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I am really starting to like Barricade a lot

Yes, I suck at math. I suspect Starscream is more than 4-5X Flareup's mass. But still. Point holds.

Is this a break? Yes. Is it what you expected? Probably not. Don't worry. We've still got Ironhide. Maybe he'll do better.


XIII.

Barricade had had to listen to Flareup gush about the drones for the better part of forever, it felt like. Enough that his mandible joints ached from holding that entirely insincere smile. The strategy to show her the young and harmless had worked, better than he had thought. Better than he’d wanted, as he was now discovering.

“I can’t believe you send those poor things into battle,” she said, and then drew back, as if realizing that her words could be offensive.

“We would prefer not to, of course.” True enough. So much waste. But while she was thinking waste of potential, he was thinking waste of resources. Time to turn this conversation onto another topic. Any other topic. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“It seems unfair to send someone like you into battle as well.”

Her lips thinned. “What do you mean by that?”

“You are, undoubtedly, smaller than the other bots. You are smaller than I am. Surely that puts you at a disadvantage? Speaking tactically, that is.”

Her face stayed closed off. “That’s what they all say.”

Slag. He’d blown this. Have to scramble back to safer ground. What you get for changing the subject so blindly. When in doubt, especially with sensitive Autobots, apologize. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I have no experience with you females. I did not mean to offend. I simply don’t know.”

Her mouth softened, and her shoulders released, marginally, from their defensive clench. If nothing else, he’d discovered her sore spot. But he wasn’t trying to run hostile approaches on her. At least not yet. “I guess I understand. I overreacted. I just get tired of hearing the same stuff over and over again like that. I am sorry.”

Dear sweet Well of Sparks, now she was apologizing to him. These Autobots were clearly insane. How they ever managed to get anything done with all this fretting over everyone else and their feelings, he’d never know. He shrugged, only partially masking his discomfort.

“I hear it all the time—we all do, Chromia and Arcee and me. That we’re not big enough. Not tough enough. It just gets kind of frustrating. No matter how hard we try. No matter how many battles we’ve proven ourselves in, they always treat us like we’re going to shake apart at the first salvo.”

Barricade hated to admit it, but he could relate to most of that. “Know what that’s like,” he said. He drew himself up short. Had she picked up on the change in the tone of his voice, from the silky tone he normally used with her?

“You do?” Unexpected tactic here. Similarity.

“Yeah.” She tilted her head, waiting for him to say more. He shifted his weight, uncomfortably. “Surely you’ve noticed,” he said, in his more in-control voice, “that I’m not the biggest Decepticon you’ve ever seen. Size means everything here.” Not necessarily everything, but Barricade had certainly had to fight a lot harder, and with less overt weapons, than the big bots. “Frustrating, because I know there are things I do better than they do.”

“Yes!” she said, tilting forward in the repair cradle. “Exactly. We can go places the big ones can’t go. Even Bumblebee. I can go places too small for him to fit. And my sisters and I—“ She cut herself off.

Barricade let that slide. If he showed too much interest in the sister thing, especially after she’d shut him down asking about this Chromia, he’d put her back on guard. He merely nodded. Time to try to wedge the love of comrades a bit wider open. “Surely in your case they’re just protective of their females?”

She frowned, but this time Barricade could tell it was not directed at him. “No right to. Honestly. We’ve lost a lot in this war ourselves. It’s wrong that we can’t be allowed to fight just as hard for it.”

“Freedom, right?”

“And equality.” Her mouth had a bitter twist on one side. “If we don’t fight, they treat us different. Like we haven’t given enough or suffered as much as they have. Or weren’t brave enough. I may be small: I may break a little easier than some of the others. But I am not weak.” She sounded angry, as if she were arguing with someone.

“I hear you took on Starscream, all by yourself. Don’t think anyone with any sense would call you a coward.”

She ducked her eyes. “That, uh…that didn’t go so well.”

“Doesn’t matter how it went. Matter that you tried. He’s probably four or five times your mass.” Honestly, he thought a tiny bot like her going after Starscream was either latent suicide or something so stupid even a drone would know better, but, well, what was that expression about the line between bravery and stupidity?

“You think so? Really?” Barricade felt a glow of gratification—she was turning to him for validation. This was agonizingly slow, but he was winning her.

“Really. I wouldn’t take him on.” At least not that way. There were easier ways to handle Starscream.

“I wouldn’t have, but he’d hurt Chromia. I had to do something.” Ah, that sounded stupid and Autobot enough.

“Your sister had also gone up against him alone?”

“Yes. She’s not afraid of anything,” Flareup said with some pride.

“I imagine not much scares you, either.”
“Oh that’s not true at all!” She laughed. It was a startling sound. “You saw me with those little repair bots.”

“You’re not afraid of them, now, though.”

“Oh no! Not the drones, either. Those poor things.” Oh great. He sensed the conversation turning back to the alleged cuteness of drones. He wasn’t sure he could endure any more of that. Time to derail this train of thought.

“So I suspect you’re even braver than those bigger bots. Many of them would probably still be afraid of them.”

She sighed. “So much fear. So much hatred. All spent on what we don’t understand. It makes me sad.” Barricade’s circuits jumped. Hatred of enemies down, almost down to zero. He bet if he gave her a loaded weapon right now she wouldn’t even point it at him. Time to lay this line further. Risky. But he had a feeling it might pay off.

“Can I tell you something?” She nodded. “We don’t like it either. If we weren’t so short of energon….” He let the thought trail off.

“Short?”

“We fight with everything we can—even dragging the drones into it, as you said—because we need to win. We are starving to death. Slowly, but it’s happening.” A slight overstatement of reality. But she seemed to be a sucker for the sympathy ploy.

“Really?”

“Why do you think it is so dark in here? Takes less energy. And running our optics at lowlight takes less of our charge.” All things, Barricade suddenly realized, that Starscream had put in place during his leadership. On the long hunt, he’d threatened them repeatedly with rationing, worrying loudly about running into a point of desperation. Protocols they had kept in place even after Megatron’s return. Maybe Starscream wasn’t as much of an idiot as Barricade had thought. No, correct that: maybe he wasn’t as bad a leader. Leaders could still be idiots. Just on a larger or smaller scale.

“I-I didn’t know that.”

“We try very hard to keep that quiet. You can imagine why.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“An unacceptable number of hatchlings go straight into reprocessing.” All too true.

She looked shocked and saddened. “That’s horrible.”

Hoping you’d think that, he thought. “Where do you get your energon?” he asked, switching to direct question.

“Ours? I don’t know. The humans are working on ways to refine some of the low-grade stuff we can find. It’s not very strong, but it’s better than nothing.”

“The humans have discovered this way?” That was a surprise. Barricade didn’t figure the humans would be smart enough to discover their way out of a dark tunnel.

“It would be enough to help the hatchlings, I suspect,” he said. Push the hatchlings. Sympathy works on her. Widen that crack. “But stronger would be better.”

“They say there are some good surface sites, but I don’t know where they are.” She looked genuinely apologetic.

Barricade bit back a curse. She was telling the truth. If she knew, she’d be blabbing all of it. For the stupid drones and hatchlings. She was, for that purpose, his primary purpose, useless. A pointless break. Damn.

I just caught up on all of your updates

In the first one, I liked the Autobot scene =) I'm going into the medical field, myself, so I know the helplessness and sentiment (hesitation) Ratchet must've felt in that situation (harming another, even an enemy). Good ploy =)

I especially liked this last update Probably because Flareup reminds me a lot of myself. I'm too trusting and I know I would act exactly how she did in that situation. You have extremely good writing skills, HK, especially when it comes to bringing characters to life. =)

**hugs HK** Keep it up =D

I think I've warned sufficiently that this story gets ugly. For those who still don't believe....

XIV.

Blackout braced himself. On three, he thought. You can do this. You can master this. On three. One. Two. Three. He launched himself backwards, slamming his rotor mount hard into the bulkhead of the ship’s hangar. His optics went white, red, and black from the sudden overload of his pain sensors. He collapsed to his knees, his greave-armor gouging the metal floor. Slag. Blacked out again. Ironic, isn’t it? Blackout blacking out. Not funny, he told himself. Weak. That’s what you are. A little pain taking you down. Taking you out of the battle. Holding you back.

He pushed heavily too his feet. His ankle stabilizers wobbled a bit, as if something were interfering with their gyros. He muttered a string of curses. He would overcome this. He would not succumb to mere pain. He wouldn’t.

He flared the rotors from the mount, wincing. Can’t even handle that much, he snorted. How does Starscream do it? How does he manage pain so well that he invites more and more of it?

He reached back and yanked on one of his intact rotors, hard. He heard himself grunt. Can handle this, he told himself. Just a bit more. Sooner or later I’ll have taken so much I won’t feel it. That must be how Starscream did it. Just took so much of it that one day it didn’t even register. Keep it up. The next one, the next time will put you over that threshold into numbness.

Right. The next time. On three. One. Two.

“Am I interrupting something?” The voice came out of the darkness. Blackout flinched. He hadn’t heard anyone come in. Not even the door. Pain was weakening his senses.

“No,” he said, straightening up, hastily. “What are you doing here, Vortex?”

“Nothing much. I heard a noise and just wanted to check it out.” Vortex’s face was a blank mask. “You have any idea what that noise might have been?”

You know damn well what it was, Blackout thought. “No idea.”

“Hrm.” Vortex stepped further into the room, making a show of looking around. But Blackout could feel that even behind the visor, Vortex’s eyes were always on him. “Maybe happened when you were sensor-locked from the pain of throwing yourself against the wall.”

Blackout glared at him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For the record, Blackout,” Vortex said, “’Big dumb guy’ doesn’t work on me. Never has. Big dumb guy myself, you know.”

Blackout’s rotors flared in irritation, involuntarily. He winced.

Vortex stepped closer, folding his arms over his chest. “Going to have to report this if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” he said.

“Nothing’s going on!”

Vortex looked at him, a little sadly. “Not true.”

Blackout balled his hands into fists. “Leave me alone.”

“Leave yourself alone.” Vortex reached out and brushed one of Blackout’s rotor blades. “I’m the only one other than you that has any idea how much that hurts, you know.”

“Doesn’t hurt,” Blackout spat.

“Really.” Vortex twisted the rotor blade deftly, turning it in its socket mount. New pain lanced through Blackout’s entire sensor net. His knee servos faltered.

Blackout gasped. “Let go of me,” he snarled.

“When you tell me what you think you’re trying to accomplish, I will.”

Blackout tried to twist out of the other bot’s grip, but only succeeded in blanking his optics from the pain. He came back to his senses, gasping. Vortex still held the rotor blade in one hand. Blackout could feel the blade’s infected heat throb in Vortex’s grasp.

“Answer?”

“Go slag yourself.”

“Not good enough. Do you think I want to do,” he paused, twisting the blade in its socket again, “this again?”

Blackout writhed. “Let go,” he pleaded, hating the thinness of his voice. He tried, and failed, to sound angry. He sounded, in reality, pathetic.

“Why should I? Isn’t this what you want? You want pain, don’t you? Pain from me not good enough?” He wobbled the rotorblade in the socket. Blackout froze, afraid to move. “Why you want pain so much, Blackout?” His eyes behind his visor were hard on Blackout’s for a long moment. Then, his gaze softened. He released the blade gently, laying it back in position. “What’s going on?”

“Have to get over it,” Blackout muttered. “Everyone else can take it. I can, too.”

“Not a big fan of it, myself.” Vortex’s eyes weighed on Blackout.

“Yeah, that’s why—“ Blackout cut himself short.

“That’s why you think it’s important, huh? Weak old Vortex—don’t want to end up like him, do we?” His voice took on a hard edge that made Blackout drop his eyes. “Right. The big masochists are in now, is that what you think? That’s how you’re going to make it?”

“I have to. I have to do…something.” Blackout felt stupid.

“You want to do something?” Vortex stepped in closer, so close Blackout could see his optics through his visor. “Try finding your self-respect. More to being a warrior than taking pain. It’s about what you won’t take, too.” He stepped back. “Think this is such a big deal, do you?” He reached over his shoulder and grabbed one of his own rotor blades, tearing it out of the socket with a shower of sparks and hydraulic fluid. His eyes never left Blackout’s face. “Doesn’t make any difference at all. Neat trick, though, destroying yourself.” He threw the blade on the ground at Blackout’s feet, where it rang against the floorplates. “Sure the enemy appreciates it.”

Whoa... Blackout has some issues...

Really well written. I shouldn't like it, with all the masochism but still... it's hard not to. Great update!!

Nice! I'm with Carrie on this one: Blackout has some serious issues! His masochism is brutal!

I love what you did with Vortex, though **hugs HK**!!!

Megatron's using two common police interrogation tactics here. Yeah, I know he's not a 'gator, but I got a little carried away. Open window and ticking clock. See if you can spot them! (Next week, I'll add an interactive coloring book. Or not). And any gesture to the throat or chest is generally 'self-comforting'. Look for it in humans, too!

XV.
“You disappoint me,” Megatron said, coolly. As if he had expected it all along. It was that resigned tone that really bit at Barricade.

“Non-invasive intelligence work is often slow,” he said, defensively. Sounded like an excuse. Was an excuse. Damn. He knew better than to fall into this pattern.

“Then go invasive.”

Hold your line, he told himself. This is your area of expertise. Don’t make excuses. Don’t let him get one-up on you. “Would ruin any secondary value of the source. You know invasive techniques cause permanent damage.”

“I am less concerned with the putative ‘secondary value’ of these sources than unconvinced that they have any primary value.” Megatron slouched in his chair, his fingers keying the various shipboard monitors idly. “I am even less concerned with damage.”

“It will pay off.” Right now, he just didn’t see how. If he had a moment to sit and think, he was sure he could come up with something. Sure of it.

“Worthless,” Megatron muttered.

“They’re not worthless. We can always negotiate, barter for them.”

“Starscream and Blackout: Worthless. Could have, should have killed the Autobots while they had a chance. Turns out—you know, of course?—that they didn’t even verify the death of Prime. That means, of course, he is not dead.” He tapped his neck and chest, in what Barricade recognized as a classic self-soothing gesture. Megatron was, for Barricade at least, trying to calm himself down. No doubt if it were Starscream he were talking to, the jet would be on the floor fending off kicks. “Instead, they bring me these…captives.” His mouth pinched in disgust.

“Starscream has good battle instincts,” Barricade said. Immediate regret. Should have known better. Damn. He was getting tired, and slipping up. Bouncing between the two Autobots, having to keep his persona up, was taking its toll. He waited for Megatron to explode, bracing himself for a blow. Unlike the jet, whose heavy frame and armor kept his vital parts protected, Barricade would get hurt. Seriously.

Instead: “Really,” Megatron said, his voice sweet and poisonous as oleander. “You think he is a better leader than I am?”

“’Course not,” Barricade said quickly. “Being good on the battlefield is not the same as being a leader. He knows his place.”

“Does he?” Megatron sounded evenly split between setting Barricade up and honestly asking.

“You remind him often enough,” Barricade said, defiantly, raising his eyes to Megatron. If he was going to take a hit, let him take it honestly.

Instead, Megatron smiled, as if remembering something entertaining. “Yes, I do.” Then he turned his attention back to Barricade’s preliminary report. “But this. This is taking too long. You have made what progress?”

“The female knows nothing.”

Megatron made a non-committal sound. “While you waste your time on all of this talking, hatchlings are dying. Drones are delayed in development due to energon starvation. Bots are dying, and you’re…what? Having some sort of show and tell with the bot?” He tapped the report display on one of the screens.

“I know that.” He dropped his eyes.

“We need actionable intelligence, Barricade. We need it now. None of this promise for a future payoff. Without energon, we do not have a future.” He punctuated the last sentence with stabs into the air between them.

“The bot is still useful. She has enormous psyops potential—“

Megatron cut him off with a chop of his hand. “Never mind that. I do not want to hear about your pet propaganda projects right now, Barricade. There is one way to win, and that is to destroy the enemy.”

Barricade bit on his lower labial plate. This tiresome philosophy. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “Not true. All you big bots think alike—physical damage isn’t the end of the story. Look at Starscream. You beat the coolant out of him five times a megacycle. If beating him physically worked, wouldn’t need to do that. Bots self-repair. Physical damage heals. Pain eventually fades. And then even the memory of it. Even the history of the humans shows it: Who wins? Guy who killed the most other guys or the guy who broke the most other souls?” He winced. Slipping. Again.

“And that’s what you think you can do for me.” Megatron's eyes, cool. Hard.

“Don’t think it. Know it.”

Megatron grunted, leaning back in his chair, his eyes distant. Considering. Not many bots had the courage (or stupidity, there was that blurred line again) to disagree with Megatron to his face. “All right,” he said, finally. “I shall give you a chance to prove your little theory, and cash in those promises your insolence just made. One chance. The other Autobot. Bring me something useful from him. In the next cycle.”

His capacitor upticked in alarm. “I need more time.”

“We don’t have more time, Barricade. Within the next cycle. Or we will evaluate your current position and resource allocations.”

Barricade’s capacitor clutched. One cycle? This was insanity. There was no way. He could break Ironhide, in that time, but not in any way that would yield what Megatron wanted. How to get actionable intelligence? In the next cycle? Barricade could feel all he’d worked for—all of those megacycles of fighting and pushing—blow away like so much dust.

And this is how it ends, he thought. All that work. All you’ve worked for. All you’ve pushed yourself through. Barricade was under no illusion that Megatron’s time limit was entirely arbitrary. He didn’t stoop to strike Barricade. So much easier to make Barricade hurt himself.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, through clenched teeth. For the first time, he thought he understood how Starscream felt.

Poor Barricade... Megatron is a hard task master. I likes the update!

Having noticed that no one's really reading this, I'm really having doubts about posting the rest and wasting Seib's precious bandwidth. And also maybe sparing some embarrassment. Because after today's section, it gets *really* personal to me. Now we can argue that if I write a robotified account of stuff that has actually happened to/around me in interrogations and nobody reads it, then I have no reason to be upset about opening myself up that much. But I'd counter that if I didn't publish it *at all*, the result would be the same. Only reason I'm doing this is I hate things unfinished. And this is the last section before things get really ugly and really personal.

Whatever, right?

******


XVI.

Barricade raced aimlessly through the ship’s corridors, as if hoping he’d trip over the solution to breaking Ironhide within a cycle. All the while, his precious cycle was slipping away. His capacitors fluttered with anxiety. How in the name of the Allspark was he going to manage that? He could get Ironhide to blurt out something, but that wouldn’t be good enough. For Megatron, he’d have to get something solid. And big. Otherwise…everything he’d done, everything he’d worked for: Gone.

He buzzed Soundwave, who was in terrestrial orbit, doing what he did best.

“Barricade,” Soundwave said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Need to know where Starscream is right now.”

“You could simply have buzzed him.”

“Don’t want to deal with his games right now.” He had a feeling Soundwave would understand.

“Indeed. Signals show that Starscream is in RB Gamma, ambulatory.”

Still in Repair Bay? That was…odd. Or…how long had it been? Barricade frowned: he was losing track of time. “Thanks,” Barricade said.

“I hear you are in charge of the captives,” Soundwave said. Probing for information on his own. In his own, unsubtle way. He really was best suited for crypto.

“Not going so well,” Barricade answered the unasked question. “May need you to come in for an invasive.”

“That would be…most inconvenient.”

“Yeah, I know.” Not to mention an admission of defeat by Barricade. Damned if he’d let that happen. “Last resort, obviously. Be ready if I need you?”

“Certainly,” Soundwave said, blandly. Someone with any social skills or even with a pretend set (like Barricade) would have wished him luck, but Soundwave merely signed off.

Barricade only had half a plan—a recycled plan, at that—in his head when he entered RB Gamma. Starscream stood by a workstation, his new hand splayed out.

“Didn’t expect to find you here,” Barricade said. “Thought you warriors healed yourselves faster than this.” Get on top of him before he has a chance.

“I am,” Starscream said, tightly, “getting essential laminates to my replacement hand.” He flexed his fingers. Barricade could see the black heat-blocking primer, still glossy-wet. “Since you do not look in need of any repairs yourself, I cannot imagine why you would be here unless to engage me in some entirely worthwhile,” he rolled his eyes, “conversation. So let us jump to that: And the point of this conversation is…?” All right, Barricade thought. So he’d come in bleeding anxiety, and even self-absorbed Starscream had picked up on it. He needed to get his head straight, or he’d blow everything. When it really mattered.

“Asked you a while back if you’d do some intimidation to the cyclebot.”

“And I gave you my answer then, I believe. Or is stress,” Starscream smirked, “frying your memory?”

“You said you wouldn’t hit her.”

“Yes. I will not. She may be only a pretend warrior, but I will treat her as a warrior in surrender, even as I did in combat.” Barricade wanted to shove those smug words down Starscream’s throat until his pistons locked. Instead, he nodded blandly.

“All I’m asking for is a prisoner movement. Just be a little surly. Should be easy for you.” Couldn’t help the hint of a return catty grin.

Starscream tilted his head, considering. “I will not have to strike her?”

“No. You might ad lib some creative insults—or is that against your warrior code as well?”

“I might manage that.” Barricade caught the gleam in Starscream’s eye. He was trying to goad Barricade, make him suffer for insulting him earlier. Wrong bot, Barricade thought. Wrong bot, wrong day, wrong mood.

“I’d like you to manage that. And after you’re done,” he said, his voice taking on the silky tone of his interrogation persona, “I should like to discuss with you the human.”

“What human?” Trying to sound nonchalant. Failing. Barricade caught the telltale flicker of Starscream’s eyes.

“The linguist human you were captive with. Most curiously, I’d like to discuss why you went to such lengths not to kill her.”

Starscream’s face fell slack. Then tightened. He was angry, but dared not show it. “I will move your prisoner,” he said, harshly. “And that will be the end of it.”

“Trying to withhold intelligence from me, Starscream?”

“It is…entirely irrelevant.”

“Your qualification to make that judgment?”

Starscream lunged at the smaller bot, his good hand seizing around Barricade’s throat. “This,” he said, coldly, “is my qualification.” The repair bots who had been plate-laminating his new hand clicked and squeaked, and scrambled after him.

Starscream’s talons were cold against Barricade’s neck cabling. He could feel the talons like long sharp lines of ice. The barbs that projected from his joints gleamed evilly in front of Barricade’s face. All right, Barricade said to himself, calm down. Found Starscream’s edge, that’s all. Wasn’t trying to, but found it anyway. Talked your way into this; can talk your way out of it. He needed the jet’s compliance, as well. Couldn’t just talk his way out and bolt—he needed Starscream to go along with his sketchy-enough-as-it-was plan. Though it was easiest to put on the terrified act, was a bad idea long term. Let Starscream think he’d scared the lubricant out of him. But… That rankled. Short term fix at best, Barricade told himself. Long term disaster. So. What to do now, intel-bot?

He forced a shaky smile on his face. “Impressive qualificiations,” he said. “Especially the ones near my eyes.”

“Wanted to make sure you could see them clearly,” Starscream said, but he straightened up from his attack lunge. “Human is off-limits,” he added.

Barricade touched one of the long talons, gently prying it off his throat. “Conditionally.”

The jet’s talons tightened. “Brave little droneling, aren’t you?” But one thing Starscream respected, even if against his will, was bravery.

“Prisoner move,” Barricade said. Starscream flexed his talons, the barbs driving so close to Barricade’s eyes that one of them caught on the protective bars. The jet stared at him for a long moment, his own optics spiralling in some emotion Barricade couldn’t quite read. Probably because the jet was compressing one of his processing cables.

“Fine,” the jet said, churlishly. “I will move your prisoner.”

“Need you to stay to watch.”

“Watch? No. I will not condone whatever…spectacle you plan to perform. I move the prisoner and I am done. And we are done with each other.”

“Need someone there in case he goes a little too far.”

“He?”

“Dead End.”

Starscream released his grip on Barricade’s throat, but dragged his claws over the smaller bot’s shoulder and down his chassis, leaving long scores that peeled paint and lifted thin spirals of metal. Barricade hissed in pain.

A repair bot jumped on him, its delicate feet ready to repair. “Ignore,” barked Starscream. “A warning for you, Barricade: Do not push me too far. I hope this helps you remember it.”

i want to know the rest. Seibs has plenty of bandwidth to go around. you can't leave me hangin hk

Most of us like to think of ourselves as good people, right? So when interrogation forces you to run hostiles, it...causes issues. Every 'gator I know created some ritual, some-pre-hostile-up technique to brace him or herself for it. One guy I knew would chant "I'm Marlon f***ing Brando" repeatedly. Another guy stared into a mirror until he couldn't see his face anymore (try it--it's kind of freaky!) And me? Well, in an ultimate act of pathetically Mary Sue, which is one of the reasons I've seemed so flipfloppy on posting this--read the last paragraph of this section. That's mine.

*******

XVII.

Everything was in place. Everything Barricade could think of. He swept a hand up his face, as if to wipe away exhaustion. Starscream’s scratches still burned across his frame. Had he thought of everything? What had he missed? He was tired. He was starting to lose control. Question himself. He’d let Ironhide get under his plating. He’d slipped in front of Megatron. He was bleeding emotion so obviously that Starscream picked up on it. Just a little longer. If he could keep it together for just a little longer….

His comm buzzed. He looked at it wearily before he tapped it on. Blackout. “Yes.”

“Ironhide’s in place.” Blackout’s voice was subvocal. Ironhide couldn’t overhear either end.

Barricade dropped to subvoc too. “Be down in a klik.”

“Starscream’s still waiting.”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. He keeps reminding me of that.”

“Thanks for passing it on.” So Starscream had been comm-ing Blackout, instead of Barricade. Interesting. If only Barricade had the extra processing speed to cope with that right now.

“You…doing okay?” Blackout’s voice sounded strange. Barricade stiffened. Even Blackout was picking up on his lack of control.

“Fine,” he said sharply. Primus he couldn’t even keep control in this exchange. A tired anger prickled in his throat. He wanted to push back, to get in control of at least this. He should be able to control a simple conversation. With an ally. He snapped back, “Get that rotor fixed yet?”

“It’s…better now.”

“Going to see it in half a klik,” Barricade said, pushing himself up. Time to head to the hangar. He’d set things up as best he could. Sitting around fretting wouldn’t make him any more prepared. Would wear away at what little mental edge he still had left.

“Not repaired yet,” Blackout mumbled, resentful.

Barricade paused, punching up the RB stats. Blackout’s new rotor blinked, greenlit and ready for installation. “Talk about that later, you and I.” He cut the comm.

One more thing he didn’t want to deal with right now. He could almost feel a pressure like a band across his head, just over his optics. He caught himself touching his head to make sure there wasn’t one there. He paused, doing a full cycle ventilation. And buzzed Starscream. “Hear you’re impatient,” he said, cutting off Starscream’s inevitable huffy complaint.

“I have better demands for my time. And I should like to put this disgusting business behind me.”

Barricade let it pass, even though a dozen nasty responses bubbled up in his mind. Don’t bleed any more emotion, he told himself, throttling down on his temper. You can’t afford to slip. Not now. “Ready to go?”

“Stupid question.” Starscream couldn’t mask emotion from a protoform.

Barricade laughed. The pressure that had felt like it was crushing his head evaporated. “I like you, Starscream,” he said. “Honestly.”

Silence. “And that is significant to me how?”

“Save some of that charm for the cycle bot,” he retorted. The exhaustion washed back through him. He knew he’d have to pay for that slip, too. But he wasn’t done with the jet. Not by a long shot.

Starscream muttered something obscene as he cut the comm. Barricade heard himself laughing. He couldn’t tell any longer if it was genuine or an act put on to fake out the jet.

He paused outside the hangar control room, the laugh withering. Time. This worked, or it was all over. He’d blow so many approaches pulling this there would be no going back. Nothing to salvage. But it was the only thing that had a chance to work in the time he had left. It would either break the Autobot, or break Barricade.

He rested his hand on the doorway. Ventilated another full cycle. He shuttered his optics. You, he told himself, are an image. An illusion. You are not me. This is all an act. A mask. A show. This does not define me. This is not who I am. This is not what I do. This is necessary. Necessary. You can break him. You need to break him. Break him. This is necessary. This is not me. This is not who I am. This is necessary.

This is intense, I was hanging on every word. The personal touch you mentioned in that last paragraph makes what Barricade is feeling all the more potent. Is it wrong that I want him to succeed in breaking the 'bots?

Good. Very good.

Oh, hello, ugly parts, here you come! This is Monday's bit a bit early, because I am going to crash in about five minutes and sleep in until I can't sleeps no more. (Long story: chaperone 35 students for three straight days to an anime festival. Klonk). And GOD FORBID I let you start your week without some ugly.

And yeah, the 'attention slap' is Army legal.


*****
XVIII.

Either Blackout had some good instincts, or it was a good omen that he was standing blocking the Autobot’s view of the door. Barricade had time to watch the Autobot respond to hearing his step, gauge his reaction.

He looked up at Blackout as he walked by him. The broken rotor was weeping red-black corrosion from the rotor mount, and the engine itself had its paint newly scarred and chipped. “You’ve looked better, Blackout,” he said.

The copter took in the silver-bright scores of Starscream’s claws across Barricade’s chest plates. “Could say the same about you.”

“Give you any trouble?” He jerked his head toward Ironhide who stood glaring at him. Behind the Autobot, a repair bot hung on a shelf, clicking to itself. Its primitive optics darted between Blackout and Barricade, its smallest set of limbs rubbing against each other, agitated.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

Barricade turned the Autobot. “And how are you doing? Repair bots—oh, I’m sorry, vermin—treat you well?”

Ironhide’s upper labial plate lifted up in a snarl. “That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“What what is?”

“Don’t think I’m stupid, Decepticon runt.” Barricade felt himself stiffen. Forced himself to calm down. “You and the stupid one,” Ironhide gestured at Blackout, who growled back, “think you can take me. Two on one. Decepticon odds.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. Blackout is merely here to make sure you behave civilly. In other words, unlike an Autobot.” Ironhide’s look was disbelieving. “Besides,” Barricade added, “We are both injured. Surely were we to do it right, this ‘Decepticon odds’ thing, we would want to be at our best.”

“So, why did you bring me here?” Ironhide was desperate to pick a fight. If he were ready for it, Barricade didn’t want to oblige. Didn’t mean he had to be nice about it: just not respond to the aggression in kind.

“First, because we were tired of Autobots cluttering up our repair bay. Second, because we thought you might appreciate a change of scene.”

Ironhide looked around the small windowless room sarcastically. “Oh, much better. The view here is amazing.”

“Third,” Barricade continued, “At some point, like now, we should have a conversation. About your future.” To his mind, Ironhide didn’t have a future—either he broke for Barricade, or got himself shattered by Soundwave’s invasive probe. But no need to mention that. Yet.

“My future.”

“Yes. Your thoughts?”

“My thoughts? You should—“ Ironhide let loose a string of profanities that made the repair bot shrink back against the wall.

Barricade laughed. “I’m not even sure how that’s physically possible.” Blackout rumbled behind him, somewhere between a laugh and a threat to Ironhide. “But I did say your future.”

“I’m not going to play your little guessing game, Barricade. Not going to say something so you can smugly laugh in my face and tell me that ‘you’re sorry’ but you just don’t see that happening.”

Release, Barricade thought. Approach isn’t working. Don’t force it. Just release it, let it go. Divert to something else. This is not me. This is not who I am. “Oh, does that make you angry when I do that?” Barricade pushed closer. Lean in, he told himself. Harder. Go harder. Break him. You have to. Just words. That’s all. Just words. Do it. “You like getting angry, don’t you? Does it make you feel powerful?” he goaded, his voice hardening. “Does it make you feel brave? Or,” he paused, “Does it make you feel you can finally unleash that violence you have inside you?”

Ironhide flinched. Barricade felt his ventilation catch. Push. Harder.

“That’s it, isn’t it? You can finally let it out. Be as vicious as you want. Be as brutal as you can. Be as violent as us. Blackout’s right, you know. Deep down, you’re one of us.”

He didn’t see the first hit coming—just a flash of movement and then his head was flying sideways, jerking his body along after it, slamming into the wall. His aural capacitors rang from the impact just as his sensor net registered the second hit, a follow-up hook that bent his left arm’s quarterpanel with a squeal of metal. And then, the pain hit. He gritted his dental plates and forced himself to get to his feet. Crack, he told himself. That was a crack. That was not a failure. That was progress.

It didn’t feel like progress.

His audio receptors came back online to another stream of curses from the Autobot. Blackout had pinned the bot on its belly, one of his large pedes spread over the bot’s smaller pelvic frame, toe plates digging in. He held both of the Autobot’s arms in one hand, up behind the bot’s back, straining at their sockets.

“Problem with anger,” Barricade gasped, “You lose control so easily.”

Ironhide ground his dental plates together. Barricade risked a touch to his face—a few of the plates tingled as if cracked. The repair bot on the shelf whined, pawing the air toward him. Can’t afford that right now, Barricade thought. Have to keep going, before he catches control of himself. Worry about that later. Later. Now….

He bent down, grabbing Ironhide’s head roughly. “Fine,” he hissed. “You don’t want any ‘little games’? No more games. Where is the energon?”

“Go slag yourself,” Ironhide spat.

Barricade backhanded the Autobot. “That,’ he said, coldly, “was to remind you of your manners. Pay attention, please.”

He stepped back, signalling to Blackout to haul the Autobot to his feet. Blackout stepped back off the Autobot’s spine, hauling Ironhide up by the wrists. The Autobot grunted, nearly bent double by the pressure on his shoulder sockets.

“I said,” This is not me, this is not who I am, “Are you paying attention?” He slapped Ironhide with an open palm, ringing against the Autobot’s audio receptors.

Ironhide glared up at him, “Yeah.”

“Energon. Terrestrial sources. Where.”

“Gonna take more than that.”

Barricade snarled. “I have more than that.” He heard his heat sinks kick on. Release, he told himself. Let it go. “All we want,” he said, “is the energon. Think about it. We’re done. There’s nothing left on Earth for us. We want to go home.”

“Tails between your legs like Earth dogs.”

Barricade’s search protocol brought him the reference. He bit his labial plating again. “If you like.”

Ironhide stared him down. Tried to. Barricade settled himself on a workstation, folding his arms over his chest. Ironhide thinking he could run silence on Barricade. Didn’t know Barricade very well. “Can do this all day, Decepticon,” Ironhide growled.

“Except you just didn’t,” Barricade said, recognizing with relief the tone of his cool interrogator’s voice. “You don’t want to talk about the energon. Fine. Let’s talk about something else. Like, what’s going to happen to you?”

“Don’t know; don’t care.” Release. Try again.

“Heard anything from Cybertron recently?” Grasping, now, and he felt it. Stop. Release. Try again. This is not me. This is not who I am.

“Right. Like I’d tell you.”

Barricade shifted on the workstation. All right. Do it. Can. Have to. “Meaning, no.” A fierce flicker of enjoyment as the look of horror crossed Ironhide’s face.

“Liked you better playing games.”

Barricade leaned forward. “I was hoping you’d say that. I have one more for you.” He jerked his chin up at Blackout, still holding Ironhide. Blackout wheeled around, turning Ironhide to face the blank wall.

“Supposed to be scared?” Ironhide said, fixing his gaze on the wall. “Can’t see you coming and all?”

“No.” Barricade levered himself off the workstation, hitting one of the controllers on the wall controls. The wall in front of Ironhide faded to transparency revealing the small hangar below. Blackout released Ironhide’s arms with a final warning squeeze. “Supposed to watch.”

oh wow can't say you didn't warn me about ugly. On the edge of my seat...

I'd like to apologize in advance for what will be Friday's update.

*****

XIX.

Barricade comm’d Starscream. “You ready?”

“I have been ready for some time now.” He recognized the timbre of subvoc. Starscream, whatever bad might be said about him, was not one to make careless errors like having the enemy overhear him.

“Bring her.”

“As you wish,” the jet said acidly into his comm.

A moment later, just as Ironhide was beginning to shuffle his feet and (Barricade could tell) try and work out some way to attack Blackout, the shipside door to the hangar bay opened.

Starscream dragged the small purple bot with all the ill grace and ill-temper Barricade could wish. Unable to manage his larger strides, Flareup skidded along on her tire beside him. He swung her in an arc, planting her in front of him. “She is here.” Starscream announced. “I have done what you asked.”

Ironhide’s ventilation caught as he saw the cycle bot. He shot a poisonous glare at Barricade. “Had her all along, have you?”

Barricade paused the comm. “Of course.”

“Could have told me.”

Barricade shrugged, lightly. “You hold out on me, I hold out on you…it’s how it goes.” He tapped the comm again. “Hold her.”

“I refuse.”

“Hold her.” More insistent.

“This was not part of our agreement, Barricade.” The jet looked up to the wall. The wall was still blanked from hangarside, but Barricade felt like Starscream could see right through it. Possibly could. Seekers always did get better optical upgrades than anyone else.

“I don’t have time for this. Hold her. Do it. NOW.”

Flareup struggled against Starscream’s grasp of her wrist. He idly grabbed her by her foot-tire and dangled her upside down. Her arms swatted the air, but too far from Starscream’s side to make contact. “You do not know what you are asking of me,” the jet said, more quietly. Not afraid of being overheard: afraid of admitting it.

“Do you think this is easy for me?!” Barricade’s voice cracked, even through subvoc. He felt his facial plates burn and a cold seep from his cracked plating. Get in control. Back in control. Just an approach. You can do it. “I’m sor—“ Starscream cut the comm on him, but flipped the cycle bot over deftly, catching her under the arm sockets. He gripped his hands around her shoulder joints, twisting them so that the barbs locked into one another. He glared up at the blanked window wall. In his grip. Flareup twisted. She spun her tire. He merely lifted her off the ground.

Ironhide hadn’t noticed Barricade’s distracted lapse—he was boiling with rage watching Starscream’s cavalier treatment of the cycle bot. His hands balled into fists. Blackout edged nearer. Barricade shook his head. He’d take another hit, if that’s what it took. Deserved it. The idea seemed good in his mind, but seeing it now start to play out, it made him more than uncomfortable. Your imagination. Your plan. No, he told himself. Gotten too close with the cycle bot. All that friendly-up you were running on her. Lost your perspective. Lost your distance. That is not who you are, either.

“What are you going to do with her?” Ironhide choked out.

This is not me, this is not who I am. This is a mask. This is a game. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Harder. Thisisnotme. Do it. “I? Nothing. It’s what you are going to do.”

Notes after. That is, if you're still reading.

XX.

Dead End made no impression on Ironhide—probably didn’t even remember the short, red Decepticon—until he stormed across the hangar floor and struck Flareup with all the force he could get behind his arm’s armored fairing. Flareup’s head snapped to the side, striking Starscream’s hand just where the gun barrels ended.

Next to Barricade, Ironhide sucked in air, hard.

Dead End followed that up with a solid punch to Flareup’s midsection, denting armor. She squealed, twisting in the jet’s grip, her tire spinning for traction. Her own arms clawed feebly at the air, held too far apart by Starscream to do her any good.

“Why are you—“ she cried out before the smaller Decepticon struck her again, this time a shot to the side that took her equilibrium away with a crack. “Stop!” she cried out, twisting around to appeal to Starscream for help. The jet kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

Ironhide pounded on the wall. “Flareup!” he yelled, waving to get her attention. “Fight back!”

“She can’t hear you, you know,” Barricade said. “Or see you.” He tapped the wall. “One way.”

“You filthy, slaggin’—“ Ironhide lunged at Barricade. Barricade signalled the repair bot, who activated that little surprise the bots had installed in Ironhide’s legs. The Autobot’s legs locked. He toppled forward heavily into Barricade’s arms, too shocked by the sudden lock to take advantage of his momentum. Barricade grunted under the weight.

Blackout hauled Ironhide off Barricade and planted him back in front of the wall window before retreating again to the rear of the room. “Knew you wouldn’t behave,” Barricade said. “All that Autobot civility is just a pretense; but especially in your case.”

Ironhide growled at him. “Dirty trick.” His legs were locked into place.

“Well,” Barricade smiled, easily, “Had to do something to live up to our reputations as Decepticon scum, didn’t we?”

Below them, Dead End snapped one of the cycle bot’s delicate fingers. She shrieked, shivering in pain. “I don’t understand,” she begged, “Please, stop, pleeeeeeeease.” The jet’s immobility drew Barricade’s eye. Under the hard mask of his face, Starscream was seething with rage. But he obeyed his orders. Puzzling.

No time for that now.

“Can’t take it, can you?” taunted Dead End, as he scraped his claws down her shoulder. “Think you can dish it out, but you can’t take it.” He found a loose connection and pinched it, hard. She made a choking sound.

“You can stop this any time you like,” Barricade said softly. “You know what I want to know.”

Ironhide’s face was stricken. His hands curled into impotent fists by his side. Blackout inched forward, reminding the smaller Autobot of his presence. “You filthy, sick, disgusting….” Words failed Ironhide.

Below, Dead End was prying one of Flareup’s armor plates off her body, slowly. Giggling while she shrieked. Barricade felt his capacitor flip over. This is necessary. This is necessary.

“Where?” he heard himself ask, his voice thin. “End this, Ironhide. Where is it.”

“Shut up.”

“She doesn’t deserve this.”

The Autobot turned his torso, his eyes blazing halogen blue. “Then stop slaggin’ doing it to her!”

“I am not doing this to her,” Barricade said, forcing mettle into his voice. “Tell me, and it ends. Tell me, and you save your friend.”

“What guarantee do I have that isn’t just a lie?”

“What choice do you have? If you do not tell me, it is a certainty that Dead End will continue.”

Ironhide looked ill, staring down at the red Decepticon. Dead End twitched, below, almost like he could feel Ironhide’s hateful stare.

“Is she worth so little to you, Autobot?” Barricade said, gently. The words bitter in his mouth.

“I—I, oh, slag yourself, Decepticon.” He pounded on the wall window with both hands. “Flareup!” he yelled, his voice barely carrying his agony. The wall shook under the impact.

Yes. Harder. Push harder. Almost there. You can feel it. Like the ground beginning to crumble under his feet. You can feel him give. Do it. Push. This is not you. This is not who you are. “She is worth more than these humans, isn’t she?”

Ironhide choked on a sob. “Don’t get me started on those slagging humans!”

Yes. Harder. This is not me. “They are your allies. They are worth more to you than Flareup.”

“No they are NOT!” Ironhide pounded the wall again. “Useless. Get in our fraggin’ way. All the time. Incompetent. Against their own kind they might be something, but they’re useless against you bastards.”

“Then why do you go into battle alongside them? Surely your Prime values them?”

Ironhide wailed. “Stop him. Stop it.”

Barricade said nothing.

“Dammit!” Ironhide swallowed, hard, his eyes angry. “Stop it. Please.”

Barricade shook his head, sadly. “Your Prime has not made any attempt to contact us about either of you. Surely that means he values the alliance with the humans more highly than you.”

Ironhide raked his hands over his face, the metal plates scraping against each other. “Slaggin’ useless humans. Come along just to keep the illusion that they’re still in control. Like their leaders. Prime has to rub them up all the time. Says he doesn’t want them to see us as invaders, but allies. Slaggin’ interspecies cooperation, he calls it. You know we could glass the whole planet without breaking a coolant seal if we wanted.”

“Don’t like having to hold back for them, do you?”

“Primus no! Hate the bastards. Prime makes them do our maintenance. Know what that’s like, filthy Decepticon? Least you don’t have fraggin’ xenos touching your valves.”

That seemed like enough. Bring him back. Stop delaying. She’s getting hurt. “You still have not told me what I want to know.”

A loud ringing sound as Dead End tore away another of Flareup’s armor plates. He sank his teeth into the exposed cables. Flareup moved, weakly. Starscream kept his gaze hard on the wall window.

“Sick bastard,” Ironhide breathed. He slumped forward, his forehead on the wall. “Meteor Crater. In the US.”

Barricade shook his head. “Wrong answer.” Vortex had explored that and found it unviable. Autobot was holding out till the last. But progress. One. More. Push. Do it. His hand shook over the wall window’s controls. He stared at it like it was a foreign object. Do it. Ironhide closed his eyes, wearily. Now. Break him.

He punched the control, and tapped a signal to Dead End. The little bot had been briefed. He’d better not screw up. Just say the damn speech word for word, Barricade thought.

Below them, Dead End paused. He gestured up at the wall window, which was now transparent. Barricade ducked aside. “You see?” Dead End said to Flareup. She lifted her head, weakly. Interior joint fluid spattered her frame, hydraulic fluid dripped from her audio receptors. “Up there. Your Autobot friend. He does not care. He is not coming to save you.”

Flareup raised her eyes, and caught sight of a large bot standing immobile in the wall window, staring down impassively. Her optical receptors blurred. She couldn’t make out his expression, but she knew the contours. Ironhide. “I—Ironhide?”

Ironhide didn’t notice the wall window’s change until he heard the echo of Dead End’s words. Barricade hit the blanking screen before he could react. “You sick bastard,” he breathed at Barricade. Dead End turned back to Flareup, grinning evilly. Ironhide flinched at the first hit of the red bot’s renewed assault, covered his face with his hands. “I only know one for sure. Tunguska.”

“Energon—you have tested it?”

“We have samples. Yeah.”

“The other? There are two.”

“Don’t know. I’m telling the truth. I don’t know.” His voice was rough. “Stop it. Please. I don’t know the other.”

Barricade buzzed Dead End. The red bot didn’t respond, sinking his dental plates into the cycle bot’s exposed tire. No. Can’t lose it now. Don’t. You knew this would happen. Part of the reason you chose Dead End. You knew it. You should have seen this coming. Should have known. Not now. I am in control. I have to be. He buzzed Dead End again. Comm died. He swore, buzzed Starscream.

“Stop him,” he said, flatly.

The jet spun into action as if the last quarter cycle of immobility had merely been winding up for this. He whipped around, tossing the cycle bot on the floor behind him, out of Dead End’s reach, and, continuing the spin, brought both arms down in a long-fulcrumed hammer blow on the red bot’s head. With a squeal and the sound of crushing metal, Dead End dropped to the ground.

“Stopped enough for you?” Starscream shrieked. Dead End twitched—involuntary processor reflex—at his feet. The voice squealed feedback in Barricade’s ears twice—once from his own comm, once from the audio pickup from the hangar.

Barricade swallowed. “Yeah. Take him to regen.”

“I will not! I am done with this business,” the jet roared, glaring up at the window wall, his hands flexed into claws. As if he would like nothing more than to tear through the plasmetal plating.

Barricade flinched as if the larger bot had struck him. “It was necessa—“

“Do not feed me such filth. Honor is worth more than…,” he gestured around him at the two damaged bots, “than this.” He glared for a moment longer, and stalked out of the repair bay. “Clean up your own mess,” he hissed.

Barricade blinked, slowly. Couldn’t process this. Not right now. Not now. Don’t have time. Don’t have space in my processor for this.

Blackout spoke, his hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. The Autobot slumped down, as if empty. “What do you want me to do with him?”

A sudden fury boiled up in Barricade. “I don’t know, dammit!” he heard himself yell, his voice sounding high and shrill. “I am not in control of everything around here. I’m not even in control of—“ he cut himself off.

Not even in control of—

Myself.


******

Before you howl that I've broken the 'rules' I set up: what Barricade is doing here is just a slightly more violent version of something done frequently in US Army SERE training. It's called the 'warbaby'. Basically, you take the youngest or weakest or otherwise least strong and tough member of a group, tie them (normally to the flagpole) in full view of the other captives, and beat the snot out of him. The goal isn't to break the warbaby--he gets slapped around a lot--the goal is to enrage the others watching about how it isn't fair, and pick on someone your own size, or try that with *me* instead, or...you get the idea. Dead End goes a bit further than ummmm, people do. Artistic license. And they're *robots* so I'm assuming they can take a bit more than the average squishy.

If I wasn't at work I think I would cry...

I feel sorry for ...everyone... well not Dead End...

Barricade is such an intense character I almost felt like I could feel what he was feeling, I really felt bad for him and Starscream too, the way he was against the whole thing just emphasised its ugliness.

Also I like how you put in Ironhide's prejudice against the humans, it's good to know not all the Autobots are sweetness and light.

I don't know whether this was what you were trying to get across in the end but... It felt like Ironhide wasn't the only one who broke in the end, felt to me like Barricade did a little too.

Really well thought out characters and plot, I hope there's more to this story. I would hate to see it end here. You are a brilliant writer, if only all writer's developed their characters as thoroughly as you do, then we wouldn't have to put up with the BS that's out in the ether being gooshed over.

Great story arc please keep going.

Intense. deffinatly intense. i do appreciate that you write the things most people won't. this story keeps getting better

There are, for better or for worse, two more chapters of ugly in this. Oh no, it's not over. Ever hear the phrase 'kick him when he's down'?

Thank you for your nice comments about my mean and horrible stuff. I have hugged the figures involved (except poor Flare, who doesn't even have one) in penance.

HK, mean to robots

Bit of a breather here. I think we all need one. Finishes Wednesday. Yes, I've got one more nasty bit coming. By now, if you know anything about the stuff I write, you'll know it's not going to be a happy ending.... (That's what slash is for! (Giggle))


XXI.

Barricade carried Flareup to RB Beta himself, awkwardly carrying the stripped-off armor plates under one arm. She had offlined at some point. She didn’t regain consciousness until he’d laid her in a repair cradle. She moaned, twitching her hands feebly. Repair bots pounced on her, hooking up auxiliary power lines, running a sensor block. Two scuttled off with the armor plates, and began working on undenting them. The bots clicked worriedly over the attachment points where the armor had been stripped away—the fine cilia of sensor attachments shivered without contact points.

“Barricade,” she said, “What happened? What did I do?”

“You did nothing.”

“But why did that…?”

“You did nothing wrong,” he repeated. Deflection. “I am sorry I could not stop it sooner.” Truth. Half-truth.

She reached out for him with her uninjured hand. He flinched from her touch. She wrapped her hand around his. “Don’t leave me alone.”

He made a noise in his throat that she took as assent.

She looked dully at the repair bots—the sensor block was dulling her reflexes. Her voice sounded…watery. “To think I used to be afraid of these things.”

“They will not harm you.”

“I know.” She rolled her head, her eyes turning toward Barricade again. One eye was dim, the other streaked with optical lens lubricant. “I—I saw Ironhide.”

“Yes.”

A repair bot scampered down Flareup’s arm and up Barricade’s, its optics set on Barricade’s own injuries. “Override,” Barricade said, flatly. “Priority repair cradle,” he looked up at the identifying tag, “delta.” The bot hesitated, rubbing two of its forelimbs in agitation, before turning back to Flareup.

“You are—you are injured?”

“Unimportant.”

“Barricade--?” Her hand clutched his. He patted it awkwardly. “He didn’t do anything. He was just watching!” Optical lens lubricant overflowed from ducts. A repair bot tore itself away from the mass clustered along her body, and extended a small suction hose, making soft clicking sounds. Damn repair bot knew better how to comfort the cycle bot than Barricade. “He just stood there and watched it happen.”

“I know.” I know.

If they survive this I reckon Ironhide is going to have some questions to answer.

Waiting for Wednesday...

Okay, last chapter. This is where you hate me. And Barricade. In case you don't already.

XXII.

Vortex rolled his head in its socket while drones bustled around him, setting up a carry harness. One of his rotors glinted silvery new. He flexed it cautiously. Barricade walked up to Ironhide, who sat numbly where he had been directed as the drones set the harness around his chassis. More drones pointed weapons at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

The Autobot lifted his head at Barricade’s approach. “Where are you taking me?” Ironhide asked, dully.

“Does it matter?”

“No.” The Autobot dropped his head back on his knees.

The dronemaster gave a ready signal to Vortex, who shifted into his vehicle mode. His two large rotors swept out and beat against the air. He lifted steadily from the hangar floor. “Altitude,” he asked over the rotornoise that echoed in the enclosed space.

“Good enough,” the dronemaster called out, tapping Vortex’s undercarriage in case the larger bot couldn’t hear him over his own rotorwash. The dronemaster reached over his head and hooked the carry harness to Vortex’s belly. He gave another slap and turned to Barricade. “Time.”

Barricade turned to the hangar’s shipside door. He took Flareup by the hand. “Ready to go?” Her repairs had been complete—the repair bots had repainted her armor with coruscating purple-and-fuschia swirls, probably as their own, dumb way of apology. Better than Barricade could manage. She’d even summoned up a smile when she saw the new paint job. Her optics had been reinforced with the same cage-like bars that Decepticons favored. The bots had been unable to repair her one eye, and had replaced it, with more apologetic clicks and beeps, with a red one. Her gaze was lopsided—one red, one blue.

He wondered if she saw differently through a Decepticon optic.

“Why are you taking me home?”

“Failed to protect you,” he said, half sincere. Half-aware that this was yet another long and deep approach. Unsure, unaware whether the sincerity overrode the approach. Which was genuine? He couldn’t even tell any more. “Least we can do to send you back home.” He steeled himself. Easy enough. Put her on Vortex. He’d drop the two at Diego Garcia. Barricade’s part in this was almost done. Almost over.

“Home,” she said. “Earth, you mean.”

“Yes.”

She straightened her shoulders. Her body moved without pain—the bots had done their usual excellent job. “I am ready.” She rolled forward until she saw Ironhide. Her hand clutched the inner seam of Barricade’s arm. “He is here.”

“We are returning him as well.”

“I don’t see why.” Her voice was hard and brittle. Then it cracked. “Don’t leave me alone with him.”

“You will be safe.”

“Come with me. Please.” Her two-colored eyes blinked up at him through their new cages. “Just until I’m home.”

Slag. No. He wanted this over. Wanted this put behind him. Wanted some recharge time. Some peace. Just a half cycle—a quarter—before he had to start repairing the damage he had done. Blackout. Starscream.

Vortex hit his comm, subvoc. “She knows you,” he said, calmly. “She doesn’t know me.”

Getting lessons in decency from Vortex. That’s how far he’d fallen. He forced a smile on his face, feeling his cracked cheekplates sting. You can do this. Just a little bit longer. A little bit more. Friendly up. No more ugly. You can do this. Relax. “All right.”

They said nothing the trip back, sitting together in Vortex’s hold. He braced the cycle bot between his legs—neither of her modes was well suited for a helicopter insertion, how the atmospheric up- and down-drafts buffeted even Vortex’s bulk around. Her hands dug into his knees. She looked down. “Sorry.”

“No need.”

“Here,” Vortex said, aloud. “Got visual.”

“Response?”

“Nil. They’ve spotted the harness.” Meaning, the harness’s contents. Vortex delicately avoided naming the Autobot.

Vortex rolled his side door open, and slewed to one side, so he could get lower to the ground without crushing Ironhide. He cut away the harness. Ironhide got to his feet, slowly, tearing off the harness straps. A crowd rushed toward the landing strip—Autobots running or rolling, NEST teams in their emergency vehicles, weapons aimed.

Vortex hovered a few feet off the ground. “Time to go,” Barricade said. “Home.”

“It’s not my home,” she said, bleakly looking out over the landing strip. In the half-light its runway lights blinked like long lines leading to nowhere. She turned her two-colored optics on him. “Do I have to go?”

“It is your decision.” Go. Please go. Let me wash my hands of this. Let it be over. Almost over. Hold on. This is not who I am.

She gave him a measuring look, torn, for a long moment. “Yes,” she said, finally. “Help me down.”

He recoiled from touching her, suddenly, but he forced himself, holding her under the shoulder joints and lowering her from Vortex’s fuselage until he felt her tire strike ground. She turned back, quickly, as if half afraid of what she was about to do. “All I know,” she said, the words half-torn from her mouth by the roar of Vortex’s rotors, “is that the energon here is green. A green stone. I don’t know where it’s from.” Barricade blinked, surprised. She turned and rolled toward the approaching crowd before he could respond. Behind him, he heard a crackle. “Audio on,” he heard Vortex say. “Ready.”

Ready. This was it. Everything he’d ever…. This is not me. This is not who I am. This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve fought for. Respect, recognition. Power. “No,” he breathed. Forgotten about this part. Didn’t want to see this part. Hear it. Just know that it was done.

Suddenly, audio crackled all around him as Soundwave hijacked the satellite signals. Every cell phone, every walkie-talkie, every audio receptor on Diego Garcia and around the globe crackled on. Audio and video. Ironhide’s voice, culled from Barricade’s own memory cortex.

“Slaggin’ useless humans.” Ironhide looked up, his face a mask of horror. His hand froze on the carry harness. Soundwave’s transmission continued, “Hate the bastards.” Another pause. “We could glass the whole planet without breaking a coolant seal if we wanted.” The humans of the NEST team faltered, confused. The approaching Autobots slowed their pace, relief fading on their faces.

Barricade heard his own voice. Had he sounded that calm? He hadn’t felt it. “Your Prime. Surely he values the alliance with the humans more highly than you.” That is not me. That can’t be me. This is not who I am.

“Prime has to rub them up all the time. Says he doesn’t want them to see us as invaders, but allies. Slaggin’ interspecies cooperation, he calls it.” Another pause. Soundwave made sure that each of Ironhide’s damning comments had a chance to sink in. “Prime makes them do our maintenance. Know what that’s like, Decepticon? Least you don’t have fraggin’ xenos touching your valves.”

Ironhide dropped to his knees, landing hard on his palms. Nothing moved except Vortex’s powerful rotors. Barricade stood in the fuselage doorway, bracing one hand against the side. The transmission began again, on a loop. Vortex lifted off, the rotorwash stirring the straps of the carry harness.

Soundwave damped his audio. “Megatron wishes to congratulate you upon your return. A preliminary reconaissance of the Tunguska area looks highly promising. And he is more than pleased with the results of your psychological operation.”

“Yeah,” Barricade said.

“I also wish to extend my praise. The audio, as you can hear, is unscrambled. I could not have created more condemnatory things for him to have said.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you suspect he will try to deny it? I have encoded it so that it is apparent and unspliced.”

“No, he won’t deny it,” Barricade said, tired. He rested his head against his hand. He could still feel the vibration of Soundwave’s broadcast through Vortex’s fuselage. This is not me. This is not who I am.

All of the Autobots stared up at him, mouths open in horror and hatred. This is not me. Flareup turned back to him, her face unreadable, receding into the distance into two bright colored lights as Vortex grabbed altitude. Blame? Condemnation? Betrayal? Horror?

This is me. This is who I am.

He felt sick.

Awwww... poor Ironhide... not entirely sure what else to say, his temper gets him in more trouble than I care to mention.

You can tell Barricade is torn up about this but damn!!... What a way to crush an Autobot's spirit and the trust humans have in them...

I want to hate Barricade but I can't, it's quite a tragic ending in a way. I like how it is almost a cliffhanger but is left up to the reader to decide Ironhide's fate.

Fantastic story, had me on edge all the way through, you actually feel for the characters and can't help but become involved in the story and like N_V has said, you write the uncomfortable stuff that nobody else is willing to. Very dark story, very ugly, extremely moving. I really hope you write a follow up of some description.

Excellent stuff. My kind of story.

Hello, lurker here finally coming out of the shadows. I've been reading your stories for a while now and loving every installment! They're so well thought-out, gripping and deep, yet with a nice touch of humour here and there. You have an amazing talent!

I decidedly still love all the 'cons to bits, even after everything they've done. It's not their fault! And poor poor Barricade! He's so messed up now, bless him.

I really hope (no, BEG) that you continue this story arc - I don't know how I'll cope if I never find out what happens!

Petrina

PetrinaAndWhatnot wrote:Hello, lurker here finally coming out of the shadows. I've been reading your stories for a while now and loving every installment! They're so well thought-out, gripping and deep, yet with a nice touch of humour here and there. You have an amazing talent!

I decidedly still love all the 'cons to bits, even after everything they've done. It's not their fault! And poor poor Barricade! He's so messed up now, bless him.

I really hope (no, BEG) that you continue this story arc - I don't know how I'll cope if I never find out what happens!

Petrina

Indded HK, this is a really good story. You really know how to make me visualize all the details and feel for the caracters