Author's Notes: As per a reader request that fit the current timeline story. Onward to realizing and correcting mistakes.
TF Transformers
Story Arc: Baby Bumblebee and sticker wings
"What is the target?" Deadlock prodded. The few details provided in the initial briefing did not reveal the who or what. The Decepticon mercenary had built a reputation however accidental or unwillingly as a vicious and merciless fighter. The truth was he hated seeing suffering. He had known nothing but abandonment and pain in his life, why add to others suffering as he had known? If they were to be offlined, do it quickly and move on. Profit was a side effect, the credit earned instead of begging for scraps. And his rank as a Decepticon officer allowed him to accept or reject missions, especially ones likely to get him offlined. Most jobs as he discovered came in two varieties, oh scrap and scarp worthless. This one was shaping up to be a mystery.
"Unknown specifically. It is an asset of great value to the Prime personally. He threatened his own officer with offlining if he fails in delivering it safely. The threats the weapons specialist relayed would peel your paint. It is in the care of their security officer Red Alert, known for his paranoia and protocol overtures. Expect resistance. Do not fail us in this." The faceless vocal without a designation transmitted only job offers from the highest Decepticon Command. Deadlock suspected the hidden mech was a seeker, his shrill voice irritating and the arrogant attitude a giveaway.
"Where am I to deliver it once secured?"
"To the pit. Shred it, destroy it but leave enough it can be identified. The value is not whatever it is but the value the Prime places on it. The destruction is a reminder that our claws reach everywhere and nothing he has is safe when the shuttle arrives back at the cyber den they rolled into. We will deal with the supposed base later, once our troops are sufficiently prepared for a glorious victory."
Deadlock grimaced, knowing the delay was in fighting among their officers, probably Starscream eliminating any bot on his rise to second in command. And the Autobot base remained undiscovered or they would not be offering this assignment. He bet an accidental relay had intercepted the signal and any attempt to locate the base would send the Autobots scurrying, again out of reach. 'Or bring their battalion down on my helm on a close approach,' he pondered. But the reward of energon offered was high and the work kept Deadlock out of the main fighting and in favor with the Warlord. "Understood. Notification upon mission completion. Glory to Lord Megatron, transmission clear."
The purple and black striped Decepticon stood gracefully, his hand fingering the trigger on the ion repeater blaster. Too many vague details on the mission flared as a warning. And if his role was ever discovered, a slagged off Prime was not an adversary he wanted chasing his rolling wheels. "Intercept a shuttle, destroy an item and escape back out. Eliminate any witnesses if required, destroy any possible recordings and let the shuttle continue. No tracking it to their base, no explosives to load on it, this job seems odd somehow. What could a Prime value?' The heavily armored mech moved across the room to his treasures cabinet, removing an ancient sword more a relic than a weapon. The blade remained honed and as deadly as when it was forged, a time before blasters and war cannons. As always, Deadlock touched the pommel to his helm chevron, trying to remember the parental femme who had left it for him. The vague shape retained in his first processor before her untimely death, killed in an attack at the fuel docks by the Sea of Rust. His parental mech was unknown and unregistered, not even a clan lineage engraved on Deadlock's spark casing. Only a sword kept in a vault box without explanation or identification a link to his past. Offers to buy it and attempts to steal it signified its value but no answers to why it had been entrusted into his family, the explanation lost with her spark. Subspaced onto his back, the blade disappeared out of sight until needed.
Nine joors later Deadlock swung the sword onto his back plates again, the heavy pommel used to knock the other Transformer out. Or more precisely, to slam the red and white armored mech backwards into a panel, shorting him temporarily as it blew. "Security Officer? Shields down, the drives at half and the fool never noticed my approach. Deserved to be boarded or blown apart while so vulnerable and distracted. And by what? Reading fuel reports and personnel conduct reviews instead of scanning every approach vector? Pity the Prime entrusted him with a prize." His Decepticon insignia uncurled further, the sticker on Deadlock's shoulder nearly ripped off into two pieces during the tussling fight. Caught unawares, Red Alert had fought hand to hand valiantly and almost succeeded until the unexpected weapon subspaced out and slammed into his chest plates with force. Online in medical stasis, Red's internal repair worked full strength, but it would take time to override so many shorted connections. The bot's main junctions were partially damaged and would require med bay for anything beyond half strength powering. The shuttle continued its preprogrammed course, no indicators on its aged systems to trigger a distress call.
Deadlock moved back down the small hallway connecting the cockpit to the storage area. A smaller shuttle, the ship had been hard to locate even with the provided estimated course. Its lack of external protection had nearly made him swerve away suspecting a trap. Only the faint power leak on a far engine identified why. 'Damaged and running on one engine, how untimely for them. A prize never to leave their base and it's transported halfway across the galaxy into my reach. Fate calls to the prepared.' A quick glance down confirmed his temporary lock holding in the metal plating, the two ships bound together to keep his escape ready.
The wide doors to the back area remained sealed, the space serving as both crew space and mini cargo area. The aged yellow metal layered to prevent warping even if the ship vented to space and easier to spend breems hacking than the energy necessary to burn through them. Deadlock braced, blasters ready and targeting locks roaming when the doors finally unsealed. They hissed then stopped. "Limited power. No auto sliding. Way this mission is going, the cargo will be auto labeled and offline. Have to open every crate to find that prize. And I am running out of time." A hard shove gained him access past, his deep red optics widening in surprise. The space was nearly empty, a recharge berth bolted against one wall with a smaller square attached near the head. Various brightly covered cargo tarps covered the metal floor, metal pieces and parts strewn across its surface. A small yellow shaped ball rested in the center. "The prize must be hidden. Behind a wall or the ceiling? Don't even know what size this thing is," he snarled, beginning to scan the area. The small yellow shape uncurled, unfolding into a recognizable shape as he froze.
"Tell me that's a mini bot shaped data disk and not?" He murmured, peering down into tiny blue optics. Scans relayed the truth back, the data failing to register for a nano second.
The tiny being gazed back, optics roving for an energon bottle or toy as the unfamiliar face meant nothing. Bumblebee met new bots all the time, most smiling and rubbing his helm vents before handing over treats. The moving sticker caught his attention as it crinkled the rest of the way off and fluttered down into two pieces. Landing right side up, the purple shape remained distorted until both edges flattened out across the floor, nearly touching.
The sparkling opened his mouth and screamed.
Deadlock's scream matched his.
"Oh Dark Harbinger, why me?" the agent groaned, leaning against the wall with his gun laying on the floor and all its safeties engaged. The sparkling nibbled on another energon snack, oblivious to the fact it was irregular shaped or near its expiration as an active fuel source. The handful of snacks Deadlock carried a remainder from a previous mission celebration and nearly forgotten. "Who are you?"
Warbling and pointing at his chest plates then helm, Bumblebee tried communicating. He didn't know why the new one didn't understand. The mech seemed friendly enough, dropping the bad symbol and moving away. The gestures for pick me up and hungry Bumblebee repeated. Where were his regular keepers? He wanted toys and guessed Red Alert had left him alone again. Jazz and Prowl were his friends and found him, giving him nummies. Why was this bot so dumb? Even Grimlock knew to pick him up.
"Do you know who I am? Deadlock, Second In Command of Turmoil, ninth under Lord Megatron and warrior of the city skirt of Rodion. Of no family or clan that I know of. As blank as you apparently. You are not Prime's, too small. And yellow? Who picks that color? Last can of armor paint they could spare while fleeing our forces? Tucked you under an arm plate and took off running?"
The sparking warbled, the same click sequences before gesturing at his helm and midriff plates.
"If you are telling me your name and what you want I am clueless little one." Deadlock vented raggedly before snagging the metal piece out of the air in front of his helm. "So angry. Keep it up and your optics will go red. Anger will lead you to places you cannot run back from. I said no more throwing!" He ordered, catching two more thrown metal parts. Crouching closer, he growled menacingly and expected tears or whimpering as his other victims often gave.
Bumblebee growled back, clicking angrily and waving a chubby fist at him.
"Fierce but tiny. Surprising for an Autobot. Or are you a neutral? No symbol on you that I can see. I once carried no symbol. That changed when I lost a friend. And why? Because he was trying to save another worthless abandoned spark like we were, one so energon deficient he could barely move and obey the Security Enforcer commands. Five enforcers confronting three lowly mechs for breaking curfew. Rules for those who walk in daylight and not scurry in the night. Commands were given, ignored and the ensuing fight cost my friend his spark with a weapons misfire. In that instant my rage spiraled, and I dove for the blaster dropped in the scuffle, seeing only red across my vision. When the red cleared and I could process, my spark burned hot within me and theirs were gone. My symbol now of the hunted. Wanted for crimes against the establishment."
Deadlock sat, his armored legs and wheels folding back under him to kneel gracefully before the sparkling. The emotions hard for him to process even now; his energy field distorting with the pain twisting the edges and leaking through.
Unnoticed, Bee watched and warbled sorrowfully. He recognized hurt from Ironhide and Ratchet, wanting to help. Crawling forward, he sat best he could like the big bot and listened. The sounds never made sense but watching seemed to help his friends. Maybe it would help the new bot too.
"I did not know that one moment of the loss of myself would leave me without a path. The neutrals feared me and the Autobots hunted me, only the Decepticons wanted me. Megatron himself called me out, giving me the rank and position I had dreamt of. What do you dream of little one? A full tank, hands to cuddle and protect? I was denied those, always scrapping and begging at the mercy of those who could share a sparks worth of caring before my third frame. I embraced the Decepticon cause, until the archives. A reward for my achievements, unlimited access to the archives and their knowledge. And I learned," his optics darkened to almost black, the anger and rage twisting in his system.
"The last Prime, tied to the past while enslaving our race with traditions and trappings to survive and not thrive, had studied those same archives. Our Warlord and promiser of a greater future, free of control of the old ways claimed he studied them also. I read them myself, adopted them and realized how our race had drifted from what we were. How lost we were becoming, destroying our own cities and generations disappearing as our war raged. The Prime a step away from the best of our race, what we had been as autonomous beings. The greatest attributes of our race embodied in him. The strength to be noble and kind, offering peace. A warrior who could offer mercy and didn't need rage to control but to lead, enriching the very existence of those who followed him by choice. He was not the monster I had been painted. We were."
Bee crooned, feeling the flow of emotions and pain in the other's energy field without understanding the full words. A deep vent moved the air, the torn symbol fluttering. Intrigued, the baby bot crawled over, pulling the pieces up. A chubby hand waved as the symbol half stuck to his metal fingers, refusing to come off when shook. Wiping across his other arm, the sticker attached onto the arm metal and spread out. Waving his arm, it fluttered and crackled as it moved. Excitedly he stuck the other half on his arm, flapping both hands up and down like flying.
Deadlock crouched; the symbology not lost on him. An innocent sparkling, waving and playing with a symbol of hate and having no processing of what it would cost to keep the symbol. Of what he could lose.
"If I leave you online and intact, I have failed and the consequences are non-negotiable and I will not be hunted all my vorns by both sides. If you are to be dispatched, I promise it to be merciful and fast. You have no part in this war. It is between the Warlord and the Prime. I cannot take you with me, a worse fate than the first two."
Bumblebee glanced up, moving his arms up and down for the other to see his wings. He hesitated, seeing the optic color changing in the taller mech. Things happened when colors changed.
Deadlock drew his ancient sword, the metal shining in the light and made his choice.
"Repeat that?" Optimus stated, switching gears as Jazz's message filtered in. Looking up from the reports, he glanced over at the chronometer and realized the shuttle was late. Not the message he had been anticipating.
"There is a high priority encrypted line with a Decepticon demanding to speak to you and only you," Jazz repeated, his clawed hand tapping the console in front of him for emphasis.
"Patch it through and let's see what his game is." The aged Prime stood tall, moving his feet apart as his hands descended to his sides to look imposing.
"Optimus the Prime, I propose a trade." The squared armored bot faced the remote directly, the screen image compacted around his upper plates and helm. His violet optics did not shutter, dial in nor widen as his emotions were tightly controlled. All noises except his audio were blocked as were the single relays to bounce the message to the Autobot base.
"We do not make deals with Decepticons."
"Recognized. Part of the deal is I, Deadlock renouncing the Decepticon cause and swearing to you my sole and unworthy allegiance."
Optimus blinked, having heard variations of the same words through the vorns, though not recently. Each bot meaning it with all their spark, though none bore the purple armor colors or carried the reputation the mech on the viewscreen did. He noted Deadlock's optic color, the shading more towards blue than red instead of the madness of purple or black. "And what is the rest of the trade worth betraying Megatron for?"
"My frame and spark intact as I deliver a valued asset back into your keeping."
"Returning what you stole? Hardly a trade of value," Prime offered, looking at his officers for a clue.
"I kept it safe and protected, which your own did not," he stated, spinning the lens back into wide view. Red Alert trussed over half his frame in cargo webbing hung upside down off a hook, his blue optics dim but proof he was online on the Con's right side.
The left side scene had them hard venting and nearly spark flipping. "Bee!"
Bumblebee sat inside a mini force field, munching away on an energon treat while playing with a variety of lock parts, some already thrown outside the containment area. Half a Decepticon insignia fluttered on each arm like wings as he threw a metal bolt up and over the barrier. At Optimus cry, he looked up at the visual camera, waving and warbling happily before ranting with short clicks and clacks.
"What did he say?" Prowl asked, backing away from Prime as fury poured off their leader's energy field.
"He likes his new friend and games but wants his energon bottle and to be held now," Prime translated harshly. "I accept your offer Deadlock conditional on Bumblebee being unharmed and untouched."
"I am many things but not a sparkling killer. And it is good to know this one's name. I do not speak sparkling. He is safe. I have offlined only those seeking to do me harm first. Warriors capable of harming me back and within reach of their weapons. Coding viruses and reprogramming are for cowards sneaking under the lowest maintenance tunnels. I have honor and will keep our trade. This glitched idiot," he tapped Red Alert before touching the large relic sword embedded deep into the floor decking. "I offer to dispatch for free for his carelessness."
"Leave him to me, online as he is now. Rendezvous at these coordinates and no tricks or Primus himself would not be able to reassemble the pieces I will tear you into," Prime threatened, keeping a reign on his temper. The screen went black before the command center filled with a deep baritone yell.
"I AM GOING TO TAKE FACES IF BEE HAS EVEN A SCRATCH! BOTH RED ALERTS AND THE CONS!"
A joor later Jazz watched amusedly as Optimus' vents resounded with soft thrumming, the leader fast in recharge with both hands wrapped around Bumblebee cuddled against his red chest plates. Ironhide curled alongside Prime, staying close and as frazzled while getting the sparkling back earlier. The Decepticon symbol wings ripped into shreds the moment they held him. After a tank full of fresh energon and endless helm rubs Bumblebee recharged flat out on his front, one hand over Optimus spark armor plating and overlapped by Ironhide's hand. The bright red Autobot insignia freshly painted on Bee's chestplate beyond view.
::SIC to TIC:: Prowl opened the internal communication line.
::He passed?:: Jazz guessed, securing the door to Optimus private quarters.
::Affirmative. A transfer with full clearance from the outset pending our interview. He allowed us unrestricted access into his systems. The mech is with Wheeljack now switching up weapons and his past is restricted to us five Command officers. As far as the others know, he joined our cause after being a Decepticon and finally caught up with us while escaping across the galaxy. They are taking steps to conceal his former identity from either side:: Prowl
:: Did no bot warned him how many things blow up around 'Jack?:: Jazz quizzed, more amusement in his tone than concern.
::He will have to learn quickly in many areas:: Prowl commented, closing the line. While the Second in Command and Autobot enforcer accepted his joining them, he remembered the enforcers lost orns before. He may not have known them personally, but he remembered their offlining and the hunt for the killer on Cybertron. 'And now I accept him as a teammate and leave them without justice. Primus, how much will our fighting cost us?'
Levels above, the conversation in the most restricted workshop on the asteroid continued.
"You sure you want swords? Your armor is now lighter and more compact with the upgrades," Wheeljack confirmed, designing the best length to match the mech's request.
"My repeater was for many targets, including my own side. It is time I learn a new way, trusting in my teammates and command officer. I will carry a single blaster and these," he hefted the hologram of double honed blades. "A reminder Autobots are not made for spark taking but ending the war to have peace, not annihilation."
"I must admit, the color scheme of blue and white looks better with the smoother lines than purple and black but it makes you harder to hide, trust me on that."
"White for purity of the spark and blue for the energon that flows in each of us and not on the twisted metal of our destroyed home world."
"Dramatic choice. And your new designation?" Wheeljack asked, his sidebars flashing green and blue.
"Drift."
"A quick trip to med bay and I can realign your energy signature to match your new identity. May your service be long and unbroken, remembered with honor by you and those who have faith in your spark. Welcome Drift, to the Autobots," Ratchet said, holding out their red insignia with both hands.
To be continued…