Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.
Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an A.U. 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.
XxxX
Full Velocity: Finding Salvation
Chapter 23: Purgatory
XxxX.
To Bumblebee, Optimus Prime epitomized strength, dignity, and courage. He exhibited only a stoic grace while the world around him crumbled into ruin. Among the shadows of a defunct human facility, the scout realized the weight of this endless war and the toll it took on his leader and idol.
Optimus knelt, his hands cupped before him. Sira's body, broken and cold, cradled in the Prime's palms. Bumblebee ignored the delicate body; no one could help her now.
Defeat tinted the air around the Prime and sagged his armor. His focus turned inward; Optimus ignored Bumblebee's presence.
Clicking and chirping, the scout tried to get his mentor's attention. When that did not work, the younger mech laid a hand on the Prime's arm and pulled. The large mech slowly turned towards him, optics dim and unfocused.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. Bee continued to pull on the Prime's arm. "Go. We need to go."
The Prime slowly focused on him. Without warning, Optimus shifted and wrapped an arm around the younger mech and pulled him close. The hand holding Sira wrapped tightly, protecting the body. The blue helm rested against a bright yellow shoulder.
Bumblebee wrapped both arms around his leader. It had been vorns since they had held each other. Bee could still remember curling in those massive arms and hiding his face while Optimus petted and cooed to him. Keeping the demons of war at bay for a few moments. Now, the young 'Bot held and protected his friend and leader.
XxxX
She curled tighter, wrapping herself into the smallest form possible. She did not like this Nothing Place where she could not see darkness or light. Nothing existed but her, or she thought. A presence shared this Nothing Place with her; it existed above, below, and all around. She could not escape the Presence; the Nothing Place was its domain, and it was the Nothing Place. The Presence frightened her, and she wanted to get away from it and away from here.
The Presence swirled around her, infinite and curious; it pressed against her. She growled a warning, and it backed away. She knew the Presence did not fear her; it reeked of ageless power and timeless knowledge; it made her ache. The Presence existed before the galaxies began to spin, a thing from the birth of the universe. She knew because it told her so, not with words, but thoughts whispered deep in her mind. She should be insignificant to the Presence, an ant to a god, but it had taken an interest in her.
She wanted to leave; she did not belong here. The Presence would not let her; it wrapped itself around her and kept her.
The Presence spoke to her with a voice made of a multitude. The voice terrified her; she didn't want to be part of the multitude. She growled louder, telling the Presence to leave her alone. It ignored her.
"How did you come here?" the many voices asked
She tried to remember, but only the ghostly sensations of pain came to her. The pain had overwhelmed her, and the trusted one called her here to keep her safe.
"Who was this trusted one?"
She struggled to name him. In her mind, he towered over her, red and blue flames shining in the light. The first person she called a friend. He would hold and protect her as he had before.
"He is known to us. He is one of us." The Presence told her. "But we do not know you."
How could her friend be one of the Presence in this Nothing Place? If he was here, why did he not come for her? Alone and scared, she tried to curl tighter.
The Presence pressed closer.
XxxX
Optimus lay on the cold floor; it helped lower his core temperature. Cycling rapidly, he pulled air over his vents, forcing a convection cycle to cool his mechanics before he damaged seals and gaskets. He stressed his systems from delving so quickly into the Matrix. Normally, it took time to prepare for communion with the relic, but time was a luxury he didn't always have.
Only vague images remained from the Matrix filling his consciousness. He did not recall returning to the base or anything that occurred until he collapsed on the floor. Fortunately, Ratchet had experience caring for him and the condition the Matrix often created. Currently, the medic ignored him and focused on someone else. To Optimus, this either meant he would survive without medical attention, or he was too far gone to waste time fussing over. At the moment, he accepted either option.
From his vantage point on the floor of the med bay, Optimus watched Ratchet and Wheeljack working feverishly to stabilize the protoform on the table. Worry and guilt seeped into the Prime like the coldness from the floor. He questioned his decision. Should he have intervened? Had he caused her more suffering? He had lost so many over the millennia; he couldn't stand to lose another. He acted out of selfishness and hoped she could understand.
Shadows blurred the edges of his vision as he struggled to stay online. Systems began to power down as his programs forced him into recharge. Throwing an arm over his facial plates, he let it. Sinking into recharge, he listened to Ratchet and Wheeljack direct each other to save Sira.
XxxX
He fragging hurt. His optics felt like someone poured crushed glass in them while every joint and gear ached. Returning to recharge tempted him, but he could not give in. First, he needed to check on someone else. With stiff movements, he pulled himself off the floor of medical.
The med bay lighting was dimmed, casting deep shadows, and easing the discomfort on his optics. On the other side of the room, a smaller protoform lay in the half-light. Numerous tubes and wires snaked out of her chest and up to various monitors and machines. Optimus just stared. Guilt, worry, fear, and a dozen other emotions washed over him like a wave. Could she survive the transition at all? Would she be the same, or would she be irreparably scarred, her mind and soul shattered? Would she hate him? Questions and second-guesses spun through his processor, spiraling him downward.
Cautiously, the Prime moved towards the supine figure. His optics searching for wires or tubes his mass could bump or dislodge.
Standing next to her, the need to touch the still figure pulled at him. Hesitantly, he reached forward, laying his fingers on her thin forearm. His sensors detected the faint electrical field of life.
An irritated "Humph" yanked Prime's hand away from the protoform. Ratchet stood nearby, his arms crossed over his chest and his feet firmly planted. The narrowed optics would make a lesser mech duck for cover, but the Autobot commander drew himself up to his full height and calmly met the medic's challenge.
The green 'Bot did not change his stance or glare when he motioned for Optimus to sit on the empty examining table.
Optimus sat and asked, "How is she?" The lights around them brightened to more normal levels.
"Had you not taken a ten-cycle nap, you would know. We had a Pit of a time trying to keep her alive. But she is stable. Her pump is functioning on its own, and the modified spark chamber is performing better than hoped." The medic began checking Optimus's vitals. "Well, amazingly, your systems are well within normal parameters. Physically speaking, the only thing wrong with you is fatigue."
Ignoring the dig, Optimus moved to slip off the table only to have Ratchet forcibly shove him back down.
Anger radiated from the medic. Blue optics had lost their normal gentleness. "What in the name of Primus were you thinking? Don't answer that! Don't say a slagging thing until I am through. We agreed not to attempt a transfer unless it was in a controlled environment. The middle of a human-rust-farm is not a controlled environment. Any place recently evacuated by a Pit-spawned Decepticon is not a controlled environment. As far as I know, this has never been attempted with an organic.
"And you stored her soul in the Matrix. What the slag? You had no way of knowing what would happen. You could have burned out your circuits. Or worse! Did that thought even make it into your processor? The next time you decide to pull such an asinine, idiotic, selfish, glitch-headed stunt, think about the rest of us and where we would be without our Prime. With you gone, there would be truly nothing left of Cybertron. Sometimes I think we have been gone from home so long that you forget you are supposed to be Optimus Prime, and not just Orion Pax."
Optimus did not try to argue or justify his actions. He met his ancient friend optic-to-optic and interrupted the medic's tirade. "I will never forget that I am Prime. I will never forget my duty to all of those under me. You can be mad at me all you want, for I have never expected you to agree with or understand all of my actions, but you do not accuse me of ignoring my responsibilities." The words carried icy calmness; a warning not to push any further
Staring at the inert protoform, the Prime continued, "Had there been another option available, I would have chosen it."
The CMO huffed but did not continue the rebuke. After an astrosecond and in a softer tone, Ratchet asked, "Would you like to see her?"
Standing, Optimus walked to the femme.
He took his time observing her. His team had done an extraordinary job constructing the protoform. If he had to choose one word to describe her, it would be "delicate," but looks could be deceiving. She was small, slightly shorter than Bumblebee, and without near the mass. The overall shape appeared fluid and graceful, lacking the sharp angles of a typical Cybertronian. But her coloration set her apart. Brilliant copper shimmered in the lights instead of the metallic grays of most protoforms. A subtle pattern decorated the metal's surface. Nearly invisible unless the light reflected off it at the correct angle. Intricate swirls and loops decorated her chest, arms, and hips. Tracing his finger along her arm, he followed the design, it reminded him of vines or briars, something organic and botanical in nature. And after she assumed a planetary mode, the pattern would be hidden from most, and instead, would peek teasingly through the seams in her armor.
"You can blame Sunstreaker for that. He called it filigree and argued that the protoforms, while Cybertronian in design, needed markings to set them apart. Something to designate them as Terrestrial."
The Autobot leader raised a brow arch. "Sunny said that?" as he ran one of his fingers over a tiny, copper hand.
Ratchet shrugged. "No. I am paraphrasing, but that was the jest of his argument. Each form has a different pattern. But don't be too impressed; most of his contribution consisted of walking in, criticizing, and leaving. Though, he did make some valid points from time to time. I have now concluded that the Twins are wasting two very sharp processors on criminal misconduct, video games, and general laziness."
Optimus offered the medic a small smile. "I have thought that for vorns." More seriously, he added, "Does she have a chance, or are we wasting time and resources?"
"It is too early to tell. Every hour she is a little stronger – more stable. Honestly, I just don't know. Give this a couple of days before we start discussing the alternative. Optimus, I promise Wheeljack and I will do everything in our power to make this work." The medic turned away to check on readouts, giving Optimus the illusion of privacy.
Closing his optic shutters, Optimus buried the powerful emotions squeezing his spark. The medic's words meant everything to the stoic Autobot commander.
XxxX.
"Thank you, sir. I understand."
Simmons snapped the phone shut and stood looking out of his apartment window. His world just became a lot less interesting. Turning to the galley kitchen, he rummaged around until he found a reasonably clean tumbler and the bottle of thirty-year-old Scotch he had stashed.
Taking both, he headed to his favorite recliner, the only thing that survived all three divorces. After filling the glass with the amber liquid, he sat the bottle on the side table and turned out the lamp. Staring out the window, the Brooklyn lights glowed, hiding the night with their brilliance.
Simmons considered calling Optimus and offering his condolences. A sip of the single malt, and he decided against it; everyone would take it the wrong way. He doubted sending flowers would be appropriate either. No one would catch the joke hidden in a bouquet of snapdragons, tiger lilies, and pussy willows.
Taking another sip, he thought about the bitchy, petite redhead. She made dropping in on the Autobots fun. Sira happily traded insults, a verbal sparring partner. Oddly, she actually tolerated his company. So much so, he considered asking her to dinner before common sense grabbed hold of him. He was glad he got to know her as a person and not an oddity to be classified and studied.
Now she was gone. Another casualty of the Decepticons.
He considered going to the Autobot base, but he knew that Prime would have it locked down tight. Circling the wagons, so to speak.
A questioning mew near his feet broke the silence of the apartment. A half-grown grey kitten jumped into Simmons's lap. He scratched the feline on top of her head, listening to her purr graciously.
"What's up, cat?"
His new housemate didn't answer; instead, she curled up in his lap. They stayed like this for the rest of the evening.
XxxX.
Prime sat in his office, trying to decide if he had done the right thing, chosen the right course, said the right words. He walked the vast expanse of grey between white and black, right and wrong.
Notifying Secretary Keller of Sira's death didn't bother Prime - much. According to human laws, death was declared when the heart stopped functioning. He lied; Sira had not died, only her body. Her consciousness inhabited a new body. While a perfectly acceptable, if extreme practice among Cybertronians, it was unfathomable to most humans, who still argued about the existence of their souls.
He did not want the government to know about the transference. Human greed unsettled him. He feared what could happen if the powerful elite thought they could live forever.
Also, he had yet to mention the appearance of a femme among their ranks. He was not under any obligation to report a new Cybertronian the second it arrived, and excuses could be made since she required medical care. If she survived, he hoped the humans would just assume Sira was another Cybertronian refugee and treat her as such.
Primus, he relied on hopes and wishes. He had to twist the truth and hide behind falsehoods.
He despised walking through these shades of grey, for they were miry and threatened to trap him, forcing him to compromise his ideals. He stepped carefully, knowing he acted for the greater good.
XxxX
Author's Notes: No updates next week. I will be out of town visiting family, and I doubt they want to watch me write fanfiction.
d8rkforcen1ght7: You are correct. I changed a lot in that chapter. Like I said before, trying to get everything aligned for a possible future fic. Oh yes, we are moving towards the fun stuff. ^^
TomRiddlesTwin: Thank you. I am happy to see comments in my inbox.
To everyone else, thank you for reading, faving, and following.