Bluestreak kept staring at the mech before him, trying to control his pulsating spark and yet failing. His logic circuits all but ached as he tried to take in the sight before him, and a part of him was sure that his optic sensors were glitching on him.
"What kind of sick joke is this?" he asked.
The Prowl look-alike looked back at the gunner calmly. "No joke, Bluestreak."
Bluestreak flinched at the sound of that voice; it was identical to the real Prowl's.
"Who in the Pit are you?"
Prowl held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I think you already know the answer to that, Bluestreak," he said, taking a step forward.
"Stay away!" Bluestreak exclaimed. His fingers tightened around the gun, his disbelief swiftly changing into anger. "Are the Quintessons behind this?"
"They revived me, but that doesn't mean I work for them," Prowl's look-alike answered. "It's just me."
"Then prove it!" the gunner said in a steely tone. "Or I swear to Primus, I'll make you regret crossing paths with me!"
The Prowl look-alike frowned for a brief moment, very much like the real one whenever something puzzled him. Still, there was no trace of fear or nervousness in him as he started talking.
"You're already holding the proof in your hands. You're aiming me with the same gun I gave you after you got accepted within the Autobot ranks."
Bluestreak glared at the mech. "How would you know?"
"Even from this distance, I can see that the barrel has two targeting modes, adjusting the gun as either a long-range or a short-range one. It makes it ideal for a gunner such as yourself."
"So?" Bluestreak growled.
"There are only two such Autobot guns. One belongs to Mirage, the other belongs to you," the Prowl look-alike answered.
"Maybe it was Mirage's and I borrowed it, you ever thought of that?" Bluestreak said.
"Mirage doesn't have his name etched on his gun," the Prowl look-alike replied calmly.
Bluestreak clenched his jaw. "There's only a code etched on it. H-18."
A ghost of a smile appeared on the doppelganger's lip components. "H-18 was the name First Aid gave you when you were hospitalised back at the Neutral Zone. It was the number of the room you were placed in while you were recovering from your wounds."
Bluestreak felt like his spark missed a pulse. Such was his shock that he didn't even realise that he had lowered his gun. How was it possible that thismech knew so much?
You know how, Bluestreak thought, and he aimed his gun at the black and white mech again. "The Quintessons could have planted all that information in you."
"They could," the Prowl look-alike admitted. "But where would they be able to find it in the first place?"
"I don't know!" Bluestreak snapped. "I just know what they're capable of!"
"You don't believe me then," the look-alike said.
Bluestreak didn't answer. He simply kept the mech at gunpoint.
The look-alike sighed. "I suppose it's understandable. Coming back to life just like that is a story hard to believe." He held up his broken door panels on his back in a proud manner. "In that case, your only option is to shoot me. I won't run away."
Bluestreak caught himself faltering. The mech's stoic expression and professionalism was intact, even now, at the face of death. And yet there was so much more in that look, in that body posture. It awakened in Bluestreak memories that he'd rather not remember.
Prowl…
What if it was really him?It's not that Optimus hadn't come back to life thanks to a Quintesson.
No, Prowl is dead, his logic dictated. You held his lifeless body and you shed tears over his tomb. You can't expect a miracle to happen twice.
With that, Bluestreak made up his mind. He pulled the trigger.
The Prowl look-alike stood there without so much as blinking as the laserfire flew in his direction. However, he was quite surprised when the laserfire passed by his helm and hit the rock behind him. He regarded Bluestreak curiously, trying to comprehend the reason behind the gunner's actions.
So alike, Bluestreak thought as he lowered his gun, a pang of sorrow tearing at his spark. "I saw that Sharkticon ready to kill me. You could have simply let him, but you protected me instead. I believe that much, so consider this as just a warning. Don't you ever…"
He stopped, his vocaliser almost failing him in that moment. Nevertheless, he persisted.
"Please, don't say you're him ever again. If you really don't work for the Quintessons, don't toy with me like that." Tears flooded his optics, but he refused to shed them, keeping his gaze locked on the mech. "Just don't."
The look-alike didn't reply, yet his expression reflected his sadness and even his guilt. He took a few more steps forward, keeping his palms upwards to show Bluestreak that he meant no harm; until he was just a few inches away from the gunner. Before Bluestreak realised what was happening, the mech had placed his hand on the silver helm in a soothing caress. The same caress that Bluestreak still remembered and always would, because it was the touch that always managed to brush the gunner's sadness and fears away.
His caress.
And Bluestreak finally believed. With a sob of joy escaping his lips, he wrapped his arms around Prowl and refused to let him go, fearing he was only dreaming.
Prowl found himself caught in an embrace almost as strong as a mecha-bear's, yet he didn't care. Feeling for the first time in his life overwhelmed with emotion, truly overwhelmed, he returned the hug just as strongly and closed his optics to savour the sensation of the other living mech that was with him. He didn't even try to shush Bluestreak when sobs racked the silver body. He simply stayed where he was, thanking Primus that he had been able to see the young one again.
Metallic steps snapped him out of that spell. He opened his optics, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw more familiar faces, even if they regarded him with disbelief and shock. Whispering to Bluestreak that he should let him go, he drew back from his protégé and took a good look at every single one of them: Optimus, Jazz, the Twins, Skylynx, Blurr… alright, there was one that he didn't know. Since he had the Autobot symbol on his chest, however, it was enough for Prowl that he was a friend also.
"Have you been here long?" he asked.
"Long enough, my friend," Optimus answered, his voice thick with emotion. "And something tells me you have a long story to tell."
"I do, but not here," the tactician said. "We'd better go somewhere safer."
The Autobots exchanged a glance and nodded their agreement. If they wanted to hear Prowl's story, they would have to listen to it without interruptions.
Optimus checked the cavern in which Prowl had led them, and he had to admit that the place was ideal for anyone who wanted to stay hidden. The cavern was located within a rocky mountain, riddled with maze-like tunnels. It wasn't easy finding your way in them; if it weren't for the tactician, the Autobots would have certainly lost their way.
Prowl… Optimus looked in the direction of the black and white mech, who was walking between Jazz and Bluestreak. It was almost impossible to believe but, as time passed, the more the Autobot leader was convinced that they were dealing with the real thing and not a clone or a cheap imitation. He could see it in the way the mech walked and regarded his friends, the same calm and collected expression in those familiar blue optics. He could even see it in the way that the mech smiled at Bluestreak, and Optimus knew that that fondness was unmistakable.
Though Optimus was happy, though, he couldn't help but feel uneasy as well, for he suspected that the tale Prowl would tell them concerning his resurrection would be quite horrifying.
"We're here," Prowl said, motioning with his hand to the centre of the cavern. There were several rocks that could serve as makeshift seats. "Make yourselves at home."
Sunstreaker raised an optic ridge. "Yeah… a cold, damp, uncomfortable one at that," he muttered.
"Indeed. But it keeps the Quintessons and their servants away," Prowl said, sitting down.
"Good. Start talking then," Sideswipe declared as he sat next to his brother. "Last time we saw you, you were grey and with a big hole decorating your chest-plate."
"And that's only half of it," Jazz noted, regarding Prowl curiously. "Not that any of us are complaining, but what happened?"
Prowl optics clouded in a frowning expression. "I'm not sure myself. I remember my chest-plate burning after Scrapper shot me and then darkness. That is, until I came online again."
"I don't remember much from my first days in captivity. During that time, I was at the Quintessons' mercy, unable to come online on my own. I could only grasp a few threads of reality in those brief moments that I was activated. Sometimes I'd see images which didn't make much sense, and other times I was only able to listen to them, talking amongst themselves. In either case, pain always stood out the most.
"My father had told me about the Quintessons. He had mentioned a time when Cybertron wasn't our home, but a place where those creatures could conduct their experiments on their creations without mercy. When he told me of those tales, I felt abhorred and disgusted. But it was nothing compared to what I felt whenever they injected their needles on me, tampering with my processor in any way they could. At those moments, I wanted nothing more than to free myself somehow and get away, even if it didn't look like it was possible. Well… even if it didn't look like it was possible at first."
"Why?" Sideswipe asked. "What made the difference?"
"That's easy," Prowl answered. "I soon realised that these moments of consciousness might have been filled with pain, but they also provided me with the chance to do the one thing I could do. Think. And soon I heard enough to realise that the Quintessons were quite puzzled with my case. Apparently, my battle computer was something unfamiliar to them, and they couldn't override it to enter my main files and basic programming, the way they did with the others.
"Heh… I guess Wheeljack had the right idea to strengthen your battle computer protocols after that little incident with Soundwave," Jazz noted with a smirk.
"He had," Prowl agreed. "Still, that didn't deter the Quintessons. It spurned them on instead, wishing to uncover the secrets behind the battle computer. I suppose they believed they could use it to their advantage.
"Their greed proved their mistake as well. As long as they kept me online, I could calculate the duration of those experiments as well as check which machines did what to me, which lever or switch activated them… everything that mapped the Quintessons daily routine.
"No, it wasn't easy. Sometimes it was hard to concentrate as their experiments became nothing less than torture. Still, bit by bit, I managed to store all the information I needed, and I started formulating my plan.
"They had been experimenting on my processor when I deemed it was time I went through with my escape. They had installed me on their main computer so that they could scan my functions one more time, hoping to find some weakness or other. What they didn't expect, however, was that I would hack into their computer. And as my conscience intertwined with it, I locked the doors to the chamber in which the others and I were, separating us from the Quintessons and the guards. When the Quintessons tried to regain control of their computer, I electrocuted them and so gave them a taste of their own medicine.
"I had bought myself some time; time which I used to boost myself with enough energy to break my bonds and kick open the pod I was in. I tried not to think of the wail of sirens as the alarms went off. I knew the way to the exit, since I had downloaded the information from the main computer.
"And yet I couldn't leave. Not like that."
"You wanted to free the others too," Optimus said, understanding.
Prowl nodded sadly. "I wanted to, but I couldn't. Not without using the computer again, and that would mean risking getting caught. In the end, I decided I had to run. I escaped through the ventilation system and got out of the lab before anyone could stop me."
"Hold on a sec, that just doesn't add up!" Blurr exclaimed. "How did you pull that off? No offense, but ventilation systems are always pretty small and you're a very broad mech, and your doors alone could have…"
"Blurr…" Jazz started.
"…easily gotten stuck and then you'd have been trapped for sure. Unless you broke them off, in which case we're talking about a pain so bad that you'd actually pass out and…"
"Blurr…" Jazz insisted.
"… I wouldn't go through with that if I were you. Hmm, yeah Jazz?"
"What do you think is missing from Prowl?"
Blurr blinked and looked at the tactician, finally noticing that the mech's doors were broken.
"Oh boy," he squeaked.
"Holy ouch, Batman," Wreck-Gar added with a wince.
Prowl smiled though, albeit wanly. "I know a mech who had witnessed his city getting burnt to the ground. He himself got so badly injured that he would have certainly bled to death unless he found help fast. He did, although he had to trudge through ruins and death to find it," he said, and regarded Bluestreak from the corner of his optic. "I suppose I understand now what drove him on."
Bluestreak didn't say anything. He simply reached for Prowl's hand and clasped it tightly in his own, his thumb rubbing the torn knuckles.
"Yeah, that's great and all, but come on, Prowl! What happened next? We're dying here!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "Figure of speech," he added sheepishly when everyone stared at him.
Prowl shrugged wearily. "There isn't much to tell afterwards. I spent most of the time staying hidden from the Quintessons. Whenever I had a chance, I'd infiltrate their base and try to sabotage their work as much as possible. I'd break down their machines, manipulate their equipment to my advantage – even delving into their files and learn of their plans."
"And when you did, you decided to warn us about it," Sunstreaker said, catching on. "You sent that distress signal we picked up."
"I did," Prowl said.
"I bet the Quintessons weren't all that happy about that," Jazz said, grinning.
"Not at all," Prowl said, a rare smirk of satisfaction briefly crossing his features. "But the Quintessons learned from their mistakes, unfortunately. They've tightened their security, making it almost impossible for me to break into their facility anymore. Worse, I've recently discovered that their reprogramming is almost complete."
"You mean… Ratchet and Ironhide…? All of them will be…?"
Jazz couldn't complete his thoughts; it was too appalling a notion. Besides, Prowl's nod was more than enough as an answer.
"Slag," Sunstreaker said, clenching his jaw.
"We've got to do something!" Sideswipe said.
"And we will, Sideswipe," Optimus said, determined. "But first we have to let Wreck-Gar patch our injuries and then have some rest. If we are to rescue our friends, we're going to need all our strength to do that."
"Nevertheless, someone has to stay guard. Our energy readings will be hard to miss in the Quintesson scanner and that could lead them here," Skylynx said, breaking his silence. "I volunteer to go first."
"Thank you, Skylynx, but you need to replenish your strength as well," Optimus pointed out. "I already know someone who can lend a hand."
With that, Optimus transformed to his truck mode, linking himself to the trailer. Moments later, the trailer opened and Roller sprang out, clicking and whirring eagerly.
"Roller, you know what to do," the Autobot leader said. "If the Quintessons or their minions appear, I want to know about it at once."
Roller whirred once in affirmation, then he sped off as fast as his wheels could carry him.
"That's one brave little trooper," Jazz said, smiling.
"Indeed," Optimus said, transforming back to his robot mode. "Now, Autobots… it's time to let Wreck-Gar do his work."
Wreck-Gar took out of subspace his tools, an almost maniacal grin on his face.
"Come to papa, baby!"
Prowl stared at Wreck-Gar dubiously, but Jazz just grinned and patted his resurrected friend on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. Compared to Ratchet, he's as gentle as they come."
"What?" the Quintesson with the devilish features exclaimed, making the three Sharkticons that stood before him flinch. "You showed your heels to a handful of Autobots and ran?"
"Master, please," one of the Sharkticons said, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "We didn't expect them to fight back so fiercely."
"That is no excuse!" the devilish Quintesson answered, lashing a whip at the three Sharkticons.
"Nevertheless, the Sharkticons have pointed out an important matter," the Quintesson with the wizened face answered. "The hit did not damage our future specimens as much as we had hoped."
"They are still stranded here and utterly vulnerable," the Quintesson with the spikes on his head answered. "These minor setbacks are meaningless; the specimens are only forestalling the inevitable."
"Not if they come across our fugitive!" the wrathful Quintesson said. "He knows our secrets and they have the firearms needed to put a stop to our plans forever!"
"Then there's no choice," the wizened Quintesson said, placing a tentacle on a lever. "It's time to see if our reprogramming has brought the desirable results."
"We still haven't managed to configure their last remnants of their personality," the Quintesson with the spikes pointed out.
"We've configured enough traits to make them the perfect weapon against their own friends," the wizened Quintesson said, finally pulling the lever.
Great surges lit up the entire room and six pods instantly opened to reveal six Autobots, fully repaired and operational.
"Slaves… Awaken," the wizened Quintesson commanded.
Six pairs of optics flashed brightly as the Autobots onlined and stepped out of their pods, complying with their masters' command.
TBC...