Fool's Paradise

by Alba Aulbath

The Scavengers have a series of ridiculous adventures while trying to make it back to Cybertron.

14. A Quality of Action

CHAPTER: FIVE - "A Quality of Action"
CONTINUITY: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics
RATING: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.
SUMMARY: Fulcrum tries to find a way to stop being so afraid.
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.
NOTE: Thank you so much for the beta help, Obfuscobble! You are one of a kind.

---

"Now, I don't usually say this often, loser. But this is a dumb plan. An incredibly stupid plan that will resolve aaaabsolutley nothing! Krok's never going to go for it."

"I really appreciate the vote of confidence, Misfire. Truly."

It seems like he really was an idiot, going to Misfire first. Logically, it would have been better to sort this kind of thing out with Krok; after all, he's the commanding officer, and Fulcrum can't technically do anything about the situation without getting approval from him first. Emotionally, though, it felt easier to just go to the jet before anyone else. Fulcrum is fond of everyone in ship, even Grimlock. That's not at all hard to see, but on some personal level he's most often spoken to or shared with Misfire.

Maybe it's just how insistent the jet is, trying his best to be supportive and be a good friend. For all of strangeness they've been through together, in the end, Misfire's tried, and that's really all Fulcrum could ask of anyone.

Still, sharing his findings and his plans probably wasn't the best idea. Not that Fulcrum is even sure what kind of response he'd been expecting.

"Come on, loser, it's just- Fulcrum!" Misfire tries to snag the K-Con's shoulder, but it's a gesture smoothly avoided. "Would you even take a moment to think about what you're going to ask Krok?"

Fulcrum pauses midstride to look at his friend. Most would easily shrug off Misfire as a hyperactive idiot and, yeah sure, he can be at times. But it makes it easy to underestimate him. Makes it easy to forget that under the energy ball that is Misfire, he is also a very clever Decepticon.

It'd be stupid to not listen.

Right now, Fulcrum isn't feeling very smart.

"I know what I'm asking. And he doesn't need to say yes," Fulcrum informs him. With a frustrated sigh, he asks, "Would you just back me up? We're friends, right?"

Briefly, Misfire just says nothing, looking extremely uncomfortable. Then, he gives a helpless shrug. "Is it gonna help you?"

"It'd be a start."

Misfire rubs the back of his helm. "Then I suppose that I've got your back on this. Even if I think it's still a little nutty, but I'm here, yeah?"

Relief washes over Fulcrum at the agreement. "Thanks."

By the time that he arrives in Krok's quarters, he suddenly feels a bit less bold. Fulcrum respects Krok and making this kind of request is probably utterly unreasonable for several reasons. Wasting his commanding officer's time isn't going to benefit anyone and Krok waits with an expecting look, silently demanding to know why the K-Con is currently present.

Reminding himself of why he's here, though, is inspiring enough. With clenched hands, Fulcrum steels himself and explains. At his side, Misfire looks completely uncertain, but he bites his lip to refrain from speaking. That can't be easy for him to do and, quietly, Fulcrum appreciates it.

When he's done, Fulcrum doesn't feel any less fired up. He waits, staring at Krok as it seems he's taking his time processing the words just spoken. The wait aches hard enough to make Fulcrum's back plating twitch and throb, unsure of what to expect as a reaction.

Then, Krok slowly folds his hands together.

"So let me see if I understand." Calmly, Krok stares directly at Fulcrum, their optics locking. "You want to go back to Styx, rig an explosive in your old cell, and blow it up."

"When you say it like that, it makes it sound kind of lame," Fulcrum mumbles.

"Currently, I'm trying to think of how many ways I can tell you no."

"That's not your right," comes blurting out of Fulcrum before he can help it. Hesitantly, when Krok narrows his optics, he adds, "Sir." Fulcrum takes a moment to cycle some air in and out of his vents before he continues, "Look, no one told me that Styx was decommissioned after the K-Class was basically... well, you know, done."

A slow exhale escapes Krok. "I didn't really see a point. After what happened with the Cerebnum, it seemed like a better idea to keep it to myself."

Not maliciously done. Why would it have been? Krok's been nothing but protective over his crew, and he certainly would keep it that way by selectively sharing and not sharing information. Styx has been a sensitive topic, so why would he have bothered?

Fulcrum sighs a little. "I get that, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I still want to go. The information I got from the merchants on the station brought me up to speed on things that I've generally missed in the past few years, Styx being one of the brief topics. It's totally abandoned. If anything, we could probably pick up some scrap there while I'm doing my thing."

"That's a weak reason for us to go. All of us." With a shy bit more impatience, Krok leans back in his chair and peers at Fulcrum.

"I'm tired." For a moment, it just feels like his spark is burning. Anger, shame, and fear colliding together and part of him feeling like he could just burst. Not, of course, in a particularly explosive way, but he aches inside. "Krok, I'm tired of running and being scared all the time. What I want is to finally put a part of me to rest. I don't want to turn another corner tomorrow and be reminded of something horrible that's happened to me. I just want it to be done. Things would have gone a lot smoother if the Cerebnum didn't trigger something awful in my memories, or if I didn't freeze up on Jennix Station. I don't want to run and hide anymore."

There's another awful bout of silence in the room. The only noise is the squeak in Misfire's joints as he sways back and forth in some sort of strange effort to keep himself from vomiting up words that may or may not be relevant to the topic at hand. Still, he stands at Fulcrum's side, which is enough.

"Blowing up your old cell," Krok repeats, his tone a little more dry.

"I kinda feel like it's poetic justice," Fulcrum defends himself. "You guys did remove my payload, so we still have it. I want to use it. It's technically mine."

Whatever Krok is pondering is left as a mystery. He isn't sharing his thoughts, and it's a little hard to tell what else Fulcrum can interpret from his expression other than he is being incredibly thoughtful about this entire thing.

Eventually, he rises to his feet. "Don't get me wrong. I am not thrilled with this idea. But I understand it." With a tilt of his head, Krok proceeds with, "We'll make it quick as we can. I don't want a huge detour."

"I understand." Every bit of nervousness just leaves Fulcrum's frame suddenly. He wrings his hands together a little. "Thank you, Krok. I... just. Yeah."

"We all have our ghosts to deal with." Krok slowly looks down at his hand. "If you can deal with yours, well, then you're right. I don't have a place of telling you no."

"Krok..." What the hell can Fulcrum possibly say to that? To someone who still believes he can find his old crew?

"We're about ten hours out from Styx. I suggest you start getting yourself ready, and I'll let Crankcase know about our detour."

A bit helplessly, Fulcrum watches Krok leave the office. While he's glad that his point of view is understood, he can't help but feel a bit guilty for it in turn. Pit.

Misfire finally lets out a heavy exhale of relief. "Whew! Wow, that was a bit heavy!"

"Baggage usually is," Fulcrum mutters a little bitterly. "Don't you have any?"

"Too full of stuff. And bags. Awful bags of stuff." Misfire squints a little. "Some of us want to leave it behind rather than, you know, blowing it up and all."

---

Some grousing from Crankcase is to be expected at the order to make the stop, and Fulcrum accepts the grumbling, well learned from the embodiment of grouchiness of what to anticipate. Still, no one is really giving him a hard time about it, and he supposes that it's just gradually sinking in as to what he hopes to accomplish on Styx. A way for him to have a final farewell to his fears linked to the damned place.

Or maybe they sympathize in some way. It's hard to tell. In retrospect, Fulcrum admittedly doesn't know much about everyone's history. He's the one that's expressed his the most, although that's mostly because he didn't have a choice in the heat of the moment. He knows Spinister got a little worked up about the Raiders, and something happened to Krok's previous crew. But, really, that's it.

He supposes that, in the end, it doesn't matter how they all got here on the Weak Anthropic Principle under the command of one very paternal war historian and tactician. Still, it just weighs on him a little what Krok and Misfire said, in regards to ghosts and baggage. It seems like they all have their different ways of dealing with it.

Or just not at all.

With a weary sigh, Fulcrum stares out one of the muggy windows of the ship, watching familiar star alignments and trying not to shiver in anxiety of their approach. They can't be too far off from Styx now. Not that he's particularly eager to go back there, ever, but he thinks he might be relieved to get this confrontation over with.

There's a slow thudding noise of heavy feet, a familiar sound of Grimlock's weight as he slowly walks. Gradually, the Dynobot steps closer to Fulcrum, stopping to stare down at him. Fulcrum turns and looks up, yellow optics a little wider now in confusion of the Autobot's presence. Even more so, Grimlock isn't in his usual reptilian mode at the moment. Was something wrong?

"Grimlock?" Fulcrum frowns a little. "Are you okay?"

In what appears to be very careful, very considerate pacing, Grimlock is lifting his chin gradually and peering out the window behind the K-Con. There's a slow, fiery huff of air from his vents. "Prison."

That's strange. Did someone tell Grimlock about it? "That's right," Fulcrum states warily. "We're going to a prison. But no one's there anymore."

Eventually, Grimlock's fierce red optics look down at Fulcrum. "Prison, bad."

It feels like Fulcrum's mind just goes blank at the statement, the very basic description. It's not inaccurate. He turns around, facing the window again with his back to Grimlock as he wraps his arms around himself. "That's right. It's... it's a very bad place."

A firm hand settles to Fulcrum's shoulder, almost causing him to jump. Grimlock's engine gives a soft growl before he speaks again, struggling with the words. "Mmm. Me Grimlock, go to bad prison. With you Fulcrum."

Oh. Fulcrum turns his head a little to look up at the Dynobot, offering a hesitant smile. "Grimlock, you don't have to go with me," he speaks slowly, enunciating to make sure that the Autobot understands.

"Me Grimlock go with you Fulcrum," is repeated more simply, more sternly. "Prison, bad."

It's a bit strange to think, but there's the feeling that there's probably something more to what Grimlock is trying to say. Unfortunately, trying to get him to say the right words to properly describe anything would be a challenge too difficult for Fulcrum right now. Yet, he wants to say that Grimlock has a motive for going.

What could that possibly be, though? Grimlock barely remembered anything beyond his own name when they found him.

"Okay, okay. You can come with us," Fulcrum confirms.

There's a strong squeeze to his shoulder, a grip that's almost too tight. Not surprising, since at times Grimlock often forgets his own strength. With a nervous laugh, Fulcrum pats the Dynobot's hand. "Uh, easy. Easy there. My plating's not that strong, you know."

A soft grunt emits from Grimlock before the hand is eventually removed. With the pressure gone, Fulcrum smiles a little more easily.

No, he doesn't quite understand why the Dynobot is insisting on going, but he won't argue about having a little extra protection.

"There's a small problem with landing on Styx," Crankcase abruptly announces over the intercom, not in the least hiding a snide tone.

Fulcrum sighs and lifts his wrist, speaking into his commlink. "What's the problem?"

"This place is supposed to be abandoned, but I'm detecting a shuttle that's already there."

Who in the Pit-?

"I suggest we turn around," Crankcase states.

"No," Fulcrum replies immediately. "Krok, please! I-"

"Fulcrum," Krok says, implying a warning. "Crankcase, stay the course." There's a pause of consideration before Krok adds, "I don't like this idea, but it seems safest if we split off. Some stay behind, some go. I don't intend for this to be a very long trip."

"What you plan and what actually happens don't tend to meet even halfway," Crankcase grumbles.

Krok sighs over the network. "Then watch over the ship while we're gone."

"Don't mind if I do. I'm not getting involved in this place. Frankly, I don't think any of us should be."

The intercom cuts out, and Fulcrum slowly turns towards a window to peer out at the familiar planet. He remembers how long he'd been here, waiting for his trial. He remembers even longer, how much time he'd spent in the prison.

No. Not now. Fulcrum clenches his hands into fists.

With a steady exhale, he heads down into the cargo bay. Right behind him, Grimlock follows, his heavy footsteps easy for him to recognize. Oddly enough, it's something of a comfort to have at his back, knowing that the Dynobot is coming along.

It's time to get this over with.

---

To both his relief and anxiety, the Weak Anthropic Principle lands as close as possible to the facility that once was also Fulcrum's prison. When the cargo bay doors open, all he can do at first is stand there, optics ahead as he's speechless at the sight of the abandoned prison. Aside from their ship and the shuttle that's here, the landing zone is just full of dust and so much scrap metal that most of it is useless even to them. He remembers being here, the last place he was on Styx, each member of the K-Class lined up and commanded into a salute. Their last farewell to their prison, to their camp, and to their lives. Already he feels numb, but he's told himself already several times: he doesn't want to be afraid anymore.

Slowly, he steps forward.

Krok hadn't been keen at all about the group splitting up and it's not really a surprise to him. It seems like each time they do, it's a disaster waiting to happen, and that's probably something that Krok personalizes in some way. Honestly, it makes Fulcrum feel a little guilty, but they're here now. It's just them and... and whoever owns that shuttle.

"Spinister and I will have a look at it," Crankcase reluctantly caves in over their commlinks. No one's really more well suited to find out amongst them, after all, considering the mechanic's background knowledge on aircrafts.

"Make sure you do," Krok returns gruffly, his tone very clear in his dissatisfaction in this situation. It makes Fulcrum cringe a little in guilt. "If anything seems strange, you leave it alone and you call us."

Absently, Fulcrum rubs his arm as he slowly steps out into the area, trying not to think too much about what it reminds him of. The steady pace of Grimlock's heavy footsteps are still behind him, and he can see Misfire out of the corner of an optic. He isn't in this alone; he's going to be okay.

As Krok steps up alongside Fulcrum, he peers at him momentarily before inclining with his head. "Show us the way."

"Right." Fulcrum cycles out some nervous air from his vents. "Sure. I'll just, you know, go do that."

Gradually, he works up the nerve to head towards the giant gate. Closed, locked, but not impossible to gain entry to. Quietly, Fulcrum turns his attention to the nearby control panel, prying off the loose, rusty controls to work with the wires underneath. Eventually, with enough tweaking, the gates open, like the gaping maw of a beast opening, inviting its prey to its belly.

Not really the metaphor that's helping him feel better.

The hallway still has a taste of a memory for him as well as he starts to lead the way down. He remembers his very first arrival to Styx, how frightened he'd been then, how naive enough he was to think that maybe blabbering and begging for his life would have been enough. The guards had their laugh, and the day had been spent with him in cuffs, fearing for his life at the hands of his own faction, eventually being introduced to a cell that started one of many days here.

"Anyone else unsettled by the silence here?" Misfire asks, huffing slightly.

Grimlock gives a low growl in his engine while Fulcrum snorts a little, "The planet's been abandoned for a while, Misfire."

"I mean us. A little conversation wouldn't hurt."

"I'm not really up for talking," Fulcrum grumbles, still trotting along. "I kind of have a lot going on in my head right now."

"Well, then it'd make for a good distraction, at least!" Misfire sighs. "The more you're lost in your own loser head, the worse you're gonna feel, I just know it."

"I really don't feel like chatting. All right? Just leave me alone with this."

There's a low offended snort. "Fine."

Krok gives a weary glance to Fulcrum, optics narrowed slightly, but he doesn't say anything. Somehow, that's worse than Misfire's mild hurt at Fulcrum's insistence, knowing that right at this moment Krok is studying him, judging him for whatever. Maybe for dragging everyone down here to deal with his personal issues, maybe for brushing off Misfire, who the hell knows. Fulcrum is perfectly aware that he isn't the only one that suffers from some kind of tragedy, but he's the only one whose story was told to the entire crew, because he'd been a liar and a coward. Spinister has something or other to do with the Raiders, Krok seems convinced that he'll find his unit, and Fulcrum has no idea what's going on in Grimlock's head. That leaves Misfire and Crankcase to their whatever-they-have in terms of an unfortunate history, which he should probably expect.

Frankly, in the war, who wouldn't have had something terrible happen to them? It's just, for Fulcrum, on the day when he'd been found by Krok and the others, Styx was just a day prior to that. What had been over a thousand years ago still feels like no time at all for him.

So while others have had time to start welding their wounds, Fulcrum is still dealing with all of this.

Great, now he just feels paranoid along with his growing fear and sense of dread.

"Krok, we had a look at the shuttle. I couldn't tell you exactly what it means, but I can tell you it belongs to an Autobot," Crankcase mentions to the their commlink.

A wary look forms in Krok's optics. "Can you figure out where the shuttle's been or who it belongs to specifically?"

"We'll see what I can dig up. Figured you wanted to know."

"Suppose if we see an Autobot, just shoot him?" Misfire offers. Behind him, Grimlock gives a low growl. "Oh, not you, Grimsie."

"I'm willing to keep that as a possibility," Krok accepts, his tone paced as he thinks over the options.

Fulcrum shakes his head. "Why the hell would an Autobot have any interest in being in a place like this?"

"Why would a former convict?" Krok questions back, his voice sounding less confrontational and more thoughtful. "In any case, I'm not interested in a motivation. If the Autobot stays out of our way, then shooting won't become a problem. Crankcase, Spinister; if the Autobot comes back, feel free to take care of it."

"We'll keep it in mind."

The conversation ends and Krok has a new, contemplative look on his face. The additional complication is, undoubtedly, not favorable in the least and Fulcrum doesn't want to admit to feeling a bit responsible for it. Keeping out of trouble is what they prefer, not really getting involved in it.

But Fulcrum says nothing, and Krok doesn't call him out on it. So their walk continues.

Gradually, they reach three different potential directions to go in. Each pathway isn't unfamiliar to Fulcrum. Not in the least.

"Which way?" Krok calmly requests.

Immediately, Fulcrum nods to the right. "That way to the prison cells and execution chambers. Ahead is the archives, and to the left is where they held their trials. For all the good they did."

"What would they need an archives section for?" Misfire holds up his hands, palms out. A gesture, as if to tell Fulcrum take it easy now. "Just curious."

"Prisoners list. General data. And I suppose probably the data for the modifications to become the K-Class." Fulcrum shrugs. "I don't know what else. It's not like I was really given that detailed of a tour and all."

"I, uh. I didn't mean-"

"I know," Fulcrum mutters. "You were just curious. Let's get this over with, okay?"

There's a hand that falls to Fulcrum's shoulder, nearly making the K-Con jump. There's a jerk and he finds himself looking at Krok, whose optics are narrowed again. Unwilling to put up more of a fight, Fulcrum just goes silent before he returns to leading.

The trek down the hallway is silent, save for their footsteps. It probably irritates Misfire, who has the zealous need to fill in everything with chatter, but right now it suits Fulcrum just fine. Not that he wants to remember this place, but he wants to be left alone to his own devices for the moment.

He remembers walking down this way for the first time when he'd been arrested. Sent away to his holding cell, to wait and wait and wait dreadfully until the day of his sorry excuse of a trial arrived. Waiting was terrible, the trial was worse, and everything that came after.

Though Fulcrum would prefer to press on, he pauses only see that Grimlock has completely stopped. He's staring into one of the display windows of the hallway. A clear view of one of the execution chambers. No entryway to it, just a visual.

"Grimlock?" Fulcrum calls for him, and he can't help but feel softer in a way for the Dynobot's behavior. When they had first found him, he was afraid of Grimlock - hard not to be - but things have changed over the course of time. And the way Grimlock specifically asked to come? He's still trying to understand that.

Eventually, the K-Con places a hand to Grimlock's arm.

The Dynobot peers down at him, then looks back out the window.

"That's where they killed everyone," Fulcrum says quietly. "Not... quickly. But eventually. When the order for the K-Class configuration came down, pushed the equipment back and made this area a place of instruction, supposedly. More like they wanted us to be grateful that the K-Class would be a cleaner death than what was originally in order for us."

"Torture," is all Grimlock has to say to that. Somehow, the word surprises Fulcrum, as if the way it's said seems personal. Intimate.

Then, Fulcrum nods slowly as he warily looks out the display window. "Yeah. It was."

Grimlock goes silent, peering out the window for a moment longer before he snorts. Eventually, he turns, looking down at Fulcrum. Maybe a silent indication to keep leading. It's hard to say, but Fulcrum doesn't entirely understand the Dynobot and he doubts anyone on the Weak Anthropic Principle really does, to be honest. Yet, he can't help but feel like there'd been something important that happened here for Grimlock. Something going on in his poor broken mind.

Gradually, Fulcrum turns to lead down the hallway again until it splits off. One way for the cells, the other for the execution chamber.

"So you get all nice when Grimlock gets nosy, but you throw a little fit when I ask questions," Misfire huffs.

Krok sighs, rubbing his helm. "Misfire," he says, tone guarded.

Fulcrum whirls around, peering at the jet. "Grimlock was just looking out the window!"

"Krok, there's a problem! Well, two problems," Crankcase hollers through the commlink.

"Please tell me it can wait," Krok grumbles as he glares at his present crewmembers.

"Not at all."

Misfire's wings twitch irritably. "All I did was ask you a question or two and you get all angry at me! But you go easy on the Autobot Dynobot. That's not really fair."

"Grimlock doesn't know any better!" Fulcrum snaps defensively. "And you do! You know what this place means to me."

"There was another shuttle. Not in the same landing bay as us, but we detected. It landed probably just an hour before us," Crankcase's voice sputters through.

"Knock it off, you two!" Krok orders.

Yet, it continues, with Misfire huffing, "Why would you even want to come back here, anyway? Wanna reminisce about the good ol' times, hmm?"

"Because I'm sick of being scared! All the time, at every little reminder!" Fulcrum argues back, completely ignoring Krok. "I told you about Barracks because I trust you. And now you're throwing this back in my face?!"

"Who is Barracks? And I swear to the Pit if you two don't-" Krok snarls.

"The other shuttle belongs to-" Crankcase tries to edge in.

Misfire throws his hands up in the air. "Trust me, do you? Is that why you're snapping at me ever since we got here?!"

"I thought you'd understand, but apparently Grimlock's picked up on that sentiment better than you!" Fulcrum hisses.

"Well, fine! You might as well just do this stupid masochistic little task on your own!"

"Maybe I will!" Blind rage and frustration fills Fulcrum as he heads further down the hallway towards the split-off.

"SHUT IT!" their commanding officer shouts at them.

Behind Fulcrum, blast doors slam closed, completely cutting him off from the others. Before he can help himself, tremors flow through Fulcrum's body, fear clenching around his spark as he turns and looks at the doors. A shaking hand presses against the door.

"Guys?" he whispers into the commlink. "Please. Please open it. I wasn't serious, please!"

"It-it wasn't us, pinhead," Misfire responds.

There's a steady roar from the other side of the door that even Fulcrum can hear. It belongs to Grimlock. The door shakes as the Dynobot slams into it, maybe trying to open it. It's hard to tell.

"Grimlock!" Fulcrum calls out. "G-get me out! Please!"

For all of the might the Dynobot has, it's not enough to force the door to open. Which makes sense, in retrospect. Why would it open? It was made to withstand even the toughest of Decepticon criminals of all sizes. Not just small, lanky, weak technicians, but powerful tank-based grunt soldiers who decided to go rogue. There's no way that Grimlock can open it.

Yet, the Autobot tries, all of his fury spilled onto the door. Fulcrum can faintly feel heat against it. Maybe Grimlock is trying to melt it, but he isn't successful.

Grimlock won't be able to get through. He won't be able to help Fulcrum.

"Stop. You can stop," Fulcrum mumbles into the commlink. "Grimlock..."

It's gradual, but he feels less pounding fury against the door.

A sigh breaks through the commlink. "Like I was trying to say, another shuttle landed here an hour ago. It belongs to one of the Raiders from Jennix Station. Soon as we found out, Spinister took off." Crankcase's tone is seething and impatient. "What the hell happened on your side?"

"A door shut, cutting us off from Fulcrum. Crankcase, we need you to direct us a way to open that door. Spinister, answer your fragging comm!" The utter fury in Krok's voice is not something that Fulcrum hopes to deal with anytime soon.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please- please open it," Fulcrum sputters out, rambling, his voice hiccuping in fright. "Don't leave me here!"

"Shut up and listen to me, Fulcrum." The K-Con shuts his mouth obediently, trying to stifle any unwanted noises that would indicate how scared he is. "We'll get you out of there. But you need to be patient. Hide, if you have to. But I'm not going to leave you behind. Understand?"

Fulcrum feels like collapsing into a heap, no matter how pathetic that notion is. Pressing his forehead against the door, he exhales sharply before he forces a word out, "Okay."

"Can't Fulcrum just, you know, hijack the door like before?" Misfire mentions.

A small bitter laugh escapes from Fulcrum. "There's no control panel nearby this door. It's meant to shut prisoners inside, Misfire."

"Oh... Um. For the record, I. I'm really sorry. For being a twit," Misfire offers quietly.

"I was an idiot, too," Fulcrum mumbles miserably.

"You both were. Believe me, you'll make up for it later. Crankcase, guide us," Krok commands.

There's a grumble from the mechanic. "Hold on, I'm opening up the map."

"And Spinister, answer already!"

As the silence settles in, it gradually starts to strike Fulcrum as strange that Spinister simply won't respond. Granted, he can be violence-prone and he seems to be somewhat single-minded about the Raiders, but he never disobeys Krok. He listens to him. So why is Spinister so quiet?

The commlink sputters with static suddenly. Fulcrum winces, peering down reluctantly at his wrist, then he feels an awful shiver through his plating as he listens to an incredibly familiar chuckle, deep and yet off-kilter. He forgets to cycle his vents.

"Please tell me you're going to run, Fulcrum," Barracks whispers into their communications.

A strangled sounding shriek escapes from the K-Con as he finds himself taking off blindly down the hallway.

---

"Fulcrum! Answer me!" Krok demands through his commlink. Behind him, Misfire paces in a small circle nervously while Grimlock gives a groan of confusion over the entire matter. "Fulcrum!"

"I'm not terribly interested in the rest of you, but if you get in the way, you'll die."

"When I find you, you'll die," Krok promises coldly.

All he receives in response is a burst of static. Presumably, it was the Raider who owns that shuttle that Crankcase had discovered. So one shuttle belonged to some Autobot, then another to a Raider. Are they at all connected? Either way, Krok would be fine about killing both of them for this trouble!

Misfire rushes up to Krok, wings trembling in a panic. "I can't tell you possibly how terrible this is! On a scale from one to ten, this is off the scale right into the Pit full of horrible and awful and whosits and whatsits! Krok, what do we do?"

"Settle," the historian instructs him sternly. "And listen to me. Grimlock, follow me as much as you can. There's no control panel for this door, which means we need to find a way to disconnect the power for most of the section for the cells and the execution chambers. Crankcase could guide us, in theory."

"But the Raider can hear us," Misfire adds warily.

Krok nods slowly. "With that in mind, Crankcase could try to give us the directions anyway, or more likely we'll have to do it on our own. Misfire, tell me about this Raider. Now."

"I, um. I don't know much," Misfire admits. "He used to be a guard here? Fulcrum knew him. Then we ran into him during the raiding party on Jennix Station. He was after Fulcrum then. I seriously don't know anything else other than that."

"It's safe to say that he's interested in harming him and that's enough to know." Krok folds his arms. "Spinister's also out there and silent."

"So...? What, we just try to run around blindly? We don't know where anything is here!"

Krok peers at him. "It stands to reason that we can find information probably in the archives section. So, that's where we're headed." Bringing up his wrist, he speaks warily though the commlink. "Crankcase, forget all of my orders. No arguing. Don't reply. Krok, out."

This isn't a simple matter for him, to keep a cool head. It bothered him enough to split up upon arriving here, in an abandoned prison, but now it's gotten incredibly worse. Spinister is out there, somewhere, being uncharacteristically quiet. Which means he's in trouble. Crankase is on his own, and Fulcrum is being chased around by an old foe who means to do him harm. Rage boils inside his tanks, but Krok does his best to keep calm.

Anything else will just get his unit killed. He can't bear to let that happen.

Clenching his fists, he sets off to backtrack, glancing briefly over his shoulders to make sure that both Grimlock and Misfire are following. They are, though each of them occasionally look reluctantly back at the blast doors. He isn't a fool and it's his business to know what his crew is up to; Krok is well aware of how fond of the K-Con each of them are, in their own ways. Misfire and Grimlock are no exception. Hell, despite the trouble Fulcrum can occasionally cause them, none of them are innocent of that trait.

He's part of the unit. Krok won't let him go.

Warily, Krok squints as they make their way into the archives. All of the computers are humming, alive and functional. Frankly, the fact that electricity is running at all in this place seems strange to him, considering it had been abandoned some years ago.

Which means, someone went out of their way to power everything on.

"Misfire, help me try to find anything that might help us figure out how to open those doors. Grimlock, just..." Krok peers up at the Dynobot. "Just stay put."

There's a dissatisfied snort from the Autobot. The apparent recovering intelligence from Grimlock does not thrill Krok in the least.

The war historian pulls up a chair and settles in front of one of the consoles. It seems to have been recently used, Krok realizes. From the way it reacts as he begins his searches, he can determine a search history from the previous user.

Most of them on the K-Class. Who the hell was looking up data on the K-Class? If Misfire's right about Barracks, there's no need; he was a guard here at Styx. He has no reason to want to know anything about the K-Class because he already knows. So why the interest?

"Oh, so that's what he looked like."

Krok turns his head to peer at Misfire, who sounds interested in whatever he's looking at. He peers up at the screen, and it looks like a screen of data on Fulcrum. General stats, previous military positions he held, primary function, reason for conviction, his death sentence, and a picture of him. Pre-modification. It's not hard to recognize him; the chin stands out, and Krok has, technically, seen Fulcrum in his previous body before when they were dealing with the Cerebnum.

"I told you to try to find information on getting the doors open," Krok reminds him, trying to not let his annoyance filter into his tone.

"I am! Honest!" Alarmed, Misfire's wings twitch and he waves his hands. "I thought, maybe, if we did a search, we could figure out where Fulcrum could end up here or something on Barracks or whatever."

Absently, Krok rubs the front of his helm. "By doing a search on Fulcrum."

"It was a perfectly logical line of thinking, I'll have you know." Misfire huffs. "He was sort of colorful, wasn't he? For a Decepticon, I mean."

"Focus."

"Fine, fine."

It's not hard to find a map of the complex they're currently in, and that helps immensely, at least. As Krok peers up at the screen, he tries to not let himself be distracted with the fact that Misfire is looking up information on their lost K-Classer. It's not that Krok isn't curious; he inherently is when it comes to his unit. However, he also understands when something is private, to be respected and not investigated. He doesn't need to know all of the details about the horrible things that have happened to everyone, because it inevitably has happened in this crew. Hell, he suspects that includes Grimlock, who he shouldn't feel sorry for in the least.

Krok peers over the map in front of him, following where the main power is located. That's an alternative, but he's more interested in finding the access codes.

In the next moment, he regrets trusting Misfire's ability to focus, because he doesn't always. The jet is clever and more intelligent than he lets on, but he can be single-minded in the worst of ways and often very flighty.

This, he realizes, because suddenly the speakers are blaring with awful noise of something previously recorded: an all-too-familiar whimper, and what sounds like drills whirring through metal and liquid.

Krok can't help but look up.

The traitor's wheel, with enormous drills turning inside of the palms and feet of its victim as they are so slowly torn limb from limb. It's not so hard to figure out what the video is of, who is supposed to be executed.

"How long until his spark gives out?"

"This guy? I'm thinking just a day. Most of 'em last at least a few days, but-"

"Misfire," Krok growls.

"I didn't think-" Misfire starts.

The whirring grows louder, and the screaming starts. It's an awful series of reactions thereafter. Misfire sputters and scrambles to turn it off, all the while it somehow triggers Grimlock into letting out a thunderous snarl of rage before running off. Cursing under a vent of air, Krok shoves Misfire away from the console.

"Stop," Krok orders, "and go after Grimlock!"

"I. Uh." Misfire's wings flick. "Right, I'm on it!"

Trying to not let seething anger take over his entire processor, Krok scowls as he watches the jet take off after Grimlock, calling after the Dynobot. Despite being flawed in the ways of focusing on particular tasks, Misfire and Fulcrum perform well enough in regards to getting the Autobot to listen to them. He'll have to trust that Misfire will be successful.

He lets out steady air from his vents, then glances at the data that Misfire's pulled up on their missing technician. Krok pauses, then considers.

He considers what he should do with the open data.

---

This is the exact opposite of everything he'd been hoping for by coming here.

Panic screams throughout Fulcrum's entire body as he runs through the complex. He doesn't pay much attention as to where he's going, not as long as he can get to somewhere that's a good hiding place. Somewhere that can get him as far as he can from Barracks. Fear makes it feel like there's a clenching sensation around his spark, and he nearly stumbles as he keeps running, and running, and running.

Memories bite at the back of his mind and he tries his best to not recall his stay at Styx. The guards had always been unbearable. Most of them sneered and taunted him amongst the other prisoners. Some would go out of their way to make it worse. The most prominent he can recall amongst them had been Barracks. Nothing but a psychopathic bully, one of the best examples he can think of that he'd personally experienced of the deranged side of the Decepticon military. Fulcrum, a technician who'd been convicted of cowardice, was the traitor while Barracks, a violent sadistic guard of Styx, was never charged of a single thing.

Just doing his job.

Fulcrum slows himself down, and he steps in a nervous circle, turning and trying to figure out where he is. This, this is where the modifications happened for the K-Class. For all of the prisoners.

Cycling his vents quickly, Fulcrum backs up slowly until the back of his thighs bump against the edge of one of the berths. He tries to not stare too long, his optics darting around the room that had changed his entire body. Somewhere on the floor are scattered remains of a former life for him, amongst others who had been modified.

He tries to not think about it.

Abruptly, he hears transformation sounds right behind him, and he feels the berth pull away. Alarmed, Fulcrum starts to try to turn around, but a hand slams over his mouth and a strong arm wraps around his midsection. He screams, his voice completely muffled by the hand. Frantically, he kicks and struggles, trying to throw off the superior weight and strength.

"Don't move, K-Con." The voice by his audial is cold-sounding, tired. Not Barracks, but still familiar and that's definitely a bad thing!

He tries to kick and struggle, but he's firmly pinned by the larger mech's grip. There's the sound of something whirring behind him, and slowly coming into view is a buzzsaw on some sort of mechanical arm extension, turning and inching towards his face. Fulcrum shrieks against the palm over his mouth, trying to beg for his life.

"I'll be right there, Fulcrum," Barracks promises through his commlink, and his body trembles as he feels a pleading, shameful sob break cry out agianst the hand.

The buzzsaw stops, then slowly withdraws. "Fulcrum?"

Suddenly Fulcrum is being released and he nearly trips over his own feet as he scrambles away, turning around to face his attacker. Then, he just stares in confusion. "Gladbag?"

That's where he's heard the voice before. The one Autobot that they had let go in the attack from Blithe not that long ago. The Autobot medic peers down at Fulcrum, his bland looking optics narrowed slightly. He remembers how unremarkable Gladbag's paintjob had been, all graytone, and it seems like that hasn't changed. Somehow he'd missed it when they first met - then again, Fulcrum was busy trying to not die and not let Misfire die at the time - but there's a third arm on Gladbag's back, ending in a buzzsaw. It slowly withdraws, snapping back into some sort of location on the Autobot's back.

What has changed is that his Autobot badge is missing.

Not that Fulcrum cares too much at the moment.

"What- what the hell are you doing here?" Fulcrum stammers out.

"Am I not free to go where I choose?" Gladbag folds his arms. "And what about you?"

"Right now?" Fulcrum gives a humorless laugh. "I'm trying to run away right now!"

"Wasn't one of your crewmates coming for you?"

"That wasn't- that is definitely not one of them!" Fulcrum glances around nervously. "Look, this is bad for you and me both. There's an ex-Decepticon looking for me and I'm pretty sure he isn't going to have any problem looking to kill you when he does!"

There's a brief pause as Gladbag continues to stare down at Fulcrum, processing that data, then he nods. "Then I understand. If we cross paths, he would immediately become my problem. I'll help you escape from him, but then you'll have to answer my questions."

"I... look, whatever! Fine! Just help me get away from him."

"Do exactly as I say, and I will." Taking a step back, Gladbag's plating shifts as he transforms. Thinking back, Fulcrum had assumed that he was a groundpounder of some kind, but apparently, this medic's alt-mode is...

"A berth?" Fulcrum sputters out.

"Autopsy table," Gladbag clarifies with a weary sigh. Well, that doesn't sound terrifying!

"How do you get anywhere?"

"How do you?"

Fulcrum squints at him. "...Touché."

"Now lay down on me."

"Excuse me?" This is quickly sounding like a bad idea.

"Fulcrum, lay down on your back on top of me. Hurry."

There's a hesitant look as the K-Con peers down at the table in front of him. He might not have much time, though. Not from the way Barracks made his approach sound so definite. With a defeated slump of his posture, he slowly crawls on top of the table, turning to lay down onto his back. As he settles his weight, cuffs abruptly snap close over his wrists and ankles, trapping Fulcrum on top of Gladbag.

"Wh-what?! Let me go!" Panicking, Fulcrum starts to struggle, hyperventing air in and out.

"I know this is hard, but please try to trust me."

He almost yells at Gladbag to let him go, but he stops when he feels it. There's a tremor under him, as if something big and heavy is approaching. That's one of two possible people, and he doubts it's Grimlock.

Fulcrum tries to stifle his whimper. He fails.

Slowly stepping through one of the doors is him. All too familiar. Too damned big, with his shoulders nearly scraping against the doorframe. Little has changed about his appearance other than more scrapes and scars than before - some of them oddly fresh - as well as the giant gash across his Decepticon emblem, signifying his place as a Raider. Otherwise? Otherwise, not much is different about him. The treads on Barracks' back turning slightly, as if his interest is piqued. Uncomfortably, their optics meet as Barracks steps inside. Yellow glows in fear, red shines fiercely in amusement, and he wears a familiar grin.

Dangling in his hand is an arm, dripping with freshly spilt energon. It occurs to Fulcrum very quickly who it belongs to, and how Barracks managed to speak to them through the commlinks.

"Where's Spinister?" Fulcrum tries his best to sound brave. He knows he doesn't, but he abruptly feels more frightened about the fate of the surgeon than being trapped to Barracks' violent whims.

Barracks rolls back his enormous shoulders. "Somewhere. I didn't really keep track of him. Really, though, I'm surprised to see you like this. Thrilled! But surprised. What, did the rest of the crew leave you like this?"

"No!" he answers angrily. "They're not like you."

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Does it?" Barracks approaches him, the smile eerily growing wider. "No one is going to be able to find you."

Suddenly, the cuffs around Fulcrum's limbs release and he finds himself tumbling to the floor as he's shoved away. He can hear Gladbag transforming, and he rolls over onto his back to see the Autobot leaping at Barracks. The ex-guard of Styx stumbles back, looking mostly shocked as Gladbag tries to tackle him, although it just ends up being strange to see the medic grabbing onto the larger tank's shoulders and treads. The buzzsaw arm extends out and jams into Barracks' face.

There's a furious and pained snarl from the tank, and he thrashes about, stomping in the room. Fulcrum lets out a short, frightened shriek and manages to get out of the way. Finally, Barracks throws Gladbag off, and Fulcrum watches as the Autobot tumbles across the floor.

"C-C'mon!" Not about to ditch his only line of defense against Barracks, Fulcrum reaches Gladbag, trying to pull him up. "Get up!"

There's a low, enraged roar of Barracks' engine, and Fulcrum stares up, gaping as he feels himself tremble in fear. Where the buzzsaw landed, it's left a giant wound on Barracks' face, from the edge of his left optic down to his jaw. It gushes with energon, and it looks positively painful. Not that Fulcrum has any sympathy for him, but it's hardly enough to stop the tank.

"Fulcrum," the tank says, glaring.

Quickly, Fulcrum finds himself being scooped up under Gladbag's arm as the Autobot leaps out from the room. Although a bit slower than the medic, Barracks' angry charge can be seen and heard.

"Not exactly as I hoped things would go," Gladbag admits under a huff of air. "Bear with me."

"Like I have a choice!"

Gladbag runs and continues to carry Fulcrum under his arm, eventually stopping as they cross another set of blast doors. Roughly, Fulcrum is deposited back to his feet, and he watches the Autobot open his wrist, inputting a code.

Blast doors slam closed in front of them, cutting Barracks off from them.

"Did you- did you close these before? Back by the entrance to the execution chamber and cells," Fulcrum asks, looking at Gladbag suspiciously.

Gladbag frowns and shakes his head. "No. I only downloaded the access codes for this complex just in case I needed to open anything."

"Then that means..." Barracks. Barracks definitely still has access to Styx. Fulcrum curses and scrapes his fingers over the wall by the blast doors. "These won't hold! He was a guard here. He can get in!"

"Oh." That's hell of a muted response to a really, really bad situation. Either way, Gladbag is peering over him as Fulcrum tries to dig his fingers into the door. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see if there's a loose panel! If I can hardwire the door, I can keep it closed!"

"Ah." A firm hand goes to Fulcrum's shoulder, pulling him back. "Allow me to help."

The third arm on Gladbag's back extends out, the buzzsaw whirling again. It flicks specks of energon from his earlier attack on Barracks, the blade digging into the wall. Eventually, enough comes apart before Gladbag tears off a piece of the wall, exposing the wires and cables inside.

Just as Fulcrum reaches inside, he struggles to ignore the grating voice on his commlink. "That won't help you, Fulcrum. I'm coming inside," Barracks informs him.

He focuses inside, rearranging the wires, trying to not let panic prevent him from working. "C'mon, c'mon," he whispers to himself.

"Don't you lay a hand on him," Krok growls.

Hearing the voice of his commanding officer surprises him, more than it should. As a tactician, Fulcrum assumes that Krok would have kept dead air on his side, but it seems like Krok's attachment to his crew wins over his military function.

"Who's going to stop me? Your pathetic little crew? I told you to leave, genericon."

"I think I got it," Fulcrum whispers, pulling his hands from the wall.

There's a moment of terrifying silence. Fulcrum is frozen in his footsteps as he stares at the blaster doors, halfway expecting them to open with Barracks looming over him. It never happens, though; the doors remain shut.

Then, there's a snarl over the commlink, "That won't help you. It's only a matter of time. I'll find a way to you."

Slowly, Fulcrum backs away from the door.

"I know where you are. I'll know how to find you. I found you at the station, and I found you here."

"Krok," Fulcrum whispers nervously to his commlink.

"We're going to get you, and we're going to leave," Krok promises.

"He has Spinister's arm," Fulcrum informs him, voice trembling. "I think Spin's in trouble."

A soft curse is heard on the other side of the broadcast. "Just stay safe."

With a soft exhale, Fulcrum is met with silence again. Slowly, he wraps his arms around himself. A part of him feels like just collapsing and waiting for Krok and the others, but he can't stand that idea either. It's his fault - again - that they're in such a bad mess. While Barracks isn't quite as bad as the D.J.D., Fulcrum doesn't think he could ever forgive himself if Spinister is dead because of him. At times, he still finds himself regretting what happened with Flywheels, and he'd hardly spent much time with the religious mech.

Gladbag is settling his hands to Fulcrum's shoulders, turning him and walking him towards a wall. He doesn't fight him off, and just lets the medic force him to sit down. However, when he feels the Autobot's fingers digging slightly into his back, Fulcrum squirms a little.

"What the hell are you doing?" Fulcrum snaps irritably.

"Hold still," Gladbag advices, his tone distant. "It appears that your foe is able to find you almost effortlessly, if I heard him right."

Barracks, able to locate him. From Jennix Station to here, and he was able to find Fulcrum in a matter of minutes. He was able to cut him off from Krok and the others.

"He bugged me," Fulcrum concludes, feeling entirely disturbed.

Fingers continue to dig under his plating uncomfortably, but he tries to convince himself that he can trust Gladbag. So he tries to not struggle, sitting tight as the Autobot attempts to locate the tracking device that Barracks must has placed on him.

"So..." Fulcrum peers over his shoulder.

"Stay still," Gladbag repeats, tone bland.

Fulcrum frowns at him. "Have you been here the whole time since that thing with Blithe?"

"More or less. I considered what to do with myself in a post-war life, and I had no answers. I hoped to find them here, actually."

"Uh." That's weird. "Why would an Autobot come to Styx?"

"Why would you?" Gladbag asks, his voice becoming a little more cold. "If I understand the archives correctly, very few of the K-Class were reconfigured willingly. What could you hope to find here, Fulcrum?"

"Closure, I guess."

"And that's what I'm looking for as well." There's a pause, then a weary sigh. "I was at Clemency, all those years ago. Not to do battle, although I've done my fair share of fighting. I was helping the medics at that time. All of the Autobots' best and brightest surgeons. I asked myself constantly what the point of it all was. We were nothing but numbers, all of us. Decepticon and Autobot alike. Our names, our faces, our alt-modes - none of it mattered. We became nothing in that span of time, and all that separated anything was who was dead and who was alive."

As he listens, Fulcrum remembers how Krok explained it. How many of the planets had turned out that way, during that point of the war. Where the commanders of the Autobots and Decepticons were calculating and feeding orders. Optimus Prime and Megatron trying to out manoeuver each other.

"When the K-Class first dropped, I watched thousands of Decepticons explode all around us, and thousands of Autobots die." Gladbag finally pulls his hands away. "While I counted the dead before we left Clemency, I realized a bit of me died on that planet as well."

It explains a bit, actually, as to why Gladbag had so quickly recognized his frametype when Blithe and his Autobots invaded the Weak Anthropic Principle.

"I still don't really get why you're here," Fulcrum admits. "What, are you mad at the K-Class?"

"No," Gladbag responds, leaning over and offering the tracking device to Fulcrum. "I guess I wasn't sure what else to do. I've spent most of the war collecting the dead. Clemency had been the last straw for me. I suppose I hoped that by coming here, I might find something to remind me why I had even taken part in the war."

That's a sentiment that Fulcrum can relate to. Somewhere, along the way, his resolve and his stance in the Decepticons whittled and nearly expired, especially after his conviction and forced modification. It was the scavengers that inspired him again and revived his belief. Gladbag, however, did not have that benefit, and had no qualms about leaving behind his insane, violent crew to Krok and the others.

Something stuck out to him.

"Uh, collecting the dead?" Fulcrum peers at him.

"I'm a pathologist. I did say that I turned into an autopsy table, did I not?"

Oh. Oh, gross, Fulcrum laid down on top of him and he bets that's where all of the autopsies that Gladbag had ever done were and ew ew ew.

"I kinda assumed you were a medic?" Fulcrum offers.

Gladbag shrugs. "Well. I'm not. I've spent nearly my entire life around dead bodies."

"Um. Yikes." Okay then. Talk about depressing. Fulcrum turns his gaze down to the tracking device. Frankly, he's kind of sorry he even asked.

"Why is that tank after you?"

Fulcrum debates informing him of anything. On one hand? Gladbag was part of a crew that had been set out to probably kill him and the others in likely very terrible ways. On the other hand, Gladbag ditched them and has been fairly helpful for the most part. Even if he's scared Fulcrum out of his wits at least twice so far.

Relenting, Fulcrum gives in. He debates destroying the device in his hand, but he holds that off for now.

"I don't know how familiar you made yourself with the trial system here," Fulcrum starts warily.

"I skimmed the database," Gladbag admits. "Most of them went the same way, no matter the crime. The individual is arrested, then placed into holding until his trial. This could take several weeks to months. Perhaps even years, depending on how many were arrested. The trial system often would include torture until admittance to said crime, pleading guilty. The conviction would then take place, and the convict would be sentenced to death. Method of death would vary, anywhere from slow devouring from scraplets to bleeding out to-"

"Thank you! Thank you for the morbid retelling." Fulcrum winces. "Anyway. During my time here, most of the guards were the same. Bullies, most of the time. Some were worse than others. Barracks was one of the worst. I spent almost an entire year waiting for my trial, and I was often moved from cell to cell, being juggled around to make space for other prisoners. Barracks almost always escorted me and he wasn't exactly polite about it. That's... that's the one who's chasing us."

"I don't need to know more." Gladbag folds his arms. "I suspect he isn't much improved from Blithe and his hobbies."

"No. Not really."

"I don't have much to give, but whatever I have left of them, you have my sympathies."

It isn't much, but it's something. Fulcrum isn't sure he much cares for the fact that the Autobot feels sorry for him - it's a bit irritating, really - but he just sighs and looks down at the tracking device in his hands. They can't stay here, that's the bottom line.

"What do you intend to do with that?" Gladbag asks, tilting his head inquisitively.

"Gonna hang onto it until I can figure out what to do about Barracks." Fulcrum stands up. "For now, I need to find a way back to Krok and the others. Would you help me?"

There's a pause as the undertaker considers, then his blue optics dim before he nods. "I'll do what I can. I'd rather find answers in peace, after all."

"Fair enough." Fulcrum rubs the front of his helm. "But as far as I know, I blocked off our only way to get out of this sector. If we try to open the door, Barracks is gonna be there."

"Hiding is perhaps a viable option," Gladbag offers, shrugging.

Briefly, Fulcrum sincerely considers it. Then he exhales and shakes his head. No. He came here to try to put things to rest, to stop being as frightened as he is. As tempting as hiding is, he needs to fix this. He's put everyone else in danger, again. Fulcrum needs to fix it himself.

"No," he murmurs, his voice tiny. "I... I need tools. That's what I need."

Gladbag tilts his head, then turns his head. "The execution chamber is your best bet."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

---

All of the access codes have been downloaded directly into his core processor. Pinched between two fingers is a data slug. It doesn't have much space to offer, but it contains enough.

Krok peers at the consoles, optics narrowed. Then he takes out his gun; he points and fires at all of the screens and keyboards.

"Just in case," he mutters to himself.

Carefully, he slides the data slug into his arm, hidden away and secure. He peers his head out from the archives room, glancing around. Misfire hasn't returned yet with Grimlock, and he can see why; the hallway is absolutely tarnished from undoubtedly a Dynobot stampede of some kind. All things considered, Grimlock has been relatively tame until now, and considering the warrior's history he didn't anticipate such a reaction. Maybe it was the content of the video, maybe not. Either way, Krok isn't going to spend his time speculating.

No. Right now, he needs to get his crew back together.

Fulcrum is still alive despite being hunted down by a Raider. Spinister is out there, armless. Misfire is trying to calm down an infuriated Dynobot. Crankcase has been left to his own devices. There's still an Autobot to account for in the mess of this as well.

Not a good day.

With a determined pace in his step, Krok starts his trek down the hall after Misfire and Grimlock. Time to get his unit back together again.

It's hard to resist calling them and making sure that everyone is still alive. It's harder to resist a bit of panic. Krok is not comfortable with how split up they are with blockades and enemies around.

The hallway is twisted in some ways, as if Grimlock couldn't decide how exactly to mark his rage. There are claw marks scraping up the floor and patches of scorched metal to show where he had breathed fire. Then there are dents to show his fury while in root mode, and the pattern continues in that way.

Must have been a hell of a thing for Misfire to follow.

Krok comes across the display window for the execution chamber again, peering out into it briefly. Something was different-

Oh. Pit.

There's a trail of energon leading up to an injured mech, and he can see Spinister struggling to stand. Optics are flickering, clearly trying to remain online. Krok is doubtful that it's due to a missing limb - they've all had worse - but rather due to depleted energon.

"Spinister!" Krok can't just pass on and keep working to get to everyone. He can't help but find himself hitting the glass, hoping the surgeon can hear him thumping for his attention.

It works. Spinister is good at noticing noises. He turns his head, at first with anger at the sound disturbing him, then immediately relaxes at the sight of his commanding officer.

Krok presses his hand flat against the glass, fighting off any feeling of desperation. He wishes he could just break open the glass and get to his medic, but that isn't possible; the glass is far too durable. As much as he hates it, Spinister has to wait.

"I'm coming to get you," Krok promises, regardless of whether or not Spinister can hear him.

As if things weren't already urgent, Krok finds himself running down the hallway.

The walls almost tremble as he can hear Grimlock roar in the distance.

---

Warily, Fulcrum glances over his shoulder. That's a noise that he recognizes easily.

"Grimlock?" he murmurs. Honestly, Fulcrum can't help but worry, even though he probably has nothing to fear when it comes to the Dynobot's safety. He's durable, large, and strong. There's no way Barracks would stand a chance against him. But in a lot of ways, he can't help but fret a little over Grimlock. It's complicated.

Still, he wonders why Grimlock asked to come with him. Because he was also worried? Or something else? It just seemed strange that Grimlock had enough self-awareness to ask to do something like that. Fulcrum isn't really sure what to make it of that. On one hand, Grimlock's brain damage makes it easy enough to be around him. He's docile, a little more intelligent than animal in most occasions. On the other hand? Fulcrum can't help but pity the poor Autobot and wonder if there's something he could do to improve his mental state.

Which is a dangerous thought. Fulcrum suspects that, unfortunately, if Grimlock ever went back to normal? He'd probably just kill all of them.

Yet, here he is silently worrying about the Dynobot like he's some big dumb newly sparked Cybertronian. Sheesh.

"I still don't know what to make of him being on your ship." Gladbag raises an optical ridge. "Though I suppose it's none of my business."

"It's not," Fulcrum tells him firmly.

The pathologist shrugs, acknowledging the statement and insisting nothing else.

Each step that they take through the complex is still filled with dread every movement Fulcrum takes. Clutched in his hand is still the tracking device, knowing that it's still signalling off to Barracks. He wants to crush it, but he can't yet. Not yet.

A hand goes to Fulcrum's chest, Gladbag silently signalling him to go still. He turns to a small storage closet, entering a code before it slides open; the Autobot nods to the closet.

"Most of it's full of tools meant for torture, considering their design or remodification, but I suspect whatever it is that you're looking to do might be in here." Gladbag gestures vaguely to the closet before stepping back.

Warily, Fulcrum approaches it, glancing inside. Set up along shelves and drawers are a series of equipment. Most of it is rusted over, splattered with old, dried energon. A brief shudder moves through his body as he remembers too well about the other executions. At times, other prisoners would be forced to watch.

To remind them. To know what to expect.

He tries to steel himself, reaching in and taking what he needs with quivering hands. When he's done, he backs away, as if the closet had bitten him.

Squinting down at the K-Con, Gladbag remarks, "You have... a condenser and a solderer."

"It's enough." Fulcrum tips his head down as he starts to focus on the tracking device in his hand, starting to pry it open as gently as he can with the end of the condenser. "We're still stuck, though. And I-I expect that Barracks will find a way to get to us."

"I suggest we find a way to make a stand, then. Two against one should be doable."

There's a soft snort from Fulcrum. "Did you not ever take note of what kind of person I am?"

"I watched you stand up to Blithe and the others on your ship when it was invaded." Gladbag shrugs. "No. I don't know you well, K-Con, but I know enough."

"He was strong enough to tear off Spinister's arm and ditch him. Spinister did some damage, but not much. And his face is all fragged up, which at least might mean his sight isn't great." Fulcrum sighs as he considers. "We could probably hold him off until the others finally catch up with us somehow."

Not that it feels like a very intelligent plan at all. Fulcrum doesn't feel strong or fearless; he feels just as cowardly as ever. If it came down to his life or Gladbag's, he feels like he would probably leave the Autobot behind. Though if it was Krok or Misfire or... or any of the others, that would be different, he supposes. They are what make him feel brave.

But he has no other choice. They need to find a way to protect themselves.

With great reluctance, Fulcrum finds that they both are stepping into the main execution chamber. As Gladbag walks just a bit ahead of him, it allows Fulcrum to bear witness to what happens next: a dark colored mech slams his entire body weight into the pathologist, knocking him to the floor. What allows him to be quickly recognizable is the rotor on his back and the missing arm.

"Spinister!" Fulcrum calls out, optics wide.

Medic and undertaker wrestle on the floor for a moment, Spinister's engine snarling loudly while Gladbag narrows his optics. Slipping out from his back is the third arm, buzzsaw whirling in threat as it aims for Spinister's neck, and the sharp edge of the surgeon's rotor is starting to come down for Gladbag's face.

"Don't hurt him!"

Spinister looks up at the K-Con, frowning. The buzzsaw just stops short of his neck, its rotations slowing. Pulling his body weight back, Spinister slumps onto the floor on his aft, grunting.

After sighing in relief, Fulcrum goes to Spinister's side. "You're still leaking from your arm."

"Was looking for you guys, but I got all turned around." Spinister peers over Fulcrum, glaring at Gladbag. "That guy's face looks kinda familiar."

"Look, don't worry about that right now, Spin." Fulcrum rests a hand to the medic's shoulder. "Gladbag, can you fix him?"

"I'm not much of a doctor," Gladbag advises warily. "I should be able to stop the leak, though."

"That's all that I'm asking for." The K-Con lightly taps Spinister's shoulder for his attention. "Look, Spin. Listen to me carefully. Unless he attacks you, don't hurt Gladbag. Okay? I'm going to try to find Krok and everyone else."

There's almost a dubious look from Spinister, though for what reason Fulcrum can't decide. There are times he's genuinely terrified of the trigger happy surgeon, but he's fixed up Fulcrum more than once. That and he feels like they, unfortunately, probably have a few things in common, considering the Raiders. Regardless, he isn't sure how to determine the gaze Spinister is giving him.

Eventually, there's a nod. "Yeah, okay. Can you try to get my arm back, too? It's a pretty good arm and I won't be able to make one like it."

"Sure. Sure, I'll try." Fulcrum smiles hesitantly. "Hang in there, Spin."

As he stands up, Gladbag carefully kneels down by Spinister. The Autobot looks at the tracking device in Fulcrum's hand, then up to lock his optics with the K-Classer. "Are you certain that this is what you want to do?"

Slowly, Fulcrum nods. "Spinister needs the help and I'm not qualified for it. Besides, if I stay..."

There's a pause, then Gladbag nods once. "I understand. I'll try to make sure we stay out of the way, then."

All that Fulcrum feels that he can say is, "Yep."

What else is there to say? It's better if Spinister is out of the way of Barracks' path. It's better if all of them stay out of it.

Primus knows Fulcrum's brought enough complications to the scavengers. Between this and the Decepticon Justice Division? Pit, he actually feels guilty.

And mostly? Mostly, he'd just like to stay and hide behind both of them, for all of the good it would do him. Instead, his body trembles as he turns away from both of them. Pacing himself, he steps away, heading further into the execution chamber. He tries his best to just focus on the tracking device on his hand, still working away on it with the meager tools he has.

It always seemed enormous then while he was still a prisoner, and it still seems large now. Fulcrum remembers what it was like before the order came in for the K-Class. Prior to his sentence, he'd been pulled over into the chamber, forced to watch one of the other prisoners be executed. Watched him slowly smelt to death, his plating melt away, and gurgled screaming. Fulcrum had purged his tanks then.

The guards laughed. Barracks just smiled.

Eventually, his own sentence came in. The traitor's wheel.

At each continued step, Fulcrum's feet start to feel heavier and heavier. A stifled whimper is choked down and he knows what to anticipate as he enters the next room.

For Fulcrum's execution, it was in a confined room, because he hated confined spaces anyway. He'd screamed at first, and it had been a source of entertainment for the guards of Styx. To them, it had been a reward when the shrieks broke away into pleading sobs and pained moans.

Fulcrum tries to not look at it, still propped up and abandoned. Instead, he looks around in the room, trying to determine what to do. On the ceiling is a ventilation shaft, and below that...

Below that is the traitor's wheel. Rusted over, still stained with his energon. The spikes are still attached to it, and he remembers how they turned and turned to gradually pull him apart. Down below, there was a drain for his bleeding energon and the previous prisoners that were executed before he was supposed to be.

Fulcrum forgets about the device in his hands and feels himself shaking.

"You had a better paint job then."

The only thing that Fulcrum feels proud of is that he doesn't scream. He immediately whirls around to try to run out the way he came, but the door slams shut. It locks immediately.

He stands frozen for a moment as he stares helplessly at the locked door. Fulcrum debates shouting for Spinister and Gladbag for help.

Instead, he looks over his shoulder, looking at the looming Raider standing in the room with him. The enormous gaping wound in Barracks' face is still drooling with energon, running down his face, but Barracks doesn't react to it, not voluntarily. There are small spasms and flinches, but otherwise, he acts as if there is nothing wrong. Not in the least.

"The door was locked," Fulcrum manages say, in reference the wiring he'd done.

Barracks snorts a little. "You don't think Styx had a series of emergency doors? We were dealing with traitors, after all. Not all of them were weak, like you."

Traitors. The irony doesn't escape Fulcrum. He himself still wears the symbol proudly, yet Barracks abandoned it, trading it in for a life of pirating and pillaging the weak. It's true to his personality.

For just a brief moment, they stare at each other. Fulcrum is cornered, Barracks smugly knows it, and he has nothing he can do.

So it seems.

Fulcrum lunges forward, dashing to try to make it to the traitor's wheel. Although big and powerful, Barracks is not quick and that's what Fulcrum is counting on; he manages to evade the tank's grab, scrambling up the side of the torturous execution device. Using the spikes as leverage, he grabs for the ventilation shaft, tearing off the grate. Once he snags onto the edge of the shaft, he feels a hand grab onto his ankle.

Now he lets out a shriek of surprise, his other foot kicking out as he tries to get away. He looks down, seeing Barracks' face formed with a broad smile of satisfaction. There's no way that he can fight off the tank's strength, and he gives a panicked yelp as he's yanked down further, too close! Fulcrum struggles, his throat clenching up and being the only reason why he doesn't scream as he's pulled down from the shaft.

Barracks laughs.

"Get off of me!" Fulcrum shouts, his tone struggling to find some balance between the fear claiming his sensors and attempting to sound fierce. Whipping around, he slaps the tracking device onto Barracks' arm.

It'd been reworked but incomplete. He is a technician and no matter the reconfiguration he still always will be, his curious mind finding ways to reprogram and repurpose material. It's what he was doing as project manager, and it's what he'd done now. Fulcrum watches as Barracks bellows in pain, an electrical shock coursing through his body. It'll be a brief explosion of volts, but it's enough that Barracks has let go of him, as well as Spinister's severed arm.

He clutches the limb immediately, stumbling to scale the traitor's wheel again. As fast as he can go, Fulcrum practically throws himself into the ventilation duct.

"There's only one place that goes!" Barracks calls after him, his voice tight with frustration. "And I'll be there when you reach it!"

Nervously, Fulcrum works his way through the ducts, his body partly curled around Spinister's arm. "Krok!" he whispers into the commlink, voice trembling. "Someone?! I-I'm in the vents! I don't know where I'm going! Please-"

"Where did you go in?" Krok answers. He sounds fairly calm. It's a good comfort to have.

"From the execution chamber. Where the traitor's wheel was. I, um. I have Spinister's arm, so he can't hear us."

"Good. I'm pulling up the map right now."

Internally, he begs for Krok to hurry as he continues to crawl clumsily through the vents. Eventually, he hears his commanding officer inform him, "The prison cells. I've been trying to chase down your rusting Dynobot, but if that's the case, I'm heading over to the cells myself. Crankcase, if you can hear us, get your aft over there."

It makes some horrifying sense to him, that the ventilation shaft is designed this way. Not really for a flow of air in mind, but rather to let sound travel from the execution chamber to the cells. He remembers the noises. He never questioned the technical aspect of why.

It'd just been in the design.

Finally, as he makes it to the other side of the vents, Fulcrum peers down. With the limited range of sight, all he can guess is that Barracks may not be there yet.

Or he's waiting for him.

Either way, he doesn't have whole lot of a choice. Fulcrum is, effectively, trapped and cornered. Steeling himself for whatever is to come, Fulcrum shoves the vent open before dropping down to the floor below.

The prison cells are set up in such a way that they're almost stacked up on each other, facing just a blank wall. They would never face each other, and they would have little way of contact. Not that Fulcrum had ever really any desire to converse with another convict; several of them were just as bad as the guards. Still, the way it was all positioned ensured a lack of confidence for escape.

Styx was a void, stealing any intention of having a future.

"Glitch mouse, where do you think you can scurry off to?"

As if it was somehow going to protect him, Fulcrum clutches the limb closer to himself. He turns slowly, having no choice but to see Barracks standing in the way of the only other exit. The door, in fact, shuts tight behind the tank.

"It's locked. You have nowhere else to go."

The truth settles in and Fulcrum almost feels like collapsing. At every step closer that Barracks takes, he keeps himself from making a sound, hoping that someone will show, someone will do something. He has little else left to rely upon, and for the briefest moment he wonders, truly questions himself on whether or not anyone will come for him.

But if there's one thing he should know, it is Krok's loyalty, and his ability to inspire it.

Behind Barracks, the door opens suddenly and the tank stumbles forward as he's shot in the back. It's a brief glimpse, but Fulcrum can see Krok behind the former guard of Styx, aiming and shooting his rifle. If the shots do anything to Barracks, it's not apparent as he stands up and lets out a furious roar of his engine. He turns and unleashes a powerful punch to the war historian's midsection, sending him careening out of the room.

"Krok!" Fulcrum calls after him in a panic, momentarily forgetting about his own safety as he tries to dodge around Barracks and get to him. He lets out a shrill of dread, feet kicking out as the back of his neck is grabbed onto by the tank.

"Really, I'm truly baffled why anyone would come to save your aft," Barracks growls, "but if that's all that you have-"

Behind both of them, the wall almost seems to burst open, which seems accurate enough considering the fact that as Fulcrum tries to look over his shoulder, it looks like a shuttle crashed inside. The front of it opens, revealing an incredibly put out Crankcase, holding up his gun as he fires twice at Barracks.

A pained snarl is twisted out of the Raider, his shoulder impacted by the blasts as Fulcrum is dropped to the ground again. Quickly, he scrambles away to run after his commanding officer.

"Krok?!" Fulcrum kneels down and sets Spinister's arm aside, then shakes the tactician's shoulder. "Krok!"

"Fine. I'm fine." Krok grumbles and peers down at himself, particularly towards his recently punched abdomen. "Hmph, that's dented."

"I'm sorry, I'm-"

Krok narrows his optics. "Save it. We don't have time to talk about who ought to be apologizing for what."

"Okay," Fulcrum mumbles out. He looks up nervously towards the prison cells, silently fretting over the mechanic. "If... if we head back towards the execution chamber, I think we can make it back towards Spinister and Gladbag."

Briefly, Krok spares him a baffled look by the mention of the Autobot, then snorts and shakes his head. Now, clearly, is not the time for questions. "It's for the best. We need strength in numbers right now. You get going, I'll follow."

Fulcrum jerks his head back. "But- I...?"

Spinister's arm is shoved back into Fulcrum's hands and Krok scowls at him. "That's an order, soldier. Move it!"

For a moment, he debates that order, because he can't bear the idea of leaving behind Crankcase or Krok. Because they came back for him, and this time? This time, he doesn't want to run away. He wants to stay, because they deserve better.

"With all due respect, Krok, we're better off sticking together." Fulcrum's voice still shakes with fear, but he knows what he's chosen.

He won't run again. Not without them.

"Rust and scrap!" Crankcase spits as he runs out. "I am not a fan of tankers as this rate!"

"Well, you and me both." Fulcrum pulls Krok to his feet. "C'mon!"

As all three of them start to make their way back towards the execution chamber, Fulcrum can hear Barracks start to barrel after them. Probably the only reason that he can guess that Barracks doesn't just transform into his alt-mode and destroy them is that he doesn't want the K-Con dead. The others don't matter, not to the Raider.

It's tempting to look over his shoulder, but he knows that there's no point. He feels the pounding steps of the enormous mech behind them, following, letting out a thunderous roar from his engine that promises to corner them soon enough.

Blocking their way is another closed door. This one that Fulcrum knows no amount of access codes will open, considering he'd hardwired it closed.

"Pit!" Fulcrum hisses. "I forgot about- we're stuck!"

"Fantastic," Crankcase growls. "I hope you know that if I die first, I'm haunting your aft."

Behind the closed door, he can hear something. Something like the guttural snarl that undoubtedly belongs to a Dynobot.

Fulcrum places his hand to the door. "Grimlock?!"

There are two sets of heavy footsteps. The charge from Barracks, and the stomp of one impatient, furious Autobot.

Desperately, he shouts for him. "Grimlock!"

The sealed doors are meant to prevent prisoners from breaking them down, escaping. Yet, he recognizes a fist tearing through the metal, and Grimlock tears it open. Immediately, he reaches in and grabs for Fulcrum, who lets out a surprised yelp as he's carried off by the Dynobot.

Peering nervously over Grimlock's shoulder, he watches Crankcase and Krok scramble through the gaping hole in the door, just in time as Barracks continues his charge. As they hurry, Grimlock continues an impatient, perpetual growl in his systems.

Finally, they make it back to the execution chamber. Fulcrum can see Gladbag kneeling by a slumped over Spinister. Panic and worry fills him, and Fulcrum squirms in Grimlock's hold. Misfire is, thankfully, close by as well.

The Dynobot warrior drops him by them, engine rumbling before he says, "You Fulcrum, stay."

"Grimlock-" Fulcrum looks after him nervously as the warrior takes off. "Grimlock, be careful!"

"You know, there was never a day I thought I was ever gonna hear one of us say those words?" Misfire offers with a half-grin. "Glad to see you in one piece, pinhead. Can't say the same for Spin, though."

"Is he okay?" Fulcrum crouches by the unconscious surgeon.

"He's low on fuel reserves. He bled out a lot of energon," Gladbag responds. "He'll live, assuming we can find him any fuel."

As Fulcrum touches Spinister's shoulder, he glances back towards Misfire, addressing him with, "How the hell did you and Grimlock end up in here, anyway?"

Strangely silent, all Misfire does is point. Following the direction with his optics, Fulcrum sees what used to be the viewing window. It was meant to be impenetrable, of course, much like several other things in the entire complex. The window in which he and Grimlock stood briefly to speak, though he isn't sure if that had any impact on Grimlock's outrage and need to find him. In any case, he's immensely grateful for the Dynobot's strength and memory of the K-Con.

He watches Barracks fly across the room as Grimlock throws him, an enraged howl emitting from the Autobot. "Me Grimlock smash stupid tank!"

Just as the Raider starts to push himself back up, Grimlock leaps from a crouch, landing on top of the struggling ex-Decepticon. Relentlessly, Grimlock pounds his fists over Barracks, and there's a thrilling sense of satisfaction in Fulcrum. The fear remains, but he's elated by the strange group of comrades he's acquired, scavengers and Dynobot and all.

There's a familiar clicking noise and he watches Barracks transform into his alt-mode. Dread hums in Fulcrum's circuits as he watches his cannons level with Grimlock, shooting him pointblank in the chest. The impact thrusts the Dynobot across the room, hitting the wall.

"Grimlock!" Fulcrum almost runs after him, but he feels Gladbag's hands come down to his shoulders, keeping him there.

Transforming back to his root mode, Barracks sneers, "What else do you have?"

"Shoot him!" Krok commands, as he once again opens fire.

"Like you even need to say it!" Crankcase comments, grimacing.

As Barracks begins to turn his attention towards the two of them, Fulcrum jerks as he watches Misfire take off suddenly, his thrusters coming online. It's then that in the mess of things that he notices what's in Misfire's hands: stasis cuffs.

One cuff snaps over the Raider's wrist, but the other doesn't quite make it. Barracks peers down at Misfire, then backhands him away. The jet tumbles across the floor, and Fulcrum finally tears himself out of Gladbag's hold, finding his hands grabbing up Spinister's dropped rotor.

Despite all sense and any need to protect himself, Fulcrum stands in front of Misfire, who's struggling to get his senses back from the powerful strike. Despite how much Crankcase and Krok are shooting up Barracks' treads, the Raider still looms over the technician and jet.

"I am mystified by your sudden spinal strut, glitch mouse," Barracks muses. "Aren't you scared?"

"Not as scared as you're about to be," Fulcrum promises, clutching the oversized rotor tightly in his hands.

A blast of fire hits Barracks in the back, Grimlock now in his beast form, jaws gaping open. Stomping closer, the stream of fire stops, and he snaps his toothy mouth over Barracks' head, chewing and biting, growling all the while. Barracks curses and struggles with the Dynobot. It gives Fulcrum enough time to get closer, with Misfire sputtering his name after him. The technician is able to use the end of the rotary blade to shove the end of the stasis cuffs up, enough so that the other end of the cuff snaps closed over Barracks' other wrist, causing him to go completely limp.

Realizing that there's sudden extra dead weight in his mouth, Grimlock drops the tank and steps back transforming to his root mode. Barracks lands onto his back, gritting his teeth. His head is disfigured from both Gladbag's buzzsaw and now Grimlock's powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Plating is scarred and shot from the rest of his fellow unit.

Yet, it's not enough.

Maybe it'll never be enough.

He doesn't think about it. All that happens is that he can hear himself suddenly screaming, swinging down the blade in his hands onto the helm of his ex-guard. The former prisoner of Styx cries out in fear, despair, and fury as he continues to swing the weapon down, over and over, onto the face that he remembers from this place.

It's not enough, still, when he loses the strength to hold the blade, because he is physically weak. He will always be weaker than others, and he has no choice but to rely on everyone else.

Fulcrum sinks to his knees, shaking, wishing he could stop being so afraid.

---

Ultimately, it was his idea.

No one mocked him or teased him during the breakdown, and he's glad. No one's nosy. Maybe no one cares, and Fulcrum feels like he's okay with that too. All in all, he just doesn't want to be coddled right at the moment. But he's proud, at least, that he'd determined this. With the stasis cuffs on, Barrack's is helpless. He isn't silent, but he's helpless. With his face as deformed as it is, he can't speak, but he can scream.

And so when Krok gives Misfire permission to siphon Barracks of most of his fuel, that's what he does. Fulcrum sits and watches him siphon and he listens to Barracks scream. Satisfaction curls inside of him, and he doesn't care what Gladbag must be thinking or feeling. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters while he revels in the suffering of the Raider.

"This is what you want?" Krok asks him next, when Misfire is done retrieving the energon.

"Yeah. Yeah it is," Fulcrum confirms.

It doesn't take him long to find his own cell. Grimlock has no problem carrying Barracks over his shoulder, following Fulcrum's lead. There, Barracks is deposited.

"Open his mouth," Fulcrum orders the Dynobot.

Unquestionably, Grimlock does it, prying the Raider's mouth open. Fulcrum rests a hand to Grimlock's forearm in silent thanks.

Shuffling up behind him is Misfire, who places a device into his hand. "Think this is it. Yeah, pretty sure it is. Though I guess you'd know, huh?"

"Mm-hmm. Thank you." Fulcrum looks down at it, then nods. He holds it over Barracks's optics. "Do you know what this is? This is the payload that every single member of the K-Class were forced to have. These people removed it from me. I know it wasn't out of kindness; it was to save themselves. But you know what? They have done more for me than anyone ever has. So to think that you would ever lay a hand on them repulses me, Barracks. I'm going to put this in here-" With a small grunt, Fulcrum shoves the explosive into the open mouth. "-and when I feel like it, it'll detonate. It'll kill you. And no one will care."

Once Grimlock releases the tank, they leave the cell. Fulcrum sees the fear in Barracks' optics as he shuts the door closed, locking it.

He enjoys it.

In his hand, he clutches the detonator, and Fulcrum turns away. He doesn't look back as he rolls the detonator in his palm, not triggering it yet. Not yet.

They regroup in the landing pad. There's a distrustful gaze that Krok gives Gladbag; the pathologist simply looks back at him with an air of detachment, unconcerned with just about anything at the moment.

"I suppose," Krok grates out, holding out his hand stiffly, "that I should thank you for reattaching Spinister's arm and refuelling him."

"I didn't appreciate him trying to beat my face in when he woke up," Gladbag replies calmly, taking Krok's hand politely. "But you're welcome."

"We'll leave you alive for what you did."

"Then out of courtesy, I thank you." Gladbag nods to him, and their hands release. Slowly, he turns to Fulcrum. "Did you find what you were looking for here?"

For a moment, Fulcrum is silent. His gaze falls to the detonator in his hand, then he sighs. "I. I don't know. What about you, Gladbag?"

"I don't think that I did. And I'm not certain either of our answers were meant to be found here." The pathologist holds out a data slug. "I would like it if you took this."

A wary scowl forms on Krok's face as Fulcrum accepts it. "What is it?"

"Coordinates. Supposedly, to a neutral settlement. I've had it for a few decades, so who is to say that the location is still accurate, or if the Cybertronians who created it are still there after the war?" Gladbag shrugs. "But it's where I think I'm going to go. If you should ever decide that you need somewhere to be, I would do what I can to make you feel welcome."

"Um." Fulcrum squints at him. "You were chased around with me in an abandoned prison by a psychopathic ex-Decepticon and then you witnessed us pretty much torture him while draining him for fuel. Fuel that you used for Spinister. Also, I'm going to basically murder him in a few minutes. I think I'm a little confused here."

Gladbag tilts his head. "For what it's worth, I value the aspect that your crew did everything they could to protect you. And I already knew you'd do anything to protect them. Whether I think what you and your crew did with the Raider was right or wrong doesn't really matter."

"If you say so."

No other words are exchanged as Fulcrum watches Gladbag return to his own shuttle. There are no good-byes. There isn't anything pleasant. Just the assurance that Barracks' life is in his hand right now.

The trigger is still yet not pulled.

Krok's hand rests on Fulcrum's shoulder, and the K-Con is guided back to the ship. Fulcrum finds himself standing in the cargo bay, giving Styx one last look as the doors shut. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, and the quaking in his body returns.

He says nothing. A whimper squeezes out when he feels Misfire sit next to him. It's a comfort, but it feels far away and all he can do is curl against the jet. He can't look at him, he can't talk to him. Perhaps pathetically, Fulcrum wants to cry out and dwell.

Instead, he tries to grit his teeth and focus on ahead.

Fulcrum clutches the detonator in his hands and he pulls the trigger.