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 AU 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 32: Velocity
XxxX
From his side-view mirror, Simmons watched a golden Lamborghini race towards him. Traveling insanely fast, the supercar rapidly closed the distance between them. A trickle of apprehension crawled up his spine as sweat beaded around his collar. Tapping the steering wheel with his fingertips, Simmons mused that Prime had never sent an escort before. For all his bluster and devil-may-care attitude, Simmons understood he dealt with aliens. Very large, heavily armed aliens that could squash him into a pulpy mess without exerting any effort.
Big aliens with alien thoughts and alien agendas.
The members of Prime's entourage each had a role, a position, even if they appeared randomly assembled. The Lamborghinis were the attack dogs, and Simmons had a strong suspicion only Optimus held their leashes. The yellow one showed open hostility to all of existence while his red counterpart always smiled and joked. Their dossiers said "warrior" for occupation/function, and the data raised a few eyebrows in DC. Even Ironhide's profile offered a string of titles: Weapons Specialist, Warrior, Advisor, Bodyguard, Keeper to the Prime, Instructor, and Architect. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe only had the assignment of warrior, and warrior translated to soldier, fighter, and trained killer. These two had no other functions other than to kill.
"Big aliens with big alien agendas," the special agent said to himself. The aliens may be allies of the United States, but allies frequently had their own goals when they made alliances, and he wanted to make sure the aliens' goals did not involve global domination.
The yellow Lamborghini ominously followed him but made no overtly threatening gestures. Just followed, like a well-trained dog waiting to hear the command, "Attack."
Yet the command never came, and Simmons quickly arrived at the old airport. He found all but the red Lambo out to greet him, probably still recovering from injuries. More weirdness to arouse his suspicions. Typically, one or three Autobots would be absent: on patrol, in recharge, in medical, taking the teen lovebirds on a date, but rarely standing together around their leader.
"Big aliens with big alien agendas," the agent repeated to himself as he pulled his government-issued vehicle next to the airplane hangar. If he had to guess, Simmons would say he interrupted a mobilization, everyone preparing to go somewhere to do something.
Stepping out of the black SUV, Simmons viewed the scene before him. The sleek Italian sports car transformed into an exceedingly annoyed robot and stomped into the hanger. The green medic and the weird scientist picked up a pile of those PDAs the 'Bots used. The little, piss-yellow bastard stood with the weapons nut and the girlbot. The newcomer resembled the others now; a car that stood up, but more feminine, with softer lines. As he scrutinized her, the brightly colored girlbot slipped out of sight behind Ironhide.
"You don't like attention, so what are you hiding sweetheart?" the agent thought to himself. Images of chubby baby robots flittered across his mind. The ridiculousness of it almost made him laugh; alien robots don't have babies. Do they?
Stuffing that last thought away, Simmons turned his attention to the Big Guy. The red and blue flame-painted mech stood apart from the others, his hands on his hips.
"I am hurt. You were having a party, and I wasn't invited," sarcasm dripped from his words.
The Autobot commander did not kneel when he addressed Simmons. "We were running training simulations. What is your reason for coming today? I thought you were heading back to Washington." Prime's voice, while commanding, did not hold any notes of hostility.
"I need a few questions answered - now. Also, it's hotter than Hell out here, and you guys might not notice the temperature difference, but it is August, and this is the desert, and I am sweating like a whore in church. Let's go inside." Getting away from the heat offered an excellent excuse to make sure only sanctioned activities occurred below. The government quickly figured out to limit what the batshit-bonkers scientist could and could not have for "experiments." At two in the morning, the wacko called a top-ranking General, wanting to know where he could procure weapons-grade plutonium.
Simmons followed Prime into the hanger. It looked a little more inviting since the military had repaired the windows, patched the holes, and hung a new door. The fresh coat of silver aluminum paint almost made the shit hole look decent. Perhaps, one could make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Maybe not silk.
XxxX.
Simmons stood on the balcony ledge in the conference room. The space had changed since his last visit. The railing that kept people from falling to – well, not their death, but to several broken bones – had been removed, and rather violently from the look of things. A quick scan of the massive room did not solve the mystery of the missing railing, but he noted holes in the walls. Other changes decorated the room. Two new flags draped long poles on either side of the doorway. One Simmons recognized as Old Glory, the Stars and Stripes, but the other he had never seen before. When asked about it, Optimus unfurled the enormous cloth to display a white Autobot mask on a pure red field.
"Huh. So, what did happen here?" the agent queried, looking about the conference room.
"Redecorating," came the curt reply.
"All right, let's cut the crap, Optimus. I know you are up to something, and I have a feeling it's to do with the girlbot. You told us that your species doesn't have sexes, then, all of a sudden, a female shows up. I have asked for information on her, and you haven't sent a thing. I suggest you start answering some questions, or your actions may be interpreted as suspicious, threatening." A stretch of the truth, but Simmons would happily lie to get answers.
The Autobot sighed and rubbed his face, a sign of frustration. Simmons wondered if Optimus had always used the gesture or picked it up from watching people. Either way, it showed Simmons he had a slight advantage. Annoy, irritate, frustrate, anger, chip away at the shell of self-control and expose what lay beneath, a tactic he used well.
Prime took several seconds before speaking. "I did not falsify any information when I told you we do not have sexes as you think of them. She is not a true female; she is a femme. Femmes are a subgroup of Cybertronians, as Caucasians are a subgroup of humans. What I am going to tell you is - delicate information. We do not like discussing certain aspects of the war."
"Delicate information? I only deal in delicate information. So, don't worry, this isn't going on my blog or anything," Simmons snapped; he pulled a chair out and sat in it backward.
Prime continued in a voice heavy from sorrow and regret. "The femmes were always a small but fierce group. When the war erupted, they allied with the Autobots and fought side by side with us. The Decepticons went out of their way to rid Cybertron of the femmes and were merciless in the eradication. Only one known femme remained by the time my crew and I left to search for the Allspark. I have since heard rumors she was deactivated in battle. We are hoping there are a few left in hiding, but even that is a slim hope. The 'girlbot', as you call her, is not able to defend herself yet." The word girlbot held raw disdain, and Simmons knew he had insulted Prime. Time to nix using the term.
The mech continued, "I wanted to postpone sharing information about her until she had her feet under her, to use the human phrase. The Decepticons would love nothing more than to find a defenseless femme among our ranks."
Simmons let the alien's words sink in. "You are talking about genocide. The Decepticons committed genocide against the femmes, and now you have one here." The man whistled a single note; this was more complicated than he initially suspected.
Optimus solemnly nodded his great head.
"So how likely is it that we are going to have baby robots running round in a couple of years?"
Prime's face shaped itself into an intimidating frown. The Autobot leaned forward until barely a foot separated them. "The chances of a bonded pair producing a sparkling are one in several million. The involvement of a femme does not increase those odds. The Allspark served as our primary means of reproduction, and it was destroyed. We do not expect ever to see another sparkling. These are painful subjects for us, and I will only warn you once, Agent Simmons. If you insist upon making snide remarks along those lines, I cannot be held responsible for the actions of the offended."
Simmons did not move. Fear did not freeze him; realization did. Minds in Washington had speculated about the reproduction and population replacement rates of the NBEs, but the aliens had remained doggedly quiet on the subject. Now he knew these were the last of their kind. There might be several thousand of them floating around the cosmos, but eventually, attrition would take its toll, and they would be extinct. He would consider the weight of that revelation later.
"So, what do you call the femme? She has to have a name." Simmons asked, trying to move the subject to something less depressing.
For a brief moment, confusion flickered over the mech's face before he responded. "Velocity. Her name is Velocity."
XxxX.
The crimson and copper femme stood before him and politely answered his questions. She allowed him to take digital photos of her. She came across as shy and demure, but Simmons couldn't shake the feeling that she would commit mass murder before the day ended. It had to be something in the way she stood, totally relaxed with a Mona Lisa smile on her face and vengeance in her optics. His second wife often had a similar countenance when he returned home two or three weeks late from work. Optimus said Cybertronians did not have sexes, but Simmons bet they had genders. A pissed-off female was a pissed-off female, no matter the species. And what stood before him was a royally pissed-off female.
Simmons used two fingers to type the information Velocity, and Optimus gave him into his laptop. The data was pretty basic, more general Identification than anything else: height, approximate weight, function, rank, armaments, color, distinguishing markings. Her alternate form surprised him. "A Saturn. You chose a Saturn, not a Porsche or a Maserati or something flashy?"
Velocity raised a brow arch at him. "What's wrong with a Saturn? It's nice, it fits, and I thought the idea was to blend in."
Completing the report, he told the femme she could leave. With a curt nod, she slipped out of the room, and Prime followed her, a few steps behind. Simmons chuckled, knowing somewhere on the base those two were about to have a screaming knockdown drag-out-fight. He saw it in the way she glared at the Autobot leader. Looking around the room, Simmons wondered if something similar had happened in here.
Taking an SD card from his pocket, Simmons slipped it into the computer and transferred the data on Velocity before he wiped the computer's memory. He would tell Keller and Banachek what he knew, but filing the information on the femme could wait; he saw no harm in giving the new NBE a couple of weeks to get "on her feet."
XxxX.
Slag it!
He had seen the look of animosity cross her face the moment Simmons greeted her as "Velocity." With the agent standing there, he could not say a fragging thing and explain why? The longer the interview continued, the madder she became. Mad enough that she hid it under a veneer of calm pleasantness, but hot anger rolled off of her in a continuous torrent. He had to defuse the situation before she found an unwitting target.
Optimus followed four strides behind her when the femme turned down one of the newer corridors. This action did not surprise him; she always sought solitude when upset. As he turned the corner, she lay waiting for him. Sharp claws raked painfully across his side and down his abdominal plating. Had they been closer in size, her attack would have ripped his facial plates.
Prime grabbed the femme by the wrist and used his mass to push her against the wall. Capturing the other hand, he pinned her arms above her head and leaned his weight against her, effectively pinning her. A quick kick sideways spread her legs enough to keep her off balance so she couldn't kick at him.
"You will not attack me!" he roared in her face.
Sira growled back; straining against him, she twisted and pulled, gears whining in protest as she tried to free herself. He struggled to keep ahold of the smaller femme without harming her. Her optics blazed with unbridled fury. The violence in those green depths sent a chill up Prime's spinal column. He did not want to maim or offline her, but he would not have any choice if she called on her powers.
Optimus pulled Sira away from the wall, only to slam her against it, cracking the facade. "Stop this!" he yelled.
Gasping, Sira stilled, but her optics radiated hate. Her lip plates pulled back into the snarling gesture of a fanged beast.
"What is wrong with you?" he continued in a softer tone.
It took the femme several seconds to find her vocals. "What's wrong? What's wrong? You named me, you pompous fucking asshole!" she screamed at him and began to struggle again.
"I had no choice," Optimus pleaded. "Simmons asked your name and would have become even more suspicious if I told him you didn't have one."
"Oh? You never thought this was going to come up? I had. I had already thought of several names to use. But you never asked." Sira twisted against his grip. "You just chose something without giving it any thought. Without giving me any thought." She bit the harsh accusations at him.
Prime wanted to release her, afraid his tight grip already damaged her armor, but he did not want her to escape and attack him again. Instead, he shifted his weight, ensuring she could not free herself. "I wanted to discuss this," Optimus began, "but Simmons beat me to it. I did not randomly choose the name. I thought of every femme I have known, her name, and what it meant. I originally chose Quickfire but discarded it." He softened his tone as he spoke.
"Quickfire?" Sira snapped, "That sounds like a bag of charcoal briquettes,"
Cycling his vents, Optimus could feel the femme systematically testing his hold. He took that as a good sign, a sign the blind rage subsided enough for her to think, subsided enough to rationalize with her. But he would not let her go until he believed she would not retaliate. "This anger is not about just your name. Please, Sira, talk to me," he pleaded with her, whispering the words to force her to focus.
"Don't call me Sira! The name is Velocity. Remember, Sira died at the hands of a Decepticon." She pulled her arms, still trying to slip free of him. " You made me into this and then had the gall to name me! I am not your experiment!" she hissed.
"No, you are not, and I never thought of you as such. Circumstances have forced me to make decisions for you without any input from you. For that, I am sorry. If you must hate me, fine, but I am your superior officer, your Prime, and you will not spend the rest of our lives taking it out on me."
Sira stopped struggling, but tension kept her frame stiff, and pain shadowed her optics. " I have been 'Sira' my entire life. That word, that name defined who I was. Now, I am Velocity, and I don't know who that is. One of the last things I had left, and now that is dead too."
Her words scored his spark. "Sira, you are not dead." he tried to reason with her.
"I might as well be. I am not who I was. If I live for a couple of million years, will I ever remember being Sira, or will I only remember being Velocity?" Fear warbled in her vocals. Sira broke, her helm dropped, and she sagged against him.
Optimus released the femme and wrapped his arms around her. "Oh, Sira," he whispered. "I wish I could say you would always remember your life as a woman. I cannot remember the earliest days of my life. Sometimes, old files, old memories become corrupted and must be purged."
"I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm terrified of the future. For once in my life, I'm afraid I'll be alone. Before, alone wasn't so bad; I knew who I was and how to handle things. Now, I have no idea who I am, and just getting from day to day is a challenge."
"You won't be alone. Someone will always be there for you. I promise," and he meant it.
Slender arms slipped around him and squeezed.
XxxX
Authors Notes: Thank you for reading and enjoying.