Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an A.U. 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.

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Full Velocity: Apocalypse Code

Chapter 8: Past, Present, and Future

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The heavy base thumped in the air, but the lyrics from the male voice became muddled and incomprehensible due to surrounding noises. The sound alone marked Creech Air Force Base as different from the rest of the United States; music from records, CDs, taped decks, or old eight tracks remained silent everywhere but here. Right now, humans and Autobots worked, jamming to whatever songs they could salvage.

People moved with hurried anticipation; some carried clipboards, a few pushed dollies loaded with boxes, while others checked contents against inventory lists. A fork truck rumbled by, its tines heavy with a massive crate, headed to one of the three semitrailers sitting in the center of the whirlwind of activity. Mechs carefully moved among the people, helping lift or slide crates around. A choreographed chaos, a dance of man and machine preparing for whatever comes next.

Resting in the shadow of a hanger, Velocity returned to her task, picking a route to get them from here to there. Sitting cross-legged in the Nevada dirt with a pen too small for her hands, she carefully marked intersections and junctures for their cross-country trip. On the other side of the landing strip, her former team trained, honing their skills and learning to function as a single unit, a couple of humans trained with them. Choking down the burning resentment of losing "her" team to Optimus's supposed needs, she focused on the semis, trying to ignore her recon group.

Except her optics kept sliding back to Slipknot. The mech commanded the team now; he made the decisions and led them to help as many humans as possible. She wanted the group back, to actively help, to save lives and stitch the shattered nation back together, not plan an excursion.

Optimus's words about others trying to use her to influence him or garner a promotion whispered through her processor. She had assumed Slipknot and the others joined the team and followed her because they believed in the cause and trusted her. Now, she questioned their motives – No, she questioned Slipknot's motives. How much of their friendship had been a lie?

Crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the hanger, Velocity felt the thin sheet metal bow beneath her weight. Fortunately, it held her weight. Cycling deeply, she tried to clear her thoughts and focus on the assigned task, not what she had lost. The slithering voice of self-loathing reminded her that she would lose what she held dear, denied basic happiness because she didn't deserve it. She wasn't even a real person; she was the freak spawn of things created in a lab.

Shaking her helm to chase away the internal demons, the femme tried to focus on her maps, still stuck on this side of the Mississippi River at Saint Louis.

On the tarmac, shouts and whistles stopped the loading of trailers, and the music instantly dissipated as men and mech gathered in a loose circle of discussion. Too far away to hear, the femme watched. Clipboards and data pads moved side by side for comparison. Shouted commands followed, and a fork truck began to unload a trailer.

Velocity shook her head as a humorless chuckle slipped from her. At least she wasn't the only one having problems.

"What is so funny," Optimus queried, stepping around the building. His height forced her to crane her neck to see him.

Nodding toward the tarmac, the femme replied, "It really isn't funny. They loaded the semi wrong and have to unpack everything." Using a hand to shield her optics from the noon sun haloed around the Prime, she asked. "What is all this stuff? Do we need it?"

The Prime settled beside her but did not lean against the flimsy sheet metal. "We are taking some equipment to Colorado, but most of it is to assist Prowl. Communications array, food, energon, medical supplies, tents, whatever was decided the struggling government would immediately need."

"But three semi-loads?" Velocity scoffed, "That makes it harder to plot a route."

"Explain," Optimus turned his attention back to her.

The intense scrutiny of those blue optics made Velocity want to slip further into the shadows. Instead, she squared her shoulders and addressed her mate. "Semi-trailers need roads; roads lead to cities and cities…"

"Have people," Optimus finished.

Pulling away from the building, the femme turned to her mate. "People are what I am worried about. When we were out on the recon, some people were desperate enough to welcome us in hopes of help, but others – others were hostile - violent with need and fear." She let the last word sit, heavy and pregnant with meaning. Her thoughts loose and unfettered, she stood and began pacing. "Not only are we more likely to encounter people, but we might also encounter a lot of people, and the leftovers of civilization. Depending on when the disruption wave hit, roads might be impassible, clogged with dead cars, killed during rush hour. Bridges could be out, damaged by weather, or intentionally sabotaged. There may be barricades against aliens that turn into cars. Major cities we can kinda go around. Through would be faster but around might be safer. Smaller towns could be an issue, though. Skirting around them might not provide roads able to accommodate the semis. I know you and the others are more agile than a regular semi, but the trailers are just normal trailers, full of shi- stuff, supplies.

"Traveling late at night or early in the morning would be preferable; people are asleep, and we could blow through their towns mostly unnoticed. But it would take us longer to reach 'Jack and Prowl, and we would have to hide during the daylight hours. Shit, Optimus, there are so many variables and potentials; I can't guarantee the route I chose today would be the one you should take…."

A massive hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her pacing and rambling. A soft smile lit his features, "And this is why you are coming with us. Your judgment and knowledge will be needed." A gentle tug and he pulled her to stand before him. They were almost the same height, with him seated and she standing.

Inadequacy whispered its doubts. Velocity opened her mouth to speak, to tell Optimus she would not be of much use; she would only be in the way, and he could handle things better.

Reaching out to her, the Prime pressed a fingertip against her lips.

She huffed her vents but stayed silent.

"I need you at my side. Our future will depend on us standing together; a unified team and your insight into humans will help me secure a place for my people on this world. I cannot do this alone. I cannot do this without you." The deep voice rumbled through her, but it did not kill the ghosts of ineptitude, just the opposite; they giggled and danced at the rhythm of his words.

Unable to meet his expectations, the femme looked away, only to see Roadhazard join her former team. She welcomed the anger that surged, burning away self-contempt. Anger she knew and embraced. "What the fuck? Why is he joining them?"

Immediately Optimus tightened his grip. "That is no longer your concern. Slipknot leads the recon team and can choose whom he wants."

Snapping her attention to her mate, Velocity narrowed her optical shutters. Leaning toward the Prime, she snarled, "You knew they let him back in?"

"I was informed by Magnus. Velocity, Roadhazard is allowed to make amends and have a second chance; we all are."

Her hands curled into fists with the squeal of metal against metal. Grinding her dental plates, she grumbled, "I just thought of something I need to double-check." With a twist, she pulled herself out of Optimus's hold. Grabbing her maps and datapad in a jumbled wad, she turned her frown away, hiding how foolish she felt. The Prime's hand brushed against her, but Velocity stepped out of his reach and stomped back to their rudimentary quarters.

XxxX

Chickens smelled weird; the warm mix of feathers, feed, and poop made Miriam sneeze. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she reached beneath the sitting hen and wrapped her fingers around the warm egg. Pulling it out, the former Secretary of Defense carefully sat it in the bucket with the others. Five other hens sat on fat clutches, but those fluffy ladies were going to raise their families, food for the future.

Stepping out of the chicken coop, Miriam latched the door. Heading back to the house with tomorrow's breakfast, she stopped halfway across the lawn. A horse and rider cautiously made their way up the gravel drive. Setting the bucket down, she laid a hand on the butt of the pistol at her hip.

"Hello," she shouted, alerting the rider and those in the house.

The horse stopped, and the figure on top raised a hand in greeting. From the house, a door slammed.

Miriam walked to the porch, joining Paul and Beth, both armed. Prowl strolled into sight, flanked by Bumblebee and Sunstreaker—a show of force.

The horse snorted and began backing up. The rider reigned the beast into a circle and back to a stop. Raising in the stirrups, the rider swung a leg over the saddle in a smooth dismount. A few moments later, with the horse tied to a tree, the stranger walked towards the assembled group, his hands open and spread from his sides.

The closer he came, the more familiar the movements.

"Thomas?" Miriam called.

The mystery rider whipped off his hood and held his arms open wide. Rushing to him, the SecDef gave him a massive hug. Paul joined her, giving his former partner a handshake.

"Stand down," the agent called to the house and Autobots.

Miriam watched Sunstreaker retreat back to the barn, but Bumblebee and Prowl remained. Bee leaned against the massive oak that shaded the yard, optics happily watching the reunion, but Prowl moved closer to her, a guardian presence she had come to rely on.

"You were the one who gave us directions here," the Autobot stated, kneeling to get a closer look at Agent Thomas Grey.

Stepping out of her awkward hug, Thomas addressed Prowl, "I am, and I see you made it. I wanted to make sure you guys were here and we were welcome."

"Who's 'we'?" the SecDef asked.

Looking slightly embarrassed, Thomas mumbled, "I came here with a group that wanted out of D.C. They were done with the dystopian bullshit Angelica and her gang had enforced in the city."

Scrutinizing the woods around them, the tactician asked, "Where are your people?"

"A couple of miles away."

"Of course, they are welcome," hollered Mark, his hands open wide, embracing all of the world. The screen door slammed behind him. "More people to help with chores, more people to talk to, more people…."

"More people to feed," snapped the tactician.

Miriam held her hand up; this was not the time to argue. "Prowl, you and the Autobots have explored the area. Are there any abandoned farms nearby?"

The mech's optics shifted to a smoky blue, a subtle signal of his change in mood. "Yes, there are abandoned farms. We buried the dead in front of the houses to make it easy to find them later."

"Well, that turned dark," Thomas quipped.

XxxX

The sun dropped below the horizon as this side of the planet turned away from its life-giving star. Carefully, the Prime leaned to the side and flipped the tiny toggle switch to turn on the lights and returned to looking over the course Velocity had plotted. She chose multiple routes across the country, each noting her thoughts, positives, and negatives. While he scrolled on his datapad, committing much of the map to memory, he knew his femme would have the actual map carefully secured and ready for their travels through the Null Zone.

Shifting, he stretched his legs along the concrete, then crossed them at the ankles. His thoughts wandered away from the map and to the next phase of saving his people. Helping the humans rebuild their nation, while morally and ethically the right thing to do, offered an opportunity to cement an alliance and, from that alliance, a safe home for his people. Cybertron was dying; even at this distance, he could feel the planet weakening as the Matrix whispered how theirs was the last generation.

Could they reignite the life core of the planet? Perhaps, but at what cost? There was no way to know with the Well sealed off and impenetrable to all but him. He had to have an exit plan for his people, and that plan centered around Earth.

A warm and familiar presence slipped across his bond as a temperamental femme neared their temporary quarters. At the front of the building, the rolling door opened, then softly shut. At least Velocity was not in a slamming-of-things mood.

Almost inaudible pedfalls marked her movements toward him. He had not seen much of his mate in the last week; both busy with their duties, and when they had been together, they fought. He hated the arguments, but he also knew Velocity would not simply agree with him and submit. He needed to explain the state of Cybertron to her, to have her understand that what came next determined the future of his species and how he needed her beside him and hold him. He needed her to be his strength.

The dusty, tired femme stepped into their recharge area, a small space just large enough for both to lie in. A sly smile preceded a graceless pirouette as she collapsed on top of him in a noisy, jumbled heap.

Optimus wrapped his arms around his mate and held her, reveling the warmth of her frame pressed against him.

"Turn off the light," she whined, splayed across his armor.

Torn, Optimus wanted to indulge in the femme's momentary frivolity, but more pressing things needed addressing. "Velocity, we need to talk."

Scrambling to straddle his lap, she faced him and pressed both hands over his mouth. "No. We sleep. Lately, everything you say pisses me off, and I say this with all the love in my heart – do not say another word. I don't want to hear a sound from you. We are leaving in the morning, and I don't want to spend the next two-thousand miles thinking about slashing your tires." Leaning forward, she kissed the tip of his nasal bridge, then laid against him.

Knowing he had been bested, the Prime surrendered to the superior force snuggled against his chest. Shifting them to a more comfortable position, he said, "We have important things to discuss once the trip is over."

"Yes," the tired femme mumbled, "But not until then. Now shush."

Reaching out, the Prime flicked the too-small switch, and darkness enveloped them. As Velocity slipped into sleep, his thoughts swirled; how do you tell one like her that you killed your own planet?

XxxX

The fire burned brightly; flames cast dancing shadows over the yard. People huddled in groups, slowly eating the evening meal, trying to make every bit last. Tomorrow, they would scout the nearby farms and find homes for their growing community. A rough count put the newcomers in the twenties, mostly younger men and women, with only a couple of children - older children and no babies.

Watching the bonfire twist and writhe, Miriam realized no one had babies. Even those who traveled through the area, families trying to find a better place did not have infants. No one had babies with them, the delicate little lives that required constant care and nurturing appeared absent in this new world. Did new parents try to tough it out where they were, making do with what they had? How did the parents feed their infants when the formula supplies ran out? Were the only babies alive the ones who, by good fortune, had lactating mothers?

In the flames, a sea of starving infants screamed, their faces red and contorted in hysterical cries, their stomachs aching, and empty, plump little hands balled into fists raging against the unfairness of it all. Why did the most innocent have to suffer? Jumping to her feet, the SecDef left her place on the log and retreated to the shadows, a safe place to let the tears fall freely.

Balling her hands into fists, she pressed them against her eyes. Breathing roughly through her nostrils, she tried to keep her sobs at bay. Never once in her career had she been tormented like this. Watching drone strikes thousands of miles away and knowing innocent people died never bothered her. Reading casualty reports never bothered her. Seeing the horrors of war and the daily butchering of people by their own governments never bothered her. Knowing that almost every child younger than a year old might die from starvation's long, painful death ripped her to the core.

A presence forced her to try and hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. Wiping furiously, Miriam turned to look up at Prowl, intense blue optics scrutinized her from the shadows.

The Autobot said nothing as he stood nearby.

Awkward and flustered, the Stateswoman felt the need to explain herself. "I am not a crier, but I was thinking about formula supply and how parents would feed their infants. One thing led to another - I don't know what is wrong with me." she let her words drift off, knowing how ridiculous she sounded.

The Autobot remained silent for several seconds, then tipped his head to the side before he spoke softly. "We do not have infants, but our young, those newly sparked, are weak and inexperienced; they lack defenses and knowledge. Special facilities cared for them, offering safety and a basic education until they could function independently. During the war's later days, the Decepticons raided these facilities and slaughtered all of our young. We lost an entire generation; we lost the future. Do not hide your pain; grieve for futures lost."

Wiping a tear and sniffing, the woman asked, "How long did you grieve?"

Cold blue optics focused on her, and colder words froze the air between them. "I have yet to start."

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