Vorn = 83 years/1 TF year
Deca-orn = 20 weeks/10 orns/1TF week
Orn = 2 weeks/1 TF day
Joor = 6 hours/1 TF hour.
Breem = 8.3 minutes.
Klick = less than a second
Ch. 7 – Voice
The following morning found Prowl up and at his personal terminal while Bluestreak continued to slumber on. For once, he wasn't working. This was personal research. At the moment, pulled up on his screen was all the known current information of the last Emirate of Praxus.
The mech had been Emirate for a little over two hundred vorns now, one of the longest careers in political history, and certainly longer than any other current Emirate. His longevity in office was often accredited to the trust he managed to garner from the bots he ruled over, their trust in him to put their welfare and safety above all else. He was hailed by many to be incorruptible, and while he was a mech of few words his actions spoke volumes. He had few close friends, but even those who didn't like him personally (and frankly, he was a bit hard to sincerely like) couldn't help but respect him. Even his most staunch opposers, when they spoke of him, did so with a touch of admiration.
Almost none of this was included in the Emirates profile. Prowl was only filling in the blanks from his own memories and impressions of the mech.
The available data were all facts he already knew. But there was one new, significant change:
Current status: off-line. Cause of Deactivation: casualty of war.
Prowl couldn't say he was surprised. Had the Emirate somehow survived or escaped the attack, his sense of duty and desire to help the remaining, scattered Praxians left would have prompted his rising up out of the cogworks by now. True, his body had not yet been found. But 80% of the bodies that had been found had not yet been identified, and it could be vorns before a complete list of the casualties could be compiled. The Emirates fate had been to die as quickly and anonymously as everyone else.
How…anti-climatic.
A new window popped up, alerting Prowl to a new message. Dutifully, he went ahead and opened it. His wings rose sharply as he saw what it was: a summons to see Lockout in his office, before he took Bluestreak to Ratchet for his checkup. There was no explanation as for why.
Prowl looked over at Bluestreak, splayed out on his cot with his doll pulled up close, mouth slightly opened as he cycled slowly, for once undisturbed by nightmares.
Lockout had not requested a specific time, and it was early yet. Meeting with the 2iC could wait a joor or two until Bluestreak was finished sleeping.
oOoOoOo
Prowl wasn't sure what to do with Bluestreak during the meeting. He was fairly certain Lockout was going to want it to be private, but after what happened last time Prowl wasn't too keen on leaving him alone again either. Granted it had turned out alright, but still.
He found his unexpected solution leaving Lockouts office with an uncharacteristic scowl on his face just as he and Bluestreak were walking up.
"Jazz?" Prowl said, mildly surprised.
The saboteur turned to Prowl, his frown immediately brightening into a sincere smile.
"Hey Prowler," (the tactician tried hard not to grimace at the nickname) "You got called up too?"
"It would seem so," Prowl said. He paused and waited as Bluestreak came out from behind him and hurried over to give Jazz his customary hug.
"What did Lockout want to see you for?" Prowl asked once Jazz had straightened again.
Jazz's smile faded slightly. "Prolly for th' same thing he wants t' see you for."
Before Prowl could question Jazz about his cryptic answer (they don't share any missions and very few duties, what could Lockout want with the both of them?), the other mech beat him to the punch.
"You want me t' keep a watch on Blue here?" he offered, settling a servo on top of the younglings helm. "I got 'bout a breem before I gotta be anywhere, and Lockout shouldn't take that long."
"If you could, it would be appreciated," Prowl said. "So long as Bluestreak is alright with it."
Bluestreak nodded, putting his little servos up so they rested on top of Jazz's own.
"Good. Hopefully this will be as quick as Jazz believes it will."
Lockout was waiting for him when Prowl came in. He was sitting back in his chair, watching the tactician coolly, and even the empathetically challenged Prowl could detect the disapproval the 2iC was radiating. Prowl quickly went through a mental checklist of any and all reasons Lockout would have to be upset with him. He came up clean: he had broken no regulations, his duties have been done in a timely manner, and he knew he continued to do good work. Clearly, whatever it was that Lockout was upset about had nothing to do with Prowl personally.
Prowl stood at attention in front of Lockouts desk. "You wanted to see me sir?"
"I did," Lockout said. He gestured to one of the chairs. "Have a seat."
Prowl did so, even as Lockout watched him coldly. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as the rest of him.
"You may not be a member of the High Command, but you still hold a coveted position in direct service to the Prime. Your actions and conduct still reflect back on him, and as such you have a responsibility to maintain a certain level of decorum and professionalism."
Prowl, who more often than not was accused of being TOO professional, was now thoroughly confused.
"Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand what you are talking about."
"I'm talking about the mayhem you participated in inside the wash racks yesterorn."
Prowls tanks froze.
"I don't care what you choose to do in your free time, barring illegal activities," Lockout went on, interlacing his fingers and leaning forward with his elbows on his desk. "But I had hoped you would at least have the discretion to conduct yourself properly in a public area. I will be speaking to Red Alert later about this as well, but just because he, an officer, had chosen participate does not exempt you from judgment."
Prowl remained externally stoic, but internally he was burning in humiliation. Bad enough he was seen acting in such a manner at all. But by an officer? The Second in Command himself? It was like his worst nightmare come to life. Having Lockout see him acting like a sparkling was almost worse than being seen by the Prime; at least Optimus had enough of a sense of humor to let it slide. Lockout would be considerably less…merciful.
"I offer my most sincere apologies for my gross break in conduct, sir," Prowl said. "I can only promise that it will not happen again."
Lockouts optics narrowed in a frown.
"I believe that you regret being caught in the act, Prowl, especially by me," he said. "But answer me truthfully – do you regret the act itself?"
Prowl started to answer 'of course' or perhaps with a more respectful 'yes sir, I do'. But even as he began, he stopped. Sure, it was humiliating as nothing else being seen, but now he was remembering what it was like to actually (and he still couldn't quite believe he was even thinking the word) play, something he couldn't remember doing since he was younger than Bluestreak. That line of thought brought up other memories, of how the youngling had opened up and relaxed, had smiled, had laughed, had pulled Prowl into his game simply because he wanted to include him, had been so clearly, purely happy.
The realization hit Prowl like a runaway shuttle, and even as he answered, he sounded slightly awed by his own words.
"No, I don't."
Lockout didn't react, except for a slight tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"What have you done for Bluestreak while you're working?" he asked.
The sudden change in topic caught Prowl off guard. "I…he usually finds ways to occupy himself. He particularly seems to enjoy drawing, and since I started taking my work into the rec room, he's had a chance to interact with some of the other bots here, the ones he's most comfortable with at least."
Lockout frowned, that special 'I-highly-disapprove-of-your-very-existence' vibe of his returning full force.
"That isn't good enough," he said firmly, almost angrily. "Younglings aren't like turbodogs; you can't just feed and clean up after them and assume that's all they need."
Prowl hand clenched in his lap.
He didn't appreciate the implication that he was being negligent in his duties as Bluestreaks Caretaker, or that he was completely ignorant of the younglings needs. But then again, he also knew there was very little he could say in his defense, except that there wasn't much else he could actually do, and that was a pitiful defense by anyone's standards. Still, Lockout was a commanding officer, and Prowl would not backtalk to him.
But Lockout didn't seem interested in needling Prowl. Instead, he pushed back and reached down into a drawer. When he came back up, he was holding a data chip between his fingertips.
"There is an aptitude test on here for Bluestreaks age group," Lockout explained as he held it out to Prowl. "Have Bluestreak complete it and return it to me by tomorrow, sooner if you can. It should give us an idea of where he is in his studies and what education packet would suit him best."
Prowl, having just accepted the data chip, looked back at Lockout with surprise.
"Red Alert brought his own packets for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe," Lockout went on, as if not noticing Prowls reaction. "I still don't believe any of the younglings should be here, but if they must be then their lives should be allowed to continue as normally as possible, if we can manage it without compromising other functions in the base. That includes continuing their educations. Red Alert already has his own system regarding his brother's home schooling, but you'll have to come up with your own for Bluestreak."
Prowl looked down at the chip, then back up at Lockout in understanding.
"Did Elita send this for you to pass on to me?" he asked.
Lockouts expression remained impassive. "No."
Prowl stared.
"That will be all Prowl. You are dismissed."
The Praxian stood, gave a quick salute, and turned to leave.
"Prowl."
Stop, servo already on the key pad, looking back at Lockout expressionlessly, simply waiting for what came next. Lockout granted him a small smirk.
"Next time you want to have an impromptu water fight in the wash racks, do us all a favor and at least remember to close the door."
"………I'll keep that in mind, sir."
Jazz was holding Bluestreak upside down by the pedes as he helped the youngling walk around the room on his servo's. In a sign that he was learning to accept odd happenings with increasing grace, Prowl barely flickered an optic at the sight.
"Hey Prowl, how'd it go?" Jazz asked as he carefully put Bluestreak down.
Prowl fingered the data chip in his servo.
"Worse than I had thought, better than you had assumed," he answered.
oOoOoOo
"Alright Bluestreak, just stand over here and let me run the general scan over you," Ratchet instructed.
The grey youngling looked up at Prowl briefly, and waited for his quick nod before he did as the medic told him, standing clear in the middle of the room and allowing the scan to pass over him with just a slight flinch.
Unlike the last time he visited the med bay mere joors after being found in the ruins of Praxus, Bluestreak seemed slightly more comfortable with his surroundings and the medic. Or at least, he didn't look ready to bolt at the first perceived wrong move. But he still kept looking to Prowl as if for approval or reassurance, or perhaps just to check to make sure he hadn't evaporated when he wasn't looking. When he wasn't watching Prowl, he was keeping an optic on Ratchet with the most intensity the adult Praxian had seen out of him yet, especially when the CMO took out a new tool. Ratchet, picking up on the youngsters tight nervous energy, would stop to explain each and every tool and what it was meant to do before continuing on with his examination.
Prowl had already had to chase of one mech who had stopped to gape at the door when the sight of Ratchet being patient and understanding to someone who wasn't unconscious on their death bed proved to be a little too hard for him to comprehend.
Speaking of whom, Prowl observed and noted Bluestreaks behavior carefully. Bluestreak had made no mention of any of his memories returning, yet he maintained an almost reflexive apprehension of doctors. Well, perhaps not doctors per se, but something about this environment made him far too anxious. Especially so, considering the trauma of Praxus had forced him to repress nearly all his memories but the bare essentials for functioning. So either Bluestreak was remembering something that was sparking this apprehension and had chosen not to share it with Prowl for some reason, or the experience was something so strong and/or repetitive that it ingrained in him this instinctual anxiety even when he could no longer recall the original event.
Prowl wasn't sure which he found more unsettling.
: : Prowl. Mind stepping out for a bit? : :
The named mech straightened at the summons. A quick glance told him that Bluestreak was being occupied by an optic examination. He wouldn't notice if Prowl stepped out for a short bit, and there was no need to cause further anxiety by making him aware of it.
: : Certainly, but I'm afraid it will have to be quick. : :
: : Don't worry, this'll only take a klick. : :
Prowl pushed himself off the wall and after checking again that Bluestreak was suitably distracted, quietly walked away and stepped out of the bay. The waiting Sidestep raised a servo in greeting.
"Thanks Prowl. This'll be quick, I know how Blue hate's to be separated from you."
"He seems more upset about being alone than being away from be specifically, but he doesn't appear comfortable in the med bay," Prowl felt obligated to explain. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Sidestep held up a data chip for Prowl in a manner eerily similar to what Lockout had done earlier. "You know the construction going on for the volatile material storage unit? Someone needs to check up on it and make sure it's all going good and no one is missing anything. Techninally the progress need to be approved by an officer, but none of us are going to be available to check it ourselves for a good deco-orn or two if we're lucky. We'd rather have it signed off sooner than later so the mechs can hurry and get it done though, so Prime figured you'd be a pretty good candidate to go for us. Are you up for that?"
Had Prowl been any other mech, he would have gone completely blank in disbelief at the incredible show of implied trust and responsibility in an assignment personally handed to him by the High Command. But since this was Prowl, his logic computer stepped up to the plate and quickly but ruthlessly weighed his known abilities and matched them to the assignment for compatibility and probability to carry it out adequately (read: perfectly).
"Of course sir," Prowl said, taking the data chip.
It was hardly a glamorous assignment, but what Sidestep had essentially done was assign Prowl to be the optics and audios for the Prime himself, and heavy and weighty responsibility, and it spoke volumes of Optimus', and by extension the rest of the officers for agreeing to it, trust in Prowls observations and judgments. He could never turn down a request from Optimus himself.
Still, there was still one outstanding issue.
"What about Bluestreak?" Prowl asked. "I can hardly take him into the construction zone."
Sidestep shrugged. "You just said he's mostly fine so long as he has company. There's bound to be SOMEBODY who'll be able to watch him for a few joors while you're gone. If not, maybe he can wait at the edge of the site where-"
Sidestep was interrupted y the sound of heavy crashing and clattering.
Prowl and Sidestep froze for half a klick before they moved and as one burst through the med bay doors.
"What's going on?" Prowl tried to demand, almost at the same time as Sidestep. But the question died on both their lips as the self-explanatory sight fully registered with them both.
Ratchet stood in the middle of the room, hands up and out, frozen in shocked horror, while Bluestreak – trembling, frightened, close to tears Bluestreak – huddled under one of the movable tables, the floor around him littered with tools and containers that had been knocked off when he had dashed for cover, the clattering sound from before. One of the fallen tools had been a laser scalpel, the reason for Ratchets current horror; Bluestreak now held the small but dangerous energy blade out in front of him towards the CMO with both his trembling servo's.
Prowl felt his tanks lurch.
"Bluestreak!" he exclaimed.
The youngling turned his head just slightly enough to catch Prowl in his peripheral vision without taking his main focus off the frozen medic. His already impossibly wide optics widened even more, if marginally, but other than that he did nothing else.
"When Bluestreak noticed you were gone, he panicked," Ratchet explained quietly, not wanting to risk upsetting the youngling even more. "I only turned by back for a couple of klicks, and he…"
He hardly needed to finish. Prowl and Sidestep could already see what had happened next. Prowl could almost feel the pressure against the inside of his helm as his battle computer jumped into action, calculating all possible moves and options to remove the threat as quickly as possible. He sent a quick comm. to Sidestep, asking him to remain quiet and still and let him handle this, before he started circling around to approach Bluestreak in the most non-threatening manner possible.
"Bluestreak, put the scapel down now," Prowl ordered. "There is no need for this."
The younglings optics darted between Prowl and Ratchet.
"I don't know why you don't trust Ratchet, but at least trust me."
A few long klicks passed before Bluestreak crept out from under the table and came closer to Prowl. But even so, he kept the scalpel pointed at Ratchet until he was next to his Caretaker. Since he was so focused on the perceived danger that was the medic, he never saw Prowl moving until the blade was already pulled deftly from his servos.
"Excuse us Ratchet," Prowl said coolly as he set the tool aside at a safe height. "Bluestreak and I need to have a talk."
With that, Prowl grabbed Bluestreak firmly by one hand and pulled him out of the med bay. Sidestep moved to the side to allow them to pass, and watched them go with a contemplative frown. His contemplation was soon interrupted by a flying wrench.
KLANG!
"Ow! What the fragging pit did I do?!"
Sidestep looked irritably back at Ratchet while rubbing his newly acquired dent, but his righteous annoyance was quickly replaced by Primus-forsaken terror that could only be inspired by the looming, furious CMO.
"What kind of stories have your mechs been telling him about me?" he growled dangerously.
No matter what fault he may or may not hold, he already knew he was in deep slag.
oOoOoOo
Unprovoked aggression, threatening an officer, creating a disturbance…had this been commited by an Autobot, he would have been thrown into the brig to await a court martial. Prowl knew the rules and regulations and knew perfectly well what would have happened, what procedures to follow and what reports to write so it would all pass over as quickly and efficiently as possible, and so the offending soldier (clearly a mech no longer in his right mind and not to be trusted) to be thrown out of the army before he could cause any more damage.
But the perpertrator wasn't a solder. It was a youngling. It was the youngling entrusted to his care.
There were no regulations and procedures for Prowl to fall back on for this.
Prowl didn't even wait until they got back to his quarters. He found an empty conference room on the way and commandeered it for the orn. As soon as the door was closed he whirled around at Bluestreak. He had no experiences in how to deal with a youngling in this unique situation, so for lack of a better idea he proceeded as if he were speaking to an adult.
"You attacked the Chief Medical Officer unprovoked, Bluestreak," he said. "You could have hurt him, you could have seriously hurt yourself. I know Ratchet, he would never do anything to harm you. Tell me why you did it, now."
Bluestreak scrunched up his shoulders as he kept looking down. A spark of frustration flittered across Prowl, and he reached down and gripped Bluestreaks chin and forced him to look up. Even so, Bluestreak kept his optics adverted.
"Look me in the optic Bluestreak. I'm ordering you to tell me why you did it."
Prowl released his hold, and the young survivor started to bring his arm around to type out his answer on the data pad still clipped to his forearm. But he was halted by Prowls larger hand on his own.
"No Bluestreak. I've had enough of this; I want you to speak. I want you to use your voice and tell me what happened."
Bluestreak stared at him in shock for a klick before shaking his head and pointing at his throat. Prowl frowned.
"Don't try and give me that. I've heard you scream almost every night the first deca-orn you were here, I know full well that there's nothing wrong with your vocalizer."
Bluestreak kept shaking his head and tried to pull his arm away, but Prowl wasn't letting go.
"Use your words Bluestreak! There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't!"
But Bluestreak kept trying to pull away as his face twisted in frustration, and it a fit of anger he started hitting Prowls arm as hard as he could with his free hand. Shocked, Prowl had to use his other hand to stop the attack.
"Stop it!" Prowl ordered, his voice starting to rise. "Why are you acting like this? I'm asking you to do what we both know you are capable of doing. You have no rational reason to be angry at me."
Bluestreak snapped his head up angrily at Prowl, before the elder finally let him pull away. Now free, the youngling brought the data pad up and furiously tapped away his answer with enough force to threaten to crack the screen. It only took a few klicks to type out nine characters and two spaces, and he forcefully pulled the data pad off its magnetic klick and thrust the screen up towards Prowl like a weapon.
You left me!
"You were occupied by Ratchet, and I was only gone for 42 klicks," Prowl said, crossing his arms and looking down at Bluestreak. "The only reason it became a problem is because you chose to make it a problem with that stunt of yours."
You left me alone with the Doctor! You're my Caretaker, you're supposed to protect me!
"There was nothing you needed protection from in there. There was absolutely no danger to you or anyone in that room. The only danger was the danger YOU posed to yourself AND to Ratchet. How is it you can't understand that?"
You! Left! Me!
Bluestreak shook the data pad at Prowl, as if trying to make the typed words yells with his righteous anger. Prowl tried to counteract Bluestreaks misplaced emotions with the steady, cool calmness of rationale.
"You are being completely irrational, Bluestreak. If you would just stop and think logically for a few klicks, you would understand that, instead of getting so overly emotional over nothing."
Bluestreak was practically shaking with anger, now outright crying. For a moment, Prowl thought he was going to full out scream at him. Instead, in a fit of anger he pulled back his arm and threw his data pad full force at his Caretaker.
Purely on reflex, Prowl batted the projectile away so it hit the wall with a crack as its screen shattered and broke to pieces.
Adult and child stood there, just staring at each other in the heavy silence.
Bluestreak broke optic contact first, doorwings lowering as he put his servos together over his chest, looking downward. Gone was the righteous anger, replaced by awkwardness and shame. Prowl watched him for a few klicks, his expression blank and revealing nothing of his thoughts. It was nearly an eighth of a breem before he finally spoke, as soft as a whisper and deafeningly loud in long empty conference room, enough to make Bluestreak flinch.
"What am I supposed to do with you?"
BR-EEEP! BR-EEEP! BR-EEEP!
Bluestreak nearly jumped into the air at the sudden loud noise, but Prowl only stiffened at the alarm. The alarm was swiftly followed by the mechanical voice of Teletraan.
"INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! ALL PERSONAL TO POSITIONS!"
Without a moment's hesitation Prowl grabbed Bluestreaks servo and pulled him out from the room and down the hall. Bluestreak had to take long fast steps just to keep from tripping over his own pedes, that was how fast Prowl was going. As they hurried down the hall, Bluestreak swung his head every which way as more mechs than he remembered ever seeing in one place bustled through the halls with purpose, none of them sparing him so much as a glance.
He could feel his fuel pumps quickening with confusion and fear. What was all this? What was going on? Where was everyone going? Forget that, where was Prowl taking him? Where they under attack? Was it the Seekers, was it the Seekers??
Prowl stopped in front of one door and rapidly keyed in the pass code. Bluestreak only had enough time to realize he recognized the area before the door slid open and he was pushed inside to crash into a red chassis.
"Welcome to the party Blue," Sideswipe greeted with a grin that almost covered up how nervous he was.
Seated at the monitors just as he was when Prowl first met him, Red Alert turned his head to regard the tactician. "Good, you made it. Bluestreak will be safe here, hurry and take your position with the Prime; he's in the war room with Ironhide."
"Right."
Prowl didn't even spare Bluestreak a quick glance before he left the room as swiftly as he came, the door swishing closed behind him.
Confused and frightened, Bluestreak looked up at Sideswipe entreatingly. The elder youngling patted him on top of the helm in attempted comfort.
"Um, did Prowl ever get around to telling you about the 'emergency procedure's' or stuff like that?" Sideswipe asked.
Bluestreak just stared at him in bewilderment.
"That's probably a 'no'." Sunstreaker translated from his seat by the wall. "The mech never even bothered to explain to Bluestreak what was going on. Fragger."
Bluestreak stiffened and glared heatedly at Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker matched him evenly.
"I'm only calling them as I see them, kid."
"Sunstreaker, don't even start, this isn't the time," Red Alert ordered, not taking his optics off the monitors. "The three of you, just sit down and be quiet."
For once, the twice didn't put up a fuss – the tension was too much, and even they could understand that their favorite activity of riling up their older brother wasn't worth it now. Bluestreak settled between the twins, listening as Sideswipe quietly tried to explain what was going on while Red Alert barked directions over the comm.
: : Con traveling down corridor, 3-2-gamma, Mirage intercept, Trailbreaker meet him. : :
: : Trailbreaker injured, Patch rendezvous at location in point four seven breems, Cliffjumper cover him. Mirage in pursuit back up corridor 3-2-gamma. : :
: : Con evasion, attempting to divert him by locking out exits. : :
: : Diversion failed. Con now in inventory room, locking doors now. Prowl corner him, Mirage and Hound cover him. : :
Prowl moved on automatic, hurrying to the inventory room without a second thought, acid pellet rifle in hand. Red Alerts voice was sharp and even, like controlled bursts of gunfire, and everyone followed his prompts like cogs in a well oiled machine, trusting him to be their optics from his place in the Security hub, where he had access to every camera and nearly every locked door in the base.
Prowl was completely focused and alert, his wings held high to catch every movement, every sound, every pattern of light and shadow that could possibly be their intruder, but for all his concentration he couldn't help the flash of his mind going to the younglings Red Alert was sharing his space and sanctuary with.
This eventuality of an attack, of an intruder, had not been left unconsidered. The evening Red Alert came with his brothers, and after all the younglings had gone to sleep, he and Red Alert discussed what to do in case a threat breached to the inner sanctum of the base. They came up with a few plans, the first being to keep all three of them in the Security Hub with Red Alert until the danger passed. Yes, it was a sensitive room and a valuable target, but it was also the most secure and well guarded room in the entire base, and nearly impossible to breach with anything short of a bomb – and anybody who wanted to salvage any of the invaluable information inside wouldn't risk explosives just to open the slagging door.
Bluestreak was in the safest place in the base. Since there was only one confirmed intruder, it was highly improbable that they would need to evacuate him and the twins. Right now, Prowl had to focus on getting to his station and doing his part: capturing the intruder as soon as possible before he could cause any damage, and learning how he got inside in the first place.
: : Locks, locks not working, : : Red Alert reported, the first sign of any emotion (surprise? Bewilderment?) filtering into his voice. : : Con traveling down corridor 1-8-gamma, will come across Prowl in nine klicks at current pa…no, he's on top of you now! : :
A dark green and blue mech appeared out of one of the side doors almost as soon as Red Alert uttered the last words.
The mech fired randomly down the hall at Prowl, clipping one of his wings before he was able to spin back and tuck himself into a doorway that opened up for him (thanks, Red Alert). The injury was practically screaming at him, so he turned off the sensors. It cut down his ability to sense his surroundings drastically, but at least the pain wouldn't be able to distract him.
Prowl poked out and shot off a few rounds, but the Decepticon had already ducked away down another door.
: : Con escaped Prowl, traveling down corridor 1-8-epsilon, Prowl pursue, Mirage and Hound en route. : :
Prowl hurried down the hallway to the door the Decepticon had gone too…and skidded to a halt.
There was a door, yes…but it was still secured shut from the lock down. More than that, the door way's location was in the wrong place, too far down to coincide with where the unknown intruder had gone.
Prowl's battle computer was running at full tilt, going through the intruders known locations and sporadic appearances, and the fact he didn't seem the least bit handicapped by the lockdown, something that was still slowing down the Autobots as they tried to mobilize around him. His path was admittedly erratic, but how was he able to travel so swiftly?
Bluestreak huddled between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Without his data pad, and their being too young to have private comm. links yet, they didn't have much other means of communication. Not that it mattered; none of them were in much mood to say much. Sideswipe kept watching Red Alert hands fly across the boards as he tracked the disappearing reappearing intruder as he moved like smoke in the wind, and Sunstreaker just glared at nothing, the only sign of his apprehension being the death grip he held on the hand that Bluestreak had snuck into his earlier. Bluestreak held both their hands in his, at first for his own comfort, then for theirs.
Bluestreak kept his knees drawn up close in a protective shell, optics closed and trying to concentrate on the two warm bodies on either side of him, the floor he sat on, Red Alerts barking voice, anything to keep him grounded in the here and now and not back at Praxus with the falling buildings and Seekers whistling past and…and…
His optics flashed on line.
Prowl. Prowl was out there now, and, and he was probably fighting the Decepticons now, keeping them away from here. What if they…what if he didn't…
NO! No, that wasn't going to happen! Prowl was smart, and he was strong, and he wouldn't leave like that! He had to come back, he just HAD too!
'But he already left you alone once already,' the treacherous voice of his worst fears pointed out. 'How can you be sure that he'll come back this time? What makes you so sure he won't leave just like everyone else did?'
A violent shudder passed through Bluestreak, and he ducked his head and off lined his optics, trying to banish the voice.
Prowl had to come back. He had to be okay. He couldn't…Bluestreak didn't have anyone else. He didn't even have Silverstreak with him. He didn't even have memories of anyone else to keep him company. Prowl had to come back. They couldn't let that fight be the last thing they said to each other. Prowl had to come back so he could say he was sorry, he had to say he was sorry and make it better. This was happening because he'd been bad, wasn't it? He did something horrible, and he was being punished for it, so Prowl had to come back so he could say he was sorry and so he could be good and never do anything bad again and make everything okay and-
Bluestreak's wings twitched.
His head snapped up and turned to the right, just as a black and green mech with bright red optics silently bled through the walls.
After that, it was as if the entire world was filled with a thick, heavy gel that just muffled everything and made everyone move in slow motion, slow enough to Bluestreak to see each and every detail. His mouth opened, to yell, to warn, to do something, but he was frozen and could only watch.
He saw the intruder turn and focus on Red Alert.
He saw him pull out a gun and point.
He saw Red Alert turn at the last klick, yelling something and pulling out his own gun.
He saw the gun go off.
He saw Red Alert fall out of his seat, the gun going flying from his limp hand.
He saw Red Alert fall to the ground with a smoking charred hole in his chassis.
He saw, and could do nothing else, not even scream.
: : Con's in the Hub! Con's in the- : :
Red Alert broke off into static. Prowl froze, and Hound and Mirage exchanged horrified looks.
"We're finished if the Decepticon is a good enough hacker to get past Teletraan's firewalls," Mirage said.
"Not happening." Hound said, a tad distractedly as he listened to the Prime shooting off instructions, who to break down the Hub door and get the 'Con out, who to hack into whatever terminals they could to virtually kick the 'Con out of the mainframe, and so forth. However, there was one order that the tracker found to be conspicuously absent.
"What about the younglings?" Hound questioned a loud. "I didn't think of it before, but who's watching them? Maybe we should find them, make sure they're safe. Pit, if this hits the fan we might have to get them out of here."
"Good idea," Mirage agreed with a nod. "Prowl, where are they right…now?"
Mirage and Hound finally realized that the place Prowl had been standing was conspicuously empty. What they had failed to notice was how he had run off full tilt before Hound had finished saying 'we're finished' and was already four corridors away as he hurried as fast as physically possible for the Security Hub.
The blaster shot had thrown Red Alert clear out of the chair he had half raised out of, making him fall hard and skidding backwards on the floor with the smoking, sparking hole in his chest. He twitched for a klick or two before going still. Bluestreak was completely frozen in disbelieving horror, not quite able to believe what had just happened.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, on the other hand, were a bit faster on the uptake.
"YOU GLITCH!" Sunstreaker roared, throwing himself at the stranger with all the physical fury he could muster
The blue and green mech had only half turned enough to show the look of complete surprise before Sunstreaker was tackling him. The momentum was enough to knock them both down to the floor with a crash and Sunstreaker was punching as hard as he could. The mech was trying to push him off and yelling something incoherent, but now Sideswipe was literally jumping into the fray and landing on one of the mechs shoulders, causing him to cry out in pain as the joint was crushed. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were like red and yellow storms of fury as they attacked the downed intruder with everything they had.
ZZZP!
Sunstreaker jolted and collapsed limply, to Sideswipes shock.
ZZZP!
Sideswipe paid for his distraction, and fell to the floor just like his brother.
Gingerly, the mech sat up, holding up the servo with the crackling stunner rod jutting out from his wrist. Aside from being liberally scuffed and a few new dents, only two of which that actually looked painful, he was none the worse for wear. He flicked his servo and the rod slid back into his wrist with a click.
"You know, I don't remember anyone saying 'Hey Phase Out, don't forget to watch out for psychotic younglings hiding in the shadow," he commented casually. "Come to think of it, just what the heck are a couple of younglings doing in a military base in the first place? I mean, I knew the Autobots were over saturated with bleedings sparks, but I'd've figured that the brass would have a LITTLE more sense than that!"
A slight scrapping sound caught his attention, and the Decepticon – Phase Out – looked back to see the red and white mech struggling to move, trying to grab the pistol he had dropped. With a snort, Phase Out covered the distance in three steps and picked up the gun himself, plucking it away from the tips of Red Alerts trembling digits.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" Phase Out said, kneeling down next to the barely conscious mech. "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything to the little ones. I don't get my jollies from killing helpless younglings, I'll have you know. Security Directors, on the other servo…"
Phase Out pressed the barrel of the pistol to Red Alerts helm a his casual, almost friendly tone took on a decidedly harder, more dangerous edge.
"…are fair game."
BANG!
Phase Out's head snapped up. No, the red and yellow bite sized body guards were still down. Was someone else here? He looked around, behind him, and shuttered his optics in blank disbelief.
It was yet another youngling, smaller than the first two, standing unsteadily with wide optics and his little fist still up against the metal wall behind him where he had hit it, making that loud banging sound that had distracted Phase Out before. The grey and red youngling stared back at Phase Out, looking almost as surprised by his own actions as the mech did.
"Another one?!" Phase Out said incredulously. "Is this the Autobot headquarters or did I infiltrate an Iacon orphanage by mistake??"
Bluestreak, blankly frozen, had no response to this.
Phase Out frowned and narrowed his optics as he got a good look at the little one. In particular, the door wings and tell tale frame design. "What a klick…you're from Praxus, aren't you? Did the Autobots find you in what was left of it?"
Bluestreak pressed himself against the wall.
Phase Out stood to his feet, not taking his optics off the child. "Megatron ordered Praxus to be razed to the ground to showcase the Decepticons power and reach and all that ra ra rah. That kind of thing makes most bots think veeeery carefully when picking sides. Now kid, if you did manage to survive all that, I'll give you props for it. But having any survivors kind of undercuts the message we were trying to go for."
Bluestreak shook, beyond scared and confused because he didn't (want to) understand what the Decepticon was saying.
Phase Out casually raised his borrowed pistol and aimed it dead center at Bluestreaks head.
"Nothing personal kid, I'm just anticipating Megatrons orders here."
Bluestreak felt his frightened stupor snap.
He darted away just as Phase Out's gun went off, the plasma blast burning a bright orange and white spot on the wall right behind where Bluestreak had been standing just a klick before.
Phase Out growled angrily as he subspaced the weapon. He couldn't risk trying to shoot a moving target while he was inside the sensitive Security Hub – he could damage something important before he had a chance to complete his mission, and while decimating the Hub would be a heavy blow, his pride as an operative demand he accomplish his original objective.
Phase Out tried to circle around and lunge in front of the kid, but Bluestreak would spin, dodge, twist out of the way just a wires breadth away from his reaching servos. Every time Phase Out came close to grab him, the youngling would always duck away at the last klick even when his back was turned and couldn't see what Phase Out was doing. His evasions were far too timely and far too frequently for it to be pure coincidence.
'Stupid motion sensitive wing panels,' he thought irritably.
Bluestreak turned too sharply, overcompensated to avoid falling, and his pede nearly slipped out from under him in the mad scramble.
Phase Out lunged as his servos shot out to grab Bluestreak in that klick long window where his quarry could not escape.
Something caught his ankle and held.
With almost comical surprise Phase Out's lunge was halted mid motion, leaving him to crash down flat on his face. He didn't get to see Bluestreak literally dive under the console, so when he pushed himself back up the little Praxian was already gone.
"What the Pit??" Phase Out exclaimed. He lifted himself to his knees and twisted around to see what had tripped him up so ingloriously.
It was that Primus-slagged Security Director, stretched out on the floor and barely clinging to consciousness even as he was slowly bleeding out all over the floor. His servo was holding fast to Phase Outs ankle with determined but quickly fading strength. He had used up the last of his reserves in the desperate bid to save the child, and he was going to pay for it dearly.
"You just don't give up, do you?" Phase Out snarled, kicking the red servo away. "I've had enough of you."
The annoyed Decepticon unspaced his pistol and aimed it at the top of Red Alerts head just an arm's length away.
Bluestreak crawled as far back as he could, then followed along the wall as fast but as quietly as his panicked self could manage. There had to be someplace he could go, someplace he could hide, he could hear Phase Outs voice even if he wasn't in a state to comprehend the words, he was going to come for him, he wasn't safe here, there just HAD to be a way out, because he couldn't be trapped here-!
There! The grid over the ventilation shaft! The shaft was tiny, far too small for any full sized mech and all but the most streamlined minicons to fit through…but perhaps just big enough for one desperate youngling. Bluestreak threaded his fingers into the grill and tugged once, twice, but to his horror it wasn't coming off.
A boom exploded and reverberated against the walls.
Bluestreak froze, bombs and jet engines and screams echoing from the darkest corners of his minds.
Strength enhanced by renewed fear and desperation, Bluestreak gave a final mighty tugged and popped the grid right off the shaft entrance, said grid flying from his unprepared digits and landing with a clattering sound against the floor.
Phase Out head snapped around.
Bluestreak tucked his wings as far down and in as they could go and laid himself down as flat as his body frame would allow to crawl and to wiggle his way into the open ventilation shaft. It was too small, his body was too angular and his wings still stuck out too much in the sides for him to fit. It was almost literally like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.
Bluestreak crawled in anyway.
He pushed with his pedes against the floor and used the traction to force his body to fit. He could feel his chassis and shoulders being scrapped, the paint and uppermost levels of his dermal platings being literally scratched off. He could feel the acute, intense pain as sensitive wing hinges strained and cracked as they were forced to bend far more than they were ever meant to. But Bluestreak kept pushing and wiggling himself further in because this was his only chance to survive, escape, get help for Red Alert and Sideswipe and Sunstrea-
Something grabbed his exposed ankle.
Bluestreak gasped and clawed at the shaft walls frantically for a grip, but the walls were smooth and seamless and offered him nothing and the grip was as strong as a vice. In one smooth tug that literally had parts of Bluestreaks body sparking from the metal on metal friction he was forcefully removed from his tiny false sanctuary.
"Nice try kid, but you're just making this harder on yourself."
Phase Out held Bluestreak down with one knee on the middle of his back. Not that he needed to try hard; Bluestreak had transformed into a violently trembling but otherwise frozen pile of living metal.
"No one's going to save you this time," Phase Out told him calmly. "Just shut off your optics for five klicks. When you open them again, you'll be in the Matrix with the rest of your friends and family instead of this dark nasty military base. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"
No! No no no no! Bluestreak didn't want to go! He didn't want to die! He had to see Prowl again, he had to talk to him again, he had to tell him he was sorry, he couldn't go away before then! Phase Out said he wouldn't, but Prowl just had to come, he just…please, please, he just had to, please, don't leave him alone again….
"I don't know why you don't trust Ratchet, but at least trust me."
("Good mechling. Be nice and quiet and this'll be much easier on us both. It's not so bad, is it?")
Prowl always came for him. When he knew Bluestreak was in trouble or was afraid he was, he always came for him, like with the Doctor, like when he wandered off to the wash racks. This was the undeniable truth.
"If any Decepticon tries to attack, I'll be right here to protect you…Now go into recharge. I'll watch over you until you do."
(Shifting positions to lean closer to his head for the quick, merciful, killing blow.)
"H…help."
"I promise little one, whatever happens, I won't let anything bad happen to you."
(The click of a gun being cocked.)
"Help."
"I'm here Bitty Bot, it's going to be okay, I'm here to protect you."
("Hm? Did you say something?")
"HELP! Help! Help me Prowl, help me, help me HELP ME!"
RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Phase Outs body arched up and went into a violent spasm, his agonized scream drowned out in a gurgle as fluids filled his insides. He fell forward, just barely catching himself before he collapsed totally on his near victim. Bluestreak shivered as he feel the hot and cold liquids of fresh energon and chilled coolant as it bled from Phase Outs mouth and dripped dripped dripped liberally on his back.
A white servo gripped Phase Outs shoulder and pulled him away, throwing him off and sending him rolling across the floor. The Decepticon gurgled out a pained scream as his melted, pot marked back slammed against the wall before he finally passed out from the pain.
Prowl stood there, stance wide, optics blazing near white, wings held high and stiff in a way that enhanced his size and presence so he seemed to almost fill the room
It was a Praxian mech, colored deep purple and silver, legs apart and fists at his side in a strong, intimidating pose
every line of his body language speaking of merciless intent and a powerful, unstoppable force.
every line of his body language and facial features told of a harsh personality and a powerful presence.
What made it most frightening was that it was not a put on consciously meant for intimidation; it came naturally to him, as a side that he had rarely shown anyone though it was no less real than the rest of him. Not even hesitating, Prowl turned his rifle around to Phase Outs head for the killing blow.
"Prowl!"
He stopped.
It was like a spell had been broken. He shuttered his optics, like someone coming out of a daze, before saying in a loud, clear voice "Threat neutralized. Mech down, twins unknown status."
Suddenly the room seemed flooded with medics squeezing in the narrow entry way Prowl had created from his most potent acid pellets. Ratchet went straight to Red Alert, his pedes splashing in the wide puddle surrounding him, while Patch tended to the prone Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and Socket fell to Phase Out side, working on him as quickly as if he were an Autobot. Prowl narrowed his optics, but a live prisoner was far more useful than a dead one. As for Bluestreak…
Prowl turned back to the youngling.
Bluestreak has sat back on his haunches, still leaning forward with one servo on the floor supporting him. The paint on his chassis, shoulders, and the edges of his door wings had been scrapped almost clean from his rough removal from the shaft, bearing a multitude of scratches. His wings were being held at unnatural, uneven angles, and one shoulder was bleeding from the torn hinge. But Bluestreak seemed heedless of his own injuries; he was just sitting there, watching Prowl, with an expression of what could only be described as trepidation.
Prowl subspaced his rifle and went over.
Automatically, Bluestreak sat back and raised his arms up.
Automatically, Prowl opened his arms to gather him up.
He couldn't tell what was shaking more, Bluestreaks form or Prowl arms. Maybe both.
"Patch, take the twins out of here and get ready for emergency patient transport – we're getting Red Alert out of here."
"What's happening to him? Is he going to be okay? Is he??"
At Ratchets crisp order and Sideswipes almost yell, Prowl straightened still carrying Bluestreak, one arm under the knees and the other across his back, mindful of the doorwings. The medics were going to need their space, and even Prowl knew that it would be better for everyone if Sideswipe and Sunstreaker didn't stick around. He turned in time to catch Patch almost shoving the red and yellow pair out the melted entry way, trying to be gentle but knowing he didn't have the luxury of time for coddling. They weren't exactly making it easy for him.
Prowl came to the medic just as he finally forced the pair out. "I'll watch out for them at least for ht orn," he said. "They and Bluestreak are friends, it'll help for them to be together after what happened."
"Ah, good idea," Patch said hurridly, already transforming into a modified flatbed truck, which would more or less act as a living gurney to transport Red Alert, since he…
Prowl angled his body so that his wings would block any possible way for Bluestreak to see the Directors condition. Ratchet was the best, but a direct shot to the head was…messy. On the slim chance he even survived, there was no telling what permanent damage had been inflicted, from loss of motor skills, slurred speech, or spending the rest of his existence with the mental capabilities of a drone.
He tightened his grip on Bluestreak.
The resident hackers finally managed to override Red Alerts own firewalls and opened the Hub doors, thankfully allowing a safer removal of the injured. When Prowl stepped out, it was to find Optimus Prime kneeling down in front of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, speaking in a low voice with a large servo on each of their shoulders, Ironhide standing off to the side. Sideswipe looked about ready to cry, and Sunstreaker looked like he was trying to cover up his fear with anger, but at least they had managed to calm down slightly. Prowl watched his leader speak to the distressed younglings for a couple of klicks before he realized he was staring, and promptly averted his optics to try and give them a bit of privacy until the Prime was done.
It was only after Optimus stood again, still keeping a servo on their shoulders, that Prowl made a slight sound to gain his attention.
"I believe it would be best if I watched over the twins for the time being," Prowl said. Optimus nodded.
"Very well. How is Bluestreak?"
"The physical injuries are minor. Wheeljack can see to them."
They both knew that wasn't what Optimus was talking about, but the Prime had the tact not to inquire further at this point.
The named youngling wiggled a little and Prowl obligingly put him down. As soon as his pedes touched the floor Bluestreak almost ran over, spread his arms wide and grabbed his friends in the biggest hug he could manage. They were both surprised, but Sideswipe returned the hug with gusto, half swallowing the smaller youngling. After a klick or two of futile resistance, even Sunstreaker hugged back, a bit more tightly than he probably realized.
Prowl gave them a few klicks to comfort and reassure each other, before he approached and laid a gentle hand on Sideswipes head.
"Come. We should get out of the way. Ratchet will keep me updated on Red Alerts condition. As soon as I know anything, you will too."
"Is he going to be okay?" a small voice asked.
It wasn't Sideswipe. It wasn't Sunstreaker.
Optimus and Ironhide whipped their heads around in shock, and even the twins seemed taken aback. Prowl, however, usured the younglings away even as he answered quietly.
"We'll see."