CLANG
Optimus roused from a fitful slumber, his joints aching from being held immobile for so long. He onlined his optics, rebooting them a few times to better focus them… and immediately wished he hadn't. So long as he kept them shuttered he could forget that he was cuffed and gagged, trapped in a cell across from his worst enemy. A worst enemy that he happened to share spark programming with, even…
Boisterous laughter filled the air as a cluster of guards strode down the aisle between the two rows of cells, hauling a large but lean mech back to his cell. With a shock Optimus recognized the mech - Shockwave, Megatron's spy who had infiltrated the Autobots in the guise of Longarm Prime, framed Waspinator for his own crimes, and attempted to assassinate Ultra Magnus himself. But now, much like Optimus and Megatron, his wrists were bound in stasis cuffs, and a vocalizer restraint had been bolted to the lower half of his eerie not-quite-a-face.
The restraints and the cyclopic face weren't what made his spark drop into his tanks, though. The deep dents and cracks in his armor, and the trail of leaking oil and energon left in his wake as he was dragged across the floor, were responsible for that. Fluids seeped from various fissures in his plating, his optic was a shattered starburst of red, and both his antler-like headprongs had been bent and twisted, one until it had snapped off completely.
Bumblebee and Bulkhead didn't leave him in THAT bad of shape when they caught him. This had to happen after we took him into custody. But… surely not… surely this is from a fight with another prisoner, not the guards...
"Ya know, I thought the ol' double-agent would be tougher than this," one guard noted as they flung Shockwave back into his cell. "But he went down faster than a Starscream clone. Even Swindle was tougher."
"Felt good, though," another gloated. "Teach these mechs to try to start the war all over again."
Optimus wanted to be sick. It wasn't just Megatron who'd been roughed up in prison - other Decepticons were obviously being abused. And it couldn't even be justified as using excessive force to keep a prisoner from escaping - it was brutality, plain and simple, for the sole purpose of allowing the guards to blow off steam at their prisoners' expense.
But these are Autobots! We're better than this! Why are they doing this to a prisoner who can't even fight back?
His optics met Megatron's, and though he couldn't speak he was sure his optics were desperately questioning him, demanding an answer. Megatron gave a slight shake of his head - either he knew as little as Optimus did, or he was warning him not to pursue the matter. Not that he could do much investigation from inside a cell anyhow.
"Optimus Prime?"
His attention turned to the guard who had stopped before the transparent door to his cell - a blue-and-orange mech with a strangely sphinx-like helm and a chunky truck alt mode. Recognition hit like the Magnus' hammer, and his spark lurched with an emotion he couldn't quite identify yet.
Dion? He hadn't seen his fellow cadet since he'd been expelled from the academy. They hadn't been close friends like he and Sentinel had been at one point, but they had been good-natured rivals for a time, and Dion had even gone as far as to throw him a clandestine goodbye party before he had left to join the space bridge crew that would become his team. The last time he'd seen his old classmate, he'd assured him that he'd be a member of the Elite Guard when Optimus returned to Cybertron.
Some small part of him was glad to see he had gone on to fulfill his dream… while the rest of him despaired that he had chosen to participate in this cruelty against the prisoners under his care. Dion had been a scrappy mech, prone to resolving arguments with his fist, but he hadn't been sadistic…
"Well, well, well," Dion noted with a grin, looking Optimus up and down. "You know, Optimus, you never could bluff well when we played cards back in the academy, but it looks like you could lie pretty well when it counted. Somehow you managed to keep a lid on you being the spawn of Megatron for YEARS. I'm impressed."
It took all his strength to shake his head a tiny amount in reply. Why did everyone assume he'd known this all along? Didn't they realize this was as terrible a shock for him as it was for the rest of the Autobots?
"To think the star student, the teacher's pet, was a Decepticon all along," Dion went on. "I knew you were too perfect, too much of a goody two-pedes, to be completely on the up and up. Now that you're not fooling anyone, though, it's time for some payback." He lifted one hand and pounded his knuckles into his palm. "I've been itching to do this for a LONG time, golden-boy."
His tanks clenched. So their rivalry hadn't been as friendly as he thought. But surely he wouldn't stoop so low as to...
"Torque, Jumpstart, Roadblock! How about we give the Hero of Cybertron the ol' welcome to the max-security wing?"
Evidently he would. He strained at his bonds as much as his cuffs would allow, but he only managed a pathetic shiver as Dion opened his cell and motioned for his comrades to haul Optimus out.
As they dragged him out of the cell block, his optics met Megatron's for a brief moment. The silver mech's optics burned with impotent fury, and his entire frame trembled as he watched the guards carry him away. His fingers raised, as if to frantically tap out a code, but Optimus was pulled out of the room before he could catch it.
Some part of him still believed this was all a misunderstanding, that his fellow Autobots were above torturing anyone, be it a Decepticon or one of their own. He still clung to that belief even as he was hauled into an interrogation room. It wasn't until the first blow landed, cracking across his face with enough force to knock his jaw joint out of socket, that his conviction was shattered.
Sentinel walked into the viewing area that looked in on one of the Kalis Correctional Facility's interrogation rooms to find Ultra Magnus standing before the window, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed on the proceedings. The microphones in said room were turned off, but the muffled thuds of fists on metal could still be heard through the one-way transparisteel. Some prisoner or another was getting worked over rather well - either in an attempt to fish out information about other Decepticon cells, or simply for no other reason other than the guards had the power and the inclination to torment someone.
Sentinel couldn't suppress a wince. He told himself that whoever was on the receiving end of that beatdown was most likely a Decepticon who deserved it… but some small part of him wasn't entirely convinced.
"You sent for me, Magnus?" he asked, pointedly keeping his gaze on the Autobot leader and not trying to catch a glimpse of the unlucky prisoner.
Magnus nodded without turning to look at him, gazing into the interrogation room with a detached expression. "You're to be congratulated for helping us root out a potential traitor in our ranks, Sentinel Prime. You are truly the hero Cybertron needs in these dark times."
Sentinel swallowed, trying to rid his throat tubing of a sudden lump. He'd always wanted to be a hero, but at the moment he didn't feel particularly heroic. Not when Cybertron's true hero was languishing in a cell thanks to his "heroic" actions.
"The Council has another assignment for you," Magnus went on. "You've proven yourself capable and efficient in tracking down the son of Megatron; you should be uniquely suited to this new assignment."
He wished the Magnus wouldn't keep referring to his betrayal of Optimus. Then he shook his head, wondering why he was considering it a betrayal. He hadn't betrayed him - he had identified a potential threat to the Autobots. And Optimus wasn't even a friend anymore, so could it really count as a betrayal?
He said none of this aloud, however. "What's the mission, sir?"
"Optimus being the son of Megatron was a shock to us all… and many of the Council agrees that it's only a symptom of a much larger problem. If one descendent of an infamous Decepticon exists among the Autobots, then surely there are more, hidden from our sight and mixed among ordinary Cybertronians. All just waiting for the opportunity to strike… unless we do something about it."
Sentinel's spark lurched in its chamber. He already knew where this was going, and suddenly he wished he were anywhere but here.
"Your mission is to continue what you did with the son of Megatron, and search our databases for more offspring of the Decepticons. We'll provide you with spark scans of all Decepticons where were captured or offlined, either during the war or the more recent struggles against Megatron's uprising, and you'll have access to any and all public records necessary to fulfill your mission."
He opened his mouth to reply, but couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make him look like a fool in front of the Magnus. Did the Council really believe that there were enough potential Decepticon descendents among the Autobots to worry about? Still, if they presented a legitimate threat to Cybertron's security, then perhaps it was necessary. And the fewer potential Decepticons walked the streets, the better, right?
That didn't stop him from dreading this assignment with all his spark, however. Or for a question to rise in his CPU and come out of his vocalizer before he could stop it.
"What's going to be done about these mechs?" he asked. "Will there be a registry system to keep tabs on them?"
Ultra Magnus' lip plates pressed together in a hard line as Sentinel spoke, and his answer was equally flat and hard. "We cannot risk another Great War, Sentinel Prime. And we cannot risk being too lenient on Decepticon traitors, or anyone who has the potential to become one. You and your team have full authorization to arrest these descendants as soon as you identify them, and transport them here for processing."
"I… what?" Sentinel's mouth dropped open, this time out of pure shock rather than any attempt to address the Magnus. Arresting Decepticon spies and agents he could understand, but anyone with Decepticon programming in their spark? Mechs and femmes who had done nothing wrong and were otherwise loyal and ordinary Autobots just trying to live their lives in peace and quiet?
"You understand the importance of keeping Cybertron safe," Magnus informed him. "You yourself called for extra security measures while you were acting Magnus. These measures are more strict than the ones you implemented, but the goal is the same - to protect our people and our planet from the threat that Megatron and his Decepticons present . His Decepticons… AND his descendants."
A blow and a pained grunt, muffled by a layer of transparisteel, reached Sentinel's audials, and he finally turned his optics toward the prisoner. Said prisoner lay on the floor of the interrogation room, curled up in an effort to protect his abdominal plates, with three guards kicking him and leaning down to drive their fists into him. The mech's back was to him, his face hidden from view, but there was no mistaking that color scheme…
Optimus! His tanks heaved with pain, as if he'd just taken one of the blows meant for the former Prime. Fluid rose in his throat tubing, and he struggled not to purge then and there. He'd wanted to see Optimus' star fall, to see him humiliated in some way, but not like this. Not imprisoned and tortured like a common criminal.
One of the guards bent down and grabbed Optimus by the arm, hauling him to his feet. The red-and-blue mech swayed, steadied only by the other two guards gripping his arms and holding him upright. Then he doubled over, optics darkening with pain, as the third guard punched him in the abdomen. The vocalizer restraint muffled any cry of pain he might have uttered, but Sentinel cringed anyhow.
"Drastic measures have to be taken in times of unrest," Magnus noted in response to Sentinel's horrified reaction. "We cannot tolerate Decepticon activity in any way, shape, or form. Not if we want Cybertron to prosper. Am I understood?"
Sentinel nodded out of pure instinct, the thought of denying the Magnus in any way completely unthinkable. Then something else occurred to him. "What about my team? The Jet Twins? They have Decepticon programming. Am I required to arrest them and hand them over?"
Magnus shook his head. "They bear Starscream's flight programming, but are of Autobot descent. They will be spared due to their useful nature… but keep a close optic on them regardless. If they show any signs of treacherous behavior, we will be forced to incarcerate them as well."
Sentinel clenched a fist in frustrated horror. The thought of those two young mechs, so infuriating yet so loyal and trusting, in Optimus' place, suffering that kind of abuse, made him quail with anger and disgust. Wherever those two idiots were at the moment, he hoped they were keeping their olfactory sensors clean.
"Good luck to you, Sentinel Prime," Ultra Magnus told him. "I trust you won't fail the cause now."
"No, sir," Sentinel replied quietly.
Magnus nodded. "You're dismissed."
Sentinel's gaze moved back to the interrogation room. The guards seemed to have gotten bored with their prisoner, and had grabbed him under the arms and were dragging him out. Optimus hung limply in their grasp, optics dark, a steady drip of fluid trickling from the bottom of his gag. Only a slight twitch of one of his headfins betrayed the fact that he was still alive… though at this point he probably wished he was dead.
His own headpipes twitched as he turned and strode from the viewing room, spark and tanks roiling with horror and disgust. Was this the cause he had fought to protect for so long? Was this what the Autobots were becoming? If they sank to these lows - torturing defenseless prisoners and imprisoning innocents simply based on their lineage - were they really any better than the Decepticons?
Team Detroit was so focused on getting to Cybertron to save their leader that nobody noticed that they had a stowaway until it was too late.
"Boy, I always thought we'd be returning home under happier circumstances," Bumblebee noted, shifting out of his car mode and rising to his feet to survey Iacon's streets. "Not comin' to rescue the boss."
Prowl transformed as well, moving to stand beside Bumblebee. "Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing, Bumblebee. We cannot change it, only determine how we respond to it."
"Wow, that was deep," Bulkhead noted as he shifted with the others. "Did you learn that from Master Yoketron?"
Prowl frowned and looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet. "To be honest… I picked it up from a human film. One of the explosion-fests Bumblebee likes."
Bumblebee smirked. "I THOUGHT I recognized that line! When all this is over I'm totally ragging on you for quoting a Mitch Harbor movie."
"If you idiots are through quoting dumb action movies, we can get a move on," Ratchet grumbled. He pulled up near the others, a shiver running through his frame as he prepared to transform… then stopped. "Frag it all... problem."
"What's wrong, Doc-bot?" Jazz asked, moving to join the others. "Get stuck in your alt mode? Need a hand?"
"Stand back," Ratchet advised, his voice grave. "There's something moving around in my ambulance bay. Must have snuck in right as we went through the space bridge."
Bulkhead and Bumblebee yelped and leaped back, and Jazz flinched and stopped in his tracks. Prowl stepped closer, one hand raised to pull a throwing star out of subspace if necessary. "Do you think it could be an animal of some kind?" the cyberninja asked.
"Could be," Ratchet replied, "but the new base shouldn't be infested with stray cats and raccoons like the old one was. More likely it's one of Soundwave's drones or something else nasty-"
The ambulance's doors burst open, and Prowl pulled out a throwing star… only to sigh and tuck it away again. "Relax, everyone. It's Professor Sumdac."
"WHAT?!" Ratchet transformed on the spot, sending the professor tumbling when he didn't step down from the ambulance bay in time. "What the frag are you doing here, Sumdac?!"
Isaac pushed himself to his feet and carefully dusted himself off before replying in a matter-of-fact tone. "I came to help you rescue Optimus Prime."
"Are you fraggin' nuts?" demanded Ratchet. "In case you haven't noticed, Cybertron is dangerous to organics! You could get stepped on, captured and experimented on, run over-"
Isaac raised a hand to cut Ratchet off mid-sentence. "I'm no stranger to the dangers being around Cybertronians can bring," he replied. "But I will face them. I don't know how much help I can be to you… but if Captain Fanzone can come to Cybertron and be useful, then I assume I can too."
"With all due respect, Professor Sumdac, Optimus Prime is our superior officer… and our friend," Prowl explained. "As such, we owe it to him to try to rescue him. You're under no obligation-"
"Optimus Prime is MY friend too," Isaac cut in. "He stood by me and was willing to help me, even knowing what I had done on Megatron's behalf. And he is a friend of my daughter, too. After all he's done for me, I won't stand back and just watch while you launch a rescue. I will help him however I can, and repay my debt."
Ratchet scowled, but his anger at Professor Sumdac's stubborn stupidity melted in the face of his brave words. "Prime wouldn't ask you to repay any debt, Professor… but I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment if he were here. And at any rate, it's too late to toss you back through the space bridge and leave you behind. But stay CLOSE! Autobots aren't overly fond of organics, and you're liable to get squashed if the wrong one spots you. And don't do anything stupid."
"Oh, let him do somethin' stupid," Jazz quipped. "Why should he be any different from the rest of us?"
"I don't need commentary from the nuts and bolts gallery," Ratchet grumbled as he stooped to pick up the professor. "C'mon… let's head for the Hall of Iacon. Either Ultra Magnus or at least some of the Council should be there, and we can plead our case to them."
"We might as well argue with a brick wall," Bumblebee muttered. "They ain't gonna listen to us."
"Aw, don't be a pessa… passa… what's the word?" Bulkhead scratched his head, searching for the term, then gave up. "Don't be so down, Bee. I'm sure someone on the Council'll see reason."
"Bumblebee's right for once," Ratchet noted. "Approaching the Council will probably be a hopeless task."
"If it's so hopeless, why do you suggest it as the first course of action?" asked Isaac.
"So we can claim we tried to do this legitimately first," Ratchet replied. "And as much as I think it WON'T work… well, sometimes you have to try something stupid once, because it just might work."
Jazz smirked a little. "You've got a point, Doc. Lead the way then."
Ratchet snorted and motioned for the ragtag group of space bridge workers, cyberninjas, and a stowaway human to follow him, cutting down a side alley in case a patrol came their way. "Jazz and I'll talk to Ultra Magnus or any of the Council who're present and see if we can't get him to release Prime. The rest of you head for the service tunnels and work your way to Kalis. I'll signal you if negotiations go south."
"Kalis?" repeated Isaac.
"The correctional facilities," Prowl replied.
"Prisons," Jazz corrected. "Call 'em any fancy names you want, but that's what they are."
"Whatever you call 'em, we can probably assume that Optimus is in the max-security wing," Ratchet informed them. "So get as close to it as you can and we'll plan from there."
"But Prime hasn't done anything wrong!" Bulkhead protested. "Why would he be there?"
"It doesn't matter what he did or didn't do," Ratchet replied. "The fear and hatred they feel towards Megatron are all that matter to them. Optimus Prime could be a fraggin' Firstforged and all they'd care about is that he's the son of a Decepticon."
"But he's the hero of Cybertron!" Bumblebee insisted. "That's gotta count for somethin'!"
"Hate to say it, lil' buddy, but Doc's got a point," Jazz replied gravely. "Bein' in the Elite Guard, I've seen some things - mechs fully qualified for a job or a promotion, but passed over in favor of some son of a Council member or an Allspark-forged mech. Lots've mechs believe programmin' is everythin', no matter what you do to try an' change their minds. Y' dig?"
"I 'dig,' yeah," Bumblebee replied, hooking his fingers in imaginary quotation marks. "But it doesn't mean I have to like it-"
"We're being followed," Isaac cut in.
Ratchet froze in his tracks, his magnetic prongs sliding from his wrist guards. "How'd you figure that out? Do organics have some kind of scanning system we don't?"
"We have a scanning system," Isaac replied dryly. "It's called our eyes. I looked behind us and saw something move in the shadows."
The Autobots whirled in their tracks, Bumblebee's stingers crackling to life and Bulkhead's wrecking ball whirling overhead like a helicopter rotor. Jazz and Prowl drew their nunchucks and throwing stars respectively, though Prowl handed his star to Isaac before drawing another one. The professor struggled under the weight of the weapon, but ultimately seemed to decide that a too-big weapon was better than no weapon at all.
"Come out, whoever you are!" Ratchet ordered. "Rodimus Prime, if that's you, I'm gonna strip your paint. I left you clear instructions to stay on Earth!"
A low, liquid chuckle flowed out of the shadows. "I believe you are mistaken, Autobot," the speaker informed him, his voice thick with an implacable accent. "I am not Rodimus Prime… though I hope you'll admit I'm far more charming than that upstart."
Bumblebee shuddered. "Who the frag is that? And why's he talking like an old-school movie vampire?"
Ratchet narrowed his optics. If this was who he thought it was… "Get behind me, all of you. And whatever happens, do NOT look into his optics! Especially the third one!"
"Third one… oh no." Prowl stepped up beside Ratchet, arm raised to hurl one of his stars at a moment's notice. "Him."
"Yes, him." Ratchet turned back to the shadows. "Come out of hiding with your hands up and your optics on the ground. You're under arrest."
Another chuckle, and a mech stepped into view. Maroon and black with elegant gold detailing, he bore folded black wings edged and ribbed in gold, webbed like those of a bat. Thin red optics burned in a severe face… and a third diamond-shaped optic glowed in the center of his tall, cylindrical helm. All three optics were fixed on the street as he raised his maroon-clawed hands, but a smug smile split his faceplate nonetheless.
"Mindwipe," Jazz muttered. "Thought the war scared you into your cave for good."
"Who?" asked Bumblebee, not lowering his stingers.
"One of Megatron's spies," Ratchet replied. "Skilled manipulator and hypnotist. Crazy as a Sharkticon too, though good enough at his job that Megatron doesn't care."
Mindwipe chuckled yet again. "Come now, good doctor, simply because a mech converses with the sparks of those who have left us to dwell within the Well of All Sparks doesn't mean he's mad. As much as many like to dismiss anything they see as different as pure insanity."
Bulkhead and Bumblebee exchanged a look at that. Bulkhead raised one hand and twirled it around his audial receptor with a little whistle, and Bumblebee snorted with laughter.
"I don't care who you chat with, just answer some questions," Ratchet snapped. "What are you doing here? And why are you following us? I thought all Megatron's troops were either captured or on the run."
Mindwipe smirked. "Not all of us, good doctor. Some do choose to abandon our noble leader in his hour of greatest need, but others of us simply lie low and bide our time until we can restore him to his former glory. Commander Strika is one of these, and she has recruited more mechs to her unit to further this cause."
"So you're on Team Chaar now," Jazz noted. "Great. Just what that group'a crazies needs, another full-on loony."
"If you're quite done insulting me, my dear warrior, I may answer your doctor's other question," Mindwipe replied, voice calm and unruffled despite the jab. "I follow you because at this time, it seems we have a common goal."
Ratchet's scowl deepened. "We're after Optimus Prime, not your crackpot leader."
"Father or son, the end result is the same." Mindwipe bowed deeply, his wings rustling behind him like a cape. "As a representative of Commander Strika and Team Chaar, I have come to you to propose an alliance. Shall we join forces and take on the prison of Kalis together?"
Ratchet huffed. "Stay right there and don't move a servo. Let me consult my team. Bulkhead, if he so much as glances at any of us, pummel him."
"Right, Ratchet." Bulkhead shifted forward, though notably he kept his gaze everywhere but on the mech's face. Mindwipe just smiled, seeming pleased at the bigger mechs discomfiture.
"This is a bad idea, Ratchet," Prowl told him. "Decepticons aren't to be trusted, a hypnotist like Mindwipe least of all."
"Come on, we need all the help we can get!" Bumblebee protested. "And who said we had to trust him? At least this way we can keep an optic on him and make sure his team doesn't ambush us in a dark corner or something."
"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I know," Ratchet replied. "Prowl makes a good point, though. Decepticon or not, Mindwipe's dangerous. And this could all be a trap to get rid of us."
"Could be," Jazz admitted. "But the alternative's lettin' Team Chaar do their own thing without us. An' I like that even less than workin' with 'em."
Ratchet turned to Isaac. "Anything you want to add, Professor?"
Isaac looked at the bat-winged Decepticon, then back up at Ratchet. "I say we join forces… but on the condition that he's blindfolded the whole time. Unless his powers work regardless of whether his optics are covered?"
"As far as I know, he needs optic contact to enthrall someone," Ratchet replied. "All right then…" He turned to face Mindwipe. "It's a deal, but we're blindfolding you until our mission's accomplished."
Mindwipe rested a hand on his chest. "You wound me with your distrust, good doctor… but I will accept that condition. Just let me contact Commander Strika, and we can forge a plan."
Ratchet nodded sharply. He knew he'd just struck a bargain with the devil to help his old friend… but at this point, he would make a deal with Unicron if it meant freeing Optimus Prime. He just hoped this wouldn't come back to bite them all in the afts.