Thank you everyone for the positive response to this story. I hope it continues to live up to your expectations. Don't expect me to make this easy on Prowl though. :)
For those who have expressed concerns that Prowl wasn't very Decepticon-ish in that last chapter, that was not an oversight. I view Prowl as a basically upright (if somewhat stiff-collared) individual and that he would have been drawn to the Decepticons primarily for logical and 'reasonable' causes, not because he necessarily agreed with their tactics and moral code. Like everyone who accepts the philosophy that the ends justify the means, Prowl's morality was subjugated for practicality and logic… Praxus might be seen his wake-up call, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.
Yeah, okay, enough of that. On with the story. Please enjoy.
Prowl's systems booted up slowly, the first thing coming to his attention was the absolute lack of light. Following quickly on the heels of that was searing pain that radiated from his right shoulder and right leg. Then came awareness of clogged intakes and weight pressing in from above. He probably would have willingly sunk back into unconsciousness if his ringing audios had not picked up the timid squeaks and clicks of the tiny sparkling still clinging to his chassis.
No, he could not let himself slip into stasis-lock. He had to keep online for the youngling's sake.
When he moved, the rubble shifted, sliding to the ground in loud crashes. He winced as debris caught at his doorwings and belatedly shut off the remaining neural circuits in the sensitive extremities. The pain lessened dramatically. Enough so he could think with a clear processor again.
It took nearly a joor, but Prowl was finally able to work his way free of the rubble that had tried to entomb him and the gray and blue sparkling.
When he did, he wished he had not.
He straightened slowly, looking around with stunned despair. Where magnificent buildings had once reached for the sky, broken husks now stabbed shattered metal haphazardly into the smoke and ash-filled air. Graceful sky-bridges were but a memory, the pristine streets now unrecognizable. The scents of burning metal and seared energon filled the air with the acrid stench of death.
Praxus was gone, reduced to a jagged, wrecked plain: a wretched mockery of its grandeur.
Prowl slowly turned in a circle, taking in the fate of the city that had always been his home.
"No Praxian makes it out alive…"
Starscream's laughter mocked Prowl again, scorning the thousands of innocent lives cut short. And Prowl realized just how wrong he had been. Megatron was not interested in ending the war, of sparing innocent lives. No mech could condone let alone order something like this unless violence, chaos and destruction were his only goals.
Unbidden, his battle computer started spinning out calculations and probabilities and Prowl knew. Megatron had to be stopped. If Cybertron was to be saved, if his home world had even a chance of surviving, Megatron had to be stopped.
"You, Decepticreep. Freeze!"
The gruff command was accompanied by the familiar and unmistakable sound of weapons powering up. He had missed their approach because of a combination of distraction and damage to his sensors.
Prowl froze as he processed this new development. They were clearly not Decepticon. Now that he focused on the limited data he was able to eek out of his sensory wings he could tell he was surrounded. Keeping his uninjured arm wrapped around the youngling he spoke clearly.
"Do not fire. I am holding a sparkling."
A moment passed as the team of blue-optic mechs closed in around him. He was about to see if the Autobots were really that different than Megatron's troops after all. Would they risk killing a sparkling just for the chance to take out an enemy? Would they allow a thirst for revenge over the fall of Praxus to lead them to a disregard for innocent life?
If so, then they were no different than the Decepticons and he would not go down without a fight.
If, however, they proved to value the lives of the innocent…
"Hold your fire, mechs. He speaks the truth." Prowl blinked in surprise, his gaze drawn to the large black mech who had spoken.
He recognized the mech in question as the Autobots' Weapons Specialist, one derisively referred to as a walking cannon among the Decepticons: Ironhide. It was a small shock to hear that mech order restraint in firing at an enemy.
Ironhide walked forward, weapons still armed, to stand in front of Prowl. "Hand over the youngling peacefully, Decepticon, and we'll let you live."
Recovering from his initial bout of surprise, Prowl regarded the larger, bulkier mech with enforced coolness. "My continued existence is not at issue here. What will you do with him once I hand him over?"
Ironhide snorted, fists clenching in clear irritation. "What does it matter to you, 'Con? You have orders to kill every sparkling you find."
Prowl's doorwings twitched in a minute wince and when he spoke again, his voice was noticeably more subdued. "Unfortunately that is true. Nevertheless, if you wish my cooperation, you must indulge me."
Perhaps it was his imagination, but Ironhide's optics widened slightly, then narrowed. After a moment he spoke, his words slow and measured. "We will do what any decent mech would: Find a guardian/caretaker and try to keep him as safe as possible."
Prowl ignored the other mech's stress on the word 'decent' as if to insinuate that he, by virtue of being a Decepticon, would not know anything about decency. In light of what had been done to Praxus, Prowl was inclined to agree with the generality of that sentiment. Instead, he carefully evaluated the mech before him.
Ironhide was known to be among the most trigger-happy mech among the Autobots. And, while it was true those oversized cannons were still armed, his blue optics were shrewd and kept a constant awareness of the youngling. Despite intentionally avoiding any indication of weakness, Ironhide was truly more concerned about the little-one's wellbeing than just scoring another Decepticon kill.
Prowl felt his frame relax, though he did not outwardly move. Even if they killed him as soon as they had the sparkling, he was confident the youngling would be well cared for.
Coming to a decision, Prowl nodded. "I believe you."
Blue optics widened and then deepened in shock as Prowl held the young orphan out toward the black Autobot. Hesitating only a moment, Ironhide reached forward. By then his optics had narrowed again in suspicion. The youngling, however, was not happy. He whistled, shrilling loudly and frantically, reaching for Prowl and struggling vainly to get away from the strange mech holding him.
Prowl had saved him and this stranger was taking him away.
Prowl's spark lurched, and he allowed his doorwings to shift in a way that told the sparkling to remain calm – offering the only reassurance he could to the frightened little spark.
Ironhide clearly did not miss the interaction. Nor was he sure what to make of it. Unless…
"And who is this youngling to you, 'Con?" Not that he expected a straight answer, his expression said as much.
Seeing no reason to mislead the Autobots, Prowl stated the truth simply. "He is an orphaned sparkling I found while attempting to take shelter when the attack began."
A susurration of surprise rippled through the soldiers surrounding Prowl, but he kept his optics on Ironhide. The black weapons specialist only looked incredulous, holding the sparkling protectively.
"You just expect us to believe you saved him outta the goodness of your spark?"
Prowl arched an optic ridge. "The goodness or lack of goodness in my spark has nothing to do with it. Younglings are the future of our race."
"Whoa. He must have taken a hit to the processor. That's core programming speaking." One of the other Autobots breathed, but Prowl could not identify whom as he kept his focus on Ironhide, knowing his life hinged on the larger mech's decision.
Prowl said nothing, shifting his gaze to the orphaned sparkling. If he was to be killed by these 'bots, he wanted his last thought to be a reminder of why he had allowed it to happen. He knew that without the youngling in his custody he had no guarantee they would not just simply end him. Of course, he also knew that without the sparkling he could defend himself without risk to an innocent life.
But the tactician suddenly found he was not sure he wanted to.
It was not that he wanted to die, but that he simply did not feel like struggling to survive. The sparkling would be safe. It was obvious Megatron had deemed him nothing but collateral damage and that was only if the warlord did not actively want him dead. The cause he had devoted himself to for the last six vorns – to end the war quickly – was for naught. He was cast to the cyberwolves, intentionally targeted for off-lining by his own leader: the Lord Protector of Cybertron. What was the point? What was the point in fighting any more?
Even as these thoughts rumbled through his processor, Prowl kept his spinal struts stiff, his gaze locked with the Autobot in front of him.
"What is your designation, Decepticon?" The weapons specialist demanded at last.
Prowl hesitated, realizing only then that they did not know who he was by sight or spark signature. He knew what kind of treatment higher ranking soldiers received at enemy hands; a very thorough interrogation being only part of that treatment. But then he realized it likely did not matter as there was a 97.89% probability his true identity would be discovered at some point if he were taken into custody.
Ultimately, it came back to what his main goal had been since the war had started: to do what ever he could to facilitate a rapid resolution to the conflict because that was what was best for Cybertron.
Prowl knew that Megatron was at least 68.32% likely to continue using tactics like what had destroyed Praxus. He knew Megatron would continue killing younglings and other noncombatants, sparklessly slaughtering innocents without concern to the long-term consequences: the very extinction of their race.
For Cybertron to survive, Megatron must be stopped. That meant the Lord Protector had to be defeated. And the Autobots were the only ones even attempting to accomplish that end. That was what mattered, not his own comfort or even his own life.
He was no fool. Prowl knew that his intimate knowledge of the Decepticons would aid the Autobots toward that end. His skills and tactical prowess could also help in that regard, but he knew that was unlikely to ever happen as they had no reason to trust or even desire his assistance considering the devastation he had been responsible for.
No, the only thing he could realistically hope for was to give them every bit of intelligence he had to give and trust them to use it as they were best able. He also knew they would not believe him if he just volunteered the information.
The familiar burn of renewed purpose flared through his chassis, steeling him for what was doubtless about to come.
Still not taking his optics off of Ironhide, he spoke, knowing his words would seal his fate. "My designation is Prowl."
They might not have recognized him by sight, but they clearly recognized his designation. All of the Autobots surrounding him suddenly aimed their weapons at him once more, the air filling with their increasing pitch as they whirred to full power.
Prowl did not flinch, did not show weakness or even a hint of the fear that briefly threatened to overcome his general apathy over his personal future.
"And just what is the Lead Decepticon Tactician doing in the ruins of Praxus?" Ironhide drawled darkly.
"I was on a mission." Prowl said simply. "A mission that is now superfluous."
The sneer Ironhide gave him was far from friendly and was filled with dangerous promise. "Intelligence and Special Ops is going to enjoy getting their hands on you, 'Con."
Prowl dragged in a new intake through his vents. He spoke softly, as much to himself as to those around him. "I have no doubt."
"Take him!"
Prowl tensed as they others moved in, though he did not move. He did not so much as twitch, let alone fight back, as his legs were knocked out from under him. He did not cry out as he crashed to the ground. He simply let himself be subdued without protest. His arms were roughly secured with stasis cuffs, the energy from the binders arching into the wiring of his arms, rendering them numb and paralyzed. Nor did he make a sound as rough hands physically disconnected his communications and weapons by efficiently cutting the wires controlling them. He winced, grimacing against the new discomforts, but that was all.
He knew, from his long experience before the war as a former Enforcer, how procedures like an arrest went. Therefore, he was not surprised when his subspace was manually accessed. It was not a pleasant experience, as the subspace pullers were an internal system and the armor of his lower arms had to be pried away to get at it.
True, he had cut neural and pain relays during the attack, but the pain that was exerted through his pressure grid was enough to make him grunt, forcing him to subdue a pained yell that wanted to find voice.
Once everything in his subspace was confiscated, the controls were disabled just like his weapons had been.
Only then was he hauled to his pedes.
The position his arms were being held in aggravated his injured shoulder, but he bore it stoically. He was aware Ironhide was looking him over carefully, a satisfied smirk lighting his optics. Prowl's gaze, however, was drawn to the youngling still in the weapons specialist's grasp.
The gray and blue youngling was whimpering piteously, struggling weakly in Ironhide's grip, his big blue optics locked on Prowl with open worry.
Prowl felt his spark lurch and, as distressing as his current situation and outlook were, he forced his expression and doorwings to convey that he was unharmed and to silently reassure and provide encouragement to calm down. Looking like he was not ready to believe the reassurance, the sparkling nonetheless obeyed the gentle command to calm. It was unlikely any of the other Autobots caught their silent exchange.
Prowl was roughly pushed forward and the search party continued to scour the wreckage of a once beautiful city. At each collapsed building or new search grid – anywhere they would be stationary for any length of time – Prowl was commanded to kneel, which he did without protest. Ironhide was his constant guard, standing nearby to supervise the rescue efforts. Most of the time however it was only recovery of the dead, mangled frames of innocent neutrals.
The more this continued, the more Prowl felt disgust for his own faction deepen and the higher he calculated the likelihood the Autobots would hold him personally accountable for it. He had not played a part in this massacre, but he was far from innocent.
He had once disdained violence, but now he was an architect of brutality. Perhaps not to the degree he now witnessed around him, but he had been responsible for the deaths of many. He knew, deep in his spark, as each new grayed-out frame was uncovered, that he would not blame any Autobot who held him in contempt.
In many ways he had been isolated, insulated from the grim horrors of war, in his role in the Decepticon's head quarters. He had never truly had to face the reality his strategies forced on others. But now each new frame uncovered felt like a piece of himself sent to the smelter.
One time, however, there was something different. A spark signature was detected… along with a faction ID. It was one of theirs. Ironhide put the sparkling on the ground with a gentle but firm command not to wander off and hurried to lend his considerable size and strength to help shift debris in order to reach his wounded comrade.
Of course, as soon as Ironhide was gone the small youngling darted over to Prowl, pressing against his thigh, trilling softly the whole while. Prowl let his engine purr soothingly, a technique he had had to learn to deal with frightened younglings in tough situations as an Enforcer. The little mech relaxed slightly, allowing Prowl to focus back on the rescue efforts.
As the injured Autobot was pulled free of the wreckage and placed carefully on a stretcher, Prowl recognized him as Smokescreen. He released a concerned vent. Smokescreen, formerly a diversionary tactician under Prowl's command in Praxus' Enforcer Corps before the war, was the Autobots' Lead Tactician. The white and gray Praxian had been recruited by the Autobots specifically to help them counter Prowl once he had joined the Decepticons.
Smokescreen had been able to help them. But Prowl knew Smokescreen and had, in fact, been his mentor when the younger tactician had first joined the precinct.
Prowl scanned the now injured mech and was relieved that his spark signature was strong. Smokescreen might not have been a match for him in the strategic and tactical planning arena. With Prowl out of the picture however, Smokescreen should be able to give the Autobots more of an advantage. He could only hope it would be enough.
Still, Smokescreen's strength was defensive planning and diversionary strategy. He was not programmed for offensive planning and his offensive tactics reflected that fact. Defense never won a war. That was the Autobots' greatest weakness when it came to tactical planning. Perhaps Prowl could teach him… but that was a silly notion and Prowl knew that. He was a Decepticon and it was likely Smokescreen had taken it personally when his mentor and commander had joined the Decepticons.
It was highly unlikely Smokescreen would be anything but hostile toward him.
He snorted softly through his olfactory vents. That was assuming he was given the opportunity to work with Smokescreen at all. He was a prisoner. The chances of him seeing anything outside of a prison cell were minimal at best.
The youngling's whimper brought Prowl's attention back to the moment an astroscecond before a faint tremble in the ground heralded Ironhide's return. He looked up into angry optics and flinched internally, even if he did nothing of the sort externally.
"Little one…" Ironhide's rumbling voice sounded suddenly.
But the sparkling chirped again, shaking his helm before scrabbling over Prowl's frame. Prowl managed to bite back a cry of pain as the youngling inadvertently used a damaged strut to climb up and hide behind his shoulder plating. Even so, his vents had to cycle faster to cool his frame as stressed systems struggled to deal with the added insults to the established injury.
Ironhide's optics lit with an expression Prowl could not read as the massive black mech considered him. Prowl averted his gaze slightly, not wanting his captor to think he was challenging him, especially not with the sparkling clinging to his frame.
Then some of the tension left the large warrior. "Well, well. It appears he prefers you."
"So it would seem." Prowl agreed quietly, wondering what the infamous Autobot would do next.
Ironhide leaned closer. "Do anything to hurt him and you will live just long enough to regret it. Traumatize him at all and you will wish for the Unmaker to take you."
Prowl felt a tremor work down his frame at the low, dangerous growl in the other mech's voice. Ironhide was capable of violence, he knew that. And he doubted he would be believed if he tried to assure him he had no intention of harming the little one. So Prowl simply nodded, not deeming a futile argument worth the effort.
"Understood." He whispered.
With that, Ironhide gestured him to his feet and the search continued.
It did not take long for the other Autobots to take notice of the youngling's new perch. Their responses were mixed, some taking great delight in the irony of a Decepticon 'sparkling killer' being made to act as a transport for a sparkling. Others shared the same concerns as Ironhide had for the Sparkling's safety.
His mask of neutrality firmly in place, Prowl ignored the taunts and barbs and respectfully acknowledged the warnings and threats. He tried not to let himself grow weary from the mistrust and fear; knowing from where it stemmed and could not honestly fault them. He was their captive and thus he knew certain things came as a natural consequence of that state. There was nothing he could do about the matter and so endeavored to endure it as stoically as possible.
By the time they reached the transports taking the rescuers and survivors to Iacon, Prowl overheard one mech say, all of the Autobots were blatantly aware of just who had been captured. The looks cast his direction ranged the gambit from heated and angry to fearful and timid. Prowl did his best to appear unaffected, keeping his gaze slightly lowered.
The youngling, however, put up a fuss when the field medic tried to pry him off Prowl's armor. Prowl fell to one knee with a howl of pain as desperate little hands had pulled on already damaged wiring and armor causing unexpected, white-hot fire to lance through his shoulder and doorwings. He would have tried to offer some encouragement to the youngling, but for the moment was quite unable to speak.
Thankfully, said medic was inspired enough to offer an energon treat to the little one. Though the youngster accepted the treat with the greediness that bespoke great need, he kept worried optics on Prowl, who was still on one knee with vents heaving as he struggled to regain control.
The medic's attempts to calm the blue and gray sparkling did nothing to quiet his whimpers as he was carried to the ship that would take him and a group of injured survivors to the Autobot base.
Prowl slowly became aware of the taunts and jeers he was receiving as the fire in his arm slowly diminished to a more tolerable level. Though said taunts varied in degree of animosity and barely controlled glee at his plight, they could be easily summarized by one of the lower ranking warriors whom Prowl could not identify by faceplate.
"Imagine that. The mighty Decepticon Tactician brought to his knees by a sparkling. That's irony of the best kind." A hearty laugh and then, "I bet that hurts right in the pistons."
In general the Autobots took great delight in the fact a sparkling – whom everyone took the opportunity to remind him Decepticons had orders to kill on sight – had gained a form of recompense. Of course, Prowl had no doubt that, as Lead Decepticon Tactician, he was being blamed for that horrific policy which Megatron had instituted. Likely it was also assumed he was behind the attack that destroyed Praxus.
If that was the case, he could not blame them for the hostility they felt and demonstrated for his person. He shared it himself, though for the one actually behind the heinous acts. He knew they would not believe him on his word alone and so he said nothing, allowing the verbal abuse to continue.
He was pushed up the boarding ramp by Ironhide, but was then stopped by an equally large chartreuse and black hand. "Not so fast, 'Hide."
Prowl looked up from where he had had his optics plastered on the ground to see none other than the Autobot CMO. Just then a basic level scan flashed across his armor.
"Hmph. Painful as pit, I'm sure. But nothing critical. He can wait till the other survivors have been seen to." The infamous medic moved away to one of the medical evacuation transports to see to the most gravely injured.
With a soft snort of air through his intakes, Ironhide prodded Prowl up the ramp again. Prowl silently followed the directions he was given, painfully aware he did not have the little youngling's presence to help mitigate any overzealous impulses his more impertinent captors might have.
Even as dull as Prowl sometimes was when it came to interpersonal interactions, even he could tell their animosity had only grown as the search had revealed more dead Cybertronians than live ones waiting for rescue. In fact, only a handful of Praxians had survived at all.
The little one Prowl had saved, another little sparkling – younger than the gray and blue one and with black and yellow paint – Smokescreen and a total of five others, all neutral. A total of nine 'bots survived the destruction of a city that had housed millions.
It was processor numbing.
He was now a member of an endangered species. Just trying to process the incredible loss made Prowl's present circumstances little more than a processor ache.
It crystallized the newfound purpose in Prowl's spark. Megatron had to be stopped. No matter what it took. No matter what he had to endure to make it happen or what he had to do. Prowl had failed to do anything to mitigate the warlord's increasing megalomaniac tactics and now it had come to this. Could he have stopped it? Could he have prevented it from getting to this point if he had done something earlier in the war?
He did not know. He was but one mech. But if he was ever given the opportunity to do anything toward that end again, he would take it no matter how small or insignificant that chance might be.
He was pushed onto a seat and moments later felt it magnetize, locking him to it. Soon the holding bay of the military transport vessel was filled with Autobot soldiers. It was tight and Prowl was grateful he had been placed against a bulkhead in that least his already damaged doorwing was not jostled.
Before long the ship launched into the air, its hull groaning as it fought against gravity. Prowl was on his way to Iacan, into the spark of Autobot power on Cybertron.
At one time, he had anticipated planning a final assault on Iacon to end the war. Now, though he was going to Iacon, it was as the conquered not the conqueror.
Alright, another chapter… and another cliff hanger. I'm mean, I know. Sorry… sort of. Anyway, please review. And if you find grammatical mistakes please don't just tell me that they are there, at least give me some hint as to where they are so that I can attempt to fix them. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think!
