The Sun Beats Down
AN: THANK YOU ALEXLUKE FOR YOUR CONTINUED PATRONAGE AND FEEDBACK! YOU"RE AWESOME!
AN2: Mixing it up a bit here⦠got a LOT of positive feedback on the craziness of last chapter. Apparently, y'all liked the thought of Sideswipe with a toaster up his aft. *snickers* I can't blame you. It cracks me up every time I think about it.
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The first thing that came to his consciousness was that he was hot. Boiling, in fact. His internals were so hot, he was sure that all tubes and hoses were melted and this was just a slow, excruciating end as he burned internally.
The second thing that that wormed its way into his consciousness was that he wasn't alone. There was another body pressed against him. No. Wait.
Two bodies.
Maybe that's why it was so hot? Perhaps his vents were pulling in their exvents and overheating his systems? It could be an explanation but overheating systems typically weren't hot enough to scald one's plating from the inside out.
There must be another reason why he was so hot. He tried to move but found his body numb, floating in lead and unwilling to cooperate. He would just have to endure the suffocating heat until help arrived.
But why would he need help?
He didn't get a chance to contemplate when his traitorous body shifted, allowing a gust of cool air to flow across his plating. He sighed in relief at the sensation. He hated to be so warm. Surely the thermostat readings were off.
Then came the pain.
A sudden, nauseating wave of it, rising, cresting, and crashing down upon his helm with such force he gasped through hazy awareness. He fists clenched tightly on the plating that was in his hands, his body drawing toward the frame that was pressed against his own.
The pain ebbed into a dull throbbing, and with a groan, he felt his consciousness rise. The pain was a backlash from overly sensitive relays. Too much information over too short a time span, and a mech could be thrown into an immediate reboot. Internal temps would run high until transferred information and energy could be catalogued and dissipated.
Smokescreen winced, feeling a tug on his data-cable. Hovering over his consciousness, or perhaps thundering from the underworld, Ratchet's voice bellowed him into wakefulness.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Smokescreen shuttered his optics slowly, trying to bring reality into focus.
A blob of red appeared before his vision and like a mirage coming into focus, he could discern Sideswipe's frame in front of him. The erratic pulsing spark bouncing off his doorwing sensors meant that Sunstreaker was wedged along his back. All three lay in a jumble of limbs and interface cables. Smokescreen tried to get up but his systems threatened immediate shut down at the maneuver.
Primus, his entire body ached and throbbed, and not in a pleasant way. Weird.
"I don't know what you were trying to accomplish but I hope you achieved it because it is going to cost you," Ratchet snarled, his voice going deep in his anger. "Big time."
Smokescreen's optics shuddered as he lost consciousness again, Ratchet snarling oaths that would scare the Pit Maker as he disconnected the transfer cables from the three. A healthy dose of iron greeted Smokescreen's helm, though he was oblivious to the dosage.
0-0
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It was some time later Smokescreen awoke. His helm pounded and his tanks felt rebellious. Must have been an after affect of the twins. They leave one disoriented and sickened. Smokescreen definitely won't be trying that again.
Slowly, he opened his optics to find Prowl seated by his berth side. Smokescreen was alone, laying on his right side, doorwings lax on the berth as he slumbered. Much to his relief, his internals were back to normal.
"Explain." Prowl's voice cracked like a whip.
Smokescreen flinched as if struck.
"While the twins were down for maintenance and medical defrag, I thought it would be the perfect time to link to their systems."
"Hack them," Prowl corrected. His gaze was icy, his lip components set in a thin line. He was beyond furious with his fellow Praxian.
"Not hack," Smokescreen said, rubbing his midsection when he tanks decided to voice an opinion. Primus, he felt like he was going to purge.
"Yes, hack, as in you did not have permission to link to their systems, nor did you have their permission to scour their memories, their emotional centers, and view their personal thoughts," Prowl snapped. His doorwings were so rigid they were vibrating.
"They are the only ones who refuse psychological evaluations," Smokescreen said in defense of his actions. "Evaluations that I may add, are standard protocol and yet, they ignore them."
"For good reason," Prowl said.
Last time Smokescreen tried to wrangle the twins into a session, someone had to extract him from the bulkhead. Apparently, the Praxian hadn't learned his lesson.
"I am a certified analyzer of emotions and thoughts," Smokescreen snapped defensively.
The vehemence was lost when he clutched his midsection and groaned. Every sensory nerve was alive and on fire. His spark burned and pulsed angrily. His internals threatened to liquefy. Primus, he was going to purge his tanks.
"With specified consent only," Prowl growled, ignoring Smokescreen's distressful whines.
"You know the twins," Smokescreen argued through the pain. "They won't sit still for an evaluation, let alone tell me their true feelings."
"They are allowed their privacy."
Smokescreen's systems leveled off back to normal. His fans kicked on, attempting to cool him. It took a moment for him to regain his composure before glaring up at Prowl.
"I'm given the impossible task of helping them to sort through their emotions by delving into their past and finding the root of their negative emotions and figure out a way to help them channel it into another avenue besides violence and high grade consumption. How am I supposed to do my job with such impossible restrictions?"
"Not violating their personal thoughts." Prowl's left doorwing gave an irritated flicker.
"How am I to achieve my objectives when I can't get the other party to cooperate?" Smokescreen interjected, willing his own doorwings to remain motionless.
It was difficult, given the Praxian nature was to display and fan the appendages when faced with confrontation. Their kind wasn't known for being docile.
"Did you not take an oath to respect your patients and protect them, even against your own curiosity?"
"Human concept, not ours," Smokescreen said with a scowl. "And it's disconcerting we adapted to human ideals so quickly while our own have become lost to a human's concept of morality."
"You're diverting," Prowl said, narrowing his optics. Smokescreen was good at his job for a reason. But Prowl wouldn't be deterred. He was beyond angry. "What you did violated a sacred trust between patient and doctor. If you can call yourself that after your abysmal behavior."
Smokescreen tried to raise himself into a sitting position but his world was currently spinning out of control and threatening to take his tank with it. Whatever he downloaded from the twins' memory caches, it was substantial and requiring a lot of time to digest.
Error messages were starting to pop up, alerting him to his inability to compensate for the neural and emotional backlash he experienced from the twins. Like those in his field, Smokescreen possessed a specially designed processor that allowed him to sort through the downloaded data and extract key points to assist a bot in understanding their thoughts and feelings.
And it was currently threatening a complete shut down.
He flopped back onto the berth
"Before you get all high and mighty, let me educate you on what our system entailed," Smokescreen said, sending a glare to Prowl from his prone position. His look lost its impact. "First we asked a subject for their cooperation. They had the ability to refuse but if they proved to be a menace or a danger, and I don't have to explain to you how the twins fit into a category all their own, then we were to override their wishes and join their subconscious. Some would take joors to work out, others, just a few breems. But we were able to delve into the very center of the psyche and help bring order to mental chaos. Why do you think we were called the 'processor hackers?'"
Prowl frowned. He was unaware of such extremes in the field. Everyone on base found their evaluations to be troublesome and most offered mutinous protests before subjecting themselves to Smokescreens analysis.
Now that Prowl understood the entire truth, he could understand why the crew was hesitant and reluctant when their mental health was brought into question. It was quite invasive and if they wished to maintain their jobs, they had to undergo unwanted examinations.
It seemed as if Prime had overlooked an aspect of free will in the medical community.
Apparently, Smokescreen didn't see the danger in what he considered to be part of his job. Well, that may have worked on the old Cybertron, but Prime didn't allow mechs to simply delve into another's mind without their authorization.
That was an inexcusable breech of privacy.
There were going to be some changes.
Prowl had to hold back his feelings of unease, battle computer running calculations of the bots who protested the most and the new information behind their reasoning. Staggering numbers were demanding attention, making his processor ache and his internals threaten to rebel. He hazarded that he looked like Smokescreen at the moment, ready to purge.
"There will be no more such violations in the future, I can assure you," Prowl said, quelling his unease. Now was not the time to lament over violated processors.
"It's part of my job," Smokescreen groaned, optics closing as he felt the world spin a little faster.
Primus, whatever the twins had experienced was having a hard time being processed by his analytical core. He never felt so unbalanced and chaotic. Figures, the twins would be the instigators. Perhaps he shouldn't have linked to both at the same time.
But given their nature, and the fact both were totally unconscious and physically in perfect health (a rare occurrence), Smokescreen didn't want to waste a chance to do the job he was programmed to perform. In hindsight, he should've exercised caution and only hacked one brother.
"No longer, I can assure you," Prowl stated. He put his battle computer to work filing a report to Prime that would appeal to his sense of equality and concern over personal violations of freedom.
No wonder their world had dissolved into so much chaos. Too many were being violated and no one saw the oppression it cultivated. It was a raping of the mind and free spirit.
Megatron's campaign seemed almost commendable, had he not tried to put himself in a position of power and become the oppressor.
"Until Prime renders a decision you are to cease and desist such invasive actions." Prowl commanded, sounding every bit the SIC. "And I want a list of the crew you have performed this gross act of heinous violation against."
"It's standard protocol with unwilling subjects," Smokescreen reiterated. "It's how I was trained. What everyone learned in the processor centers."
"Had such actions been pertinent at the start of this war, perhaps we could have prevented mechs from being violated in such a manner by their own comrade," Prowl said slowly, his optics narrowed into slits.
Oh, he was good and pissed. His doorwings were so rigid, they were humming against his back. If Smokescreen had his senses, he could have detected the angered vibrations in the air.
"If I have to employ Ratchet to retrain you, I will," Prowl threatened.
He knew Ratchet would beat Smokescreen until he saw the error of his ways. Or, knowing Ratchet, he'd hack the shrink and give him a taste of his own medicine. Ratchet was sadistic in his healing.
"Let me guess, when I'm recovered, I'm to serve brig time?"
"I have something better in mind," Prowl said with a smirk. Sometimes he frightened himself with the way he processed. "Ratchet informed me the twins will be waking up from their defragging within a few hours. I will leave it up to them, barring termination, on the recourse of your discipline."
"You're going to let the twins kill me?" Smokescreen asked, doorwings flopping on the berth, tank churning again.
"Barring termination," Prowl reiterated, "they will decide the proper form of compensation for your violation. After all, they were the ones wronged."
Prowl felt a stab of pride at the look of fear on Smokescreen's face. Oh, this was going to be good. He should have Red record it for prosperity.
"Ratchet learned to do the same thing during his training," Smokescreen spat, affronted his usual methods were under scrutiny and he could lose his standing with his peers. Not to mention, he wanted to spread the blame so he alone wouldn't be taking heat.
"Ratchet has never hacked a mech to learn his secrets or violate his privacy by reopening old memories and causing mental anguish." Prowl knew Ratchet had such medical knowledge, but though he may beat and humiliate his patients, he never mentally violated them. He always asked permission before delving into a mech's innermost self, and only focusing on what was necessary to perform his job.
"Jazz has," Smokescreen added petulantly.
It wasn't fair! He was being singled out for a violation when some of his comrades had performed the exact same offense! And now Prowl was going to throw him at the mercy of the twins!
He was royally fragged!
How was he going to get out of this situation alive?!
"In the act of infiltration and sabotage of the enemy, which is his function within our ranks," Prowl gritted out. Yes, he knew Jazz toed the line when it came to ethics. But given the Third In Command's job, one had to have a pliable backstrut. "Unless you intend upon changing job descriptions, or declaring war upon the twins, which I severely advise against, you still violated the code of ethics and trust that has been placed upon you and your position among the Autobot ranks."
Smokescreen opened his mouth to retort but something clicked in his addled processor. A piece of the twins had just been unlocked and filtered through his emotional analyzer. It was only a fragment, but it was crystal clear.
Pain. Violation. Suffering. Shame.
The onslaught was so unexpected, so intense, Smokescreen didn't have time to realize his tank was rebelling until he leaned over the edge of the berth and painted Prowl's pedes.
Prowl stepped back, but it was already too late. He waited until Smokescreen gathered himself, falling back on the berth, fans screaming, vents exhaling steaming gusts of air, doorwings flat and defeated.
Smokescreen twitched, optics shuttering in rapid succession as bits and pieces of fragmented memory ghosted his processor. Bots he didn't know, male and female, being fragged or terminated, sometimes simultaneously, flashing across his mind's eye in a fast motion kaleidoscope that blended one to another to the point it was difficult to ascertain where one ended and another began.
Prowl observed his fellow Praxian with a cold expression. He had an inkling to Smokescreen's torment, but he wasn't inclined to help, even if he was able. This was a burden Smokescreen had to shoulder on his own. And rightly so. Prowl hoped his fellow Autobot had learned a valuable lesson.
And painfully.
Which judging by the whirl of fans, rattling of frame, and pained grunts coming from Smokescreen, his lesson was being well schooled. His optics sped back and forth as if he was speed reading and hiccupping gulps of clotted energon trickled down his face.
Prowl remained unsympathetic.
Ratchet came thundering in with all the grace of hellfire and brimstone.
"The slag?" he groused, ripping off a tiny panel on the side of Smokescreen's helm without so much as a warning. Before Smokescreen could protest the exposure of his cortex, Ratchet put him to sleep.
Ratchet's death glare settled on Prowl, who was strangely immune.
"Explain."
Prowl gave a heavy flutter through his vents before answering.
"I surmise Smokescreen's core analyzer had just deciphered a data memory packet from either of the twins and, big surprise, it was far more than what he bargained for."
"Slagger," Ratchet growled, glaring at the unconscious Smokescreen. "I should tap into his cortex and give him a taste of his own medicine."
"Unnecessary," Prowl said, waving a hand. "The twins will be allowed to see fit to oversee his punishment. Barring termination or extreme violence, I believe since they are the grievous party, they should decide on retribution."
"They'll slag him," Ratchet said, subconsciously subspacing a wrench. "If they don't terminate him, they'll slag him so bad, I will be the one that has to put him back together."
"Barring termination or extreme violence." Prowl deadpanned, unperturbed.
"This is the twins we're talking about," Ratchet said, flexing his wrist in preparation.
Prowl paused, battle computer working overtime.
"I suggest, while they are unconscious, you lower their tensile strength and supply them with energon that has been tainted with a mild sedative."
"And risk their wrath on me?" Ratchet snorted.
"Like you fear them," Prowl countered, eyeing Ratchet's hand that was carelessly flipping a heavy wrench with trained ease. "Besides, you can tell them they are still suffering from a breech and their protocols are still inactive, attempting to reboot them to a healthy state but it will take time and if they overstress their systems, they'll be in medbay for a month due to recovery. The thought of such a lengthy rehabilitation should be sufficient to deter their more violent tendencies and ensure Smokescreen suffers non life threatening injury."
Ratchet thought for a moment, realized Prowl's judgment was sound and gave a grunt of acceptance.
As aloof as ever, Prowl offered a single dip of his helm before spinning on his pedes and heading out the door. He was at the door when he spoke.
"Oh, and all further incidents related to this matter will go to Jazz, as I have just taken a month off for vacation and will leave the delicate care and iron fisted discipline of the twins to those more suited to the task."
Ratchet opened his mouth to rage but Prowl was already gone.
"Slaggers. Whole lot of them!" Ratchet threw a wrench at Sideswipe, knocking the unconscious red mech on the arm, dinging his paint.
Ratchet glared down at Smokescreen, who likewise was unconscious.
"You are a nosy fragger. I should let you suffer the consequences but that will mean more work for me, and it's going to be bad enough when the twins get a hold of you."
Ratchet cursed while he worked, purging the data Smokescreen had unwisely downloaded from the twins, his bedside manner punctuated with death glares. To ensure a few more hours of peace, Ratchet had the foresight to dose both the twins with diluted energon. As he was examining the two a little closer, he found structural anomalies that required maintenance, and griping like an irate mother hen, Ratchet set to work fixing the injuries the two had failed to mention during their initial shut down.
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Smokescreen was the first to wake, no doubt fear making his spark jump start his processor. He groaned, grasping his helm, feeling as if Ratchet had ran steel wool through his mind. Which knowing Ratchet, he probably did.
Remembering his upcoming punishment, Smokescreen glanced to the two occupied beds. Thankfully, both were still slumbering, but they wouldn't be for much longer. And when they finally awoke and realized what Smokescreen had done, there would be murder in their sparks.
Time for Smokescreen to make himself scarce.
Wobbling like a drunk sailor, he exited the medbay and staggered down the hall, his equilibrium circuits scrambled, tank threatening to rebel, though there wasn't anything in it. He ignored pleasantries from his comrades he passed, heading resolutely to the exit and to freedom, where he could escape the twins until their wrath was smothered by time.
Which means it would be safe to return in about a millennia.
Maybe two.
Gaining the entrance to the Ark, he hastily transformed, rocking on his tires as he nearly lost all his oil from the motion. It took a moment to settle his tanks but once he did, he gunned his engine, performing a perfect horseshoe and slammed his hood into the side of the mountain.
Ratchet stormed out of the mountain more violent than any volcanic eruption, dosing Smokescreen with an impact of iron that went unnoticed. Ironhide carried the unconscious Datsun back to med bay, where he was heavily sedated and manually transformed.
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When Smokescreen awoke, it was to find two Pit Spawned demons settled on his berth, staring down at him with hell in their optics and death creasing their handsome faces. Immediately, Smokescreen tried to open a comm. to call for help, but his communications links had all been disabled.
He was alone. Abandoned. Isolated.
And facing down the two worst fears to ever grace Cybertronian history.
Smokescreen's spark faltered.
Sideswipe's optics glittered as he caressed a single servo along Smokescreen's cheek.
"Ratchet stepped out for awhile," Sideswipe was saying, surveying his prey with cold, hard optics. "To give us a little privacy."
Sunstreaker leaned over Smokescreen, his ex-vents ghosting Smokescreen's terrified face. His voice was dangerously low and spark chilling, making Smokescreen's energon run cold. It was never a good sign when Sunstreaker used that tone. It meant a lot of pain and possible termination were to follow.
"We need to have a little talk."
*-O-O-*
AN: I'll just leave it up to your imagination. Lol Poor Smoky. He was an idiot. He won't be doing that again!
Be sure to click that button there and let me know what you think, liked, or hated. :D Signed reviews are answered. :D
