Erased From The System Chapter 2, a transformers/beast wars fanfic

Hello! Welcome to another chapter of this traumatizing little piece here- I forgot to mention in the first chapter that I do NOT own transformers. So let's make that clear. I don't own transformers. Never have, and I never will.

Aside from that, I enjoyed the feedback a few if you gave me, though, it wasn't nearly as much as I expected. I'm not going to complain. I'm just here to provide entertainment. ;)

Anyway. As you'll tell from now on this story will be set in the past. Ya'll gonna have to wait to see what happened after the first chapters bit. Don't fret, however! You will get to see the end for this one!

All song lyrics, otherwise stated, are owned by me and are personally created for this Fan-Fiction. I do not own transformers. I own the plot, though.

Enjoy the second chapter and leave a review! However small- I'd like to see how I'm doing!

No sound or racket no chime of a

bell.

What have I seen,

What does this mean?

Is the world blackened or am I in

Hell?

Is this a dream?

And Why can't I scream?

My throat it tightens and I know

quite well.

I hadn't forseen

This disaster seen,

And now I suffer the lies that he

tells,

He yells, oh, he yells.

Welcome to hell.

Self-awareness slowly crept through the black haze of his processor, his body felt light with the tiny tingles that sizzled around in his wires. An 'All systems reboot' light flashing blinding red in his vision and before Prowl knew it, he was staring up at an orange ceiling.

Monitors beeped around him, the smell of burnt energon and paint hit him and his nasal ridge curled up, his lip soon following suit.

First processed thought: Prowl had only seen this medical bay once before. The orange walls were unmistakeable, he was on the Ark.

...why was he on the Ark?

Prowl groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Those once blurry figures became clear again as his optics adjusted. He saw medics, a few he knew off hand, some he didn't recognize. He did, however, see one medic that he knew quite well.

"Ratchet." The wince was eminent, Prowl's voice sounded like it had taken too many trips to the grinder. He cleared his throat hard.

Ratchet turned from a patient when his name was called. His face flashed with irritation for a single moment, before he abandoned his post and walked towards Prowls medical berth. The previous wounded Autobot was soon being attended too once more, by one Prowl knew was called First Aid.

"Ratchet?" Prowl hummed again, this time clearer, the medic shushed him shortly before checking to make sure every tube was still in place.

"Prowl, you have third degree burns from your pedes up, you shouldn't be moving." Black servos gently, but warningly, 'helped' Prowl back into his laying position. The door-winger huffed, his once white and black, but now silver door wings flattening against the metal painfully.

Prowl's thoughts were just now settling in, there had been a bombing... An attack. The last thing he remembered...

"Bluestreak!" Jolting up, the young Prowl struggled to scamper from the berth top. Ratchet had been there, however, expecting it and with a push he pinned the twisting rookie down to the cold metal.

"Prowl, listen to me. Remain still or I will restrain you." However panicked Prowl had been, at the verbal threat from the medic, the black and white knew better. He ceased his struggling and flattened stiffly against the medic's berth.

Formulating words seamed the biggest problem for him. Prowl was usually good when it came to speaking. However, he WAS a mech, not a drone. All he could feel was worry and shock for his little brother. It was overwhelming.

"Ratchet. Bluestreak. Where's Bluestreak?" A grim look passed briefly on his superior's face. Dread crept into his systems from the very air around him. The look was a nano-click long but Prowl had still caught it. His vocalizer seamed to freeze solid, tightening it to the point where it was hard and hurt to swallow.

"I don't know what happened to him Prowl. We had orders to fall back. The seekers levelled Iacon in minutes. We were outnumbered... Ironhide was on his way here, to theArk, when he found you." The medic leaned over with a tube of solvent and a cloth. He began to wipe a clear coat onto Prowls burn wounds. The touch was oddly comforting to Prowl, who's processor was on the verge of crashing.

"We have to go back." Prowl mumbled, unsure at first. But after a quick second thought Prowl was soon repeating this sentence, louder, more firm. A couple wounded Autobots gazed across the room at his voice.

"We can't go back, were in deep space. I know it's hard but get a hold of yourself! The war just hit its starting point. If we go back it'll be a swift ending, and a pathetic history." Ratchet shook Prowl briefly, a bit too roughly. The slight worrisome pain that lit up his systems from the wake up shake, did in fact cause him to snap his mouth shut and calm down, at least, just a little bit.

Though, Prowl could not help the zoned out gaze that crossed his features when Ratchet's words finally sunk in.

And they did sink in, deep in. Strait down into the blackness of his processor they burn themselves into his files like scorching hot melting metal.

Everything just went... Blank. He felt nothing. Well, he could feel the medic's hands on his wounds, he could feel the cold chill of the solvent as the air attacked the liquid.

Yet, he was empty. Not a shine in the sky of his spark. His very core had blown out in a huff like a birthday candle.

...Birthday candle...

The hitch of a vent...

Prowl wilted over his own lap and wept. Ratchet sombrely patted his shoulder as he grieved.

It had taken less than two joors for Iacon to be nothing but a massive clump of burning buildings and gaping holes. An entire city, Cybertron'sCapital. Was nothing but ashes and dust? The Decepticons had set a plan to finally attack. A major attack. They'd won. The Autobots had fled the planet.

Now they had to pick up the pieces. There was no telling how long the Decepticons would be able to hold the dying planet. Sooner or later, they would be forced to leave.

But for now? Most of the Decepticon minors were out searching the rubble. Stacking bodies on top of one another as they searched for any survivors. Those who did turn up alive, were either put in cuffs or if deemed weak, were shot on the spot.

Two large blue orbs watch this happen from the cover of a half-crumpled shed. Bluestreak crouched lowly behind the half open door, his spark racing from the events he had narrowly gotten away from.

He remembered being in the middle of an addition problem when an alert fell over the school's intercoms. Everyone was just so shocked at the sudden, unplanned warning. They had all stood there gawking for a good second as it sunk in. Then they took action.

It seemed hiding in cupboards or underground was not an option. There was, however, a cellar in which under the classrooms.

On the bottom floor.

Bluestreak had been lucky enough to be one of the few active classes that had been occupying the bottom section.

Though... When the bombs hit, he went bleak with horror, he hardly remembered how he'd managed to crawl out of that burning exit alive. The floor had literally cave in, he'd seen his classmates and loved teachers die before his innocent optics, crushed beneath the very floor they spent most of their time on.

He had been so terrified, that he fled for his very life. Fight or flight instinct had activated, and he chose the latter.

He'd climbed through the rubble, in the climax of the bombing, Bluestreak had ran primus only knew how far, until he could no longer press on.

This shed had proven its worth. He'd buried himself beneath the various items.

And there he was, alive during the aftermath, smoke rose in streams from the quenched fires, the air smelt sickly of death and burned energon. So many other smells- none he liked. The atmosphere was so dark, a laser light could not have been seen through it.

He was terrified. Big mean mechs marched and shot the weaker ones. Not even caring as to who they were, the life's they had- the sparklings, the ranks...Bluestreak, from his obscure cover, had seen a few other sparklings dragged off in cuffs.

He had also seen far more Sparklingsexecuted.

In different ways, it seemed. The Decepticons were getting creative in picking and choosing. It was like those precious lives were nothing more than play toys.

Bluestreak didn't want to go where the cuffed ones were going. Some went down kicking and screaming, others bowed their helms in defeat and walked with their escorting Decepticon. Bluestreak may have been young but he wasn't stupid. Growing up with his older brother provided enough opportunities to learn as it was.

His brother...

Where was his brother?

Careful optics slid across the outside scene before him, not recognizing a thing aside from the school's distant still emerging form. Had he even known? Was... Was Prowl dead?

Crystal blue coolant pooled at the very tips of his optics, the thought alone crushed his spark enough to physically feel the pain. Panicked hands came up and grabbed the seams of his spark chamber. He put a little pressure from his palms, trying to nub the pain away.

No... He wasn't dead. Prowl couldn't die. He said so himself. He said he would never leave like... Like sire and carrier had...

Did... Did he get murdered too?

A flash of white blinded him for a single moment, a moment sudden enough to set the uneasy sparkling into squealing like some kind of earth creature, and flailing back. Bluestreak's door wings collided with a few stacks of rusted white sheet metal, sending the pile toppling atop him, clattering with such a noise that afterwards, the dead silence around him had gone even quieter.

He laid still, spark pounding, body aching beneath the metal. Scrapes and cuts met nothing to him while raw fear of being seen, scampered up his arms and legs. It swiftly turned his spark into a racers engine.

"I smell importance." Bluestreak's vents hitched. The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Smooth, deadly. Obviously evil. His door wings trembled despite his desperate attempts to stop their wiggling. Pede fall fell ever closer to his position. For Bluestreak, it'd been the only noise.

"Told ya I saw sommem' Swindle. Jus' a little glow in the dark." Came a proud second voice. This one duller then the first, the accent proved his lack of decent vocabulary. Though, Bluestreak was a bit too young to understand the true differences of speech.

"Maybe if we snatch this one up before Onslaught notices, we can get a good price offa him." Continued the one known as Swindle. Bluestreak pressed as far back as he dared whilst trying to remain as quiet as botly possible.

"Always' thinkin' about them prices." The second voice, whom was known as Brawl, sighed out. With a shake to his visored helm, Brawl stepped into the small shed. He ripped the door right off the side to make room for himself. While the noise sounded, Bluestreak crawled further back into the unknown.

"Come on out, Kid." Swindle coaxed, he chuckled bitterly, the kind of patched laugh that sent shivers crawling up and down Bluestreak's spinal strut. "I won't hurt you... Much." Metal clanged, it was obvious that Swindle had thrown a slab of something aside, as the two pressed into the relatively small storage shed in their 'delicate' search.

Bluestreak swore he, and everyone around him could hear his panicked pants. His engine choked and literally sobbed at him. The two Decepticons knew he was there. He was literally too loud to not be noticed. But his fear had rendered him useless to stop the tremors, the racing engine, the hard breaths and pants...

He hugged himself: knowing this had to be it. He'd be shot, like everyone else. He'd be dead, never see his brother again. Never know the true meaning of life. He'd be killed so young his processor would be wasted. A life... Another precious life...

"GOTCHA!" The call was so loud,

So savage. That Bluestreak hadn't the time to move away when the metal slab above him was suddenly taken away. He felt bared, and naked to view as two deadly red optics stared down at him merciless greed. Lubricant protocols were activated from the fright. The youngling leaked himself from stone cold fear, as Swindle reached in and grabbed up.

"Ah, sick. He leaked himself." Swindle drawled grossly, holding the squirming sparkling out like he had some kind of rust virus. Bluestreak for his part kicked and wiggled. Tiny servos gripping helplessly at his captor's digits, he wailed. "LET ME GO!" And "PUT ME DOWN." Repetitively, in panicked succession. Whilst Brawl, and Bluestreak's holder, laughed mockingly at his peril. Their sparks as cold and cruel as the Demon's that possessed their optics.

"Calm..." Swindle soothed, the smooth coax was obviously mocking and fake. It did not fill Bluestreak with hope or comfort like such tone should have, but, instead, it stuffed him with anxiety and dismay. Swindle kept a strong servo clipped around Bluestreak's abdomen, before disgust at the leakage caused him to switch his hold. The Decepticon dealer used poor Bluestreak's already damaged wings as some kind of briefcase holder, as he lifted him in the air and held him out to drip-dry.

Bluestreak immediately yelped in pain at his door wings being handled in such a way: it was utterly painful to have such sensitive necessities handled in such a careless method. He grunted, and groaned, but quickly ceased his actions when Swindle jerked him harshly. Bluestreak's tiny hands came up to block his screams; his processor was thinking straight enough to keep him quiet to avoid complications with the evil mech holding him.

"I like the looks of him." Swindle heated haughtily to his partner. He rotated the shaking, stiff, and nearly unresponsive Bluestreak in inspection. He was dangled helplessly before the white combiners devilish face, Brawl came around the side, and soon the sparkling found himself staring into two pairs of crimson optics.

"Yeh. Thought we killed the lass'a them doorwingers." Brawl remarked, his mask and visor making it impossible to tell if he was impressed with the child or not. His helm, however, was tilted with slight curiosity. Swindle smirked at his partner in response, sharp dentia bared deviously.

"Ooooh, I don't mind a last survivor. We'll have to take extra good care of him..." He looked Bluestreak straight in the optics. "Won't we?" The smooth, dreadful honeyed croon, along with those teasing optics, were enough to send wrack after wrack of shivers down the terrified bot's frame.

Last survivor?

What was this about… killing the doorwingers?

Impossible! Prowl had doorwings! Just like him! And they were still alive!

Dread caused Bluestreak to snap his optics shut tightly. Somewhere in his processor he thought the lack of sight would make the mean mechs unhand him and go away.

However, this was reality. And he had no clue that this morning, when he woke up to a happy birthday from his brother, that this would happen.

On his birthday, no less.

The anxiety and fear inside him kept the tiny paraxian from speaking, or fighting back. It kept him from moving harshly though the tiny trembles could not be helped.

"We GOTTA convince Onslaught to let us keep him." Swindle mused. Somehow already knowing the answer. Brawl proved to be quite the depressing 'con, however, when he added in...

"It ain't up to Onslaught, ain't it Lord Megatron's choice on who gets what?" Swindle's happy look changed, his optics dulled but his grip on Bluestreak never loosened. While the dealer pondered upon Brawl's words, Bluestreak tried desperately to block out their haunting voices. Somehow he knew he'd never be able to purge their unique voices from his processor coding. Even in such a little time, he knew he'd always remember.

Over and over, while they spoke to one another, Bluestreak chanted in his mind. 'Prowls gonna come save me. He's not dead, he would save me, like any brother would!' But it seemed... The more he thought about it, the further away it stretched from his reach.

"~A pet store a get'um a collar." Brawl provoked, a tainted laugh accompanied his words. Bluestreak had only heard the last part to the sentence, but he hadn't a need to hear it all. The doorwinger found himself mumbling by the words. He did not protest to this, however. The numbness spread to his doorwings, where he could no longer feel the yanking strain in the hinges latch.

Why... Why would they want to put acollar on him? He wasn't a turbo-hound.

And why did they talk to them like he wasn't there?

Did his opinion even matter here?

The two constructions continued to banter back and forth about their new prize and the goals sent to attain full custody of it. But Bluestreak found he could not bear to follow the conversation. He didn't want to hear what they were planning. Why would he?

They carried him from the once cover of that burned shed and that was when the doorwinger got a full view of just what the area around him looked like. It passed in Blurr's, he could hardly focus on any of it. His tiny systems were not used to the strain of the day's events.

He felt himself slowly drifting away until he forgot all together that this day was even his birthday. The scene before him went black, and he felt himself pressed against a hot, tainted chassis.

It was then, in his most uncomfortable state, that Bluestreak remembered something his dear brother had once said. He told Bluestreak this one day out of the blue, it hadn't made sense to him oh so long ago, but now... He understood.

'If you ever find yourself in the hands of your enemy; Do not protest. Do not fight back unless you are certain you will win. You never know what they have planned for you, but be prepared, because you'll never know how badly your actions will affect them, and what they will do to you. Never give up. Never let your processor stray. War is coming and one day you'll need these words. One day you'll be in trouble with no one to help you, Bluestreak. For me, please remember this. It'll keep you alive, it'll help you survive.'

And he did.

Bluestreak had memorized, and understood every single word his brother had said. Prowl's advice was not to be taken lightly.

"Well, he's well behaved." Mused that smooth voice Bluestreak would only ever identify as Swindle. The paraxian had jumped from the sudden direct attention. But otherwise he did not respond. It was not directed towards him.

"Lucky us." Brawl uttered, sounding more than a bit upset that there would be no trouble with this one. The sadistic bastard, he was practically begging the sparkling to do something wrong.

Dazed out: the hints of blackness tinted the outer regions of Bluestreak's optics. His processor felt... Well, it didn't hurt, too bad, it just felt strained. Like that feeling you got after you wake from a black out. It distracted him from the Constructicons chatter.

However, the light soon resumed and Bluestreak found himself looking straight out into the world around him once more. The two of them had done quite some walking, giving, Bluestreak could not recognize where exactly he was.

Then again... The state of the city was so bad, he probably wouldn't be able to recognize it if someone had told him exactly where they were.

There was more than a ton of oxidized smoke rising in thick white, black, and yellow clouds. They rose from the quelled fires and into the air, the entire city looked coated with a dense layer of pure white mist. The streets- those that were visible, looked like the untamed wilderness, wilderness that had been set directly in the path of an active volcano.

The sparkling hadn't realized how many 'bots had inhabited this section of the city- the little bird in the back of his processor told him that the damage did not limit to just the immediate area.

Bodies.

He'd never seen so many bodies.

Everywhere.

Bent, burned, torn, dismembered, melted, shredded, gashed, shot, you name it, it was there. Bluestreak had never seen such a mass collection of wounds and fatalities before. Nasty dis-coloured energon ran and coated the streets, it reminded Bluestreak vaguely of that energon creak that flowed behind Prowl's home...

Well, if the creak had a sudden spark attack and exploded- and imploded, everywhere.

There was really no other way to describe it.

Bits and pieces of major words fluttered in and out of the mechlets audios. Unknown sounds, random screams. It was all so distant in his mind. It proved as a worthy distraction from the two Decepticons currently 'escorting' him to Primus knew where.

It was weird, how, they did not seem to smell the death in the air- or taste the chemicals lingering in the atmosphere. They didn't even noticethe lifeblood they were treading in, they didn't seem to care when it stuck to their pedes.

It made Bluestreak sick.

How could... How could they not be disgusted?

Could they not feel guilt for what they had done?

No remorse?

Behind them, a loud gunshot pierced the short silence.

No... Mercy?

He couldn't wrap his small, not so innocent anymore processor around it. He couldn't fathom just why someone would do this, why would someone hurt so many people... Like this? And what for?

Wait- Where were they going?

He could no longer ignore that foreboding feeling he got as they neared the edge of the city. They came to a bridge that was somehow still intact. However, unknown to Bluestreak, Prowl had been on that exact bridge, fighting to get to him, mere hours before hand.

The mechlet could do nothing but accept his fate. What else could he do? He was too weak to fight back. He didn't want to get hurt, so why would he protest? He'd have to keep his brother's caring words in his processor, and remain completely submissive. From this point on he had to make a decision: a tough one. Nothing would ever be the same.

Whether or not his brother was alive or deactivated, he had to put his processor in survival mode. He could get through this.

He didn't have to be afraid, but he was. He was just a young, seven vorn old sparkling. But he couldn't afford to show weakness. This was his life that was on the line. And he really didn't want to die. He had so much more to live for.

This would make him stronger. He could do this, for Prowl. He could be tough, just like him.

But... how long would it last?

Brother, Don't be afraid of the

flames it's just your~

Birthday candle.

Just blow them out and make a

wish to your~

Guardian angels.

I may not be here for eternity,

But remember me when you feel

the heat, From that,

Birthday candle.

With it you can handle.

Anything.

Brother, Blow out your candle,

For me.

Sent from my iPhone

From: threespeedsnc
Subject: Rawr
Date: Fri, 24 Apr 2015 14:53:32 -0400
To: Charlotte-web76 .uk

[P] Chapter 2 [U-E]

Herro! Welcome to another chapter of this traumatizing little piece here- I forgot to mention in the first chapter that I do NOT own transformers. So lets make that clear. I don't own transformers. Never have, and I never will.

Aside from that, I enjoyed the feed back a few if you gave me, though, it wasn't nearly as much as I expected. I'm not going to complain. I'm just here to provide entertainment. ;)

All songs lyrics, otherwise stated, are owned by me and are personally created for this fanfiction. I do not own transformers. I own the plot, though.

Enjoy the second chapter and leave a review! However small- I'd like to see how I'm doing!

No sound or racket no chime of a

bell.

What have I seen,

What does this mean?

Is the world blackened or am I in

Hell?

Is this a dream?

And Why can't I scream?

My throat it tightens and I know

quite well.

I hadn't forseen

This disaster seen,

And now I suffer the lies that he

tells,

He yells, oh, he yells.

Welcome to hell.

Self awareness slowly crept through the black haze of his processor, his body felt light with the tiny tingles that sizzled around in his wires. All systems reboot flashed blinding red in his vision, before Prowl knew it, he was staring up at an orange celeing.

Monatures beeped around him, the smell of burnt energon and paint hit his oil factory sensors. His nasalridge curled up, his lip soon followed suit.

First processes thought: Prowl had only seen this medical bay once before. The orange walls were ubmistakeable, he was on the Ark.

...why was he on the Ark?

Prowl groaned as he pushed himself up into a sitting postion. Those once blurry figures became clear again as his optics adjusted. He saw medics, a few he knew off hand, some he didnt regonize. He did, however, see one medic that he knew quite well.

"Ratchet." The wince was eminent, Prowls voice sounded like it had taken to many trips to the grinder. He cleared his throat hard.

Ratchet turned from a patient, his name called. His face flashed with irritation for a single moment, before he abadoned his post and walked towards Prowls medical berth. The previous wounded Autobot was soon being attended too once more, by he whom Prowl knew was First Aid.

"Ratchet?" Prowl hummed again, this time clearer, the medic shushed him shortly before checking to make sure every tube was still in place.

"Prowl, You have third degree burns from your pedes up, you shouldn't be moving." Black servos gently, but warningly, 'helped' Prowl back into his laying postion. The doorwinger huffed, once white and black, but now silver door wings flattening against the metal painfully.

Prowl's thoughts were just now settling in, there had been a bombing... An attack. The last thing he remembered...

"Bluestreak!" Jolting up, The young Prowl struggled to scamper from the berth top. Ratchet had been there however, expecting, with a push he pinned the twisting rookie down to the cold metal.

"Prowl, listen to me. Remain still or I will restrain you." However panicked Prowl had been, at the verbal threat from the medic black and white knew better. He ceased his struggling and flattened stiffly against the mediberth.

"Ratchet. Bluestreak. Where's Bluestreak?" A grim look passed briefly on his superiors face. Dread crept into his systems from the very air around him. The look was a nano-click long but Prowl had still caught it. His vocalizer seamed to freeze solid, tightening it to the point where it was hard and hurt to swallow.

"I don't know what happened to him Prowl. We had orders to fall back. The seekers leveled Iacon in minuets. We were out numbered... Ironhide was on his way here, to the Ark, when he found you." The medic leaned over with a tube of sovient and a cloth. He began to swipe a clear coat onto Prowls burn wounds. The touch was oddly comforting to Prowl, who's, processor was on the verge of crashing.

"We have to go back." Prowl mumbled, unsure at first. But after a quick second thought Prowl was soon repeating this sentance, louder, more firm. a couple wounded autobots gazed across the room at his voice.

"We can't go back, were in deep space. I know it's hard but get ahold of yourself! The war just hit its starting point. If we go back it'll be a swift ending, and a pathetic history." Ratchet shook Prowl briefly, a bit too roughly. The slight worrysome pain that lit up his systems from the wake up shake, did in fact cause him to snap his mouth shut and calm down, at least, just a little bit.

Though, Prowl could not help the zoned out gaze that crossed his features when Ratchets words finally sunk in.

They sunk in, deep in. Strait down into the blackness of his processor they burn themselves into his files like scorching hot melting metal.

Everything just went... Blank. He felt nothing. Well, he could feel the medics hands on his wounds, he could feel the cold chill of the sovient as the air attacked the liquid.

Yet, he was empty. Not a shine in the sky of his spark. His very core had blown out in a huff like a birthday candle.

...Birthday candle...

The hitch of a vent...

Prowl wilted over his own lap and wept. Ratchet somberly patted his shoulder as he grieved.

It had taken less the two joors for Iacon to be nothing but a massive clump of burning buildings and gaping holes. An entire city, CybertronsCaptiol . Was nothing but ashes and dust. The Decepticons had set a plan to finally attack. A major attack. They'd won. The autobots had fled the planet.

Now they had to pick up the pieces. There was no telling how long the Decepticons would be able to hold the dying planet. Sooner or later, they would be forced to leave.

But for now? Most of the Decepticon minors were out searching the rubble. Stacking bodies ontop of one another as they searched for any survivors. Those who did turn up alive, were either put in cuffs or if weak enough, shot on the spot.

Two large blue orbs watch this happen from the cover of a half-crumpled shed. Bluestreak crouched lowly behind the half open door, his spark racing from the events he had narrowly gotten away from.

It seamed hiding in cubbords or underground was not an was, however, a cellar in which laid under the classrooms.

On the bottom floor.

Bluestreak had been lucky enough to be one of the few active classes that had been occupying the bottom section.

He had been so terrified, that he fled for his very life. Fight or flight instinct had activated, and he chose the latter.

He'd climbed through the rubble, in the climax of the bombing, Bluestreak had ran primus only knew how far, until he could no longer press on.

This shed had proven its worth. He'd burried himself beneath the virous items.

He had also seen far more Sparklings executed.

In different ways, it seamed. The Decepticons were getting creative in picking and choosing. It was like those precious lives were nothing more then play toys.

His brother...

Where was his brother?

Careful optics slid across the outside scene before him, not recognizing a thing aside from the school's distant still embering form. Had he even known? Was... Was Prowl dead?

No... He wasn't dead. Prowl couldn't die. He said so himself. He said he would never leave like... Like sire and carrier had..

Did... Did he get murdered too?

A flash of white blinded him for a single moment, a moment sudden enough to set the uneasy sparkling into squealing like some kind of earth creature, and flailing back. Bluestreak's door wings collided with a few stacks of rusted white sheet metal, sending the pile toppling atop him, clattering with such a noise that afterwords, the dead silence around him had gone even quieter.

"I smell importance." Bluestreaks vents hitched. The voice seamed to come out of no where. Smooth, deadly. Obviously evil. His door wings trembled despite his desperate attempts to stop their wiggling. Pede fall fell ever closer to his position. For Bluestreak, it'd been the only noise.

"Come on out, Kid." Swindle coaxed, he chuckled bitterly, the kind of patched laugh that sent shivers crawling up and down Bluestreaks spinal strut. "I won't hurt you... Much." Metal clanged, it was obvious that Swindle had thrown a slab of something aside, as the two pressed into the relatively small storage shed in their 'delicate.' Search.

Bluestreak swore he, and everyone around him could hear his panicked pants. His engine choked and literally sobbed at him. The two Decepticons knew he was there. He was literally to loud to not be noticed. But his fear had rendered him useless to stop the tremors, the racing engine, the hard breaths and pants...

"GOTCHA!" The call was so loud,

So savage. That Bluestreak hadn't the time to move away when the metal slab above him was suddenly taken away. He felt bared, and naked to view as two deadly red optics stared down at him merciless greed. Lubricant protocalls were activated from the fright. The youngling leaked himself from stone cold fear, as Swindle reached in and grabbed up.

"Ah, sick. He leaked himself." Swindle drawled grossly, holding the squirming sparkling out like he had some kind of rust virus. Bluestreak for his part kicked and wiggled. Tiny servos gripping helplessly at his captors digits. He wailed. "LET ME GO!" And "PUT ME DOWN." Repetivley, in panicked succession. Whilst Brawl, and Bluestreaks holder, laughed mockingly at his peril. Their sparks as cold and cruel as the Demons that possessed their optics.

"Calm..." Swindle soothed, the smooth coax was obviously mocking and fake. It did not fill Bluestreak with hope or comfort like such tone should have, but, instead, it stuffed him with anxiety and dismay. Swindle kept a strong servo clipped around Bluestreaks abdomen, before disgust at the leakage caused him to switch his hold. The Decepticon dealer used poor Bluestreaks already damaged wings as some kind of breifcase holder, as he lifted him in the air and held him out to drip-dry.

Bluestreak immedetly yelped in pain at his door wings being handled in such a way: it was utterly painful to have such sensitive necessities handled in such a careless way. He grunted, and groaned, but quickly ceased his actions when Swindle jerked him harshly. Bluestreaks tiny hands came up to block his screams; his processor was thinking strait enough to keep him quiet to avoid complications with the evil mech holding him.

"Yeh. Thought we killed the lass'a them doorwingers." Brawl Remarked, his mask and visor making it impossible to tell if he was impressed with the child or not. His helm, however, was tilted with slight cirosity. Swindle smirked at his partner in response, sharp dentia bared deviously.

"Ooooh, i don't mind a last survivor. Well have to take extra good care of him..." He looked Bluestreak strait in the optics. "Won't we?" The smooth, dreadful honeyed croon, along with those teasing optics, were enough to send wrack after wrack of shivers down the terrified 'bots frame.

Last survivor?

What was this about... Killing the doorwingers?

Impossible! Prowl had doorwings! Just like him! And they were still alive!

Dread caused Bluestreak to snap his optics shut tightly. Somewhere in his processor he thought the lack of sight would make the mean mechs unhand him and go away.

However, this was reality. And he had no clue that this morning, when he woke up to a happy birthday from his brother, that this would happen.

On his birthday, no less.

The anxiety and fear inside him kept the tiny paraxian from speaking, or fighting back. It kept him from moving harshly though the tiny trembles could not be helped.

"We GOTTA convince Onslaught to let us keep him." Swindle mused. somehow already knowing the answer. Brawl proved to be quite the depressing 'con, however, when he added in...

"It ain't up to Onslaught, ain't it Lord Megatrons choice on who gets what?" Swindles happy look changed, his optics dulled but his grip on Bluestreak never loosened. While the dealer pondered upon Brawls words, Bluestreak tried despestley to block out their haunting voices. Somehow he knew he'd never be able to purge their unique voices from his processor coding. Even in such a little time, he knew he'd always remember.

Over and over, while they spoke to one another, Bluestreak chanted in his mind. 'Prowls gonna come save me. He's not dead, he would Save me, like any brother would!' But it seamed... The more he thought about it, the further away it stretched from his reach.

"~A pet store an get'um a collar." Brawl provoked, a tainted laugh accompanied his words. Bluestreak had only heard the last part to the sentance, but he hadn't a need to hear it all. The doorwinger found himself nummed by the words. He did not protest to this, however. The numbness spread to his doorwings, where he could no longer feel the yanking strain in the hinges latch.

Why... Why would they want to put acollar on him? He wasn't a turbo-hound.

And why did they talk to them like he wasn't there?

Did his opinion even matter here?

The two constructions continued to banter back and forth about their new prize and the goals sent to attain full custody of it. But Blustreak found he could not bare to follow the conversation. He didn't want to hear what they were planning. Why would he?

They carried him from the once cover of that burned shed, it was then when the doorwinger got a full view of just what the area around him looked like. It passed in blurr's, he could hardly focus on any of it. His tiny systems were not used to the strain of the day's events.

He felt himself slowly drifting away until he forgot all together that this day was even his birthday. The scene before him went black, and he felt himself pressed against a hot, tainted chassis.

'If you ever find yourself in the hands of your enemy. Do not protest. Do not fight back unless you are certin you will win. You never know what they have planned for you, but be prepared, because you'll never know how badly your actions will affect them, and what they will do to you. Never give up. Never let your processor stray. War is coming and one day you'll need these words. One day you'll be in trouble with no one to help you. Bluestreak. For me, please remember this. It'll keep you alive, it'll help you survive.'

And he did.

Bluestreak had memorized, and understood every single word his brother had said. Prowls advice was not to be taken lightly.

"Well, he's well behaved." Mused that smooth voice Bluestrak would only ever identify as Swindle. The paraxian had jumped from the sudden direct attention. But otherwise he did not respond. It was not directed towards him.

"Lucky us." Brawl uttered, sounding more then a bit upset that there would be no trouble with this one. The sadistic bastard, he was practically begging the sparkling to do something wrong.

Dazed out: the hints of blackness tinted the outer regions of Bluestreaks optics. His processor felt... Well, it didnt hurt, to bad, it just felt strained. Like that feeling you got after you wake from a black out. It destracted him from the Constructicons chatter.

However, the light soon resumed and Bluestreak found himself looking strait out into the world around him once more. The two of them had done quite some walking, giving, Bluestreak could not regonize where exactly he was.

Then again... The state of the city was so bad, he probably wouldn't be able to regonize it if someone had told him exactly were they were.

There was more then a ton of oxidized smoke rising in thick white, black, and yellow clouds. They rose from the quelled fires and into the air, the entire city looked coated with a dense layer of pure white mist. The streets- that, which was visable, looked like the untamed wilderness, wilderness that had been set directly in the path of an active volcano.

The sparkling hadn't realized how many 'bots had inhabited this section of the city- the little bird in the back of his processor told him that the damage did not limit to just the immedate area.

Bodies.

He'd never seen so many bodies.

Everywhere.

Bent, burned, torn, dismembered, skinned, melted, shredded, gashed, shot, you name it, it was there. Bluestreak had never seen such a mass cherade of wounds and fatalities before. Nasty dis-colored energon ran and coated the streets, it reminded Bluestreak vagley of that energon creak that flowed behind Prowls home...

Well, if the creak had a sudden spark attack and exploded- and imploded, everywhere.

There was really no other way to describe it.

Bits an peices of major words fluttered in and out of the mechlets audios. Unknown sounds, random screams. It was all so distant in his mind. It proved as a worthy distraction form the two Decepticons currently 'escorting' him to, primus knew where.

It was weird, how, they did not seam to smell the death in the air- or taste the chemicals lingering in the atmosphere. They didn't even noticethe lifeblood they were tredding in, they didn't seam to care when it stuck to their pedes.

It made Bluestreak sick.

How could... How could they not be disgusted?

Could they not feel guilt for what they had done?

No remorse?

Behind them, a loud gunshot pierced the short silence.

No... Mercy?

He couldn't wrap his small, not so innocent anymore processor around it. He couldn't fathom just why someone would do this, why would someone hurt so many people... Like this? And what for?

Wait- Where were they going?

The mechlet could do nothing but accept his fate. What else could he do? He was too weak to fight back. He didn't want to get hurt, so why would he protest? He'd have to keep his brothers caring words in his processor, and remain completley submissive. From this point on he had to make a decision: a tough one. Nothing would ever be the same.

Wether or not his brother was alive or deactivated, he had to put his processor in survival. He could get through this.

He didn't have to be afraid, but he was. He was just a young, seven vorn old sparkling. But He couldn't afford show weakness. This was his life that was on the line. And he really didn't want to die. He had so much more to live for.

This would make him stronger. He could do this, for Prowl. He could be tough, just like him.

But... how long would it last?

Brother, Dont be afraid of the

flames it's just your~

Birthday candle.

Just blow them out and make a

wish to your~

Guardian angels.

I may not be here for eternity,

But remember me when you feel

the heat, From that,

Birthday candle.

With it you can handle.

Anything.

Brother, Blow out your candle,

For me.