The alternative and working title was 'Affronted Dignity' and while I didn't end up using it, it is a theme. I will say there is a lot of Australian-based slang and written out accents. It's a very deliberate decision on my part. If there's anything tripping you up, comment and I'll provide translations.
Shatterstar and 'Hanger belong to me even though they're the reason the chapter took so long.
(Of puzzles and pieces.)
Eventually, the market stalls petered out as they dipped into a depression, replaced by tents and ramshackle buildings done up in a uniform grey-white tan and fewer Decepticons. Yet splashes of lurid yellows and green lit up near distance, and, even as he struggled to keep pace with Lockdown's longer strides, Prowl wanted to assume everything was operation suites based on the energon splattered here and there. But the stench wasn't strong enough and the noises wrong. He swore he could even hear those kinds of sounds.
But it was a Decepticon encampment; they interfaced how they pleased, like barbarians with nary a thought to the other's pleasure if the odd, faint, scream was any clue.
Like a lot of things, it didn't seem to add up. Confusion coloured his 'field as he shifted the box for a better grip. "Lockdown?"
"Yea, kid?" Was it his imagination, or had Lockdown's voice shifted? It still held its drawl, but it seemed different somehow.
"The boxes–" That wasn't what he wanted to ask.
"Spare parts for th'both of us. What I got from Swindle won't last that long."
Prowl nodded, keeping as close as he dared, yet not so close they'd trip over each other. Somewhere along the line, he'd fallen into step behind and to the left of his captor; a flash of irritation passed his face as he lifted his head a fraction. Pet - slave he might be, but he wasn't broken, wasn't beaten down and most certainly was not hiding in his captor's shadow from the odd, curious, or unreadable glances of the mecha they passed.
It was because of the way he held himself or his colouring, maybe a combination of both- not his EM-field. That was tucked away, and Lockdown's was at ease and confident enough for them both. Even within the Autobots, pure black wasn't often seen as the base colour and, for all the darker colours the Decepticons used, it seemed much the same. Colours aside, curious looks were far better than hostility and the unnerving, disconcerting alien words or the few familiar accents that reminded him of times long past in one of the many markets on the outskirts of Hive City, or even Iacon.
Allspark knew he'd run enough errands to the Central Grand Market for Yoketron before-
Lockdown came to an abrupt stop and Prowl barely avoided crashing into the sniggering mech. He blinked as he peered the Decepticon. Not for the first time this cycle alone did he question his optics.
A jetmech the size of Blitzwing sprawled on the ground, glaring up at what could only be a scrawny carmech maybe the size of Optimus. The Jet's colours were darker yellow-greens, while the car's were a clash of brown and purples, wing-like spoilers eye-searing neon purple. Unafraid, claws on hips with an expectant look on his face as something was rattled off in a tone Ratchet would have been proud of.
Jet hauled himself up with a grumble while the carmech pointed towards the lurid yellows and greens of a medical tent. The jetmech grunted, and rather than shove the smaller out of the way, he went around him, stomping all the way into the tent, sprouting curses.
Prowl cocked his head. "Matrix...?"
"You say something, Prowl?"
Prowl froze for a quarter-klick then shook his head. "... No."
Lockdown shot him an odd look but thankfully dropped it. Prowl wasn't sure what he'd have said, and he knew he was missing something. Some sort of context that made everything fit the reality he knew. The Earthen Decepticons most certainly did not behave like this and nor did they sprout words Prowl felt an uncomfortable familiarity with.
"You don't mess with dɒktəs. Kid handled herself well for a trainee."
"Dɒhktə?" Never mind the clumsy attempt at the clunky alien word, how did Lockdown know it was a train- wait– "Her?"
The carmech was gangly yet nothing had suggested a femme.
"Medic? Medi-bot?" Lockdown shot him another look and Prowl twitched backwards. But he wasn't fast enough to avoid the helm grab and the box offered no protection against it. Nor did the yelp garner anything other than a few laughs and a tighter grip. One of warning and Prowl cut his vocaliser, denta grit as Lockdown forced a port open, a cable inserted and something rammed through firewalls in such a way his next recharge was going to spent rebuilding them. Prowl could only watch in horror as it unzipped and unfurled. For a klick, it was something pretty but then it changed, and like a rather nasty piece of malware, it installed itself onto his hard drive, tangled up into core coding.
He staggered back when released, one hand against the port as he glared daggers at the Decepticon. "What-"
"Basic language-pack. Nothin' fancy; you'll pick up the rest." Lockdown smirked, nodding to the femme as she turned on her wheels and vanishing into the clinic. "Reckon she'll upgrade to a tank like General Strika. Now move it."
Prowl didn't need to be told twice and followed the bounty hunter as they entered the medical clinic and stopped off to the side. He took a step closer to Lockdown as the bounty hunter scanned the area, plating clamped down and grip on the box imperceptibly tighter. He'd heard tales of the butcher shops the Decepticons called medical bays. Just because it seemed safe with Lockdown -with the damned collar on- didn't mean it was.
Yet even with the noise, this didn't appear to be any chop shop. It could almost pass for a general reception, waiting, and treatment area rolled into one. Almost, but instead of fixed furniture, upturned crates covered in scraps of fabricweave passed as seating complete with hulking figures more suited to standing than sitting. The rest of it swan-dived off into a maze of corridors and rooms via tarps and flaps and Prowl knew he didn't want to know what lay in that mess. Nothing good most likely but the whole thing was markedly less stained than expected, and the smell of antiseptics hung in the air. He would almost call it a civilised clinic where it not for the Decepticons.
Most were on makeshift tables, many with clenched jaws and icy stares. A few even seemed downright murderous as mecha worked on them with unflinching resolve, the jetmecha included. Though, it seemed more murderously sulking as the female hammered out dents and dings on an arm with an uncannily steady hand. To make it more surreal, at least two handfuls of younglings dashed and weaved between everything, never staying in one place long. Runners, probably. They really were brutes if they exposed the young to the wounds of violence.
But these weren't war wounds. Most appeared as if from sparring, as if one got careless, yet that wasn't possible. Decepticons didn't get careless.
"Yo, Shatterpoint!" Lockdown grinned as he shot off a jaunty salute-and-wave of the hook, 'field buzzing with delight as he spotted the friend he'd been looking for.
"Lockdown. Yo'look whole fer once." The pink and blue mech said as they made her way over, all lethal grace and predatory lines with a smile and a pinky-purple visor that matched the morbid colour scheme ill-suited to a bulky, mech-aligned frame reminiscent of the R-A series. Her hip cocked out when she halted some steps before Lockdown and looked him up and down, tsking. "Don't tel'me y'offed mods."
Prowl grimaced; basic language pack his aft. He could barely understand her with the swallowed sounds and dropped glyphs.
"What can I say? They don't make 'em like they used to."
"Or yo'play t'hard." Though she shook her head, there was fondness in her voice, as if talking to a youngling. "What brings you here? Planning on joining the wallys?"
What on Cybertron was a 'wallys'?
"Not today, 'Point."
"No?" She cocked her head, snorted then smirked. "Business then?"
"With the goods and credits," Lockdown confirmed, keycard and credit stick materialising in his hand.
Expertly plucking it out of his hand and subbing it, she beamed. "Mate's rates. What'd yo'need?"
"Need a few repair kits and parts Gri'da-" Prowl thought the name was supposed to be 'Grinder', but the inflection was half swallowed and wrong. "-didn't have, including V-class for the kid."
Never mind the words he didn't understand, Prowl squirmed as Shatterpoint turned on him with a heavy, judgemental gaze that bore into him for longer than necessary, before she rounded on Lockdown.
"A- Do y'wan' it t'cark it?!" She was practically face to face and toe to toe, only vaguely looking down to the bounty hunter. Prowl couldn't deny his Spark twisted at the outrage coming off the medic. Lockdown could handle himself against a femme, yet Prowl had no desire to find out firsthand what might happen if he lost a fight.
"Kid gobbed the 'grades I put in," Lockdown hissed back and Prowl blinked. What the frag did that mean and did he want to know? "I can't take him to Sixshot like th-"
"What is a V?" As soon as he asked that, both Lockdown and Shatterpoint's gaze flicked to him, and he swore he saw the nastiest look on the femme's face before they went back to ignoring him.
"He's Autobot. Ifn a V, he dead." Prowl knew his optics had widened. If he was a 'V' he'd be dead? "Class n'ho'long ago?"
"C-1 and two megacyles. Long enough they shoulda integrated by now."
Shatterpoint hummed, fingers drumming her chin in thought. "Mods?"
"Nah. But the kid borrowed a couple from me a while back. Had 'em for about a third've a megacycle before blowing up a couple o' Seeker clones with 'em." Even though Prowl knew Lockdown still wasn't impressed with the fate of the mods, he straightened in pride though clamped down on the smirk. It had been the best use of the mods and he'd stand by it until he offlined.
Shatterpoint snorted. "Sys-starv'll gob 'grades within half a mc. Mods a'well but th'takes a fell 'gacycle."
Lockdown's face went blank. "What do I put in him?"
"Don't I get-"
"No." Shatterpoint's gaze of withering as she looked him over again then shrugged. Prowl got the feeling she didn't like him and didn't care to hear him talking. "C-2 parts. If he still gobbing 'em, and I'd hope he ain't, then C-3. If that don't work, then we talk C-4 and spark-squizz."
"My spark is blue." He didn't know what a 'squizz' was, but as if he wanted Decepticons near his Spark, thank you you very much.
"Oh is it? Of course it is, you're Autobot. Now be a good slave-"
Optics narrowed and the Ninja straightened, not exactly thrilled to be talked about as if he wasn't there. "Pet. I'm a pet." Not slave, never slave.
"Then bea good 'pet' and b'silent." Shatterpoint snapped with a dangerous look before turning back to Lockdown, hands at her waist. "Not a V if he's a sys-starved. Also mouthy."
"I suppose offsider's enough." Lockdown pulled Prowl against him, hand on hip armour as the Autobot tightened his grip on the box.
Shatterpoint's opticridge raised again. "Offsiders don't backtalk. I'll mute it if y'want."
Lockdown's grin was roguishly wolfish. "Nah. I like him how he is."
"Right. How d'yo'know it won'bite you?"
"Since we made a deal," Prowl interjected with a small prayer he'd understood most of that correctly.
"What he said, 'Point."
The pinky-purple visor took on a dark and glowering hue as her mouth twisted into a deeply sardonic smile. She reached out, fingers brushing his chin before they dropped suddenly, as if shocked. Prowl dry-swallowed, not sure what to make of that, but thankfully the attention returned to Lockdown as she crossed her arms, a deep frown etched on her face while Prowl felt as he'd missed something yet again. "Cute."
"Ain't sharing if I'm right."
"I beg your pardon?" Prowl spluttered, optics wide as he stared at Lockdown's smugly self-satisfied smirk. As if being a slave wasn't bad enough, apparently they shared slaves out as well! Prowl silently vowed if Lockdown ever tried, the Decepticon would not like what happened, deal or no, collar or no.
"Even if he is-" Her head snapped to the side as the gangly carmech careened passed them and into a wall. She didn't so much crash as impact against it and rattle the whole tent before sliding into a heap, optics closed and biting back a whimper.
"Oi! We a'working!" One of the nearest medics bellowed. Based on pitch alone, Powl thought them a 'she', though the sound of a transformation (and wolf-whistle from Lockdown) brought his gaze back to Shatterpoint. Her entire right lower arm had become a canon and her attention on the crumped trainee.
"That was impolite-"
"Can't a mech enjoy the mod-show?"
"It's still impolite." Prowl grumbled.
"Oh fer- 'Hanger, deal t'Lockdown!" From the rather savage grin with too many denta to the feel of her 'field, Prowl didn't doubt she would have 'rolled up sleeves' if she had them. "That was m'Cadet you 'saulted-"
Another youngling beamed as they trotted over as Shatterpoint stalked away, the two sides of her spoiler hitched high enough to be wings of some sort. Prowl blinked at the youngling. They couldn't have been over twenty vorns and he wasn't sure where they'd come from. What- "Yessir? How ca'I help? Creator got me duty today. Kin'a cool, right?"
"Heh. Decided you gonna be a doctor like your Sire?"
Somehow, Prowl kept his face and 'field blank even as he studied the Sparked. 'Hanger's optics matched Shatterpoint's, yet the colours didn't, leaning more towards dark purples and reds with murky pink highlights.
"Nah. Gonna 'filtrator like 'Tor. This be training." 'Hanger said as they directed Lockdown and Prowl towards a pair of the crates, and Prowl resigned himself to the idea the 'language pack' was essentially useless for everyone outside Lockdown. "What be a'need yo'?"
"Heh. Just a few repair kits that include some V, if you please, brat." Lockdown said with a laugh. Prowl boggled. As if this was a laughing matter-
"Uhh... Sire woulda spitting ifni did that..."
"Worth a shot," Lockdown grumbled as he dropped onto a crate. "Repair kits and a few C-2 parts."
"Kay!" 'Hanger nodded with a bounce. "Back soon."
"What is a V?" Prowl whispered once the youngling had scampered off. Hopefully Lockdown would give him an answer-
"Special kit." Or not, and Prowl could hear the finality in the muscle car's voice as he pulled the Ninja down onto his lap. Prowl yelped, and the box found itself as something of a shield, both against Lockdown's hands and the few heads who'd turned his way.
It wasn't that effective though Prowl refused to hide or hunch. Decepticons preyed on weakness. If he gave even a millimetre, they'd take a kilometre, much like Lockdown had. Ignoring the amused feel of the other's field, Prowl turned his attention to the unfolding drama as Shatterpoint reached the jetformer from earlier.
And promptly backhanded him with the gun-arm hard enough he spat energon, staggering back against the makeshift table which though it rocked under the jet, was bolted to the ground. Prowl turned his audios up to hear what was going on.
"You be a'sault one o'm' Cadet again?"
"A Cadet is...?" Prowl ventured, praying to Primus Lockdown answered this question, even it meant he'd miss the jet's reply.
"Last stage younglings," Lockdown said with a casual shrug. "You get a Cadet Unit, you're expected to train and keep an eye on 'em."
"But you're Decepticons." Brutes. Uncivilised. Thugs.
"We're also mechanoid, Prowl. Just cause we've all the fancy coding don't mean we don't need t'be trained in it." Lockdown stated as if it were painfully simple logic.
"An Apprentice then." It was what it sounded like if they needed to be trained in the coding.
"You could say that," Lockdown grunted. "But they come in groups." He nudged Prowl, and while reluctant to follow where Lockdown pointed, he did. By the end, he counted seven other Cadets, two of which were near identical save helm configuration. "Every Decepticon's got a Unit."
"Even you." It wasn't a question, and he felt more than saw Lockdown's nod, though the Decepticon offered nothing more on the subject.
"I'll weld y'aft t'the next 'world pers'n'lly. S'th'slag down an' zippit." Claws clicked and the youngling that had been trying to treat him was by Shatterpoint's side, half cringing down, until she reached over and smacked them upside the head with enough force to stumble forward several steps. "Yer a doct'r. Don't b'bullied by a two-bit jum'up 'nut th'don't kno'aft from helm."
"Yes Sir."
"Treat him." Shatterpoint ordered, standing back, arms crossed as the Cadet did as told.
Prowl pulled his attention from the scene with a short exhale as he centred himself, or attempted to, yet one of the Cadets seemed to materialise next to them as one of the Decepticons nearby stood, revealing themselves to be a rather large yet lithe minesweeper. Soft light shone though chestplate seams as the Cadet tugged on a hand with three articulated claws. It was nothing like Bulkhead's that started at the wrist. This was a hand - an odd one, yet it-. "This way!"
Prowl abruptly looked away as the pair passed them. Empurata. It was the hand of a criminal- a deviant. One who'd made it to the Decepticons. Prowl felt sick. Of course they'd take in the criminal deviants of society.
"Was that-"
"Emergence."
"What-" He wanted to assume it meant they'd be taking the criminal out, ridding society of the deviant for good, yet he didn't think that was what Lockdown meant.
"Of a newspark. Cadet's taking him to one of the rooms where an Obst's waitin'."
"A newspark-?"
"When two mechs spark-to-spark," Lockdown started with a grin Prowl decidedly did not like. "Ambient energies create a newspark around one of the parent's sparks that stays until emergence at four orn."
"I-" Prowl offlined his optics as he tried to gain some semblance of centreing despite everything. Blank the face. Inhale. Exhale. Dry-swallow and hold down the purge even as his tank protested and vents insisted the air was too warm yet drew it in anyway. He knew they committed Taboo- knew they interfaced in public. This- Primus help him, he wanted to bury his face in hands or delete the entire conversation from his memories. He could have gone without knowing they spark-kindled too. Never mind it made sense in a twisted way, yet to allow a deviant to spark-kindle... There was something inherently unsettling about that and his grip on the box tightened as if to ward off the faint trembles. "I see."
He could have also done without Lockdown's snicker. "I fail to see how this is amusing."
"You'd be a good Carrier-"
It was immature, foolish and rooted in emotional fallacy, but Prowl didn't care. He slammed his heel into Lockdown's leg as hard as he could and the resultant clang and yelp brought a momentary surge of relief before shame tried to swallow him. He was better than that, better than the hooligan he'd once been.
"But I won't."
"Small mercies," Prowl muttered, even as Lockdown's grip shifted into something more relaxed, more amused. As if the whole situation was one big amusement, yet underscoring that was the fact further outbursts wouldn't be tolerated. They were in public and Prowl didn't need to look to know they'd garnered attention and whispers. If Shatterpoint was any clue, Decepticons didn't look kindly on 'unruly Autobots' and Prowl really did not need to think on what could mean. Another dry-swallow and shift - and that was a hook and hand around the box, mismatched arms boxing him in.
If it was a display of power, ownership, keeping him in line or what, Prowl found he did not care. It was yet another barrier, however transient and illusionary, between him and the Decepticons. With another huff and pointedly not looking in the direction the one-eye deviant had gone or at the other Decepticons, Prowl made himself comfortable. Then let his head fall back against Lockdown as he attempted yet again to centre himself into some semblance of calm.
It seemed only a klick had passed when his optics snapped open a micron before he was unceremoniously pushed off his captor's lap and left to stumble forward a few paces. He whirled, confusion in 'field and optics, only to spot the youngling - 'Hanger- next to Lockdown, three repair kits balanced precariously in arms. "Sorry I long. 'Tor still no'fixed th'storage."
"Not surprised there." Lockdown said, stowing each kit into subspace. "Sure you didn't-."
"Nup!" 'Hanger exclaimed, all puffed up with arms crossed and the meanest glare they could muster. "Y'know Sire'd be spitting mad blue ifn I did!"
"True enough that." Lockdown said with the slightest shrug. "Go pester your Sire for th'payment."
"What is 'spitting mad blue'" Prowl asked, keeping his voice low as he approached Lockdown.
"Furious. Yo'good to go?"
Filing the information away, Prowl nodded and followed after Lockdown, glad to be leaving the clinic and heading back to Death's Head. It was ship Prowl found he wanted back on. Away from Decepticons, away from the sham of domesticity Decepticons played with. Away from Taboo breakers. Away from the bizarre language masquerading as Neo-Cybex.
"Are there any more stops?" He asked once they'd exited.
"Straight flying to reach Sixshot," Lockdown said as he furtively scanned the area and Prowl almost thought he was looking for someone when it clicked. Jazz was looking for them. For him. "Come on, kid. Sooner we're back, faster we leave."
Prowl swallowed as his Spark raced again as he followed the larger, not quite willing to admit it for what it was: an attempt to hide. "He's trailing us."
Lockdown's head dipped in a nod and Prowl's energon chilled as vents sucked in atmosphere.
"He wouldn't-"
Lockdown cut him off with a snort. "Special Ops can and do, especially if they're looking for traitors."
Shoulder's hunched. "I-"
"Need a reminder of your choices, Prowl?"
"No." Hands fisted against the box as denta ground against each other, yet he'd made those choices. Under duress, yet he couldn't shake the feeling the Elite Guard, his friends, Jazz wouldn't see that. They'd see a mecha who'd willingly asked for his things, who'd willingly picked the collar, who'd allowed his faction symbol to be painted over. Who'd passively accepted his lot despite the lack of true choice. "He'd stand out as much a-"
"Electronic paint, a signal dampener, even a body shell," Lockdown cut him off with an aborted swipe of the hook. "But he ain't in a shell."
"And why not?"
"They ain't rebuilds; with shells, you gotta relearn almost everything until it's natural. Walking, running, transforming. Fighting. Takes about a quarter-orn." The green-black's voice oozed amusement.
As much as he wanted to ask, he didn't. "And with EP you don't."
"Bingo. Now keep your optics open." It wasn't a suggestion.
"Of course."
Prowl could honestly say it was only as they were closing in on the Death's Head that he thought he saw something trailing them. He wished he hadn't a second look, that he didn't confirm it. That it was just another Decepticon headed for his ship. That his voice didn't hold the faintest tremble. "Lockdown."
"He's here?"
"... Yes." Prowl nodded in Jazz's direction. Wrong signal or not it was Jazz; not even a darker purple and grey could hide the body shape Prowl remembered sparing against. He felt some guilt at ratting Jazz out, yet it wasn't enough to replace the gnawing in his tank or the doubt in his mind. Jazz was here because they thought him a traitor and Prowl couldn't drag air in fast enough as they continued to walk. It was an effort to continue as if nothing were wrong and Prowl wanted to be back on the Death's Head now.
He couldn't move fast enough, he couldn't vent and he knew Jazz saw them. Some small part hoped Jazz saw the collar- it was steel, it should stand out-
Pedes hit the ramp with a clang, and he didn't need Lockdown's "Get on the ship-."
Prowl bolted up it and vanished into the depths of it all to willingly, almost as it it was a safe heaven. He stopped briefly to put the box where Lockdown could find it, knowing the bounty hunter would be right behind him, then continued to his room. He crumpled onto the berth, face in hands and systems hitching and rattling no matter how much he wished they wouldn't. He couldn't let this get to him because he'd done nothing wrong.
Then why did he feel afraid, why did his Spark churn, his vents rattle and his mind cast doubt on choices he'd made under duress? On all the choices he'd made in his life. From hiding the Primus-blue of his optics, to bouncing around the Commonwealth after the attack on Meiryō Dojo, to this. Primus-blue optics squeezed shut behind the visor as the Ninja pinched his nasal plate with a steadying intake, counted to sixteen then exhaled, low and slow, controlling the flow as Yoketron taught him.
It didn't really help, but at least it felt like something. Prowl repeated a few more times until he felt as if he could think, not just react.
Lockdown had forced his hand, would continue to. All Prowl was doing was making the best of a no-win situation. Yet Jazz was after them. Had seen them. Had seen him run up into the Death's Head willingly and without hesitation.
He fell back against the berth with a clang, an arm flung over his face as if a vain attempt to blockout the light. Autobots judged on what they saw; they jumped to conclusions and made snap judgements. Jazz was Head of Special Ops and there was no telling how long he'd been following them.
Prowl felt his energon go cold. "Allspark..."
He stayed like that until he heard Lockdown's footsteps. He pushed himself up with an exhale. A check of the visor proved it still locked in place but that did nothing for the gnawing emotions still rolling beneath the calm he'd found.
"He's gone for now," Lockdown said as he lent against the doorway, arms crossed. "I saw him leaving as I got us out, and I've run an EMP crackle over the ship to disable any trackers. We'll run around for a little while and try to lose him."
"Good." Prowl said with a slow nod. Lockdown was risking losing out on bounties if he followed through. "I would've been dragged back and tried as a traitor.
"More than likely. Think he followed us from the markets back, waiting to grab you."
"I would sooner offline than be in the Stockades." Looking down at his hands, Prowl found he meant it: better dead than the Stockades.
Lockdown studied Prowl carefully for a moment. "I'm curious, Prowl. What'll you do when you face him? Bot's like Jazz don't go easy."
Prowl's head jerked up to stare at Lockdown. "I... I don't know."
"You've got a bit of time. But right now I'd rather the C-2s into you an' the drone set up f'you t'play with." He pushed off the doorway and offered a hand to the smaller.
With only the slightest hesitation (he couldn't go back to the Autobots; he was a traitor to them. While his friends would believe him, the Autobots wouldn't), Prowl took it. "I'd like that, Lockdown."