Hey everyone! Just a quick note-at the end, Optimus is not angry with Switchshade. He is disappointed with the 'Bots and humans for their reckless actions, and angry at Knockout and Breakdown. However, Switchshade interprets this anger as being directed at him (and the other Autobots). This is both due to a request I received quite a while ago, as well as because I quite loved the idea and wanted to explore it a bit. Hope you enjoy this next chapter, and thanks for all the great reviews on the last chapters!
Switchshade forced himself to focus on the mission, only the mission, the consequences will come soon enough. Save the human, and then… Save the human, don't think, don't imagine what Lord Prime will…
The ex-'Con struggled to concentrate, pure blinding fear coursing through him as he faced Lord Prime's rage. Switchshade could only hope the majority of said anger was focused on Knockout, and not on the dark mech. Lord Prime suddenly collided with Knockout's right side, sending the unsteady Decepticon spinning once again, and the backlash struck Switchshade as well, who found himself twisting out of control. To catch his balance and stop the spinning, the dark mech transformed back to root mode, and stumbled to his pedes in time to see Lord Prime pick up Knockout with one servo.
Arcee warned the Prime of Knockout's hostage, and the cold fury in Optimus' tone as he replied shortly, "Understood" sent a fresh wave of terror through Switchshade's lines. He crouched nearby, watching with undisguised horror as the Prime effortlessly began to tear the red medic apart. Flashes of memory from countless times watching Lord Megatron do that very thing to both Starscream and himself assaulted Switchshade, and he sunk lower to the ground, clutching at his helm and struggling to sort between what was happening before his optics, and dark memories of the past. Knockout's cry of agony did not help matters, and Switchshade became so overwhelmed he did not register that Lord Prime had only removed a single piece of arm plating-enough to reach the captive human within.
No sooner had Lord Prime gently rescued the insensate human from Knockout's grip, than did the 'Con transform back into his root mode, using the motion to break the Prime's grip and land shakily on his pedes several paces back. The medic growled, snarling in pain and anger, "Do you know how hard that is to replace?" For one, endless moment, Switchshade wondered if Knockout would actually be fool enough to attempt to attack Lord Prime one-on-one, but then Arcee came upon the trio, and the 'Con thought better of it. The Look the Prime cast the retreating Knockout's way sent Switchshade to trembling, caught as he was in the darkness of his own mind.
Bumblebee and Bulkhead appeared to have disengaged with Breakdown, as both scout and Wrecker came up mere moments after Arcee. Lord Prime turned to look at them, still holding the unconscious human, and Bumblebee rolled down his window so Jack could speak with the Prime. "Optimus, this was my fault-" he admitted, before being interrupted by the Autobot Leader. "We must get this boy to safety." His tone was cool enough to freeze energon. "Explanations can come later… from all of you." Distantly, Switchshade noticed the uneasy and chastised looks on the faceplates of all of the Autobots involved, but his spark was beating so rapidly within his chassis it became difficult to think straight. Explanation? What explanation can I possibly give that could even come close to justifying the recklessness and foolishness that took place this evening? I let Knockout get away from me, I failed to protect this innocent human… Pit, even with back up, I was still unable to immobilize Knockout or Breakdown long enough to provide anything close to significant assistance.
What is Lord Prime going to do to them? To me? Oh Primus, give me strength. Lord Megatron in a good mood was enough to send 'Cons fleeing left and right. Lord Megatron mildly annoyed set Soundwave's plating to a light flare, and Lord Megatron in a rage was something not even the Spymaster was willing to stand against. And Lord Prime killed Lord Megatron… Will I meet Primus tonight?
Switchshade all but shut down his central processor, his frame going loose and pliant in a way that made it difficult to stay on his pedes. In some distant corner of his processor, he noted Bumblebee taking Jack and the other human back to the captive's home, and then the order from Lord Prime shook him to his core. "Let us return to the base, and there we will discuss the events of this evening."
Feeling more drone than mech, Switchshade instantly obeyed, falling in at the rear of the group, wondering how long it would take for Lord Prime's rage to abate. Autobots do not employ physical violence to enforce command… Lord Prime swore it was so. Why, then, do all of the others appear so uneasy? Lies? Primus knows Megatron was not above such tactics, but I never would have believed Lord Prime would employ such without very good cause. This… he felt as though he would fry his circuits if he continued in such a line, and firmly retreated into the safety of blankness once again. His faceplates went slack and neutral, the obvious fear draining from his face as he went nearly unresponsive. No sooner had they safely arrived at the Autobot base than did Switchshade focus on Lord Prime's voice, and only his. The others were not important. Not here. Not now. Not in the face of frame-chilling rage by the single most powerful mech now functioning. One blessed by Primus himself.
If asked later, Switchshade would be entirely incapable of repeating any of what Lord Prime said to first Bumblebee, then Arcee, then Jack, and finally Bulkhead. Cliffjumper, Ratchet, Miko, and Raf stood in the background, looking on curiously as each tried to account for their actions. Switchshade heard and saw none of it, lost in a white haze of numbing fear. It was only when Lord Prime turned to him, that Switchshade felt himself snap out of his daze, in time to catch ill-concealed fury in those formidable blazing optics. Frag. Before he realized he was moving, his pedes had already carried him back several stumbling, trembling paces. He is angry-no. He is livid. His processor was at war within him, a healthy portion urging him to hit the ground and beg for mercy undeserved, but the more influential voice in his processor had only one word of advice. Run.