Chapter XVI

Hunter the Hunted

By: The Feesh

The simple fact that they had waited for him was astonishing. That they had been able to find him in the gigantic city of New York was baffling. That they had been able to corner him, as if planned so perfectly, in an abandoned underground parking lot three levels down … it was all so perfectly astounding.

In a closed space, Barricade had no chance. The only advantage over the Autobots he held was the fact that he and Bumblebee were the only ones short enough to move about the tiny space with even some amount of freedom, and as such, the shock trooper himself dealt out quite a bit of damage to his larger attackers. Prime, Ratchet, and Ironhide blocked off the exits and Bumblebee harassed him, and Barricade took every opportunity to viciously assault the Camaro who was nipping on his heels so doggedly. There had to be a way out…

They weren't shooting to kill him, that much was obvious. Ironhide's cannon settings were at their lowest, Prime and Ratchet didn't fire and Bumblebee rarely used his cannon at all. The moronic Autobots were still keeping to their code of honor and meant to capture him alive. I will not be their prisoner. I will not.

Barricade dove to the left and pressed his back to a support pillar, snarling, weapons systems humming. He only had two missiles left, having planted the other four into the three largest Autobots with, regrettably, not as much damage as he had hoped. Ratchet was built like a tank, Ironhide lived up to his damn name and had thicker skin than Barricade anticipated, and Prime had avoided the two missiles entirely. They waited for months for this…

How was that possible? The Decepticon had kept to himself during his time away from New York, and he had neither seen nor smelled even a hint of the Autobot Elites while he was gone. How did they know?

They planned this. Down to the finest detail.

Barricade was the last known Decepticon threat on the planet. They wanted him caged, out of service, and unable to harm anyone else.

This time they were not wasting their time with pleas and requests. This time they were doing it by force.

Not if I have any words to say about it. The interceptor's mind twisted and whirled, as it was prone to doing, systematically going over his options. His path to escape was cut off, and there was a certain saying that had floated around in the Decepticon ranks: if the door is blocked, make a window. Two missiles left. Make them count.

Bumblebee advanced from behind and Barricade turned, releasing his gyroflails with a vicious sound. Ironhide's cannons went off and as he swung, the shocktrooper felt armor scorch beneath his left arm, but was lucky enough to avoid the impact entirely. He drove the Camaro back a calculated one hundred feet from the other three, flails arching through the air with a terrifying grace and speed until he had Bumblebee precisely where he wanted that little yellow motherfu—

For a full split second after the brutal impact, the only thing Barricade was aware of was the fact that he was face down on the cracked concrete floor. At the two-second mark, he became conscious of the searing, Primus forsaken pain in his back and right shoulder and the sensation of his armor smoldering. With a growl, the shock trooper forced himself to focus and was on his feet by the count of four, just long enough for Ironhide to charge forward to follow up his initial higher-powered cannon shot. Smelt-eater.

Barricade still had one good arm left, and with it, he slammed his weapon into the yellow Autobot's gut, sending him to the ground. By that point, one of his two remaining missiles was already singing through the air, not at a specific target, but instead, at the ceiling. Prime shouted for Ironhide to halt as concrete debris rained like the Plagues of Egypt, fire mixed with rock rather than hail and as the dust cleared, the Saleen's intention became plain. The hole was ten feet wide and a thirty-foot diameter around it threatened to crumble and cave in at any moment, but it was big enough, and it would do. Window made.

Like a mental checklist, Barricade counted down the steps as he loosed his left flail and swung it in an arch upwards, through the hole he'd created in the ceiling. With a yank that was far more calculated than it looked (he needed just the correct amount of force applied at the perfect angle in order to succeed) he jammed the whirling blades into a concrete pillar on the second level, deep enough to make them stick. The chains retracted, pulling him up.

But, before he went…

"You lose, motherfuckers!"

The second, and last, shoulder-mounted missile came into play, and this time it's target was just as solid. Bumblebee ducked down as the projectile flew at him and impacted with finality with the cement pillar holding up the less than unyielding damaged ceiling above him, and by the time he realized that part of the second level was coming down on him, the shocktrooper had already made good his escape through his improvised exit route.

Prime scowled. "Ironhide! After him! Ratchet, you're with me."

The Autobot weapons specialist nodded and left the medic and his leader to dig Bumblebee out. He knew a bit of rubble would not be the tenacious scout's downfall and thus focused only on his task at hand as he jogged up the ramp. He could hear Barricade's engine and his exhaust system as he exploded onto the first level, surely making a beeline for that sun-soaked archway to freedom. Or so he thought. Ironhide's cannons charged.

It was a thing unexpected, when the road detonated underneath his tires.

Barricade skidded wildly with the sudden upheaval of the very asphalt beneath him, fishtailing and slamming his back quarters against the mouth of the garage entrance as he left it. The force sent him spinning madly into busy Bronx traffic as the road behind him crumbled and collapsed. Horns went off and brakes slammed but the efforts went unheeded by the laws of physics and motion and the interceptor slammed nose first into a taxi's passenger door, immediately followed by the prow of yet another Crown Victoria cab swerving into the same back quarter panel that had already seen damage.

Lights and sirens flicking to life, Barricade ignored the highly, highly irate swear words being flung his way and bulldozed his way through traffic. He did not care where they were going or where they had to be, so long as the fleshlings moved out of his way as they were supposed to. He had a place to be that was far, far more important than any engagement any insect in New York held, aside perhaps from one.

"Seeya later, Manny."

"Lata, Mike. Hey, Bugsy, you comin'?"

"Beer and girls. Hm. Lemme think…Later Mike!"

Yeah yeah, beat it, ya goons. They always get th' damn fun.

Romano watched Bugsy and Manny leave, trailing after Bubba and Tyson. The four of them, being senior employees, usually stuck around to clean, letting the younger mechanics head out on time. It was merely how things went in Greasemonkey's Garage. Mike double checked the locks on the garage doors and made his way back to a late project, listening to the din of horns and swear words outside as cars clogged the roadways like bad arteries.

With a look of irritated befuddlement, the mechanic stared at the open engine bay of his Honda, willing it to reveal its secrets and tell him why it refused to start. Everything checked out according to his eyes; starter was good, alternator turned, battery, fuses… but still the damned evil beast snubbed his every attempt at running it. The New Yorker pondered just selling the stupid thing for parts, but he kept at it, lifting the car onto a hoist and digging around underneath it. He'd try again, maybe for a few more hours.

Optimus Prime burst out of an alleyway in all of his chromed, eighteen-wheeler glory and Barricade swerved nimbly to avoid him. He cut across heavy-but-thinning traffic and ran a red light, cutting to the left, skidding across the intersection much to the peril of several cars who locked their brakes and slid to avoid him. The Saleen was vaguely aware of the clatter he left behind as a Jeep collided with a New York City yellow cab.

The Camaro was nowhere to been seen. Perhaps his armor did not hold up quite so well, Barricade thought as he flew down the street, strobes flashing and siren on emergency pulse. Cars did their best to get out of his way, and when they couldn't he took to the sidewalk to avoid being jammed up. He could not afford to stop. The Decepticon was not sure how his Autobot pursuers were navigating the roads with such seeming ease, but somehow they just kept getting ahead of him. They were determined this time, and Barricade got the distinct feeling that they did not have a leash in mind for him this round. A cage awaited him out west.

He'd never done very well behind bars.

Taking a massive risk, Barricade locked his brakes and skidded to the side, taking to his natural form and rocketing through a tiny alley at a dead run. It was not the smartest thing, but the United States government had done a bang up job shutting everyone up in Mission City. If anyone happened to even notice him that split second before he careened into the alley, the FBI would catch onto it, and those people would never utter another word.

Traffic stopped in its tracks in a chorus of rubber on asphalt as the Saleen Mustang flew back out onto the road –

Crunch.

Barricade twitched and swerved into oncoming traffic, recovering in time to see a Lexus flying at him, horn blowing. Something was wrong. He took a swift left at a yellow light and headed east, taking the roundabout way to –

Pop.

This time he darted right, into the rear quarter panel of a Toyota, sending it lurching left across three lanes and into the nose of a Tahoe going in the opposite direction. Pain ebbed from a center point, but it was deeper. It was under fresh wounds, buried beneath layers of armor and components.

Not now.


"Aw, c'mon you sonuva bitch, work for me."

It was two in the morning. The Honda had thus far managed to prevail in its battle against the one who held its keys. Fortunately, Romano had one last battle tactic up his sleeve. He hopped out of the small gas-saver and went over to the car hoist controls, levering the one-ton beast into the air. The mechanic had a hunch, and it was a hunch he intended to follow even if he had to pull the entire engine out of the bay in order to do so.

Of course, even the best-laid plans could be touched by Murphy's Law and go awry.

The greasemonkey jumped with a yelp as something slammed into the bay door, making the entire garage shudder. The lights flickered for a moment above him, making Romano's world a dance floor of flashing strobe motions until they settled into their usual function, passively irate at the assault against their power source. Mike dove out from under the Honda as it shuddered on the hoist, but thankfully, the machine held.

"Th' fuck wuzzat?!" he cried, eyes wide as he scrambled to his feet.

Something was outside.

He could hear it. The heavy but irregular sound of footsteps slamming through the snow in addition to the clicking, whirring, thudding that sounded like something alive, something huge but alive right to the exterior of his garage. The building shuddered once more, though to a lesser degree as something impacted with the icy ground outside. A few hundred possibilities went through the mechanics mind, followed by scenarios and mental movies that all seemed to end in his bloody, screaming death.

Is it Barricade?

What if it is?

What if it isn't?

Are there more? Th' stupid trooper said there was others after him!

Oh shit! What if they're aft' me? What if they know I know? Oh shit! Oh damn!

What if they wanna talk? What if they wanna shoot? What if they wanna shoot me, make me talk, and then take my name? Fuck!

Whatever, or whoever, it was, it was still outside and the New York greasemonkey found himself in the face of a decision that could kill him. Thoughts of his son and his girlfriend flitted through his mind as he walked slowly for the lever that would lift the garage door. Romano's mind was whirling with images of his life, so much so that he didn't think to stick his head out of the office door to see, perhaps, what was standing outside. He was too wrapped up in the moment. Too hellbent on seeing what his destiny would hold for him: death, or life?

Michael couldn't seem to move any faster than his current pace, which reflected molasses at Christmas time as he reached for the lever, gripped it, and pulled.

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ALSO! Fanfiction dot net has changed its catagories. It now is separated into two catagories for Transformers, those appropriate for G1, Beast Wars, Beast Machines and the like, and then those approproate for Movieverse. Collision will be moved at a time in the future to the correct catagory. This should not effect any story alerts, I don't think, but in case it does I wanted to ensure you all had ample notice. I may not move it until it's finished, just in case.

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