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.

XxxX

Full Velocity: Apocalypse Code

Chapter 11: Riding a Red Horse

XxxX

The Bruce Woodbury Beltway merged into Interstate 15, and within minutes, they headed toward the desert, away from Las Vegas with its darkened neon and silent slot machines, away from desperate people scraping to survive. As the Las Vegas Motor Speedway disappeared from their rearview mirrors, Slipknot and his team left the concrete road and cut through the empty Nevada landscape; a plume of dust marked their path. Velocity didn't know where they were headed; she never asked about their destination, just like she never tried to talk to Slipknot.

The desert highway lay as barren as the land around it; few cars sat stalled along its length, and no people remained near the hot concrete. Instead, as far as she could see, the land became endless pale dirt dotted with sage, brittlebush, and the occasional cholla cactus. Even the distant mountains maintained the weird monochrome of dull brown and pale green.

Optimus slipped past Longhaul to retake the lead, and the small convoy rearranged itself, two semis in the rear, Sides, then her, right behind the Prime. When the road opened, Velocity moved beside her mate, hiding within his late-day shadow. The monotonous scenery did little to distract her; the wind whipping over and the hum of her tires on the road made talking impossible without shouting. Now she understood the need for internal comms; had those worked, she could entertain herself with conversation or been forced to endure Sideswipe's rude comments. Perhaps the lack of comms had advantages.

Boredom gnawed at her, and it became a constant fight to keep her thoughts from galloping into darker areas. Kaleidoscope's comments rattled in her processor and impacted with the warnings from Optimus, forming a whirlwind of contradictory actions and words. Even if she talked to Slip' would he tell her the truth? She doubted she deserved it after verbally biting him. A small, vile voice whispered that she lacked the nerve to approach the mech, and the guilt of hasty and hostile words weighed in her chest. She promised herself she would talk to Slip' as soon as possible. She needed to know if he used her or if she fucked up a friendship. The ugly voice of self-deprecation reminded her she didn't deserve normal things like friendships.

Velocity told the voice to fuck off and scolded herself for focusing on such trivialities. The nation she called home deteriorated, and died beneath Soundwave's Null Zone while she argued with her demons. Images of the dead filtered through her processor, their hands linked with the starving and sick. Death, Famine, Pestilence, the horseman had arrived; only War had yet to gallop into view, but maybe he already had. This whole apocalypse started with a war from the heavens coming to Earth. A shiver ran along her frame, but she could not recall the rest of the biblical story. Christianity never offered her the solace it did for so many, and she only gave it cursory glances in the past, afraid of where someone like her fit between Heaven and Hell. Maybe they were right, and this was how it ended. Instead of feathered angels, metal aliens fought for good and evil.

A cool electrical field washed over Velocity as Optimus maneuvered closer to her, their tires only inches apart. She welcomed his nearness, even if their size difference intimidated her as they sped along at seventy miles an hour. A brisk walk to a Cybertronian in their altmode, but images of small vehicles crumpled beneath massive semis popped into her processor as unwelcome snapshots. He was not a mindless machine and would not hurt her. She remained close to the Prime; his electrical field brushed hers and swirled in the slipstream around them, offering the perfect distraction. Across their bond, tingles of contentment and whispers of desire pushed the four horses back into the depths of her mind and closed the stable doors.

XxxX

Jerome led his horse to its stall; he and the red roan had come to an agreement of sorts. It would stop being a pain in his ass, and he wouldn't beat the shit out of it. Isabella threatened to beat the shit out of him when she found out and refused to give him another mount from their growing stable. That was when he decided the woman wasn't worth his interest.

Now, he was stuck with the angry red beast he led to its stall. Pulling the tack and saddle from the animal, he freed it from its restraints. A quick brush down, and Jerome offered the asshole hay and water; it chewed while watching him with one eye. Securing the stall door, he cursed the beast and headed toward the former school, his legs, back, and ass sore from the long patrol. He would never get used to horses, the muscle strain, the bounding in the saddle, the fact they were thousand-pound animals with minds and opinions of their own. Rojo Diablo, as he called the roan, had a mouth with teeth and would bite if given the chance. Give him a car any day, with comfortable seats, air conditioning, satellite radio, and no hooves, mouths, or attitude.

Marcus waited for him beneath the awning to the school's main entrance. "Go get cleaned up; I am calling an emergency meeting."

The former DIA officer raised his eyebrows at the man's words and watched him retreat into the building.

Showered and refreshed, Jerome entered the old classroom; around him, cartoon figures and bright colors tattooed the walls of the former kindergarten room. The tiny desks and chairs had long since been dismantled and repurposed into tools or makeshift weapons. A rainbow-hued carpet reminded everyone of the alphabet and Arabic numerals. He never knew why Marcus made this the war room; perhaps the man possessed a sense of humor he never showed. Last to arrive, he took his seat to the right of their de facto leader and idly doodled on a notepad.

Marcus carefully laid a folded paper on the table, the words hidden from everyone. "Late last night, we received a letter from our compatriots in Washington D.C. It appears that the Autobots have located members of the former regime and are establishing a small territory in West Virginia near Gilbert Creek." His dark eyes roved over the group, punctuating his words. "Angelica says the area and numbers are small. Although she expressed distress over losing some of her citizens to the new Autobot territory, they appear far enough away to dissuade any challenge to her and her people. As we surmised, the aliens would not stay in the West and would try to spread their control. I assumed they would set small outposts in gradual distances from their base at Creech AFB, not cover most of the continent in one huge step."

"Does Angelica say how many government officials or who they might be?" Jerome asked. While in his years of DIA work, he saw the corruption and ineptitude of elected officials. While he never supported an outright revolution, but why not change what was broken since they had the opportunity, thanks to the Cybertronians.

"Number six in the line of succession," Marcus smirked.

A smile spread along Jerome's face. If the aliens found the Secretary of Defense, the chances of higher officials surviving the attack on Washington remained very slim. POTUS and VPOTUS were most likely dead; if they had survived the attack, Angelica would correct that mistake. Miriam Hernandez had been a controversial selection with little public support. If the Autobots restored power and the country moved to normalcy, the Autobots might not get John Q. Citizen to support the woman as the new President.

"Well, this is good news; we still have a national government. Maybe it won't take much, and we can get everything working again," Dalton chattered.

Jerome sighed. The man had no idea what he had unleashed on himself. A new arrival, Dalton Bergstrom, had joined as a representative of the fledgling Rebuild America, a "guild" devoted to repairing and rebuilding what had been lost. The DIA officer thought the guild was just a bunch of laborers who played too much Dungeons and Dragons as kids and wanted massive profits while fixing the country. No one used the term "guild". Marcus had agreed with his opinion but cautioned that skilled allies were needed to win the War.

A tight smile curled Marcus's lips as he stared at the paper between his elbows. "And who do you think invited the Cybertronians to our country? The members of the former government. They chose this for us; they helped destroy our country. We are planning a better future, a better government. This nation will be unified, and everyone will work to destroy the Cybertronians - to remove the alien blight from our land. The criminals that allowed this," he gestured to everything and nothing in particular, "will pay for the millions of deaths with their lives. We will wipe away the old and bring forth something new, not just prop up the old government.

"I invited you to our group to help us create a new nation, not just rebuild. We have a vision and a plan. If you have a problem with this, I suggest we cut our ties now."

Dalton fidgeted in his chair, his face contorting with his thoughts. Finally, he spoke, "And what is your plan? A democracy? A dictatorship? I agree that mistakes were made, but I do not think that our leaders intended for this for any of this to happen. I don't think they are criminals who deserve execution. And who gave you the right to be the executioner, the one to choose a new path?" Standing, the man gathered his notebook and pencil. "I wish you luck, but a revolution is not the answer." Turning, the man left the room.

With a look and the flick of a wrist, Marcus sent a guard to follow Dalton Bergstrom. It took only seconds for the crack of a gunshot to echo through the building.

Marcus shrugged, and no one said a word.

"Anyways, Angelica is keeping tabs on the Autobot outpost. There appear to be six or more people at a central house; her defectors have taken up in surrounding farms. Five Autobots, one of which transforms into a tank, are the primary defense. I advised them not to engage and send a rider if any changes occur. But we all know Angelica."

The group chuckled; the middle-aged woman in D.C. had a penchant for bold behavior, and if some of her people left, she would take it personally. Eventually, Marcus would have to deal with her; she was too proud to play second fiddle in the new world order.

Their leader continued, "Also, our sources in Las Vegas saw Optimus Prime leave Creech with a large convoy. Part of the group split off east of Vegas, leaving the Prime with two more semis and two red sports cars in the convoy. He may be heading to the group in Gilberts Creek to cement an alliance with the former government. We must start preparing; the enemy is bringing the battle to us, and they don't even know it."

XxxX

The land cut sharp angles with deep gorges and steep hills. Leaving the open desert with its flat roads offered curves and inclines that suited her altmode, she and Sideswipe could hug the mountain turns at ridiculous speeds. Unfortunately, Optimus and the other semis couldn't risk their loads, and everyone traveled at a frustratingly safe, reasonable speed. Only a few cars littered the highway, and due to the months passing since the pulse, no one living waited by their dead vehicles needing assistance. They had the roads to themselves, and as much as that disturbed Velocity, she enjoyed it a little. Latching onto the fantasy of just her and Optimus traveling the country, visiting places she had been too afraid to go in a former life.

No one stopped or harassed them as they made the I-15 to I-70 interchange in Utah, and raggedly scrub brushes gave way to pinyons, ponderosa pine, sedge, and nettle.

As the sun crept to the bottom of her rearview mirror, Optimus led the convoy down a short side road toward a building. The nearby sign announced, "Buckaroo's Wild West Mercantile," and a cowboy sat astride a rearing red horse, tempting visitors with "cold drinks, clean bathrooms, and cheap gas." Neither the cowboy nor the store had received an update since the mid-1950s, an iconic tourist trap only fit for movies.

No concrete paved the parking lot, and their tires crunched over dirt and stone. The Prime backed his trailer next to the building, and Velocity shifted to her root mode with a languid stretch. The other Autobots disgorged their human passengers, parked their loads, and took to two peds. A humorous session of mechs and people stretching away the hours of driving filled the air with groans, popping joints, and the grind of stiff hypercoils. Even the Prime took time to loosen up.

"I thought we were heading to NORAD," one of the men asked as he walked toward Optimus. Velocity couldn't remember his name: Adam, Alan, Aaron, or something like that.

Crossing one arm over his chest and the other to push it further, stretching the shoulder joint, Velocity noted it as the side injured during Soundwave's assassination attempt. Looking at the man near his peds, Optimus responded, "We were forced to leave later than anticipated. With night coming and our headlights not functioning, it is wiser not to travel the mountain roads after dark."

Susan and Patrick peered through the windows of the building. "Hey, no one has looted this, but the door is locked," the woman announced.

Dropping to his hands and knees, Sideswipe crawled under the awning. He raised a hand and flicked one of the windows; the tinkling crescendo of shattering glass startled a small flock of pigeons from the backside of the roof. "Oh, darn. It broke. Hey, find me a keychain with my name on it."

Patrick entered the building first, his weapon held in front as he searched for things more dangerous and alive than keychains.

"If the building is uninhabited, take only what you need. Then leave directions to Indian Springs and the towns within our supply routes," Optimus ordered over his shoulder as he walked to the edge of the dusty parking lot. His optics searched the stretch of highway they just left while he fidgeted with a tire on his leg.

Velocity moved to his side. "Problems?"

"No, just making sure we are not followed. I do not like the lack of Decepticon activity, it has me concerned." He glanced at her. "Are they avoiding the Null zone because it is uncomfortable, or is there something more?" He looked away and shook his head.

Laying a hand on his side, Velocity offered a weak smile and a shrug. "I don't like the horse on the sign if that helps."

Optimus raised one brow arch and started to say something when the shriek of metal tearing from metal stalled their conversation. Longhaul had rolled a car on its side and ripped off the gas tank. He tipped it to his lips, chugging the contents like a sports drink after a championship game. Velocity shivered; she tried to avoid using gasoline as fuel; it left her feeling jittery and burned through her systems too quickly.

XxxX

The night brought a warm breeze and an unobstructed view of the stars as the humans made a small fire and sipped hot beer they found. Optimus and Velocity sat far enough away from the assembled group for privacy but close enough to hear the tall tales and rumbles of laughter. Wedged in the bowl of the Prime's crossed legs and reclined against his chest, the femme stared at the stars. Nearly eternal, they shone brilliantly, cold points when far away but get too close, and their fires vaporized everything. A star offered light and heat at just the proper distance, a warm place for life to grow. Somewhere out there, her creators lived; out there, Optimus's home world spun; out there, unknown species walked and flew and swan in uncharted planets. A sigh escaped her vents, and massive arms tightened around her.

"What is on your mind?" a deep baritone asked. Velocity felt his words rumble through his chest.

It took her a few minutes and several false starts to collect the words. "Kaleidoscope told me Slipknot was hoping to serve as my keeper."

The songs of crickets and night bugs filled the air, punctuated by the twitter of sleepy birds. The distant fire popped, and a woman's high-pitched laughter floated on the night breeze.

Finally, Optimus spoke. "I am certain he would not have refused such a chance. But he is not one I would unquestioningly trust. Slipknot has been known to loosen his vocals after a couple rounds of high grades."

Tipping her head, Velocity looked at her mate. "Is that why you pulled me off the team? He was running his mouth?" a slight growl lingered on her last word.

"I thought we weren't going to have any conversations that might, how did you say it, piss you off."

Velocity waved her hand dismissively. "A lady is allowed to change her mind."

A chuckle vibrated through Optimus. "So, you are a lady now. Would a lady ask Patrick if he found a working glory hole in the store?"

Defensively, the femme retorted, "He kept going back in there for recon." Velocity held both hands up and wiggled her fingers around the last word of the sentence. "Anyways, what do you know of glory holes?" She twisted in the Prime's lap to better face him.

Another chuckle escaped her mate, and he casually smirked in an arrogant and slightly dangerous "I am the Prime of Cybertron" way. Velocity did not want to know how Optimus Prime knew about glory holes, or maybe they were universal. She squashed that thought before it took her mind down paths she had no intention of going - at least not here, with a nearby audience.

Eventually, seriousness settled over them again. "If you ever have a Keeper, it needs to be someone we both trust and defer to. Slipknot is not that person, and limiting your relationship with him is prudent. And before you ask, no, I was not concerned about you divulging delicate information to him or anyone else. I trust you to use your judgment and hold your vocals when needed."

Deep blue optics cut through the darkness; their light held a warmth she had never known in her previous life. The weight of his words twisted her as his devotion flooded their bond. She had to look away before the heavy emotions crushed her.

"So, who would you suggest?" Velocity's question sounded breathy in her audios.

"Right now, no one." Both arms and legs tightened around her, and he rested his cheek against her helm.

Wiggling into his embrace, the femme asked, "Was Ironhide always your Keeper after you became Prime."

A hand slowly caressed her jaw and neck, sending shivers along her circuits. "If you keep that up, we will have an audience," Velocity purred.

His hand returned to a less tantalizing hold as the Prime harumphed. A minute passed before he spoke. "No. Ironhide was always a friend I trusted, even when told I shouldn't. He did not serve as my Keeper until later in the War. Elita served me and helped in all aspects of the Primacy; she was my lover, my advisor, my friend, the one I could speak freely to, my bondmate. Without her at my side, I could not have succeeded. She was a perfect assistant, advisor, and mate. And you are too,"

Author's Notes:

Thank you everyone for reading. The faves, likes, kudos, and, most of all, comments make my day.