Disclaimer: Hasbro and Takara-Tomy own the Transformers. I just enjoy harassing their giant robots.
Warnings: A beast of a chapter, two in one. Last dark chapter and the origin of several character's traumas. Bad times.
"Bloodstains"
The (After) Life of the Party—Fall Out Boy
Impossible Year—Panic! At The Disco
Once in class, before he'd started skipping so much, they split open a dead scraplet. It was fastened down to a slab, six little legs locked down as well as its head. There were the typical immature squeals as it was cut. To give them credit, it was rather gross.
Prowl had thought it was disgusting and entrancing at the same time. That was before he'd purged, anyway. He'd never dreamed he'd be in the position of the specimen—or alive while it happened.
In the present, he had no chronometer, the lights were searing his optical sensors, and he was missing a lot of plating. Every sensation was tuned to eleven. The air felt too close. He squirmed away from an offending source. Something tickled.
A long, jointed limb coated in stripes of purple, black, and green organic filaments hovered over his helm. Another played over his supine frame and a thin, green visor came into view.
"Ah, you're finally awake! Wonderful!" A servo stroked the back of his helm, taking care not to ensnare its talons in whatever was attached to the back of it, "I am Tarantulas. You are?"
Prowl made it a point to tamp down the bond.
"I'm P-Prowl."
"Very good. Very good. I know this all terribly confusing, but you're here for an important project. I appreciate your cooperation."
He sat up as high as he could, "Where's my friend?"
Prowl was pushed back down. Now the legs were moving outside his vision, casting dark shadows over him. "She's elsewhere. Now, I need you to calm down for this. The injection will prime your systems."
"Why?" He was still trying to reconcile the giant arachnid Preda further securing him to the table with a disconcerting calmness.
"Because I'm going to turn you into something beautiful. They were not very thorough in your examination before you were given to me," the visor narrowed and mandibles curled in a "smile".
"You are quite the bundle of surprises! Capability for high stress feeds, tactical processor, a bond with a Terrorcon… a lovely starting point. Did you learn about the scientific method in your schooling, young Enforcer? I plan to use your friend as a control, a constant. Reformatting and reprograming is a long but rewarding process. I do hope we'll be able to endure it together."
He aligned a syringe filled with an amber liquid right beneath his spark. Prowl's frame froze in raw horror, unable to move.
"Don't worry about this naughty little brew, it is the least painful part."
Prowl quickly learned the huge arachnid-build told half-truths.
~o~o~o~o~o~
"Oh, little guardian?"
Arcee lashed out the energy bars sending sparks everywhere. Her spinning helm quickly told her how bad that idea was. She was low on energon after so long of being trapped in this tiny cell and dragged out for random "examinations".
That was just a fancy way of saying vivisections.
She didn't appreciate the surgeries. She let them know it. Her tally was up to three eaten assistants and two beatings. Arcee cradled one arm to her chest, nursing her most recent suture, still glaring at the approaching mech.
"Not. Again."
Tarantulas shook his helm, taking that mocking, saccharine tone as he spoke, "Not now, you mean."
"You gonna let me out? I'd eat your spark but it would just give me indigestion."
"Lovely as always I see. It's your friend. He keeps flatlining."
Arcee didn't hesitate to allow a blow to her dignity for temporary freedom, even accepting the shock collar. She and Prowl had been separated since their abduction. Prowl had recently gone quiet.
She ignored the scattering orderlies as she stormed into the room.
They were probably right to.
Her frame looked haggard, flaky, and black distortion leaked out in spots, it wasn't much point in trying to keep up appearances if every 'former knew what she was.
Despite that, Prowl looked worse.
His armor was gone. Tarantulas removed it for better surgical access.
The mad mech done the same to her, removing plating and forcing her to transform, at times cutting sections protoform away. On him though, Tarantulas had split his frame open, installing who knew what and injecting him with the same. She could feel cold air on internals that had no business being exposed through the bond. A tremor passed through both their frames.
~ Sorry. ~ He perked up, singular, dim, right optic brightening.
She crawled onto the edge of the berth, ~ Don't apologize. Give me your servo. ~
~ Why? ~
~ Comfort. ~
He tagged her pale digits, intertwining his bronze with hers.
~ You look like you went a round with me. ~
His faceplate scrunched, ~ You look like turbofoxes got you. ~
It was the longest sentence he'd manage. Prowl didn't talk much or react to pain. The quiet whines were enough to tear holes in her spark. He didn't exactly enjoy her clicking either.
They hatched a small rebellion, sabotaging the equipment when they had rare moments of freedom. That only earned them permanent restraints and no anesthesia.
It was the last time they interfered with the testing process.
Two mega-cycles was all it took to reduce them into proper lab-rats.
It wasn't long before Tarantulas narrowed down the reason behind Prowl's successful conversion and he was intrigued…as he let on in in his rambling conversations. The mech never shut up. Arcee almost preferred being operated on.
"Shockwave had proposed theories of weaponizing bonds, but it never came to pass. I suppose he finally achieved it with his Massicons. He's found a winning formula, there are clones now. But even before, have you ever noticed that some of them tend to coordinate?"
Prowl let out an annoyed groan, slamming his wings against the table. "Not really. Between dodging factions and attempting survival, we've been too busy running away from them."
Arcee allowed herself a smirk. The Praxian wasn't gone yet.
Tarantulas tutted him. "You really should, waste of a processor if you ask me."
He adjusted a set of wires that connected to where Prowl's right optic once was. "I knew that I required a stronger test subject but I wanted to avoid using bonds. As a consequence, the trauma, isolation, and constant modifications normally kills most subjects. You two still seem to be in excellent working condition. Nearly there."
"And if we don't want it?" He snapped back.
Arcee watched the spider give him a puzzled look.
"What do I care if you don't? You don't have a choice."
~o~o~o~o~o~
As more hardware went into him, his vitals improved gradually. His frame grew heavier, plating thicker, and his focus—cloudier. Thinking straight was an impossible task. Prowl hated to make Arcee worry. He was out of it often enough to merit Tarantulas giving them the freedom of moving around a small cell.
"Okay, so where do you live?"
That one was easy.
"Uraya."
Arcee's kibble raised as her ridges furrowed, "Letalis, Prowl…Uraya was orns ago."
"Sorry," he winced. His processor was losing time, losing memory. He was losing himself. It should have been scarier…
"It's the programming," she huffed, "C'mere. Helm in my lap."
He laid down stiffly and she began to rub his temples.
~ Listen, sparklet and you'll hear a memory. A rhyme to carry, a rhyme of creed. ~
Prowl squirmed away, ~ What are you doing? ~
~ Singing. Maybe it'll jog your memories. ~
~You sing? ~
~ Used to talk in rhyme too. ~
~ Weirdo. ~
She flinched when he looked up at her.
His optics were different colors now, one amber optic and one icy blue.
And—
And…
And?
He frowned. Where was he again?
~ Still here? ~
~ Sorry, I'm confused… You're a great partner, we've worked together before? ~
The pink femme visibly wrestled with hiding her disappointment. ~ Yes, and there are more of us, two more. My mate, your twin, and our hound. ~
~ Sounds nice. ~
~ And one cycle soon, we'll be together again and we'll go home. ~
He let the dark claim him after that flimsy promise. He didn't remember much, but he knew they weren't free and this place would kill them slowly. Recharging took the edge off of reality. Its cruel grip was always there when he woke though.
His systems booted up to his frame on fire, spasming, and mind all over the place. His body wasn't responding to commands. Arcee was trying get him upright. Tarantulas batted her away with more strength than he realized those flimsy limbs could muster, webbing her to the wall.
"What are you doing? He's glitching out!"
"I have him."
Something clicked inside him with a taciturn finality.
Gradually, his body stopped attempting to shake himself to pieces, then his frame transformed. He had enough energy to roll over and cough up system energon, not tank fuel. Something was wrong. Something had ruptured.
He wiped his mouth narrowly missing cleaving his snout off with the scythes attached to his paws.
Snout.
Paws.
Prowl got up; head pressed against the flooring. In response, his body screamed in displeasure. Every fiber of his being was in the wrong place. Fortunately, his vehicle alt was still buried in his alt, but it was overridden by the beast-mode.
A pained whine transformed into a raspy snarl.
Arcee got released and immediately transformed, rushing over to stroke his helm with her maw. "Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, don't panic."
"What's wrong with me?"
The sensation of talking sent waves of feedback to his helm and he snapped his jaws shut. He needed to shift back.
"Let's sit, okay?" She placed forepaws on his cheeks, "Depends on how you look at it. Physically, nothing is wrong. You're just in alt shock. But, hey, you'll be respected by Predas now."
Arcee stiffened as a shadow loomed behind them.
"I made you more similar to a Terrorcon. You're the first of a new generation, Rubicon. A bit of Terror, Preda, and Massi. You're ready."
Prowl was not, in fact, ready.
Barely a cycle after discovering he had dual alts, he was being forced to practice in it. He couldn't decide whether to walk on two legs or four—they both felt wrong. Just like the long, rigid tail behind him and his doorwings buried in his sides.
Prowl waddled sideways, leaning down to rest on his chin.
Arcee nipped him for the fifth time inside a joor, "Straighten up! If you're going to walk on two legs, let them bear your weight."
He did. He landed on his rear this time.
"My coding doesn't like it, neither does my frame."
"I thought Tarantulas would have ironed that out by now…"
She smelled scared, restless, irritated—and it was all because of him. He stared down at the grates in their too bright "practice room". That nagging feeling of wrong bit him again.
"You don't put drains in a room unless you intend to clean regularly."
"Well you're not wrong…" She took in a huge waft of air, feeding off the faint scent of cleaner.
Their optics met as a roll-up door at the opposite end of the room opened.
The Terrorcon wilted, "Prowl, stay close to me."
"Wh—"
"Don't 'why' me, mech. Do as you're told. Beast fights are never pretty. Whatever it takes to survive, do it." Then she let out a snarl that rattled the floor paneling.
He settled on all fours for better traction.
Several thuds later, a distressed looking Massicon stumbled out, all sharp angles but no weld marks. It took a nano before honing in on them, then it shrieked and dove forward. Arcee went one way, he darted another.
There was a blur of motion as she scrambled onto the hulking 'formers back to tear out wiring.
Prowl was at a loss on what to do. He had the capability to leap as well, but not the confidence. A safer bet was to latch onto an ankle.
"Claws!"
"What?"
"Use your claws, CORE HIM!" she shrieked back.
His foreign coding screamed, claws lengthened, and he plunged it into the mech's chassis. Prowl panicked and tore with zero coordination, fear clouding his mind. The Massicon dropped suddenly, pinning him to the floor. A second wave of panic hit him at being trapped. He kicked the mech off with little effort, joining Arcee as they cooled down.
Her glossa hung loosely, lighter frame humming at a fever pitch. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He frowned, trying out the deeper voice resonating from his chest.
"Nice."
The door opened again.
"You got the fighting down-pact?"
"Yes."
"Let's do this."
The cycle went on forever.
A new opponent would be let in. They would kill it. Repeat at least thrice. A downpour of solvent soaked the arena along with them and they were left to dry off. They slept on the floor, curled in each other until the next round.
Then they began letting in normal, altered Transformers, one at a time. They were allowed to get used to them, those they got along with were allowed to stay in the arena. Then Prowl was brought back into the labs and forcibly bonded to one and they were expected to fight against a new experiment.
He hated the bonding process with a burning passion. Invasive—public—wrong— and it left him feeling violated on a level he couldn't fathom. On top of that, the new ones never lasted long. They were always scared out of their minds, alone, and traumatized. Having two extra voices in their spark didn't help. They often allowed themselves to be offed. They couldn't take the stress.
One, the last one, clicked constantly. They couldn't hold it together and made their performance suffer…and they were all punished.
As the last electrical shock faded from his frame, Prowl found he couldn't take it anymore. He found himself fed up with the crying, pains in his chest, and the constant fighting. Before Arcee could react, he reached out over the new bond, through the new 'former and forced them to the ground. This madness ended now.
He lost his mind for a cycle; killed their new partner and several orderlies, and headed away from their personal pit for Tarantulas…
A fool's errand. Still, he believed it was better than one more nano in the present.
Predictably, he was stopped. Another stronger experiment halted his rampage and stowed him in a cell, which he wrecked just shy of escaping again.
Lack of energy and utter hopelessness finally claimed him.
Everything was trash. Nothing was right anymore, if it had ever been. He was about as sparkless as the drone like 'formers they fought. He'd gone from not being able to read bonds to knowing far too much. Things would never would be right again. So, he settled for screaming his vocalizer into static.
~o~o~o~o~o~
"I'm going to lock his beast mode… I do not believe it's a good idea to give him access to it."
Arcee didn't bother containing her huff of disgust, "No kidding. You drove him insane, you monster. You decide to introduce a new type beast coding into a vehicle mode, turn him into a walking blitzkrieg—"
"And expect him not to retaliate? No. But it did work. He's completed. "
"You killed him!" Arcee swung an arm at the slumped form of the once Praxian who hadn't moved in a mega-cycle.
Tarantulas' thin visor winked, "Improved. I'd expect you of all formers to take pleasure out of it. You have someone to match you now. "
"He's my friend and its wrong. "
"Everything, if examined closely enough, could be construed as 'wrong', but how do you suppose we fix it, fix the War? Fix the battles? Tell me this."
She had no answer.
"Pity…I thought as the last build formed you had more intelligence. Even if there were a better way we'd never come to our full potential as a species without some persons sacrificed."
And suddenly there were words, in her mind's optic, an ancient promise. As a species, they were destructive with no naturally occurring predators higher than themselves. They kept themselves regulated. There were no more Terrorcons, the Predas and Dread were scattered and brutal chaos was the future for those left behind. Before everything came to a flaming end, of course.
She would be a fool to stand by and do anything other than make a stand.
"You won't succeed. You and your peers aren't the first. We improve ourselves, but not like this. Cybertron won't stand for your crimes. "
If Tarantulas recognized any higher authority, he didn't show it.
He hmphed. "I no longer have a use for you as a subject. Does serving as a guard interest you? Good. Keep an optic on your Rubicon friend. It would be in both your best interests to stay obedient."
The spider finally left and she slumped in front of a still out of it Prowl. He laid curled tight in on himself, holding his helm. The pain radiating from his muted side of the bond was overwhelming.
"Poor Prowly… No one would blame you if you let go."
~o~o~o~o~o~
"No one would blame you if you let go."
Her last words before leaving were so tempting.
Prowl was aware he'd been snatched out of the mode that threatened to take over his mind. For that he was grateful. Everything hurt in his frame, but someone had been merciful enough to slip him serious narcotics. It felt like being stuck in packing foam. Sweet nothingness.
He could ask Arcee to end him. End the dagger in his spark. It wouldn't take long at all. She was good at it.
But…he had to get up.
He had a reason to get up. Because he wasn't dead yet and this was a horrible place to die.
A furious stubbornness bloomed at the back of his mind along with memory. He'd known nothing but abuse for his sparklinghood, only to be abducted several times, and grow attached to the very 'formers he would have run from not a vorn ago.
The first taste of happiness he had in vorns and he was going to die here in a filthy cell by the servo of mad scientist. Cabal would get his wish after all.
And that made him pissed.
He had to get out of this spark forsaken lab and go find Jazz. Maybe then they could get off planet. First, he had to straighten out his processors. He was locked inside them, an inmate in his own mind after the series of traumas.
Yoketron dropped a few tips on quieting the chaos inside. A series of centering one's self by breaking down troubling systems bit by bit. Something that took time and effort, only one of which he actually possessed. He cheated and started sealing away troublesome memories by force. It probably didn't take as long as he thought, but it felt like an eternity. Maybe when he got back, the Master might see him as worthy for training… First though, he had to get himself up.
Several cycles later, Arcee came by as usual to refill his energon drip. This time though, he had energy to see her. Prowl onlined an optic, then the other.
"I thought you said I had to suck—it up and stay—online?"
"What the—" Arcee realized he'd made the static sentence and shoved her servos through the energy bars, squeezing his faceplates the best she could without burning her arms. "Don't you ever scare me like that again, Prowl. Please?"
"Okay. You taught me a—little too well."
"Yes, I saw." She eased him to his peds, "Fragging impressive."
"Tarantulas' orders?" he gestured to the cell.
"Yup." The bars disengaged. "And these are mine. You're coming with me."
"You're not scared I'll revert?"
"I saw those blocks he put in you, unless you really wanted out, you're staying boring."
Every step felt leaden but they were making progress. Orderlies scattered as soon as they saw him. Seeing the gashes left in the walls and the lingering smatters of energon still left throughout the maze-like halls; he'd done more than enough. He let his doorwings raise.
Before Arcee could herd him into her cell the gaudy spider reappeared. This time in beast-mode on the ceiling.
"I don't recall approving him for release."
Her grip tightened on his shoulder, ~ Follow my lead. ~
"He's calmed enough, I need someone to handle fueling your subjects. Ampere asked me to assist him in testing his next phase."
"You have overstepped your bounds."
Arcee growled.
"I'd prefer to be of assistance, sir," Prowl said quickly, modifying his vocalizer to sound skittish. "It's too quiet in there."
Tarantulas' many optics looked at him critically.
Prowl did his best to look innocent.
"Stick one gear out of line and I'll feed you to your friend part by part."
That was how he got a job fueling Koa's unfortunate sparks.
He found the chant "Walk straight, wings even, fuel the inmates.Walk straight, wings even, fuel the inmates" soothing. It put distance between himself and the situation at servo.
And then I can go back to Arcee. Extra for the misshapen mech and his sick friend, extra for the bronze mech. He always eats a lot.
"Thank you."
He nodded to the newly converted mech, still wearing the painful transformation fissures he'd once had.
Some experiments spoke, but he made it a point not to display anything above pre-programmed intelligence or communicate regularly. It fostered attachments and made the workers jumpy.
There was one other pair here he supplied extra energon to… a brutally wounded mech of unidentifiable build and his comatose wolf companion. The second wouldn't live for much longer, Prowl did what he could for them. That seemed to catch the first mech's attention. He didn't like the desperate look he had in his optics.
The newly fixed mech had long paused, staring as if he was trying to place his faceplates.
"Hey! I know you! You were that lunatic saurian I caught—"
He reluctantly met optics with the felid mech.
"No way! Prowl, it's me! Overhaul! Well sort of."
Prowl didn't speak, but canted his helm. This one was tall and bulky under that recent paint job of gold. This mech could pass for Overhaul… did he crunch his cubes?
Catching on, the mech drove his sharpened fangs through the now empty cube, swallowing the remnants without a flinch.
He did.
Coolant burned at his optics, "Overhaul? You're here too?"
"Yeah, kid. Hey, stop that clicking, you're good."
"Thank you... I'm sorry I didn't save you. I'll get you out..."
"Relax, I don't hold it against you all. You tried. I'll live. I was thinking I was the only sane one left here. Where're your friends?"
Prowl signaled him quiet, "Let me finish my rounds, I'll be back."
Walk straight, wings even, fuel the inmates.
Walk straight, wings even—gotta get back—fuel the inmates.
When he found Arcee, she was hanging around the lab doors, kibble low. ~ Take a look at Tarantulas' new project. — ~
She led him to a small side room filled with carefully etched schematics of the mechs hidden away in the cells and a twin set of cannisters stewing. Her disposition said it was smart metal.
A short dig through some datapads yielded the answer to what they were to be molded into. Easily controlled, genetic edits. They would be stable because their group was all they'd know, durable because of Predacon coding.
Arcee made sure nothing seemed as if it were disturbed in the room and they pretended to be busy.
~ Their making their own 'formers, and if they're successful, what do you think they'll do to us? ~
~ The ones in charge or the experiments themselves? ~
~ Both. ~
~ So, we'll just have to escape before then. ~ Prowl snagged her servo and dragged her into a storage room. He hugged her tightly.
Those perpetual dark shadows beneath her optics lightened. ~ Mech, I love you too, but I think we've got our signals crossed. ~
~ Overhaul is here, you pink pervert, and he's in good spirits. We're three. Would you mind staging an escape? The customer service here is terrible. ~
~ That's what's got you so upbeat. Hopes a pituuva drug then… ~
~ Its inciting. He has been here since Uraya and everyone else, even longer. We have the only link to the outside world through our bonds. Let's all get out of here. ~
~ This place is locked up tight. ~
~ So were just going to think inside the box. We've got pack to get back to. I didn't come back just to see you give up. Besides, I thought you and Lock were serious? I hate cliffhangers. ~
She shook her helm, ~ Whatever they did to your helm they wired it back right, nerd. ~
He offered a thin smile. ~ Let's get started, Pinky. ~
With a clear goal in mind, operating was much more fluid…
He willing hid behind his innocent, amnesiac persona seemly only concerned with making sure he didn't get attacked. Manipulation was entertaining. He earned the privilege of being put on patrol as Tarantulas' Praxian attack saurian. The same routes Arcee and Overhaul were put on… the basement levels. In theory, they weren't supposed to be able to gather any information from down there. That was the idea at least.
It started with Overhaul.
He had a newly spawned habit of listening to walls. His hearing had been upgraded and he'd been excited. Prowl liked it because it gave their gung-ho teammate another outlet for his newfound systems. The workers in the next room had a habit of hanging around the loading docks and griping. Slowly, they were able to fish out information.
They were in a secure facility in the middle of nowhere. There were three levels and their prison was at the bottommost level, above the basement.
Driving away was out of the question, there were blockades and radiation moats. Overhaul didn't even have a vehicle alt anymore. There were too many patrols. Too many cameras. Too great of a chance they'd be overwhelmed before they could escape. The only way out was calling in aid.
Since they'd been gone, the bond had dulled. It wasn't from distance. Something bad had happened. It might have not done any good calling in aid— All the same, he wasn't about to not try.
~o~o~o~o~o~
Lockdown had sat still as long strokes swept over his face, put on by the Dread alpha.
Not a sentence he'd ever thought he'd process.
"You look good!"
He opened one optic to see Hound watching him intently, "Raj is going to be looking for you."
"He thinks I'm out with a virus. Trailbreaker is fielding him and I've got a cleverly placed hologram generator." Hound said, not concerned about Jazz's nemesis in the least. "Hey, you still got Yoketron's package?"
He glanced over. "You! You're the contact!"
"The correct phrasing is: Hound was the contact. Hold still or you'll be the ally of asphalt not the ancients," Crankcase muttered.
"So that thing was yours?"
"It is Cybertron's, just like your new arm."
Lockdown flinched as he sprayed on the sealant without warning.
"You can form new weaponry from it? Your Terrorcon friend cares more for your survival than you give her credit for. She didn't code it completely."
"That is the untapped power of smart metal. There are select few spots left. Yoketron was the last guardian of smart metal. Someone has systematically been attacking the network, and, as it is always seems, we were too late. You just happened to be mentally removed enough from the Autobots to be trusted."
"Huh…" he fished around in his subspace, "Well here you—"
Crankcase held up the orb in question just as his digits grasped empty air.
"Distracted enough to be fully cleaned and let your subspace be raided? You become too emotionally invested. You could lose everything at any moment."
The Dread hadn't been wrong. Whatever drop of trust he had among his fellows had evaporated.
Two orns. Two orns of side-opticed looks and suspicion thrown his way. Nothing he said or Hound proved mattered. He was still the one that had something to do with Yoketron's demise and had summoned a Dread. Worst of all, he'd lost two teammates and there wasn't the unpredictability of a battle to blame.
Out of their miserable pack, he fit epitome of an outsider and was to be exiled until confirmed otherwise. A smart decision. At least it made cutting ties easier.
Then, he got news in the form of coordinates.
It felt like rusty spike through the spark, but he had them. Some small confirmation that, no, the frequency wasn't a hallucination. They were still alive. He went to go alert Kup, only to see Jazz already there, already arranging how they'd get there with Crankcase.
Then he noticed how quiet it was inside... No jolt of surprise. No relief. Nothing. Lockdown scrubbed at his faceplates. His part of the bond was already dead, wasn't it?
Am EM field flared in greeting before Beryl laid a servo on his shoulder, "Relax. Distance does that, they still need you."
"Jazz doesn't and I doubt they'll see it any differently." He forced a neutral expression; fully aware she could tell it didn't meet his optics.
Those fronds on top of her helm rose, "What are you planning, kiddo?"
"I'm going to make things right."
"How?"
"You won't like it."
She followed his gaze to Crankcase and frowned. "Then don't do it."
"Not going to happen. If I don't do this, everyone in our team disappears. You said a leader needs to be able to handle themselves and that what I'm going to do."
He paused, "If it's worth anything, thank you. I'll keep in touch. Don't tell Jazz."
"Nothing I can say to stop you?"
"Never is."
Beryl swept him up in an overly tight hug, "Glitchy youngling. Don't wind up on the wrong side of my blaster."
He appreciated that, not leaving on a completely sour note. Now he could focus.
Prowl had been worried about numbers, at least that was what his foggy messages conveyed. Arcee was more concerned about distance. Neither dared to get their hopes up too high. He did his best to field their concerns.
There wasn't a need to worry.
There were nowhere enough Dread to threaten the two main factions but plenty to raze a base. Walking in to the Dread stronghold, he'd never seen so many different builds in one place. With those new markings he got nods of acknowledgement as Crankcase's new pawn, but not much else. They didn't go out of their way to be friendly. Hound was nowhere in sight. He never thought he'd miss the overgrown Ops mech.
Still in need of purely Autobot support, Kup called in Blaster, Roadbuster, and KD. No more were allowed. Their youngling group had been regulated to a strike team made up of their same bounty hunter group.
Technically, Springer was supposed to be in charge…something about being able to have a more level processor and all that. One EM laced threat and he was leading the pack. No surprise it didn't make him anymore endearing in his teammate's optics. They followed orders, that's all he needed.
Later, he'd look back and realize the ride there was worse than the actual raid, all two joors of it. The Dreads had a ground bridge, all that was left was to approach under shield. Koa never saw it coming.
The whole approach he'd been wondering how they were and what had been done to them. Lockdown wished he'd never found out. Up close, the bond felt like someone had taken a railgun to it.
Just a shredded mess.
At least the outside world provided enough distraction.
Someone on the inside Koa set the experiments free, providing excellent cover... The thing was, some were either already dead or insane. It reminded him of a brightly lit version of Shockwave's lab. Same slag, different label. Fortunately, it only served to fuel his blind rage.
Jazz was level-helmed enough to ping the bond. They got a characteristically annoyed response.
~ Took you long enough! Follow the silence. ~
Sure enough, there was a deathly quiet hallway with a red exit sign beaming from the darkness at the end. Out it came his horrendous looking Terrorcon, drenched in cyan and with purpose in her step. She kind of reminded him of a custom energon treat with all manner of colors smudging her frame.
For a moment, the smell of cooling frames and blaster fire didn't matter so much.
It ended when Arcee's look of relief twisted to pain at seeing the telltale markings on his faceplate before morphing into defiance.
"So, how was the traffic, sweet?"
Lockdown responded on instinct, dragging her into his chestplates protectively.
"Sucked."
One stupid greeting and she lost her nerve, sending energon down her face. "I thought we were hallucinating, you actually came!"
"Of course."
"Uh…ARCEE?!"
Lockdown glared behind him until he realized it probably looked like he was hugging a shadow at best. He let her go. HotRod stayed where he was. Roadburn hadn't been quite right since the energon shop incident—something about reigniting old memories.
Mercifully, Arcee let him alone with a wink, bypassing Springer with a brief nod to clap Jazz on the back. "Someone wants to see you."
She then circled around and hopped onto his back, somehow avoiding the spikes.
~ Cee… ~
~ We've been fighting for joors and I wanna be close to you. ~ Her arms encircled his neckcables, helm positioned to better hear his pulse.
It just might be the last time…
He patted her thigh, ~ Fine. ~
"Good! Two lefts and a right. Oh yeah…" she tensed, "Prowl's different now."
A servo pulled at her left one. She allowed her tail to lift and curl around Jazz's helm like a warm embrace.
"H-how different?"
Their answer came when a door flew open, spilling a screaming, shrieking pile of metal until one went silent. A saurian extracted itself and raised its head, energon seeping from its jaws.
Arcee stiffened further, springing off his shoulders palms up, ~ Hey…calm down. ~ "He has memory lapses; it gets worse in beast mode. The same mode he wasn't supposed to access."
Prowl snapped at her and she growled back.
"I swear, if you bItE mE…"
"Then what?" he answered snidely.
It didn't sound like their Prowl. Those glyphs had all the corrupted edges of someone pushed to the brink.
"Then I'll have that triple-changer sit on you. Or Overhaul."
A rather large, now felid, stalked in, full of scratches. "He snapped again. It's worse than last time."
Jazz, in his infinite wisdom, decided to sit down in front of him, "Prowl?"
The saurian glared, "Who are you?"
Something inside Lockdown broke.
"I'm your best friend…" Jazz's voice started wavering.
Prowl leaned into his faceplates, "Don't do that. You'll draw attention to yourself."
Jazz teared up further.
"I said stop—" He was nanos away from biting Jazz's helm off. The Poly drew an unwilling bead in the center of Prowl's head.
The same head which Prowl slapped a paw to as if it were under attack by invisible scraplets, his murky left optic brightening.
Then he froze, maw twisting in horror.
Arcee growled, "Hold it. Don't!"
But Prowl did. He ran.
Amid the "That's Prowl?!" conversation that sprung up Arcee deflated finally sitting down to comfort Jazz, "'Haul?"
"I got him, little guy, with me."
HotRod followed reluctantly and Lockdown snarled. "Who did this?"
"Giant spider Preda, goes by Tarantulas." She held out a scrap of plating.
He expelled Flamewar, allowing time for the pup to catch a scent. "Sic him."
She tossed her head back letting out a tinny version of an elder steeljaw's howl and tore off.
They didn't bother waiting for the others. The steeljaw had gotten fast and Lockdown tailed her to a set of double doors that had Arcee slowing.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," she said too quickly, "Just not a fun place. We're going in, destroying all information and we're going to burn it to the ground..."
Before she could key in the code, the doors opened. A russet and black Dread with wolfish features emerged. The she-Dread met optics with Arcee.
Spade looked highly amused. "I told you, pack medic. Congratulations."
It took several shakes before Arcee registered Spade had gone, the lab was bare, and Tarantulas was nowhere to be found.
"The Dread took it?"
"Why do research when you can scalp someone else's?" She shrugged, returning to resting her weight on the adjacent wall.
Overhaul eventually came back with HotRod in tow. "Prowl's vanished."
Lockdown swore. Of course, he had, spark forbid the Praxian make anything easy even in an altered state of mind.
"We'll find him on the way out," he resolved.
And they did find him. Standing in the middle of the hallway before a Dread and a former experiment looking torn between following them through a ground bridge. Whatever snapped in his helm had knocked his hearing loose too. Prowl made no move as if he'd heard them calling him back.
Crankcase looked over their group and locked optics with him.
:: Your friend isn't well. ::
:: Yeah. Anything you can do? ::
:: We'll see. ::
In a flash, they vanished.
"WAIT!" Jazz lunged forward only to have Lockdown secure him.
"Stop it, he'll be fine."
He wrenched free just as the portal closed, furious at being denied the chance. "You're a monster."
The green mech canted his helm, "No kidding."
Jazz looked back at the others for help.
Arcee looked conflicted. The Autobots stayed clear of their spat. Overhaul had no idea what was going on and settled for watching for stray experiments.
So, he had one more chance to make things right.
"They know what they're doing. Jazz, he almost bit your helm off."
"Just leave," the Polyhexian hissed.
"You'll get him back—"
"I don't want to see you again. All yah have ever done is make things worse, you sociopathic freak. Go ruin someone else's life."
Lockdown's plating flattened. "Pleasure working with you all." He stalked off, shedding whatever remnants of the bond that were left. It shouldn't have been that easy.
Arcee was quick to follow him. "Crankcase bought you off?"
"It was the cost of this rescue. Save you two, but I go to work for him."
"NO, you won't."
"Would you rather the whole team be under Dread control? I don't want that."
Her voice broke, "Then go tell them that."
"They won't listen, besides its better they're mad. It'll make splitting easier."
A servo dug into his plating stopping him in his tracks. "I was hoping your face didn't mean what I thought it did. That was a scummy ultimatum."
"It worked."
"So, don't go."
"You're not being logical."
"Logic is for stick-afted Praxians and weird little assassins, both of which are never going to forgive you. And neither am I."
"I can put a patch on it. At least for you?" he knelt down to her level and cupped her face. "I love you."
Her scoff sounded more like a sniffle.
He didn't wait for confirmation, he kissed her.
It was a quick affair and he had a message to relay in the form of a tracker. That had been an ordeal hiding that in his mouth-workings, uncomfortable too. She flinched as he shoved it over.
~ I'll come find you, but if something happens, hunt me down. ~ He shoved three chips into her servo. ~ It's the split ship money. ~
She shot him a quizzical look through a cracked optic lid, ~ At a time like this. ~
~ Yes. Stay safe. I'll do what I can to make sure you all get off-planet. ~
He drew back with a pop.
Arcee had the expression of a wet flat-cat. "Be careful, it looks like my curse is rubbing off. Love you too." There was a soft whine and Arcee yanked Flamewar from the floor.
"Take the pup."
"She's the pack pet—"
"And you can't smell as well as the rest of us—she can. You hear that, Flame? Watch out for this idiot."
Flamewar snorted affirmative.
He cradled the squirming hound, "Bye."
She masked upset with annoyance, "Get out of here before I tie you up."
Another groundbridge opened up, proving he was being watched. He stepped into the other side.
~o~o~o~o~o~
Lockdown had left without a fight. Jazz almost hoped he'd put up more of an objection being kicked out of the same team he'd brought together.
The reality really set in when Arcee came back without him.
Springer finally said it. "So, where's Lockdown?"
"He left."
"He—"
She ignored the triple-changer. Instead choosing to hover in front of him and remove some stray coolant from beneath his visor. "I won't say it again. He left. I sent Flamewar with him. We keep moving."
Jazz looked back at the corner, half expecting the mech to come slinking around it. He kept his guard up in their ship's cargo bay as well. Waiting for Prowl to respond. Or Lockdown to appear. Neither ever did. The Wreckers were escorted back. Overhaul was separated from them. Their teams were repaired, but they weren't allowed to go outside the ship or leave Koa.
No one else came.
A cycle passed and he kept himself tucked away behind some crates. It was about the only privacy you could get in the mission designed shuttle.
He got an expected visit from Beryl. The heavy femme leaning over his hiding spot.
"How long are you going to sulk back here like a pouty sparkling?"
"'M not sulking."
Arcee slipped over his hiding crate with a hindered leap, frame still crisscrossed with welds just like—
"They're still working on him." She said simply.
"Why aren't they done yet."
"Because Prowl had his processors pulled out and patched along with his frame, now his systems are trying to reset."
She was just as matter of fact and straight forward as if she were relaying a tram route.
Jazz felt like screaming, "Why aren't you upset?!"
"Oh, I am. I'm mad enough to eliminate everyone on this ship, but I've had my release."
He finally noticed the bright, yellow tint of her optics.
"You ate someone?"
"You can hack a dead 'formers processors, but not if they're not there," she said cryptically," Better than revenge."
He nodded, spark getting an uncomfortable stab. "I wanna see Prowl."
"We can't get out to do that," the elder femme next to him reminded.
Beryl set a servo on his helm, gradually pulling him into her side. "Just accept you can't right now, bitlet."
"What if they put something back wrong?! What if he's still that other Prowl when they're done?"
"We just have to wait and hope."
"That wasn't him back there—and it looked like he came back, but he ran and Lockdown wouldn't let me go after him."
The EM backlash was enough to make the rest of the cargo bay shift uncomfortably.
"He always does stuff like this! Everything will be fine and he goes and does something awful!"
"Yes," Arcee put in quietly.
"Why are you agreeing?"
"Because even if someone is awful, there are some highlights. Yes, he's an aft but he helped bring us together. He helped get your brother back. Does that excuse the bad parts? No. Am I biased? Yes. You can't deny some part of you looks up to him and will miss him. I miss Spade sometimes…" she paused.
"Doesn't mean I'll go back anytime soon."
Jazz buried his helm in his arms, "Everything is wrong."
"It's never been right. But maybe this is good. You'll get time to sort it out."
~o~o~o~o~o~
Someone was touching him.
Prowl sat up too quickly, only to have his helm dragged back down by a servo toying with his processors.
"Down."
He let out a garbled whine.
"Stay," the mangled, grey Predacon ordered in just as broken Cy-Stan. "Are safe. I fix."
He hadn't been as in control as he'd thought when they'd started the riot. At the pressure of having to fight through another melee hit him, all that hard work maintaining himself went out the window as fight-or-flight took over.
He forgot.
He nearly killed Jazz.
He remembered running, embarrassed, terrified of what he'd nearly done.
Then his processors finally seized up, overwrought with having to overcome one block. He found somewhere to hide in a crowded room. The panic skyrocketed as a new 'former entered, his doorwings registering the spike in electricity along the floor. He scrambled on top of a filing cabinet.
Just in time too. A wave of static strong enough to burn his peds and grayed bodies were all that were left when he stood up.
The mangled mech from his feeding route stood in the doorway, offering him escape in broken Cy-Stan. He'd fixed him with the same desperate, needy stare and invited him down.
Whatever was left of his processor said it was a horrible idea; the mech was unstable. But he was as well, and the supposed Preda had saved him…
The rest blurred over with too many faces, tunnels, and sad bonds attempting to call him back. Now he was in a cell, systems opened and vulnerable to yet another 'former.
He was too numb to be scared.
"I am not being good Cybertron speak. I try. I am notice you. You help me—you help packmate Thresher—I help you. Trading favors. Little sister teaching about mind works. I want return for. You, field scum. Owing me."
That was about all he heard.
'Formers came and went. Someone finally took him away from the psychotic Preda and to a real medic.
The next clear memory came a mega-cycle later in the form of a cheery Dread in medical colors.
"You're being released, youngling."
"But you weren't allowed to live after seeing the Dread?" He began checking that all his belongings were still on his person.
The braided medic seemed pleased he was aware of his surroundings. He affixed a black tinted medical visor over his optics. "You have the privilege of being one of our insiders. Stay quiet, hmm? I was told to say, your spiky friend offered payment. We'll be in touch. You are free to go to your ship."
Free.
He mulled over that word as he passed different builds through different sectors and a ground bridge, beckoned onward by another Dread charged with getting him back.
He never truly had been free, had he? If he wasn't bound to a caste, it was to the whims of an overly ambitious crew, or a faction and all the abuse those entailed. Maybe it was time to break away.
Lockdown had the right idea all along. As long as they were here, around others of their kind, there would be no freedom. At least there was kinship among his team.
His tanks soured as he watched Tarantulas be led off to a transport. Still alive, still unpunished, still alert enough to give him a wave of his mandibles in greeting…
The time for being passive was over.
Now if he could just muster the strength to board the shuttle…
"Prowl!" Overhaul beamed as he stopped beside him, shadowed by his own Dread. He seemed in a great mood…
"I'm leaving too."
"Back to the Decepticons?"
He looked away, suddenly ashamed, "Nah. They've changed. I figure 'dying' during Uraya was the best way out. I renamed myself, I'm Leobreaker now."
"Sounds nice. Fitting."
"Yeah. I'm going somewhere else…somewhere for beast-modes, not vehicles. I asked Arcee if she wanted to come. She threw a chair at me. I guess your answer is the same?"
"Jazz and Lockdown wouldn't be able to come. I won't abandon my team."
Leobreaker suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable. "Bad question, I guess I'm learning Predus by myself, then! This is probably bye, kid. Take care of yourself. Your friends are waiting."
He swung back around; cheery smile hindered. "If you see a mech named Ironhide, tell him I went out like a soldier. Doesn't have to be specific."
"Sure."
Prowl kept his helm raised as he boarded, not bothering to acknowledge the sparse Autobots around him. He might have still worn the badge, but any scrap of allegiance had dissolved to a feint.
Jazz met him at the very back of the cargo hold, where the younglings seemed to have staked claim. His frame leaked excitement but he didn't budge. Everyone else seemed to be in a similar state of "lets-wait-and-see-if-he's-sane".
The quiet ate at his peace of mind.
Prowl awkwardly began filling it with words. "I realize I was not at my best during the raid, my apologies. I was hoping we could begin again. It is good to see you all—"
Jazz plowed into him, bond flooded with joy, "So you're really back?!"
"Yes, I think so."
Jazz squeezed him tighter and Arcee joined in. He couldn't help but feel something was missing. Someone was missing…
"So…where's Lockdown?"
Jazz's mood chilled.
Springer found something to do elsewhere, derma pressed into a firm line.
Arcee directed her attention to HotRod, the two seeming to argue over comms before he too left.
"He's not coming. He traded himself for our rescue."
Prowl's wings shot up, so that's what the medic had meant.
"Without consulting us?"
"It doesn't matter, he's gone, good riddance," Jazz spat.
Prowl reached out over bond to find nothing. Not even a block…
He dug through a crate to find a blaster with a reflective enough surface, still startling himself with his different, gold, optic color. He'd kept his left is left optic shut, afraid of what he'd find.
When he finally did, the murk of terminated bonds still hadn't cleared, leaving his optic with a damaged, dead look. The only bright colors that remained were a shock of blue of Jazz's, yellow of Arcee… but no red.
Lockdown had removed himself completely.
How had he not felt that?
Right… he was bond illiterate, now he was just numb to them completely. A proper monster.
He only realized Jazz was stifling—some range of emotion when he looked up. Arcee had filled him in.
"What did they do to you?"
Prowl shrugged it off with minor trembling. "Tarantulas pulled my optic out and majority of my internals and—" Belatedly he realized Jazz didn't mean it literally.
He rubbed at something leaking from his optics. Thankfully, it was coolant.
"I'm not fine at all, really."
That came out wrong.
"I'm doing really badly."
Definitely a Froidian slip. He gave up attempting to lie.
"Is it so much to ask that simply living not cause a tremendous amount pain and suffering?"
Something was making a high-pitched whine. It was irritating. Similar to the burning in the back of his throat.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd clicked out loud. He'd must have been really small. Normally, he'd have been told to shut up or had a more physical reminder to keep quiet. What was in his chassis sounded like an ugly death rattle.
Everything hurt inside from the inside out and what was inside was threatening to drown him.
Jazz coddled him, a reverse of his own breakdown what seemed like vorns ago. "You hold onto things too much." He kept him pressed into his shoulder.
"I knew he was in pain but—" Arcee carefully attempted to keep his doorwings from shaking to pieces.
~ You couldn't have helped if you tried. Tarantulas. He's still out there too. ~
"I don't wanna hear any more about him… You've got calm down or you'll fritz your coding out."
"Let him," Jazz said quietly, "He's tired."
She settled a servo on Jazz's helm, keeping them in a tight knot.
"Prowl, I can't fix anything right away but would you like one of my visors?"
"What good will that do?"
~ Hide a bad memory? ~
Within a joor, Jazz carefully revamped one of his replacements, with the aid of a blade and Arcee's claws at one point. "There. Not so close we look like we're copying, you've got your own style."
Prowl fit it on over his overwarm optics. "It's not fair, you're always doing things to make me feel better. I wish I could do the same."
Jazz's grip on his wrist tightened, like he was convinced he'd vanish.
"You already are. Just don't leave me behind, okay?"
Google: Walking With Dinosaurs Postosuchus, that's Prowl's alt. A giant-sized, robot, reptile, crocodile dog. Somehow it fits.
