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 17: Iron Horse

XxxX

Velocity hid beneath the bridge, keeping to the shadows, afraid to stand in the day's bright, accusatory light. She owed Chris an apology but could not bring herself to face him - or the others. Nothing she could say would fix what she did, so humiliation kept her rooted to the hood of the Ford, staring at the ground. She would have slipped away and returned to NORAD if she had been brave enough, but she didn't want to make that drive alone. A self-loathing sigh whined from her intake; perhaps her father had been right about her, and the cold words "vicious coward" tainted her thoughts.

She refused to acknowledge anyone, her hands curled into fists. Down the road, engines revved as most of the convoy regrouped and left, heavy trailers in tow. In her peripheral, Optimus turned and moved toward her. Still, she did not look up, hypercoils tensing with his every step.

"Velocity," the rich voice thick with concern.

For several minutes, Velocity remained unresponsive, but he would wait her out; he always did. Finally, she found her voice. "I have - no excuse. I just…" She trailed off, not sure what she should say. Should she offer to leave? If he agreed, then what?

The squeal of reluctant tires sliding along theroad peeled her focus from the trash between her peds. Optimus dragged a minivan and positioned it before her. He settled his weight on its groaning shocks, long legs open, framing her between them. He leaned toward her, elbows on his knees; blue optics met hers, and she looked away. Around them, shadows lengthened, and crickets sang their chirpy love songs.

A deep sigh reverberated from the Prime. "What happened?" He leaned toward her, pulling at her electrical field with his.

In her mind, a too-human father asked the same question, riding crop in hand. Velocity shook her head to dispel the past and fought the need to pull away from the present. Her fists ached, balled too tight for too long; slowly, she uncurled them, listening to the gears creak and pop. "I don't know," she finally managed to mumble.

Part of her wanted to give him a reason for turning on Chris, yet she knew there wasn't one. The exhilaration of racing Sideswipe and the silly joy from the incongruous sight of elephants in a Kansas wheatfield, mixed with the sharp fear of knowing the bull could have harmed her, all collided into a blinding jolt of anger when she saw Chris raise his rifle. Something deep within rose to the surface, and the human ally became a threat. How could she tell Optimus the predator she hid had taken over and a dark part of her psyche wondered what Chris's body would feel like, crushed between her dental plates? His disgust would destroy her. "I thought he was going to hurt them," she refused to meet his optics with the half-lie.

A massive hand took one of hers and held it. "That is only part, and we both know it. You need to learn to accept who and what you are."

The femme stole a furtive glance at the mech. Optimus sat facing her, his expression open as he held her hand.

"And what am I?" The words slipped from her before she could stop them.

"You are Velocity." His optics remained locked onto her, their blue light digging into her soul. "Who you are has not changed. The parts you keep buried will always be there, and you need to accept those parts.

"What you deny about yourself will become a weakness. If ignored fortoo long, it will explode forth and harm those around you. If you accept all parts of yourself - accept the whole you, the light and the dark - it can become your great strength, and no one can use your denial against you," His words carried the weight of bitter experience and for a brief moment, his optics focused on something long ago.

Velocity wanted to believe him, but no one would accept the part of her that wanted to stalk and hunt, the part that wanted to sink fangs into flesh. Her whole life, she had tried to hide those parts of herself, hoping thatif she starved them, they would wither, die, and she could be human. She stared at her metal hand resting in Prime's palm. For the first time, she acknowledged her deepest desire. "I just wanted to be human—a simple person with a simple life." Hesitantly, she met his gaze, expecting mockery or rejection.

"A simple life is also all I ever wanted, but fate has forced us down a different path." A softness glowed in his optics, and he cupped her cheek in his other hand. Lifting her chin, Optimus softly spoke. "I am honored to call you my bondmate. Time and experience will prove you an insightful, powerful ally to those you care about and an unyielding, vicious foe to your enemies. Until then, try counting to five or perhaps twenty before you react."

Velocity glanced away, unable to return his soft smile.

XxxX

The sparsely populated western plains meant that few stalled cars littered the road as they hurried to catch the convoy. Velocity stayed near Optimus, tucked within his slipstream, letting his energy field tickle hers. She tried not to think about Chris. Still, the thoughts continued to bubble up, and she had to diligently pop them before they solidified into memories of her father's brutal warnings. She was more than her instincts and would prove the dead man wrong, starting with apologizing at the next stop.

The golden hue of the late day surrounded them as small white clouds formed from unseen water vapor in the troposphere. The little puffballs painted shadows on the landscape as they blocked the sun. Unharvested wheat fields lined the highway, and millions of tons of food rotted as people everywhere slowly starved.

A honk from Optimus yanked Velocity from her miserable thoughts. He slowed and moved to the other lane, his tires growling across the rumble strip near the grassy median.

Velocity followed his lead when she saw what lay ahead. On the right side of the road, a caravan of travelers followed behind a horse-drawn cart. Men and women dragged their possessions behind them in wagons of metal, wood, or a hodgepodge of materials. One used a travois pulled by a large brown dog. Some held walking sticks, the blunt ends stabbing the earth every other step. Some wore backpacks, sweat soaking down their legs. Several children sat on the back of the cart, their feet dangling over the concrete. The femme had no idea who they were, where they came from, or where they headed, but the wide-eyed stares of shock as she and Optimus drove past them would haunt her. Even out of sight, she wanted to stop and help the sojourners, the innocent survivors of the Decepticon war.

As she followed Optimus's lead and returned to a comfortable traveling speed, her inner voice suggested, "The Autobots could offer them rides and assistance." Common sense reminded her that a hostile person inside an Autobot was impossible to extract. The alternative - transforming with them inside - created a very wet and gory set of problems. Allowing the people to ride in the trailers wouldn't work either. The trailers were full, and the heat would cook the people even if they had the room. They could not offer rides to the group.

"Perhaps we should stop and offer food," her thoughts whispered. Except all the food was slated to help sustain the remaining government officials. The same was true with medicine and other supplies; everything was saved for the leaders.

Grinding her dental plates, Velocity hated the cold logic, but wasn't this the nature of war? The sacrifice of the innocent so the leaders could survive. The wasting of small lives so those with importance and power lived. It disgusted her; no one should be more or less due to arbitrary designations like what company they worked for, what board or senate seat they parked their ass in. The children on the back of the wagon should have been as important as the President of the United States or the Prime of Cybertron, but they weren't. She would have picked the child over adults with special titles if it all had been up to her - but children did not lead nations. Children did not know howto rebuild, stop the disruptors, or restart industry. That is why the unimportant and the children were sacrificed; they were easily replaced in the larger scheme. After leading a million-year war, Velocity realized Optimus understood this and had already triaged the caravan as unimportant to the greater cause. She hated him for this - No, she wanted to hate him but couldn't. Leading her team through the desert on search and aid missions taught her the young and weak paid the price for others' survival.

And what of Optimus? She knew that death weighed heavily within his spark; she could feel it through their bond, but he focused on the long-term goals and how to reach them. This was the luxury of being important; the leaders had plenty for today and could think about next week, next month, and next year because they were more likely to see the future. They were the ones the others, the children, and the less important, were sacrificed for.

"You are one of the important ones," a whispered hiss slid through her thoughts.

Velocity wanted to argue and deny the accusation, but her mental retort died before she could form it. Her bonding with Optimus, leader of the Autobots and Prime of Cybertron, ensured she would live while others died.

XxxX

They found the convoy at a rest stop, the mechs lounging around, and the humans boiling water and preparing for the evening meal. Above them, the sky had turned that perfect golden hue artists tried to recreate, and poets wistfully wrote about. The perfect light bounced and reflected off the Autobots, turning them into blazing giants – or gods meddling in the lives of mortals.

Velocity kept away from the rest of the convoy as she struggled to control her thoughts; everything around her pulled at the darkness that swirled and invaded her mood. She still had to apologize to Chris but could not do so through dental plates gritted from her frustrations.

Instead, she sat beside a bodark tree, flicking the hard green fruit littering the ground. Memories of kicking the sticky orbs in a child's solitary game of soccer pushed a wistful smile from her. As a child, she had enjoyed the times her father left her alone while he traveled and conducted gods-knows-what kind of business. Those times allowed her freedom to explore the nearby forest on two and four legs.

"She smiles." The Prime's words tugged at the corners of her mouth as he lowered himself. The mech reclined comfortably, his arm propped on the concrete roof sheltering a picnic table. Tipping his head to the side, he encouraged her.

Willingly accepting the opening, the femme quietly whispered, "Before – there were a bunch of bodark trees where we lived, and I would play with the mock oranges, use them as balls for games." Embarrassment from admitting her only childhood toys came from nature made her look away. To cover her discomfort, she picked up and tossed one of the fruits to Optimus.

The Prime deftly caught it. Lifting it, he scrutinized the knobby sphere. "Newly sparked and young Cybertronians do not have toys," he muttered, "Our developmental stage is learning how to perform tasks and the rules of society, not putting on mass and increasing in size while playing games. A new spark goes directly into a full-sized frame; therefore, we do not have childhoods."

He set the Osage orange aside and leveled his full attention on her. "Where we assume Prowl has chosen his base is not far from your previous…"

Not letting him finish, Velocity nodded and interjected, "I know." She didn't want to hear what he wanted to say; she had already acknowledged too many ghosts for one day. Her optics found the historical marker the Prime had read earlier; he always read the markers when they stopped. She nodded at the metal sign, "What did it say?"

For several seconds, Optimus remained silent before a surrendering sigh escaped him. "The sign tells of a skirmish between indigenous peoples and railroad workers, leaving two of the workers dead."

"Well, isn't that a happy bit of information?" Velocity retorted, regretting that she had asked.

A high-pitched whistle turned all heads. "Hey, guys," Sideswipe called from the bridge holding the exit ramp leading to their rest stop. The mech waved frantically, encouraging everyone to join him.

Velocity looked at Optimus with curiosity, and he responded with a shrug. Shifting his mass, the Prime stood and then offered her his hand in a request to join him.

Taking his hand, Velocity found herself effortlessly pulled to her peds. Together, they strolled toward the awaiting warrior, the rest of the convoy behind them.

Reaching the bridge, the Prime addressed his soldier, "Report," his tone casual as he hooked his hands on his hips.

Velocity slipped next to Optimus, her optics searching the encroaching shadows. She only found fluffy clouds so low on the horizon that they appeared to sit on the treetops and tinged slightly pink from the receding sun. Turning back to Optimus, she waited. Her dark mood wrestled against mild interest.

Sideswipe reached out, pointing a finger toward a tree line. "That," the single word held curiosity and excitement.

At first, Velocity did not notice it, but she quickly realized what she had mistook for clouds was a white trail, the source, a long dark shape snaking rapidly behind the branches and leaves. "What the…?"

"Indeed," Optimus cut her off.

"Holy shit!" cried Alan, balanced in Huffer's palm, binoculars to his eyes. Holyshitholyshit! Oh, my God." He dropped the binoculars from his face and looked at the assembled group, a manic smile trying to split his head in two. "It's a steam train."

Before the man's words sank in, Optimus turned to the convoy, "Remain here; I will return." The mech lept and landed on the interstate below them, his peds shattering the concrete. Not stopping, he ran toward the supposed train, then collapsed into a flame-covered Peterbilt, his tires smoking as he shot away.

XxxX

George adjusted his ball cap, pushing stray white hairs out of his face, then glanced at the dials. The steam gauge stayed at a comfortable two-fifty. He could have taken it higher but did not feel the need. After his wife of thirty-two years succumbed to cancer, he needed a diversion from his grief and saw a derelict and dirt-caked train slowly rusting in the back of a warehouse. It was love at first sight, and he made it his mission to restore the 1898 Baldwin Santa Fe 3415 Locomotive, giving her a new life and saving her from becoming a museum relic or forgotten in a scrap yard. At that point, his life changed, and he found himself among a small, elite, and eccentric group of private steam train owners. His children considered him crazy for dumping their inheritance into the black beauty. Settling in the conductor's seat, he smiled and patted the old girl affectionately. Built during the final days of the Westward Expansion, a time most considered the Old West, she lacked computers or any hint of advanced technology. The simplicity of steam power made the antique Baldwin and others like her impervious to the alien attack. Now, he and the Old Girl performed the needed service of linking towns and moving supplies. As the technology outage continued, days turned into weeks and weeks into months; small rail lines were slowly repaired and expanded. Overnight, he went from a nutty old train codger to a small-time hero.

After checking a few gages and calculating his fuel, George figured they had enough to get to their overnight stop. Wanting to double-check, he jostled his fireman slumped in the left seat. "How much fuel?"

Awakened from his nap, Van or Charles Van der Heiden the Third – as known to the authorities, stretched, yawned, and then pulled a pencil from behind his ear and a notebook from his shirt pocket. Making quick notations on a tiny spiral Steno, the man returned the pencil and pad to their resting places. "We good."

George smirked. Wow. It was a two-word, incomplete sentence, but a sentence nonetheless. Van must be feeling chatty today.

The open countryside zipped past as the train clacked and chugged rhythmically along the rails. George had to focus and remain alert for anything on the rails, not that he could stop the Baldwin if he tried. Coming in at a hundred twenty feet long, and sixty-two tons - not counting the ten cars behind her, the provisions in those cars or fuel weight, momentum and physics made her incapable of stopping quickly. Nothing stood a chance against her.

Everything looked clear, and George considered making Van change positions, but they would be in Elyria soon and had arrangements for beds and food. Just as George considered this run between towns a boring success, a dusty Peterbilt flew out from behind a line of trees, sliding sideways on the road before correcting. It raced toward them, kicking up a dust cloud before it veered off the road and into a field. George hadn't seen a working vehicle in months. His jaw hung slack, and he couldn't form the words to alert Van. Fortunately, the fireman had not returned to his nap and gawked through the window. They shared a look of mutual bewilderment.

The train continued forward, puffing out billows of white and gray steam, the antics of an errant semi plowing effortless through a field beneath her. The two humans aboard her did take notice, and panic began to blossom. The semi tore across the golden field, gaining speed and moving slightly ahead of the steam engine, chrome bumper slicing a path and spewing ripe wheat heads in every direction.

George slid the window open and leaned out; ahead, a rail bridge spanned a narrow fracture in the land, a shallow creek. Quick geometry told him that the old Baldwin and the dumbass Peterbilt would converge at the bridge.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, "We are going to feel this one."

Van nodded, understanding that Baldwin would blow through the semi, but something that big would rock her momentarily. "Breaks?" he asked.

"No time." They both knew it would take nearly a mile for the train to slow and stop once they applied the brakes, and the bridge rapidly approached from half that distance. All they could offer were prayers.

The Peterbilt didn't slow or steer away, and George saw painted flames beneath a layer of grime. He and Van slid below the bottom line of the window glass, hiding from potential shrapnel created by the inevitable impact. George hoped the semi-driver would stop in time but doubted it; people became stupid around trains, assuming the beasts behaved like cars. Trains and cars were no more alike than a family's docile milk cow and a wild, enraged bull buffalo.

The tone of the metal drive wheels clacking over the track changed and held a hollow note; George knew they made it to the bridge. At the same moment, the old girl rocked, swaying from the impact, but the expected corresponding explosion of screeching metal and flying debris remained absent; instead, loud thumps reverberated through the train. Hesitantly, George raised his head as the train settled and the wheels regained duller tones of rocks and dirt beneath the tracks. Leaning out the window, the conductor looked back, searching for the wreckage of the semi, and found none.

Another loud thump and Van emitted an inarticulate squeak.

George turned to check on his friend and screamed, the noise high-pitched and undignified. The fireman's window framed a massive metal face, a goliath peering over the side of the engine to look at them. Panicking, the conductor looked out his window, and up, a massive metal being rode on the top of the Baldwin, its gargantuan body laid along the length of the engine. In his terrified mind, he recognized the dirty flames as similar to those on the semi.

Then it spoke, a deep voice that vibrated the cramped air in the cabin. "I mean you no harm. I am Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots, and I would like to ask you several questions."

XxxX

Velocity returned to her spot beneath the bodark tree, miffed at Optimus's rapid departure, miffed at a squirrel that chattered incessantly at her presence, and miffed at Alan's endless lecture about steam trains. The only positive thing about nightfall was that the squirrel disappeared, and she did not have to become a hypocrite and kill the annoying rodent. Her previous behavior of protecting the elephants made the tree rat untouchable, and he acted as if he knew it, even throwing small twigs at her.

The humans lounged around a small fire, all politely silent as Alan continued fawning over trains. "I hope it is a Union Pacific Big Boy. My Pop-pop took me to see one when I was twelve; it was the coolest thing."

"I think you need to redefine cool," snarked Chris as he poked fire with a stick.

"Fuck you," laughed Alan, "Just because I appreciate the majesty of old trains…"

"That explains your last girlfriend."

Velocity chuckled softly, not wanting to interrupt the friendly banter or the squirrel. Looking around, she visually checked on the others. Sideswipe snoozed, powered down, and leaning against one of the trailers, Longhaul checked his weapons, and only Huffer appeared to find interest in Alan's knowledge.

"So two hundred of these primitive trains exist?" Huffer turned the insults back to Alan's now favorite topic. Sitting cross-legged near the campfire, orange light flickered over the old mech, cutting deep angular shadows. The glow from his optics was intense and focused.

The discussion did not need her, but they all shared similar thoughts. The addition of steam trains might be a game changer and a workaround to Soundwave's Null zone. Raising her head, Velocity stared at the stars; even the branches of the tree could not block all of the night's sky, and her attention settled on the bright band of the Milky Way. Her thoughts flittered from wondering what other peoples inhabited the endless planets of the galaxy to thinking they should investigate history museums for old technology and skills replaced by modern circuit boards and electricity. Programs slowed within her frame, and she relaxed, entering a powered-down stage; her processor stayed active, but a dreamlike haze led to disjoined ideas. Would she ever meet any of her kind? Would they recognize her or see her as a threat? Do all the planets around the stars pulse with an internal rhythm? She really needed to apologize to Chris. Are stars without planets considered barren - childless? Are Cybertronians big to all races and species that haunt the galaxy or just humans? What of other galaxies? Do those races visit, or is the distance too far? Does the squirrel sleeping in a hollow limb above ever look up and wonder what the stars are, or does he accept that they exist? What if they could build a train track to cover the country? That was a stupid thought; the country already has thousands of miles of train tracks.

A low and distant hum at the edge of her audio range pulled Velocity out of her errant thoughts. Blinking, she tipped and angled her head to pinpoint the sound. The noise grew louder with every second, and a smile shifted her facial plates. In the near-silent darkness, a familiar engine raced toward her. Standing, the femme stretched and left her place beneath the bodark tree. A short stroll took her to the parking lot for the rest stop, and she waited there. Longhaul joined her, sheathing the battle ax he spent several hours sharpening. The others stayed around the fire, and Sideswipe remained recharging.

It took several minutes for Optimus to cover the miles before he emerged from the shadows. Taking the exit ramp to their rest stop, the Prime barely slowed. Sliding to a halt in front of Velocity, the mech rapidly transformed, and excitement arced through his electrical field.

"Velocity," his baritone rolled warmly through the night, "I need you to find Elyria Kansas on your maps. We have a detour."

XxxX

Author's Notes

Bodark trees have many regional names – Osage tree, Horse Apple Tree, Hedge Tree, Hedge Apple, Yellow wood, Mapo, Bois d'arc, and Mock Orange.

Elyria, Kansas, exists, but I have never been there. The Elyria in this work of fiction is based on several small towns all jumbled together.

Afireman, stoker, or boilerman tends the fire that powers a boiler, which in turn powers a steam engine. I spent too much time learning about steam trains for one small section. If you look it up, the real Balwin Santa Fe 3415 was built in 1919, not 1898; date changed for artistic license.

One more semester and the Master's degree should be complete. Then, I can turn my attention back to the important tasks of writing and art.