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OMG!! Major cliffhanger!!!

First of all I loved Barricade taking pot shots at Sideswipe, him repeatedly dropping into the mud was amusing. Yay Skywarp saving Starscream!! And poor Cliffjumper!!

I am sooo excited for the next bit!!! *is bouncing*

Have I commented yet on this? *scans thread* Hmm, no. Must get into the habit of doing so, seeing as I read every update!
Anyways, this is some seriously good stuff. LOVING the comm banter/intense action combo! Causes much repressed laughter (which comes out as a strange look-gaining snort) + nailbiting!
Also Skywarp YAY. XD

what Carrie and Petrina said. ^_^

::cheers for Skywarp the hero:: Oh, I don't favor the 'cons at all. O.o

In which a good deed goes horribly wrong, and the suckage continues from here.

XXXVI
Barricade’s systems ran cold. The Russians were more devious than he’d given them credit for. Seems when they played hardball, they played hardball. They weren’t even withdrawing their own men. Only the cameramen had melted away, and it was unlikely even they’d manage to get to minimum safe distance. Probably only left to take the footage out of the immediate strikezone.

And over there—Flareup. Pinned down by the humans, caught in the treeline where the humans had taken cover from the falling shrapnel. He had to—no he didn’t. That was only an approach. You lost your mind. Lost your perspective. But still. A warning. Atonement. Make up for what you did. For her. No. For yourself. Clear your conscience. Give her a fair chance to get out alive. Not that far—just run over and then dash back onto Blackout.

“Be right back,” he said. The copter was loading the last dozen or so drones. He still had time. Still, he had to make this look good. He launched himself at Flareup, catching her above center of gravity, spinning them both through the air. He tucked, landing hard on his shoulder, feeling its main gyro crack. He pulled her audio to his mouth. “Russians, with a nuke. Get out.”

She pushed away from him, openmouthed. “Get out!” he yelled. Was she stupid? “You want to die?” He plunged forward, suddenly, as something hit him hard right above his pelvic frame. His hands grabbed for her shoulders, to balance himself.

“Why, ‘con?” he heard Ironhide’s voice behind him, colder than the Pit. “YOU want to die?” Ironhide’s hard hands grabbed his shoulder, squeezing hard on the injured one, hauling him off Flareup. He spun Barricade around and into his other fist. The Decepticon’s sensor net flared, his visuals offlining for a klik. His bad leg gave, and he stumbled heavily to the ground.

Ironhide seized him by his upper arm tire, twisting its stabilizing fairing. Barricade tried to tough it out, but, he admitted, he wasn’t really that tough. Pain sucked. Still, he tried to fight back, scraping the claws of his good hand across the Autobot’s shoulder gearing.

“Stop!” Flareup was shouting. “Ironhide, we don’t have time. Listen to him!”

“Only thing I want to hear from him is cries of pain.”

“She’s right,” Barricade grunted, sagging to his knees as Ironhide continued to twist his stabilizing fairing. “Russians with nukes. We’re all dead if we don’t get out.”

Optimus, who had limped up behind Ironhide, took in Barricade’s words. “We can’t take the chance he might be telling the truth.”

Ironhide looked dubious, looking between Optimus and the LZ. Something clicked in his brain, perhaps the sight of hurry as the last drones flung themselves into Blackout’s cargo hold as the copter was already beating the air with his rotor blades. As they watched, the dronemaster leaned off the rising copter to haul up one tardy drone by the arm.

“Right, fine. He comes with us, though.” He twisted the fairing again. Barricade gasped in pain.

*****

“Do something!” Blackout yelled, over mission commnet. “They’ve got Barricade!”

“We are trying to intercept the bomber, Blackout. At the present moment, that is the larger priority.” Starscream’s throat ached. Not Barricade. How could he have been so foolish? How had he gotten himself captured? He knew better. He should know better.

“It’s Barricade!”

“I am aware of that.” Under the cool tone, Starscream struggled. He glanced over to Skywarp, who flew, silent, and grim, at the reverse of the vector he’d intercepted on the Soviet communications wired into his vehicle mode. What would Skywarp think of Barricade? What would he think of Blackout? Any of the mechs that the jet refused to call friends, but who had tried nonetheless. Would Skywarp think he was betraying a comrade or following the logical tactical priority? What would he do if Skywarp wasn’t here?

“Slag you, Starscream. Go after him myself.”

“You will not. Direct order, Blackout. You must deliver the drones to the Nemesis. That is your mission. Do not deviate.” The words were cold, calm, leaderlike, but Starscream felt ill. Abandon a comrade to certain death? He remembered how furious he had been when he’d been captured. Dropshot had probably simply run in fear. Grindor, he’d been too inexperienced. He’d barely managed to get out with his own armor intact. But still, it burned at his core that they had left him. He hated doing the same. And to Barricade. He felt a lump in his throat about bringing up Saejon Three. Unfair. Wrong.

He heard Blackout roar in frustration, but knew the copter would follow his orders. Just as he knew there’d be hell to pay afterwards. Was this…? Was this fate’s sick way of handling things? Barricade had given him an order that infuriated him, and now…he had just done the same to Blackout. He hoped Blackout would do a better job accepting his apology.

No. “Skywarp,” he said. “Intercept. We have one captive down there. I must go.” He started to peel off vector.

“Starscream,” Skywarp said. “It’s too late. If we engage now, we’ll all be caught in the initial blast. His best chance to survive is to let the Autobots take him captive. They will get themselves safe and take him along.”

A hot mix of anger and shame burned in Starscream’s chest. Skywarp made a horrible kind of sense. “Yes,” he said, his voice raw.

oooh nooo D: I hope they all get out ok and poor Barricade!! I hope Optimus can keep Ironhide in check... *sits and waits for next update*

OMG I'm actually on the verge of hyperventilating! Nooo Barricade! They (ok, maybe just Ironhide) will do unspeakable things to him!

This makes me sad: This story finishes on Wednesday. There will be a slight hiatus before I start posting the...inevitable sequel. Carriemus can tell you that, if possible, it's even UGLIER than these last three chapters.

****
XXXVII.
Over the Atlantic

Barricade awoke to his face hard against a vibrating metal floor. Plane. Must be in a plane. Either that or the Pit is extremely well lit. And vibrated. And full of feet. Not that he’d rule those out. He felt hands working at his head, other weight on his shoulders, his legs. He twisted, trying to get his hands under him.

“HOLD him,” a voice said. “Get his head.”

Another voice. “Are you sure, Ironhide?”

“Walked around with one of those damn bombs in my own head for how many megacycles? You think I’d lie?”

A new set of hands, hard, on the back of his head, forcing his face against the metal floor. His neck servos whined as he tried to resist. He felt one of his facial plates snap off. “No,” he tried to yell—really just pushing sound into the floor. “Get off me.” Feeling every humiliating inch of his smaller size and weaker servos. He felt a hatch in the back of his head prised open, the painful rush of air on previously-unexposed circuitry. He hissed. “Get off me,” he repeated, weakly.

“Not a chance, ‘con.” A harsh laugh. “Ratchet’ll let you up as soon as he disarms your little deadman-switch in your cortex.” That did not sound like things boded well for Barricade’s future. The Decepticon squirmed, but the hands on his head—Ironhide’s, he guessed—merely ground his face harder against the floor.

“And the disarm code?” Soft voice, over his left shoulder. That must be Ratchet. Barricade felt the little bites of alligator clips as Ratchet attached a disarm decrypter to his cortical relays.

“Key in his alphanumeric designation.”

“Which is?” A flavor of impatience in the medic’s voice.

“Should be somewhere near the rear spark chamber.” A rough hand tapping along Barricade’s central dorsal.

The medic’s hands shifted. Barricade felt tools against his dorsal armor. He tried to tighten down those servos, but that only sent flares of pain through his sensor net. “All right,” the medic’s soft voice said. “Can someone read that to me, please?”

“Sure,” A new voice, a heavy weight across his legs. “Huh. CC26G643AB. That it?”

Barricade winced as the medic entered the code through his disarm device. He’d expected it to hurt. It didn’t. Still. Now they could kill him and…well, what the frag did he really care? He’d be dead anyway. So what if he blew away zero or a hundred with him in the process? Probably no one even notice he was gone. A distant thought bubbled up from his memory. Well, life, nice knowing you. It sucked. And now it’s over. Why had he thought anything would have changed? No one cared then: no one cared now. Not Starscream. Not Blackout. Certainly not Megatron. Kind of fitting that disarmed his death would be pretty much a summary of his life: useless. Entirely unremarkable.

“You….!” The hands on his head squeezed against him, as if trying to crush him. Ironhide’s breath came thinly, as if someone had punched the air from his ventilators. “I know you. I remember you.” He lifted Barricade’s head by sheer pressure. Ironhide’s hard eyes met his, the Autobot crouched low in front of him. Ironhide filled his entire optical field. “Don’t I? I remember you, Meta.”

Barricade gritted his eyes closed. Waiting for the inevitable blow. He didn’t have long to wait—his head snapped to one side, hard enough to twist his entire body onto one shoulder. The bad shoulder. He gasped, tried to push off the shoulder.

Big splayed feet. “I’m right. Aren’t I?’ Ironhide bent down, hauling Barricade up with a strong grip under his shoulder gyro. He shoved Barricade back against a rising bulkhead of the plane, fingers digging into Barricade’s underarm. “Say it for me. Say it.”

The muddy mech who had lain across Barricade’s legs rose to his knees—Sideswipe. “Ironhide?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

“Ironhide,” Ratchet said, his tone warning. “The battle’s over.”

Ironhide ignored them. “Say it. You know what I want you to say.” He backhanded Barricade with the barrel of his pulse cannon. Barricade saw silver and black fragments of his own facial plating scatter in the air, felt the cold drip of energon from his chin. The air still burned the exposed circuitry in the back of his head. “Say it!”

“CC,” he gasped, “26G643AB…personal designation Barricade.” He tried to bring up a hand to his injured face, to wipe away the leaking energon. Ironhide snatched the hand, driving it back against the side of the plane. Barricade’s shoulder servo sparked and went into critical failure.

“That’s not all,” Ironhide growled. His blue optics were inches from Barricade’s.

As Barricade spoke, energon bubbled and spattered from his mouth onto Ironhide’s face. “Mish…mission designation Meta.” He dropped his eyes.

“And the rest.”

“I-I can’t.” Barricade gritted his eyes closed. He could feel Ironhide’s rage like a heat against him. Over the Autobot’s shoulder, he heard Optimus command, “Ironhide, stand down.”

“In a klik,” Ironhide said, over his shoulder. “Just want to make sure.” He turned back to Barricade. “Come on, Meta. We’ll say it together.” Barricade turned his head to the side. He gasped as Ironhide squeezed at his injured wrist. Alarm signals fired over the redline of his shoulder gyro. “Come on. Say it with me. ‘Mission designation Meta’,” he paused, waiting for Barricade to gasp his way through the phrase. “Good. Now the rest. ‘And…’,” he let his voice trail off.

Barricade’s voice was thin, but managed, it seemed, to echo around the entire plane. “And I am your god.”


*****
CentCom
MSG Sternburgh looked up as SGT Mason knocked on the rickety wood frame of his office door. Light spilled in from the hallway outside, gilding Mason’s silhouette. “Got something for you.” Mason flapped a telex.

“Exciting?” Sternburgh reached over his desk, his elbow bumping the desk lamp that provided the tiny office’s only illumination. Wiring had gone out here a few weeks back and…getting S1 his lights back in his private office just wasn’t a priority. So he made do. As always. This time by means of a pair of orange extension cords snaking under Mason’s boots.

“Part you’ll like is at the bottom.”

Sternburgh pulled the telex under the pool of light. He looked up. “Come on in, then.” Mason stepped in, hesitated, unsure whether or not to close the door. He compromised: half-closed.

Sternburgh mumbled through the headers, “Confirmed low-yield nuclear blast coordinates, 60*54'06.96"N101*55'44.94"E,” he looked up. “Siberia, right?” Mason nodded. “Blah blah blah, five Alliance Autobots, unverified resistance….American troop presence? Are you kidding me?”

He looked up. Mason shrugged. “Good part further down,” he prompted.

“Yeah, but you know I like to get a feel of the whole thing first. And this feels…greasy.” He dropped his eyes back to the telex. Mason could tell Sternburgh had hit the spot when Sternburgh’s spine shot upright.

“EPW: Cybertronian. Affiliation: Decepticon. Designation: Barricade. They have him? They frickin' HAVE him?”

Mason’s face burst into a wide grin. “Toldja you’d like it.”

“USAF flight, right?” Mason nodded. “USAF crew, all of them, too?” Another nod. Sternburgh chortled. “That’s the line we’ll yank to get him. Get me Yee and tell her to start packing her charm. She’s going Stateside.”

Mason grinned. “You got it, Master Sergeant.” He turned to go, blinking at the corridor’s now-bright-seeming light.

Oh wow, these last two updates had me on edge. Chivalry gone all kinds of wrong. Starscream's inner turmoil was really intense too, I like it!

Oooh very exciting! Barricade is a wanted mech...

Ohhh Barricade 0_0...

I do like that Ironhide doesn't immediately obey Optimus, he's got it in for Barricade

Sorry I missed this on Monday stupid Liverpool!

Well, here you go: chapter 38. It's always depressing to let a story go like this--in a weird way it becomes almost like part of you, and even though I have another one just about ready to go...I really don't want to let go. (I suck). I hope you've enjoyed reading, which sounds...retarded because this is anything but enjoyable stuff. For those who have read, thank you so much for your time, whether or not you've left a comment or note. I'm honored to think that this little story, and my dark little imagination, is worth your time.

XXXVIII

Over the Atlantic
“You don’t know,” Ironhide was remonstrating, as Barricade faded back in. His sensor net had offlined him, into blissful non-feeling. He’d wanted that. He’d had it—blessed, blessed numbness. And now it was gone again, and hard-edged ugly reality was back in all of its technicolor brutality. “I know: I was there. This is a monster.” Barricade became aware of his surroundings beyond the voice—the hard metal of the floor, the curve of fuselage behind his shoulders digging into his upper arm tires, the fairings behind his neck. No one on him, no guards. Why bother? He couldn’t go anywhere. It took supreme effort to focus his eyes—he wasn’t in any shape to mount a daring escape. Didn’t trust himself to pull himself to his feet.

Optimus’s voice was tense to Barricade’s audio. “What does it matter?” The large mech was in the same position as before, crouched, cramped, in the low ceiling of the plane. Unable to move easily and with one hand swathed in healing foam.

Sideswipe chimed in, “Yeah, ‘Hide—we know he’s the enemy. What’s the big freakout?”

Ironhide’s voice, louder. “The big freakout? This---this THING hijacked primary controls. Of all of us. Ever watch yourself shoot your own men?”

“Whoa.” Barricade felt Sideswipe’s eyes on him.

“He did what? A primary-systems hijack?” Ratchet seemed interested in the science of it.

“Yeah. Combat control. Let down firewalls so you can all be controlled tactically by one bot. From a distance. We got our afts shot up—he was sitting in some Primus-damned computer room.”

That’s not what it was like, Barricade thought, dully, but then…it doesn’t really matter. Would they care that he felt every injury his mechs took? Not if it didn’t stop him. That wasn’t the Autobot way. For Autobots pain meant stop. For Decepticons, it meant you aren’t trying hard enough.

Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. In the end. The fairings on the back of his neck were getting torqued by the drag of supporting part of his bodyweight. He tried to push himself upright. His bad shoulder sparked again, pulling an involuntary cry from his vocalizer.

Ironhide turned. “See? You can ask him yourself. Deny it, Decepticon.”

He shook his head. No point. A lie right now wouldn’t serve him any better than the truth. And he was…so tired of running from the truth. So tired of all the megacycles he’d spent trying to bury Meta. “You…” he managed, “At Saejon…?”

Ironhide lunged toward him—Sideswipe restrained him with force, the silver Autobot’s damaged tires skidding on the metal plating. Tires Barricade had himself shot out. Yeah, sure Sideswipe’s really in the mood to be doing me favors, he thought. Wonder why he’s stopping Ironhide…. “Yes,” Ironhide choked, his chassis heaving. “I was there. I was at Saejon Three. You might remember I tried to warn you. I warned you.” He turned to the Autobots. “You know what he did? He cut my voc. Because he didn’t like what I was saying.”

“H5?” A spasm shook his body, causing the medic to bolt forward in alarm.

Ironhide’s mouth ground in bitterness. “You do remember.”

Yeah. I remember. Every time there’s a battle and I’m left out. Every time I’m left off the weapons-upgrade list. Every time I get denied an armor upgrade. Every time I look in a Primus-damned reflective surface and see these four eyes that took me a decacycle to stop spinning to 270 vid field. Every time I have no fraggin’ friends, I remember. He hiccuped as Ratchet knelt by him.

“Try to relax,” the medic said. “Stress won’t help. This is just a basic sensor block, all right? It’ll help.” The medic waited for him to nod. I’ll do better, Ratchet thought. I’ll do better this time. He didn’t care—he couldn’t care—what kind of monster Barricade was—all he forced himself to see right now was a bot with injuries. A bot in pain. And in the end, that’s what they all had in common. Ratchet found himself looking over his shoulder at Flareup, who stood, hands wringing, lost. Maybe Flareup was right with all of her philosophical talk. Red optics, blue optics—what mattered wasn’t the color.

Barricade felt the medic’s pity as powerfully as the sensor block. He hated them both. Hated how he desperately wanted them both. Half of his controls went numb. He wished the medic had some sensor block for his cortex, for his memory. Oh what he’d give not to think right now…. For the medic he managed a weak smile of gratitude, which tore open a clot of energon in his jaw. Blue fluid began leaking from his mouth again. The medic blotted it with a coagulant, his eyes strange.

“Don’t help him,” Ironhide spat. “Let him suffer. For what he put us through, he deserves to suffer.”

“Put who through?” Ratchet asked, quietly. “Whose side were you on at Saejon Three?” Ratchet knew the answer. Ironhide did, too. Ironhide shot a look of hot betrayal at the medic.

“It was a massacre on all sides,” he managed, tightly. “One orchestrated by that disgusting freakish little….”

“Droneling,” Barricade muttered. “You forgot droneling.” Oh, how well he knew this litany of abuse. Heard it…how many times? Repeated it to himself a few thousand more.

“Don’t need your help, you filthy four-eyed genocidal freak.” Apparently not, at least in the insult department.

“Stop,” Ratchet said. “This isn’t the time for it.”

“Oh, when is the time for it? Huh? You see what happened to Sideswipe here? You think he’s not at all to blame for Cliffjumper?” Ironhide gestured over to where a portable regen chamber hulked near the cockpit of the plane.

“Saejon Three was a great tragedy,” Prime said. “But, it brought us you.” Barricade, if he’d had the energy and coordination, would have rolled his eyes. There’s the Autobot leader, self-anointed Prince of Peace, trying to turn anything into a positive. Silver lining even in Meta’s insanity? How many hundreds dead? Prime will find something positive to say. Primus. It struck Barricade as an altogether different kind of insanity. One perhaps less immediately dangerous than Megatron’s variety, but lethal in entirely different ways.

Ironhide approached, Sideswipe still dragging along holding on to one of Ironhide’s arms, ready to restrain him again. “Tell them, Barricade. Let’s hear your excuses. Let’s hear you blame someone else. Let’s hear you dodge what you did.”

Barricade forced himself to meet Ironhide’s eyes. “No. I did it. All of it.”

“You hear?” Ironhide turned back to the others. “He’s proud of it! This filthy sack of---“ He kicked Barricade hard in the leg. His formerly-good leg. An armor plate snapped, sending pieces flying across the cargo hold. Barricade winced.

“Stop it!” Flareup lurched across the hold, stumbling over Barricade’s legs, sprawling over his body. “Stop hurting him!”

“No,” Barricade murmured. “It’s all right. I deserve…this.”

Ironhide tore away from Sideswipe, landing another kick in Barricade’s chassis, nearly getting Flareup’s fingers. Barricade’s grille crumpled. He gasped in pain. “I don’t need your fragging permission,” Ironhide hissed.

“Ironhide,” Prime said, firmly. “The battle is over.”

“Yeah, right? So that’s how it works? Someone calls time or waves a flag and all the stuff that happened before, it’s all…nothing? Game’s over? Time to shake hands and get wasted together?”

“Who are you?” Flareup asked, her voice shocked. “You say you’re one of us, Ironhide. But are you? Are you sure you’ve left behind their ways? Or did you just change paint jobs?” She looked down at her own armored swirls, and back up at him, accusingly.

Ironhide staggered away from her, his face a mask of shock. He rebounded. “Well, ask him yourself. Ask him. In fact, why don’t we ask about you?”

The sensor block was making Barricade light-headed. Either that or the wires still dangling from the disarm decrypter in his cortex were firing strange signals. He felt his larger pair of eyes start to drift to the sides, back to 270. Fought it, as if it were the last humiliation he could bear. “Yeah,” he said, his voice faint and thready. “I did it. All of it.” He pushed feebly at Flareup’s torso. “Leave me alone.” He didn’t have the energy to fill it with enough rancor.

She reached over him and wove her fingers through his. He splayed his hand away. “Go away,” he repeated. “I set you up. The whole thing…was me.” His eyes rolled sideways again, flickered in horizontal stripes. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” Flareup said, tightening her grip. “You did this for me. You didn’t leave me alone when I was hurt. And scared.” She rested her head near his cracked grille. He felt energon from his damaged jaw drip onto her shoulder armor.

“It was a set up!” Ironhide howled. “How stupid are you? You can’t tell me you seriously think—“

“ENOUGH!” Optimus’s voice boomed loud enough to blank Barricade’s audio. When it kicked back on, the Autobot leader was still speaking. “We will speak about this more at Diego Garcia, Ironhide.” Barricade couldn’t even manage curiosity at what he’d missed, only a dull relief that Ironhide’s shadow was no longer looming over him.

Flareup was still with him, on him, her ventilation slow and even and steady, her fingers tangled in his.

He pushed again at her, weakly. “Set you up. Go away.”

She lifted her head and met his optics with hers. The two freaks—he with his four eyes, she with her two different colored ones. Only…she could fix hers if she wanted. Why didn’t she want to? He had a feeling he should know. “You’ve done bad things, yes. You’ve also done good things. I know.” Her optics glistened. “I choose,” she said, softly, “which I want to see. It’s a choice I have. The only choice I have.” She laid her head back against his chassis. “The choice you gave me.”

I am soo sad for Barricade right now This is a superb ending to a really gripping story, seriously. That ending was perfectly done so moving, it's weird by the time you reach the end you honestly don't know which side you want to win, seems like they both lose out.

I can't wait for the sequel *is giddy with anticipation*

Wow.


That was so beautifully done; incredibly moving. Cannot wait for the next story!!!!

I have liked this entire series. When do we get the next set of stories?

Oh wow, what a bittersweet end! I loved it. Flareup's dialogue is so beautiful and Barricade's reaction is perfect.

More please?