid, mad with lust for power (and not for the femme he was nearly suffocating, she reminded herself). The problem presented her overwhelmingly; he was going to try to bond with her. And still, she didn't allow herself to scream. If anything, that would show him that she was afraid, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. But still…she was about to lose her spark to him?

His hands moved to her chest plates…

And at that precise moment, Optimus Prime exploded through the door.

With an almighty wrench, Megatron was pulled off the recharge berth and thrown into the hall. As in, he was sent flying. Flying. Through the air. He hit the wall—hard—and slid to the floor with a grown. Optimus charged out after him, fury rolling out of his vocal processors in waves, hate surging in his spark. Megatron had just begun to climb to his feet when a hard fist connected with his abdomen, and he sank to the ground once more. Prime towered over him, glowered down at him, contemplating how best to dismember the disgusting mech bit by bit.

In the end, Optimus threw him again.

Megatron landed halfway down the hall with an almighty crash, which brought two sentries running up the stairs. They both froze in the doorway, gaping at the Autobot commander, but he had no intention of dealing with them. He looked up, locked his optics upon theirs, and they yelped unwillingly. His expression was one of pure loathing, of incredible fury, overwhelming hate—and if they were two of three outlets for the surging emotions, so be it.

They turned and ran pretty slagging fast for such large mechs.

"You fragging little Pit-spawn," Optimus snarled, bringing his foot down upon his younger brother's chest. "You disgusting piece of slag! How dare you—!"

"Going to kill me, are you?" Megatron asked dryly, and winced as the pressure on his chest increased by several hundred pascals.

"Yes," Optimus growled.

He'd never hit anything so hard in his life. But never before in his life had he been so slagging mad. It was anger he'd never known before, it was fury, it was blind rage. Such vehemence was an unknown entity in his mind, but he felt it now. Oh, did he feel it now. And at the moment, his only outlet was the mech before him.

He used it.

Megatron offered no resistance. As sparklings, his older brother had always been somewhat weaker than him, somewhat more timid, and Megatron had taken full advantage of it. However, when Optimus was in a bad mood, the sparkling probably couldn't out-wrestled Ironhide. It was this knowledge that made Megatron surrender, made him back down without anything that even remotely resembled a fight. Optimus Prime in his current state was beyond reason, beyond mercy. It was barbaric, it was primitive, but the rage was there, blinding, all consuming. Weighing the odds, Megatron decided it would be more beneficial to his health if he simply went into defensive mode.

Even if his pride took the worst bashing of its existence.

"Optimus, stop."

Ratchet's tired voice made the commander halt; even if Megatron couldn't break through his frenzied state, the medic sure could. Optimus was panting, the fury still pumping through his circuits, and he was just considering (on a very subconscious level) going back to his merciless pummeling, until Ratchet stepped forward and pulled his leader back firmly by the shoulder.

"That's enough," Prowl said seriously, coming up from behind them and circling around to position himself squarely between Prime and the unconscious Megatron. "You've permanently dented his facial plates, I think that's more than good enough to atone for what he's done."

Optimus's body relaxed slightly, the anger passing. Ratchet released his shoulder cautiously, and Optimus nodded his head very slightly.

"…I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I lost control."

"With good reason."

"…Elita?"

"Go."

Autobot City

Headquarters

Commander's Quarters

Once again the battle for consciousness resumed. And this time, Elita won it quite easily, taking triumph in the fact as her optics came online. For a moment, she wondered if they were glitching; all was dark. But then strong arms tightened around her, and she relaxed. It was dark. Ha ha.

"It's me," Optimus murmured, holding his beloved to his chest as she stirred restlessly. "It's okay, Eita. It's me."

"…I know," she sighed, closing off her optics and nestling her head beneath his chin. "Primus, I'm such a loser. You actually had to come and rescue me."

"Everyone needs a little help sometimes. You've nothing to ashamed of."

"…I thought about you."

"Hm?"

"The whole time they had me, I was thinking about you," she whispered, stroking his chest plates, as if she were afraid raising her voice would disturb the darkness. "I bet Chromia'll tell me I've got a Prime complex."

He chuckled and propped himself on one elbow, smiling down at her. "Do you?"

"Don't get your hopes up," she replied flatly, rolling onto her back to look up at him.

"I have an Elita complex."

"Oh, I'm sure," she snorted, rolling her optics.

"It's true. Prowl and Ironhide will vouch for me."

"Uh-huh."

He smiled and leaned down to press his lips to hers. She sighed and lifted a hand, running her fingers along his strong jaw. It felt right. The pain of her wounds vanished, the trauma of the previous days' events melted away as his kiss deepened. He lifted his mouth away and pressed his forehead to hers, his optics searching her face.

"Was Megatron trying to do what I think he was trying to do?"

"He figured he'd bond with me to learn more about my hard drive," she replied, and he winced.

"I came that close to losing you."

"I wouldn't have died," she said, lifting her optic ridges. "Quite frankly, that would've been more incentive for him to keep me alive."

"I will personally disembowel any mech other than me who bonds with you," he growled, and she smiled.

"Are you implying something?"

"You decide," he replied, and rolled over and drifted into recharge.

Elsewhere…

Specific location unknown

"That was a magnificent shot, sir," Escapade said, leaning over the offlined Barricade and Frenzy.

"Yes, it rather was, wasn't it?" Alpha Trion said proudly, puffing up his chest as he drew his firearm back into subspace. "I wonder why those two were after you, Escapade, it's really bizarre."

"…I don't think it was me they were after, sir."

"Oh, you don't? Are you suggesting that the Decepticons were more interesting in an old, weathered mech like me? That's truly flattering. I had no idea Megatron was inclined that way."

Escapade couldn't help but laugh as he and his mentor strode away, leaving the so-called hunters far behind.

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Whew! Which brings us to the conclusion of the Ellipses program arc! This makes me totally happy. Was Escapade the apprentice's name? I should go check…anyway, please enjoy, please review, in that order.

Oh yeah, the Monopoly story:

So there I am playing TF Monopoly with my homies. And I, of course, am the Optimus Prime game piece (he's still a sexy beast even when he's all of three centimeters tall, for those of you who were wondering). As fate would have it, I landed on Maccadam's Old Oil House (a bar!) and promptly tipped my game piece over.

"…Dude, what was that?"

"He's having a hangover."

"Uh, what?"

"Dude, look, this is a bar. See the picture? This guy's all unconscious, he's got his head on the table, and the dude next to him is all 'Hey, wake up, man!' So Optimus comes in and has some fun and now he has a hangover."

"C'mon, man, stand up the game piece."

"Hey, don't touch my Optimus!"

"You can't just tip him over like that, it's weird!"

"You know what, I reserve the right to get Optimus Prime drunk!"

As it were, Prime is still hungover.