CWC: ... Yeah, I have no excuse. Sorry for the late update, but hope this chappie makes up for it.
I also screwed up with the honorable mention thing. I was slightly confused when you guys said Jazz, but then I realized what I had done. Sorry! The first to say Jazz was XxLosAngelesGirlxX, but the mention was actually G1 Bumblebee, whose alt mode was an old yellow punchbug. Sorry for the confusion!
Thanks to the reviewers XxLosAngelesGirlxX, RamenKnight, Steelrider, Fallen Angel 1234, Redstripe, and ForgotMyName2Day! You feed my plot bunnies!
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Chapter 5: When things get strange...
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A vicious slant of sunlight pierces the blinds of my living room and stabs my eyes, waking me up. I peel myself up off the couch, wince, and crack my back. Note to self: Sleep in a bed.
Heading upstairs I get ready for the day with a hot shower, and dress warmly in a black tank top, purple T-shirt, black jeans, and a aqua hoody with sleeves that hang down to hide my hands except for the tips of my fingers. Combat boots go on my feet. I look in the mirror and strike a tough looking pose. I feel ready to take on the chaos that is Wal-Mart on a Sunday.
I pull my hair up into a messy bun, inhale some oatmeal for breakfast, and throw a couple of granola bars into my purse. Then I grab a bottle of water and my list from the fridge and head out to do some serious shopping.
I get into my car, tossing my purse in the passenger seat, and head out onto the road. I flick on the radio, trying to build up a good mood before heading into the death trap known as Wal-Mart. A powerful engine catches my attention. It's not Cade; it sounds different. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Jazz's Cayman, the woman on her motorcycle, and that monster of a truck coming up behind me fast.
"What the heck," I mutter, speeding up. I'm almost in to town, but traffic in nonexistent, leaving no cars or buffer between me and the three vehicles.
They speed up, and I get even more nervous as the Porsche speeds up until it's in front of us, the Ducati actually drives beside us in the left lane, and the Topkick practically rides Cade's bumper. I scowl at the car in front of me, and am caught completely off guard when the truck rams into the back of my Ford.
"Whoa," I shout, and yank on the steering wheel, trying to regain control. The steering wheel turns itself, taking Cade off road long enough to pass the tri-colored car, and then we're back on the pavement and burning rubber to get away from the three psychos driving the fancy machines. I rack my brain tries to come up with a reason why my car would suddenly drive itself, and come up empty.
Deciding that that really isn't an issue right now, I set aside the part of my brain that is completely wigging out and focus on driving. I put the pedal to the metal and can't help but smile as Cade's engine roars with power and takes off, our speed climbing with each passing mile. Town passes in a flash of color and we've soon taken this little car/motorcycle chase into the country roads, away from other drivers.
The truck is the first to fall back, simply not being built for speed. The Ducati follows suit, and soon both are losing ground fast. The only one keeping up is the Cayman. If they're going to do something, they have to do it now. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I'm horrified to see a section of the Porsche's door pop out and twist with what I imagine to be a sound of tortured metal to form something that looks like a gun, the end glowing a dangerous blue.
It fires, and I feel my car jerk as it makes contact with the bumper. All is chaos. My car leaps off the road, rolling over and over. I try to brace myself against the seat, using anything to hold on, and I hear screaming from nowhere.
Cade's rolling slows, and he balance's precariously on the two right wheels for a second, threatening to end up on his back, before dropping back to earth with a bone-wrenching thud. I stop screaming, and, after a minute, go limp in the seat, the only thing keeping me in place being the seat belt. Panting, I moan and hold my spinning head, barely aware of my three pursuers pulling up around Cade.
My vision starts to go fuzzy, and the last thing I see before passing out are all three cars twisting and changing like the gun did to form vaguely humanoid figures. That's when the darkness sweeps me off my feet and into la-la land.
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Barricade's POV
I come back online slowly to find that slagging autobot prodding at my driver's side door. I rev my engine in a snarl and reverse away from him. This causes that oaf of a weapon's specialist and the femme to take aim, and I quickly un-tint my windshield, allowing them to see the human girl who is limp inside my cab.
Ironhide rumbles something unintelligible before subspacing his cannons, followed by Arcee. I drive forward, slowly, and get back onto the road. My internal repair systems inform me that, while my pain receptors would swear that I've just been torn limb from limb, I am well enough to drive, just not fast or far. Wishing I had my original paint job back so that I wouldn't be slowed down, I broadcast one last message in Cybertronian to the three behind me.
"Come after me, and many will die, starting with her," I snarl at them before booking it as fast as I am able down the road, headed to Primus knows where.
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Teresa's POV
I wake up slowly, groaning and clutching my head. "What the heck happened last night," I ask aloud, pressing the heels of my hands hard against my eyelids. I didn't get drunk again, did I? Taking my hands from my face, I look around.
I'm lying across Barricade's front seats, his gear shift digging unpleasantly into my side. The deeply tinted windows keep whatever is outside hidden. Sitting up slowly, I move back into the driver's seat and take stock of my injuries.
My head aches like someone sent a pile driver through it, my chest and hips are sore from where the seat belt cut into me, and, judging by the pain in my stomach, I'm going to have a nasty gear-shift shaped bruise later today. Add to that that I'm sore all over and stiff from sleeping in a car, and you have one very unhappy Teresa.
I lean my head against the cool window glass, considering going back to sleep, and decide not to. Instead I open the door and get out of the car, leaning against it for support. I'm somewhere in the woods, with pine trees growing all around and several boulders lying around the clearing. I manage to stumble over to one and sit down with my back against it, hissing at the pain from my stomach. Running a critical eye over my car, I wince.
Almost every spot on the car is a dented mess, from a nearly-crunched in roof with its cracked and broken lights to the badly torn up sides. Even the hood and back of the car have taken a beating. I sift through my memories, trying to dredge up a reason for why I'm in the forest, in the middle of nowhere, with a car that looks like it's been through a wood chipper and feeling worse than that one time I decided it would be fun to get drunk. As I stare at my poor car, the memories come rushing back, and I feel my eyes widen.
I had been chased halfway across the state by a terrifying Topkick, a demonic Ducati, and Satan's Cayman. Then the Porsche had…done something to its door and turned it into some kind of gun, shot Cade, and I had wrecked. I look at the left side of the back bumper and wince again. It's almost melted looking, covered in ashes and badly dented. At least that part of the memories is true.
But the last part…with the robot cars…
I look at Barricade with new eyes. Clearing my throat, I frantically try and think of something to say, now that I think I know that my car can turn into a giant robot.
"So," I finally begin. "Are you hurt?"
"What do you think, flesh-bag?"
I squeak as a gruff, male voice comes from the beat up Mustang.
"Is there anything I can do to help," I offer after a minute or so of awkward silence.
"Not right now. My self-repair systems with deal with it soon enough," he responds, shifting slightly on his tires. I nod and look around, trying to identify some landmarks.
"Do you know where we are," I ask, gesturing around.
"Well, meat-sack, we are on this blue planet called Earth," the Ford starts in a smart-mouth tone. I roll my eyes.
"Thank you Captain Obvious," I retort, still looking around. The sun says that it's either about ten in the morning or two in the afternoon. I'm going with the later one. I give up looking for landmarks and go back to staring at the damages Mustang in front of me.
"So what are you anyway," I ask. "And why did you drive us out to the middle of nowhere?" Barricade shifts on his tires again.
"I am a Ford Mustang S281 Extreme, formerly a police car," he responds as if talking to a five year old. I roll my eyes again.
"No dip, Sherlock. I can see that you are one mean machine. What I meant was are you an alien or some kind of super top-secret government project? I'm guessing the first one."
"Why would you say that?"
"Several reasons. First, tell me if I'm right." I hear a sound, almost like a sigh, come from the muscle car.
"Yes. I am what you would call an alien."
"And those other three who were chasing you are aliens too?"
"If you're trying to state the obvious, bone-bag, you're doing a fabulous job," Barricade says, voice devoid of all emotion.
"So why were they chasing you," I ask, staring hard at the middle of Barricade's grill. I notice that the rearing horse symbol is absent, and it looks like something had taken its place but had been snapped off.
"Because they want to stick me in a fragging cage," he responds, engine revving angrily at the thought. I nod slowly, and then scowl.
"I didn't ask why you were running from them," I point out. "I was asking why they were chasing you."
Barricade goes completely silent for a minute before saying, "You ask a lot of questions, meat-monkey." I smile grimly. He obviously hadn't expected for me to pick up on that.
"I'm an inquisitive girl," I answer casually, leaning back gingerly on the big rock and stretching my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankle.
"What is that saying your species has about inquisitiveness killing felines," Barricade shoots back.
"You mean that curiosity killed the cat," I ask, and he makes a noise of confirmation. I smile smugly at him.
"Everyone forgets the rest of that saying," I remark, looking up at the blue sky and crossing my arms behind my head.
"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back," I recite, watching a fluffy white cloud scoot across the sky. Barricade gives me what I interpret as a scoff.
"That is impossible," he says flatly. "Felines cannot be revived by gaining new information."
I roll my eyes. New information: robot cars from another planet take things very literally. I run a critical eye over Barricade and frown. Standing, I examine the lights, broken and warped from the crash.
"You will help repair me," he orders, startling me. I scowl through the driver's side window of the car.
"Of course," I nearly spit at him. "It's not like I can go home; those other robots probably know where I live, and unless you haven't noticed, it's not like I'll be able to put up much of a fight." Walking over to the driver's side door, I hesitate.
"Are you okay to drive," I ask. A mechanical sigh comes from the car.
"No," he says bitterly. "I am lucky to have gotten this far." I nod.
"Well, guess I'm walking then." I retrieve my purse from the passenger seat and am about to walk off when he says, "Wait." I stop, looking back at him.
"My holoform will accompany you," he continues. The air between us starts to waver and I take a step back as a teenage boy materializes.
He's slightly taller than me, with wide shoulders. He wears a black leather jacket tightly closed over what might be a red T-shirt, black jeans, boots, and black fingerless gloves. His hair is a shaggy black, and his eyes, when he looks at me, are a piercing red. I take another step back from the intimidating young man. He only looks about twenty one, maybe twenty two. The man glares under my scrutiny.
"What," he growls in Barricade's voice. I wipe away my look of shock and shrug.
"I thought you'd look older," I answer. He rolls his eyes.
"Our holoforms are programmed to resemble our real forms as much as possible," he states, stepping toward me, and that's when I realize that the guy is wounded. I glimpse a bit of white bandage when his sleeve rides up, and he walks with a limp. He is also thin under the jacket, like he hasn't eaten in weeks. He stalks past me a short ways before looking over his shoulder at me.
"Are you coming or not," he asks gruffly, and I hurriedly catch up with him, glancing back at the real Barricade one more time before we leave the clearing. Human Barricade seems to know where we're going, leading me through the forest in a straight path. I walk beside him in silence for almost ten minutes before daring to speak.
"So…" I say, shoving my hands in my pockets, my purse dangling over my shoulder as I look at him out of the corner of my eye.
"What," he grumbles, glancing at me.
"What do we need to pick up," I ask, looking away and focusing on not tripping over a root.
"I don't know," he says, with less of a growl to his voice. I stop dead, looking at him with disbelief.
"What do you mean you don't know," I ask as he turns around to face me. "You're a car! How do you not know how to fix a car?"
"You're a human. Can you tell me how to fix a human," he retorts. I push down my shock (how does this guy keep surprising me? Oh yeah, he's a FREAKING ALIEN ROBOT!) And start walking again. After a few more minutes of hiking, we emerge onto the far edge of a Wal-Mart parking lot.
Barricade drops back slightly to take a position just behind me and to the right as we enter the super store. Walking into the auto section, I quickly pick out all the tools I'll probably need, along with new headlights and everything necessary to get Cade back to full strength. I pause with my hand on a giant wrench.
What the slagging heck am I doing?! I'm helping an alien fugitive that had been disguising itself as a kick butt Mustang in my garage for the past week! Why on Earth was I helping him? I glance back at the holoform. He's pretending to look at wrenches, but, looking closely, I can see that he looks pale and he's leaning heavily on his left foot. The real Barricade is far away, leaving nothing between me and escape but a glorified hologram. I could run, and there would be absolutely nothing he could do to stop me.
I turn to run, lift one foot in preparation, and freeze. I look at him again. Then down the aisle and out the doors to freedom.
Barricade.
Freedom.
Barricade.
Freedom.
And then I turn, grab one of the wrenches, and give myself a good whack in the head before walking back towards Barricade. He glances down at me.
"Are you done yet," he growls, though I can hear the underlying pain in his voice.
"Almost," I reply. I swing by the camping section and grab some more supplies before we head to the check out. We're almost at the front when something occurs to me. I blanch.
"Barricade," I whisper. "I don't have enough money to pay for this." He grunts and, once the cashier has rung up our order, pulls a shiny card from his jean pocket. He swipes it, and the computer screen shows the blue screen of death for a split second before registering all of our items as paid for. Luckily the girl doesn't notice and sends us away with a smile.
I let out a sigh of relief as we escape the store, and move to the edge of the parking lot. Once hidden by the trees, I pull a hiking back pack from the cart and, after packing it with everything I bought, send the metal box on wheels speeding back into the parking lot. I heave the bag onto my shoulders and grunt, adjusting to the weight. Barricade watches me with unreadable crimson eyes.
"What," I ask, nearly imitating his growl. He imitates my shrug and we start back towards his true body. It takes longer with me lugging the backpack, but we reach him without incident. The holoform dissolves as I enter the clearing, and the real Barricade grumbles, "About time."
I roll my eyes and dump the backpack near my rock. I start to unpack it, pulling out the tools first and laying them out neatly so that I can get to work as soon as possible. Opening a box of granola bars, I unwrap one and stuff the end of it in my mouth before grabbing the first tool I'll need and approaching the… Huh.
"Hey Barricade," I ask, pausing in front of the car. "What do they call you anyway?"
"My name is Barricade," he responds eventually, as if confused. I shake my head.
"I mean your race. What are you called?"
"Some have called us Transformers," he answers, and I nod before walking over to his grille and starting to replace the head lights.
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I yawn so loudly I almost drop my wrench and glance tiredly at the clock on my IPod. It's after eleven. I had retrieved a battery powered lantern from my back hours ago so that I could continue working on Barricade. As another yawn stretches my jaw, I stand and begin putting away my tools so that they will not get wet from the dew.
"What are you doing, flesh bag," Barricade demands. I turn and scowl tiredly at the car.
"Listen, buster," I say, my exhaustion making me irritable. "I've been in a high speed car chase, found out that my planet has been invaded by giant alien robots who can turn into cars, been in a car wreck, gone to Wal-Mart, and then worked for hours to fix you. I am tired. If I do any more right now, I'll probably do more harm than good. I've already fixed that solar energy converter thing you told me to, so you won't starve to death or whatever, so I am going to sleep. I'll work more when I wake up."
Barricade grumbles but doesn't object when I pull a small tent and sleeping bag out of the book bag. Setting up the tent takes longer due to the bad lighting and my level of awareness, but I manage it. Crawling inside, I pull off my shoes, hoody, and T-shirt before wriggling into the sleeping bag.
"Good night, Barricade," I shout to him, and I barely catch a grumbled reply before I fall into a deep sleep.
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No one's POV
Jazz and Ironhide sit still in the empty parking lot, keeping one sensor on Arcee as the femme bot drives restlessly in circles around the two bots.
"I can't believe we let that slagger just drive off," she says bitterly.
"It ain't your fault, Cee," Jazz puts in. "He 'ad a hostage; there was nothin' we could 'ave done."
"I still say we should have blasted 'im," Ironhide remarks in his Southern accent, causing Arcee to turn to him, wheels screeching.
"NO," she shouts. "How many times does Prime have to tell you: we cannot harm the humans!"
Ironhide stops grumbling as they all receive a communication from their leader.
:: Arcee, report. What is your status? :: Prime
:: We made contact with the human femme who is often with Barricade, sir. She appeared unharmed and ignorant. ::
:: I found the little lady's dwellin' and we were ready this mornin' when the fragger emerged. :: Jazz breaks in.
:: We engaged the enemy and were able to drive him off the road, causing him a lot of damage. :: Arcee says, trying to regain control of the communication.
:: We would 'a had the slagger if he hadn't had a hostage. :: Ironhide inputs.
:: He had a human with him? :: Prime asks, shock in his voice. :: Were they damaged when he was wrecked? ::
:: No sir; the girl appeared relatively unharmed. The Decepticon, though damaged, used her as a hostage to guarantee his own escape. He has also masked his energy signature. ::
:: So we have a desperate, damaged Decepticon loose with a human girl in his possession. :: Prime summarizes, the severity of the situation clear in his voice.
:: That is the case, sir. :: Arcee responds grimly.
:: Keep searching for Barricade. The safety of the human is top priority. Primus help him if she is damaged. :: Prime commands.
:: Can I just point out one thing? :: Jazz asks.
:: Proceed. :: Prime
:: 'Ah'm just sayin', he was with the girl for almos' a week before we showed up, and didn't hurt her before. Why would 'e hurt her now? :: Jazz says. Everyone is silent for a moment.
:: Never the less. :: Prime says eventually. :: Finding the Decepticon and rescuing the human is your top priority. Contact me when you have something to report. ::
:: Affirmative, sir. :: Arcee responds, terminating the link. The three vehicles start up and, turning on their headlights, pull out of the lot and onto the road, driving off into the night.
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Teresa's POV
I was flying, soaring above the clouds without a care in the world. I smile and close my eyes, finally free. I'm shocked when water splashes my face and I snap my eyes open as my face comes into contact with the cold, dark concrete. I'm not flying any more.
HONK!
"BWAH!"
I sit straight up, thrashing to try and free myself of the sleeping bag. Unzipping the tent flap, I crawl out of the cloth structure, hair akimbo, to glare at the black and red Mustang.
"What the scrap, man," I demand, managing to extract myself from the tent to stand angrily in front of him.
"You got the required eight hours of sleep," Barricade states, a trace of smugness in his tone. "Now get back to repairing me, bone bag."
Sputtering in anger, I hold my hands up as if strangling the alien before going back in the tent. I slip my T-shirt back on, but it isn't cool enough for my hoody today. Grumbling, I go back outside and make the strangling motion again before sighing and grabbing my tools.
"I don't know how advanced your pain receptors are, but I hope this hurts," I snarl as I crawl back under Barricade and start working, trying not to think too hard about what I'm doing. I work for almost an hour before stopping. Worming my way back out from under the Mustang, I grab a bottle of water and some dried fruit from my book bag for breakfast.
As I swallow the last of the water, something occurs to me. I stop immediately and lower the bottle from my lips, shooting my level seven glare (on a scale from one being 'you are irritating me,' to ten, or, as I like to call it, 'you should have stopped when you had the chance; now you are completely screwed).
"What," the grumpy black-and-red car snaps after a second, noticing my glare.
"You didn't answer my question; why were the other three robots chasing you," I inform him angrily. He gives a bit of a snort. "Obviously, human, if I had intended to answer your question, I would have responded long ago," he says arrogantly. I can almost picture him rolling his eyes and smirking at me.
Getting an idea, I smile smugly and wonder why I had not thought of this sooner. Barricade watches, an air of confusion radiating from him, as I gather up most of my food and the sleeping bag and move them to the top of a boulder almost twice as high as the car. Once there, I roll out the sleeping bag, lie down on top of it, and, taking out a book from the seemingly endless back pack, start reading.
Silence reigns in the clearing for about five minutes before Barricade asks, almost cautiously, "And what, flesh bag, do you think you're doing?" I glance down at him over the edge of my book.
"Isn't it obvious," I ask, a smirk finding its way onto my face. "I'm going on strike." All was quiet for a second longer while Barricade looked up the meaning online, and then he exploded.
"What?! You can't go on strike, fleshy!"
"Can, and am. I don't do any work on you until you tell me what's really going on here," I reply calmly. Barricade chews on that for a short time before giving a rough sound like a chuckle.
"You do realize that you'll need to come down from that rock far before I run out of energy," he asks, sounding smug. I smirk again.
"Not with this little thingy I won't," I reply, pulling a piece of Barricade out of my pocket. The Mustang's engine sputters as Cade goes into shock.
"What the slag-what are you doing with that," he shouts after he's recovered.
"Call it insurance," I say, twirling around one finger. "So, are you going to tell me or not?"
"You little," Barricade starts, and then lines form on the Mustang, pieces shifting and twisting apart. It should have been smooth, but it is jerky and uneven. One appendage, like a clawed arm, manages to form and claw at the ground before the entire car shudders and slowly pieces fall back to form the red and black car. I gape at Barricade, in awe and fear as his holoform fizzles into existence and snarls at me. Barricade shakes his fist at me angrily before stalking over to the bottom of my rock and beginning to climb.
"That's not going to work," I remark casually, turning to sit cross legged and facing him. "Oh? And why not," he asks, his holoform's pale face glaring at me.
"Because I can do this," I say, grabbing a small rock from beside me and throwing it at his hand. It bounces off Barricade's finger and he recoils, losing his grip on the rock, and tumbles head over heels back to the ground. I wince as he lands on his face and does an involuntary somersault. The holoform disappears a few seconds later.
Barricade emits several screeching and grinding noises (probably cussing me out in his native tongue) before rumbling out, with an air of utter defeat in his voice, "Alright, femme, you really want to know what's going on here? Do you really want to know why I am running from my own kind?"
The tone of his voice makes me hesitate, but I bite my bottom lip and nod slowly.
"Then I'll tell you," Barricade says. "But you aren't going to like it."
So Barricade talks, and talks, and talks. He tells me everything, about a beautiful world of metal, shining and perfect, and how corruption came to that world in a caste system where some bots, though they had sparks, were treated as no more than drones. He tells me about a gladiator who fought for something more than his spark, and how he rose in the ranks until he spoke before the high council and threatened them with war if things did not change. Another bot, a mere librarian, spoke as well. He wished for change as well, but thought to achieve it peacefully. The council, thinking they could sway the librarian more easily than the gladiator, granted him their favor and the title of Prime. The gladiator was furious, and, in one fell swoop against the youngling center, brought war to Cybertron.
Nearly all the femmes, who were the primary caretakers of the young, and sparklings, their children, were destroyed, leaving those opposed to the fighter in disarray, and the true goal nearly unguarded.
The Allspark, the spark of Cybertron itself and the source of the sparks of some of Cybertron's greatest leaders.
Those who followed the gladiator wanted it so that they could control Cybertron and those few sparks that came out of the cube. But the Cybertronians who followed the Prime chose, instead of allowing the gladiator to capture the cube, to launch it into the cosmos through a space bridge, dumping it somewhere in the black emptiness of space. Without the Allspark, Cybertron died, little by little, its energy loss hastened by the war, and the war that had grown between the two factions, clearly distinct by now, spread throughout the stars, becoming a search for the lost Allspark. Those who followed the gladiator had dark sparks and little honor, fighting for the pleasure of it or for their own gain. They became known as the Decepticons. The transformers who followed the Prime were nobler and had bright sparks became the Autobots. The gladiator eventually followed the trail of the Allspark to a small planet on the edge of the galaxy, where he crash landed and was sent into stasis for millennia. The Autobots detected the Allspark soon after that, and sent a scout to investigate the strange world. The scout established contact with a youngling of the dominant species and, with the help of three others of his kind and his Prime, was able to reclaim the Allspark. The gladiator was awoken in the process, and the Decepticons who had followed their leader to the planet joined him in a battle against the Autobots.
The fight caused great damage to one of the planet's cities, and ended with the youngling shoving the Allspark into the chest of the gladiator, destroying both him and the cube. Most of the other Decepticons perished in the fight, and all but a few of those that did not have their sparks extinguished fled the planet under the command of the cowardly SIC, a mech by the name of Starscream. One of the Autobots was defeated, but was revived with a shard of the Allspark, and more Autobots were arriving every day.
"The gladiator's name was Megatron, the Prime's name was Optimus Prime, the scout was Bumblebee, and the planet was Earth," Barricade finishes. "The three who are chasing me are Autobots."
"And you are a Decepticon," I say almost breathlessly. "Yes," he rumbles.
"But Megatron is dead," I say slowly, still digesting some of the information. "Yes," he confirms, sounding slightly wary. "And you don't like Starscream," I continue.
"Correct."
"Then are you really still a Decepticon?"
"Of course! What else could I be, a fragging neutral?"
"Well, yeah," I say in a 'no duh' tone. He growls at me.
"You don't get it, femme. I've killed more than my fair share of Autobots; I've been with Megatron since the beginning of this cursed war. They aren't going to let me say, 'Sorry, but I'm not a Decepticon anymore,' and go skipping off into the sunset."
"So surrender isn't an option," I mutter to myself before continuing, "Barricade, you say that you'd been with Megatron since the beginning. Did he change over the course of the war? Did you ever for a second think that what you were doing was wrong?" Barricade is silent for a long time.
"In the beginning, Megatron was a good mech," he says slowly, almost sadly. "He truly cared about Cybertron and changing things for the better, about destroying the caste system and raising up a strong, fair government in its place. That is the mech I swore loyalty too. But, after a while, he did change. He was always cruel, having been a champion in the gladiator pits in Kaon, but taking out the femmes…"
Cade trails off, and, with the light of the setting sun lighting his body on fire, I see him tremble a little bit. "It was senseless," he snarls suddenly.
"There was no point! He did it just because he could, and he doomed our race to feed his own ego!" Barricade is still shaking with rage. "I was glad when he disappeared! I wish he had never been unfrozen! Pit, I would take slagging STARSCREAM over than nut job! I'm glad the fragger is dead, and I hope I never have to see another bot like him again in my life!"
I can hear him breathing, or venting, or whatever they do, hard, probably trying to calm down after his outburst. Moving carefully, I climb down the boulder and walk over to the trembling car. I sit down cross legged in front of him and put my hands in my lap as I wait for him to calm down.
"I think we can come to an agreement," I say calmly. "You don't want the others to find you, you're going to need regular maintenance and repair that comes with your, err, car form, and you'll need to have some contact with the humans of this world if you want to survive without getting noticed," I begin logically.
"I have no real reason to go back to the house, am skilled in fixing cars, and, as a human, can provide a nice buffer between you and the rest of my kind. If I come with you, I may slow you down, but would the Autobots honestly be expecting you to travel with a human? Having me with you will mean your routes will change from what you're used to, making it almost impossible for them to track us, and with your magic hacking-card money is no object. Plus, if they ever do catch up to us, I give you permission to use me as a hostage; you said they were the good guys, so they won't hurt me, and I don't know anything about any plans, so they can't get information out of me."
I take a breath after that rather long-winded speech. I feel like a kid trying to convince their parent to let them stay home from school when they aren't really sick.
"You're one strange human," he says finally, making me smile.
"Glad somebody finally noticed; I've been working on it for years," I say and, standing, walk over to my pile of tools and grab a wrench. "Now," I continue. "Let's get you fixed up, shall we?"
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CWC: So, what do you guys think? Bad? Good? Review and tell me!
Prowl-muse: Maybe they would review more often if you updated on a reasonable schedule.
CWC: (glares) In rock paper scissors, paper beats rock.
Prowl-muse: But how can paper beat a rock? That... (sparks and glitches out, falling flat on the floor)
CWC: (smirks) Always wanted to see how he'd react to that. Anyways, Review!